Runaway Baby

Ainsley pushed the door open, chiming the bell that signaled her arrival into the coffee shop. She took a deep breath, not having visited in several months. The Bread and Java sat just blocks away from her and Quinton’s old apartment they shared, and she had avoided it since the wedding, attempting to respect Quinton’s wish for privacy. But a few weeks ago, she texted him, asking him to meet, that it was urgent. He took a few days to respond, but finally, he agreed to meet her here at 10 o’clock this morning, and she had arrived twenty minutes early, punctuality being possibly the only thing she valued about herself.

She walked to the far left corner of the coffee shop, away from the three other customers, wanting her and Quinton’s conversation to be protected in a secluded corner. She set her purse down, and pulled out a chair. Sitting down, she attempted to get comfortable, but found that she was jittery, either from the November cold or nerves, she wasn’t sure. Tapping her feet on the floor and anxiously picking at her thumbnail, she counted the minutes until he arrived. Unlike Ainsley, Quinton was often late for dates or work appointments. She used to find his lack of urgency endearing, feeling that he balanced her high strung demeanor.

“Ainsley!” She heard her name called behind her from the counter several feet away from her table. She looked up from her lap and turned her head to see Sierra waving to her excitedly.

“Sierra!” she called back, attempting to sound cheerful, but her voice shook. She waited as Sierra finished pouring espresso into a glass mason jar filled with milk, ice, and syrup. She topped the drink with whipped cream and walked out from behind the counter towards an elderly man’s table, quickly setting the coffee down and running across the restaurant to where Ainsley sat.

“Where have you been?” the barista asked, leaning down to hug her. Sierra was a 19-year-old college student who worked full time at Bread and Java in order to pay for her tuition. Ainsley met her several years back, the same day she met Quinton. The two became friendly, and when the store was slow, Sierra would plop down at Ainsley’s table, chatting about college parties and fraternity guys that she was interested in. Ainsley enjoyed Sierra’s company and wished that today, she could entertain one of Sierra’s stories about a guy who was definitely into her, but Sierra was obviously too intimidating for him to feel comfortable approaching her.  

“Oh you know how work is,” Ainsley replied after Sierra released her grip, standing up expectantly. 

“Are you working more hours or something?”

“No, no, I actually moved a little while ago and haven’t found the time to visit,” she answered truthfully, hoping Sierra wouldn’t notice the newly open space on her left ring finger. 

“Where did you and Quinton move to?” Sierra asked, “OH, did you guys get a house? Are you expecting?” 

Ainsley, unsure of how to answer the flood of questions, was grateful when she heard the door chime. Three elderly women walked in, wearing athletic wear. Ainsley guessed that they were tourists by the way they looked around excitedly and gripped their purses close to their sides, something that all New York visitors do, as if expecting a sudden mugging in broad daylight. They pointed to the mural of the New York City skyline that hung on the wall above  and walked towards the counter. Sierra sighed and rolled her eyes in their direction. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered, retreating to the register.

Ainsley checked her watch to see that Quinton still had five minutes until their meeting time. Now alone at the table, she stared down at her left hand. The tan line from her engagement ring was still prevalent due to the way her dark skin was able to hold a tan, and Ainsley reached for her coat pocket, feeling the outline of the diamond. She shook her head to erase the dismayed expression she remembered on Quinton’s face when she failed to utter the words, “I do,” five months prior. 

The day was beautiful. The two had planned a small wedding in June on the North Fork of The Hamptons with guests consisting of Ainsley’s two close friends from college, her father, and several close relatives. Quinton invited his three brothers, best friend Matthew, and his mother Debra, who offered to fix Ainsley’s hair and makeup. 

That morning, Ainsley had helped herself to two glasses of mimosa and sat tipsy in a wobbly wooden chair as Debra attempted to tame her hair that was frizzy from the salty ocean hair. The two chatted absently like they normally would, but Ainsley froze at Debra’s remark about Quinton wanting to start a family right after the wedding. He had told Ainsley that he had shared her fear of having children, that the thought of being responsible for another human’s life terrified them to no end. Had he been lying to her to get her to marry him? Would he share his desire to have children once they were legally tied to one another?

After Debra had pinned Ainsley’s hair into a tight updo that complimented her sharp collar bones and lightly applied makeup to accentuate her dark eyebrows and blue eyes, Ainsley stood by herself in the mirror that hung in the small house her father had rented out specially for this day. She stared at the girl who was unsure if motherhood was for her. Her own mother had abandoned her and her father when she was only 6 months old, and she fretted that if she gave birth to a child, she might feel the urge to do the same. 

Ainsely pushed her fear down, as her father looped his arm through hers, walking her towards Quinton who stood excitedly at the altar. Quinton was the first man she had truly fallen for, after having wasted several years on a guy who was a psychology major in college who attempted to psychoanalyze her “mommy issues” and fear of having children. Quinton was the one she wanted to dedicate her life to. 

The door bells chimed once again, and Ainsley jumped in her seat, her thoughts interrupted. Having picked a chair facing the entrance, she watched as Quinton walked through the door. He wore the Calvin Klein coat that she had bought him their first Christmas together, and his face was cleanly shaven. She waited for him to notice her in the corner of the coffee shop, and when he did, his face lit up, his cheeks turning into a large smile, much to her surprise. 

“Hi bug,” he greeted her as he approached her table. She stood up unsure if she should hug him, surprised that he was still calling her Bug, the pet name he had used the past two years of their relationship, a joke nickname that stuck, referring to her abnormally large eyes. Without hesitation, he pulled her into his chest, and she caught a whiff of his cologne, smelling of teakwood as well as another flowery scent she couldn’t quite place, but recognized. For a moment, she forgot about the wedding, about the taxi she had hailed hurriedly after she fled the ceremony, and basked in his smell, grateful for the familiarity. 

“Let me get you a coffee,” he offered after he released her, looking down at her petite frame. She hoped he didn’t notice the small bulge in her stomach, uncomfortable with the weight she had gained in recent months. She had dressed in a loose sweater, and leggings, and was grateful when his gaze stayed on her face, not moving to examine her body. 

“Oh, no that’s alright. I’ve been trying to cut back on my caffeine, raises my anxiety ya know,” she lied hoping he would believe her. She did in fact have anxiety, and Quinton knew this, but that wasn’t the reason she was cutting caffeine. 

“A hot chocolate then?’ he asked, not waiting for her reply before walking over to the counter where Sierra worked, finishing the final touches on the ladies’ lattes. 

She sat back down, now irritated with his comfortability of their meeting. Wasn’t he angry at her? Shouldn’t he hate her? 

He came back a few minutes later holding two steamy cups of liquid chocolate. Luckily for Ainsley, the barista hadn’t followed him to their table to chat. Quinton set one cup in front of Ainsely and one down for him. 

“Thank you,” she leaned down to blow on her drink, admiring the white swirls in the milk. Before raising her cup to take a sip, Quinton took a deep breath in, and she looked up expectantly. 

“Look Ainsley, I’m really sorry,” he started, his blue eyes staring unmoving into hers. His statement surprised her, and she took a moment before answering. Shouldn’t she be the one apologizing? She fiddled with the ring in her pocket. 

“Sorry for what?” she asked.

Again, another deep breath before he spoke. “My mother told me.”

Told him what exactly? She scanned his face for clues, her heart rate rising. Had Debra noticed on the wedding day? Ainsley had heard of the old tales that mothers could tell when another woman was expecting, but Ainsely hadn’t even known then, not realizing that her two missed periods were due to something other than stress.  

“I do want a family, or I did. But it wasn’t fair of her to tell you that I was in a hurry, especially right before the ceremony,” he continued. “I was always willing to wait for you.”

Relieved that he didn’t know, she attempted to reply.“I-I,” she started, but didn’t know how to utter the words. She felt her face growing hot, and she lifted her cup to her lips, hoping to give herself a moment to come up with the words.

“There’s also something else.”

She raised her eyebrow, expectantly. What else did he have to say? Gulping a large sip of hot chocolate, she lowered her cup once more, watching Quinton fidget in his seat, staring down at his cup. Without his eyes boring into hers, she admired him. He had a sprinkle of freckles over his nose and cheeks, along with a scar on the side of his nose that he had obtained when he was a child. A fall off of the trampoline, he had explained one night when the two of them had lain clothesless in his bed. After the first couple of months into dating, the two had learned all about each other’s childhoods, fears, and dreams. Several months after that, the two of them were engaged, and Ainsley believed that the two of them would grow old together without worrying about sending young adults to college or caring for grandchildren. 

“I’ve met someone,” Quinton whispered, still looking down. 

“You’ve what?” she replied, leaning forward so as to keep her voice to a whisper, worried Sierra might catch a snippet of their conversation. “What do you mean you’ve met someone? It’s only been a couple of months!”

Ainsley didn’t know what to do now. How could she tell him what she was planning on telling him if there was another woman in the picture? She felt her throat swell and tears well up in her eyes, but she attempted to maintain her composure, waiting for him to look up from his lap, but he continued to stare down. 

“Who?” she pressed, thinking of Quinton sharing their old bed with someone else. The thought of it was enough to make her nauseous, although she had already been sick twice that morning. The new woman was probably a teacher who worked reasonable hours, wanted children, and to move to the suburbs. She racked her brain for answers, but she didn’t know anyone who Quinton may have ended up with. Everyone they knew was already married or dating someone. The only single girl Ainsley knew was Grace Valentine, her childhood best friend and maid of honor. She waited impatiently, but his cheeks grew red and he still hadn’t lifted his eyes. 

“Quinton,” she said flatly, attempting to keep her composure. “Who is it?”

Finally, he looked up at her, and his blue eyes welled with tears. Ainsley took in a breath, and her mind flashed back to Quinton’s hand on the taxi window after he had caught up to her, his face pleading with her to change her mind. She had directed the taxi driver to Grace’s apartment where she would wait for Grace to escape the wedding chaos. It was several hours later when Grace arrived at her place, flustered and tipsy from the champagne she had drank. She explained to Ainsley that she had shared a drink with the distressed Debra and consoled Quinton. Quinton had told Grace that he wanted a few months before retrieving the ring back from Ainsley. Ainsley had respected those wishes, and now wished she hadn’t texted at all, betting that she didn’t want to know who this new woman was. 

“I was really hurt after you left me there, Bug. I didn’t know what to do.” 

Yes, yes, she knew all of that, but who was the girl?

“Tell me who it is, Quinton,” Ainsley demanded, no longer worrying about the volume of her voice. She placed her hands on her stomach, an attempt to try and comfort herself, to remind her that she was looking out for two now. 

Quinton took another deep breath in before speaking. “Would it really help if you knew?”

She pondered on this question before responding. Would it help to know? Regardless, she wasn’t going to tell him the news now. She felt a protective surge for the tiny human that was beginning to develop inside of her. Their baby was her secret. 

“I guess it wouldn’t,” she whispered, sliding her hand from her belly and into her coat pocket, pulling the ring out. It was Debra’s ring, and Ainsley felt torn that Quinton’s mother already had a new girl to dote on. Ainsley wondered if she missed her, if Quinton even missed her. 

“Here’s this,” she said, sliding the ring across the table, placing it next to Quinton’s cup. 

He smiled solemnly at it, and looked up at Ainsley. “Thank you Bug.” 

She pushed her heels into the ground, scooting her chair back. Grabbing her purse from the ground that held three positive pregnancy tests, she managed to stand, although she felt light-headed and still nauseous. 

“I should go now.”

“Can I give you one last hug?” he asked, standing up to walk towards her. She agreed, and he wrapped his arms around her, his biceps enveloping her neck and half of her back. She breathed in his scent one last time, and the floral scent hit her once again. 

She knew that smell. It had clogged her nose when Grace helped secure a thin strand of pearls around her neck on the wedding day. Jeez Grace, do you really need that much perfume? Ainsley had asked coughing when Grace’s wrist bumped her mouth. 

She froze in Quinton’s arms. Maybe it was the fact that Grace had consoled Quinton on Ainsley’s wedding night, rather than rushing home to Ainsley. Or that she had been distant with Ainsley the past couple of months, not answering texts and bailing on their weekly dinner at Heroes. But whichever it was, Ainsley was not shocked at the revelation.

“Bug?” he asked, after his arms released her, swinging down at his sides. She still clung tightly to him, worried about what she would do if she let go. No longer did she feel guilty about running away from him at the altar five months prior. And she was glad she had refrained from telling him that they were expecting a child together. 

Finally, she released her grip, pushing back from him with her head low. She didn’t want him to see the recognition on her face, but wondered how long Grace had been hiding this from her. Did it happen on the wedding night? Was it before? Was it two months ago? Three? 

Walking past her ex-fiance', she headed toward the entrance, shoving herself through the door into the brisk air, ignoring Sierra’s goodbye that rang out behind her. 

After hailing a taxi, and directing the driver to her apartment, she sat numb in the seat. She felt anger, but mostly pity for Quinton. If he was still determined to start a family he was with the wrong woman. Grace had undergone an abortion their sophomore year of college but something went wrong during the operation, leaving her infertile. Ainsley guessed that Grace had yet to tell Quinton this. 

The only child he was going to have was the one that was growing inside of his ex-fiance', and Ainsley would be dead before Quinton ever knew about it. She realized that she was wrong about not wanting children, that maybe a child was the only person she could trust.