Maybe Baby

28 by 18 by 12

28 by 18 by 12

28 by 18 by 12

Those were the measurements that had been marching through my head, and that my life had to fit into- in inches. In inches. If I wasn’t so scared I’d be more inclined to be more pissed off. I’m pregnant- I don’t want to be (but I kind of want to be) but I’m 30, I just lost my job, and the father is a jackass. I guess a lot of fathers are- mine isn’t, but my family tends to be the exception, not the rule. I miss them so much, but they’re in Pennsylvania, I’m in Florida (for the job I just lost), and I need to get to them. I need to decide if motherhood is a journey I’m ready and willing to go on, and I need to stay somewhere that’s free. Elverson, Pennsylvania is free- in fact, my dad slips me $40 every Sunday, so I’m actually on kind of a stipend for being there. I’d be leaving in 24 hours, and my landlord had offered me $500 to leave all of the furniture for the next tenant- I just needed to pack some clothes and some tchotchkes. I started making a mental list.

·       My 3 stuffed animals- Bearemy, Eagles Bear, and Elf- man

I stopped the mental list. I looked around my apartment and sighed. The truth was, I didn’t even know if I had enough things to pack into this suitcase. I left a lot of my colder weather clothes in PA when I left, bringing my weights felt absurd, and my laptop and current book fit into my backpack. Wow. I left my whole life to come down to the South, and I was leaving with less than I had brought- it felt too symbolic- almost heavy- handed, to be frank. Multiple years as a director, leading an organization to success and then being betrayed by my boss in an organizational shift- the last few weeks had been harrowing. All the time and effort I’d packed into the last decade of my professional life now felt meaningless. And now my personal life- my entire personal life- couldn’t fill a suitcase. The physical manifestation of my internal emptiness was a BIT much. No, I’d be bringing home a packed suitcase- that’s something I could control. So, I packed my candles- all half burned, I packed 2 dishes, 1 set of silverware, 3 mugs, and my set of measuring cups. I went through a box marked “donate” and reclaimed an air freshener, 1 glove, and 2 sets of earrings. The suitcase still looked lean, but substantially fuller than before. Still, I walked into my kitchen and grabbed 3 water bottles from the fridge and threw them in, too.

Joel, the father of my unborn child, didn’t know I was leaving. Why would I tell him? We weren’t even that serious! Our relationship was built off tequila and weed.  The first night we kissed, we had gotten drunk at a work happy hour and gone to a second location with a few friends. We did green tea shots and then we switched to tequila which is why Joel put his arm around my chair after the 3^rd shot, and I put my hand on his thigh after the 5^th. I had just broken up with my girlfriend and was shocked that my drunken alter ego was so eager to add a cis man back into the mix, but I guess Joel was my exception to the rule. He wasn’t your typical asshole- he was funny in a way that let you know he wanted you to laugh along with him- he wasn’t trying to make a joke at your expense. He also was good at his job- something that was rare for a man in the nonprofit field- usually they’re just heralded for showing up to work. But Joel showed up and worked hard, which is why he was always invited to the VIP second location- we all respected him. Our support for each other’s work projects had always seemed platonic, but the prolonged eye contact, lip bites, and follow-up texts all seemed to have neon signs outlining them now. Of course, I wanted to flirt with Joel- of course I wanted to kiss him. So, I did. Well, I orchestrated the moment.

We were at a dive bar called “The Monk’s Escapade” and below the dull roar of my friends’ laughter, I heard the familiar chords of one of my favorite songs of all time and decided I wanted Joel to make a move. I pulled my stool away from the bar, put my arms through the sleeves of my jacket, and started to move toward the door. “Where are you going?” someone yelled after me. I looked back and only made eye contact with Joel- he was already meeting my gaze. “I’m gonna grab a cigarette,” I said, and patted my pocket. I walked outside and the cool air hit my face- colder I than usual for Florida in November- and I turned the corner of the bar and stood in the alley where I pulled out my one-hitter. I looked up at the sky and gazed at the stars while I inhaled and I was struck with the feeling that you get when you’re drunk in a way that removes all mental guards against fanciful thoughts, and you become awed by the sheer magnitude of the universe and your smallness, by comparison.

I breathed out and smiled when I heard Joel’s voice asking, “Why say cigarettes if you mean weed?” I laughed and reminded him, “This is Florida- I’m not sure who’s really cool or not cool.” “Well, if you’re saying smoking weed is cool, I feel like you are peer pressuring me into asking for a hit.” I smiled “I was going to offer.” He shrugged and challenged, “Then offer.” I returned the shrug and smiled, “I don’t want to be a bad influence. Maybe we should start with a shotgun.” His eyes sparkled but he feigned ignorance and asked, “Can you show me what that is?” So, I obliged. I inhaled the marijuana and held it in my lungs before stepping toward him and tilting my head- his lips parted slightly, and I exhaled the smoke from my lungs into his mouth and he eagerly accepted it. When my breath was exhausted, my eyes remained closed and I stayed close to him, taking in his musky cologne and minty gum- I was intoxicated. And I was struck by a new intoxicated realization. You know when you’re wasted but your sober self is trying to regain control of the steering wheel, so you get painful pockets of sobriety via an out of body experience? I had one such flash and was assaulted by the vision of myself in an alley, tilted at what now seemed to be a 45-degree angle, inches away from one of my favorite colleague’s faces. I had just broken up with my girlfriend. What was I doing? Joel hadn’t seemed to have any such flash, because he stayed tilted, kept his eyes closed, and whispered, “I told you I was cool,” before he closed the inches between us. His lips met mine and he gently eased me to the wall of the building. His left hand sat on my waist while his right snaked through my hair, occasionally tugging, occasionally grabbing, in fistfuls. My hands, however, were occupied by a lighter and a smoking apparatus, so while I wanted to be fully present, I was slightly distracted. He was so hot, and I was so awkward. He smelled so good, and I couldn’t even touch his face. “But I could reach around it” I thought to myself, snaking my arms behind his neck and putting ALL smoking paraphernalia in one hand, freeing up the other. I now used my right hand to run my fingernails along his temple and back to the nape of his neck. I pulled him closer to me and his whole body enveloped me, pushing me against the wall, warming me and exhilarating me all at once. I felt his mouth tilt upward into a smile while it was near mine, and I wondered if he had felt me fitfully switching around my inventory behind his head. It was sweet of him not to mention it.

Suddenly, the distant tinkle of the music from inside the bar got louder, as did the loud voices leaving the bar. They weren’t our colleagues, but the abrupt interruption broke the moment. Joel looked down at me and chuckled, shaking his head. “Yikes,” I said, visibly grimacing to acknowledge the potential awkwardness of the moment. “Yeah, ‘Yikes’. ‘Yikes, I gotta be careful of you.’” Joel kissed my neck, playfully growling the second part of the sentence into it. “I just came outside to get some fresh air!” I laughed, swatting his chest (firm- he was so hot). Joel’s smile was replaced with a more self-assured smirk, “Are you upset I followed you?” “It was a bold move for a coworker!” I retorted. “I don’t think one drunken make-out is going to ruin our relationship,” he countered, but I looked up at him and met his eyes, “Maybe we should stop,” I whispered. My voice was shaky, betraying my nerves. Joel’s voice dropped and he leaned in, “Do you want me to stop?”

We didn’t stop, and Joel was right. It wasn’t the one drunken make out that ruined the relationship. It wasn’t even the sex we had quickly graduated to. But pregnancy? We were too casual for all that. And we felt too casual for me to even discuss something this heavy with Joel. That would expedite the inevitable. Better for me to figure this out on my own. My family wouldn’t have all the answers, but they always provided me a soft place to land. Me and my maybe-baby needed that. I zipped my suitcase shut, and the weight in my hand reassured me- I’ll be alright.