It's Just How You Left It

   The loaf of ash broke off ugly and hot, settling in the ashtray with its dead brethren without so much as a prayer. The fire of the cherry again lit up a swollen face, streaked with makeup that needed touched up. The anger in her eyes had been simmering for months. What was left resembled a sullen mess of regrets and unfinished paintings. The scruffy face across from her opened his mouth.

Before he could gutter a sound, she tapped an unlit filtered cig from the case and spoke, “Just have one with me. I know you quit. Trust me this one last time.”

He fumbled with the butane lighter, looking at it with a child-like curiosity. The SCHICK of the flint on the metal wheel caused her to flinch. It reminded her of the click of the deadbolt when he was 'going out with the boys'. Do boys wear lipstick? Perfume? So many questions.

It wasn't going to die without a fair fight. His eyes narrowed as he drew a heady scent of Turkish tobacco. She seemed pitiful and frail to him, yet her eyes glowed like steel billets in a cauldron. He couldn't lie with those irises another day. Blowing smoke through his nostrils like an ancient reptile he whispered, "Why should I trust you..."

Embers of secrecy ignited with those words. She wondered, was it really betrayal? Daring an emotional bridge she caved, “We have been together so long.” Length. Is it something one can trust except at the summit, the climax? He felt it, either you have it or you don't. If they had, it died with the miscarriage. A clump of cells transformed into a chasm.

“Who is we?” The blade of life cleaved them into segments again. Coupling had eroded into a stalemate. It wasn't that they no longer liked one another, it had resolved to each wanting to end the other.

“The baby, we wanted it together. Its death in a toilet doesn't change that. Does it?” She pulled a tissue from the box, dabbing her eyes as the words evaporated.

"I wanted it with you. It seems you didn't care who the sire was, no?" He squinted again, eyeing her frame. Her hips were wide enough, yet so was her want. He felt like a pawn in an endless game. She would certainly get her child. He didn't want to be another noble knight, paying for the seed of another. If one signed the paper, they were on the hook for the rearing, whether the child was biologically theirs or not.

The loss consumed her. She tapped out another square and fired it up. Committing to quit when pregnant gave a sense of relief. The smoke flowed, obscuring his face. What a beautiful face. She so desperately wanted those cheekbones on her daughter. Was she being selfish? Did it have to be a girl? His lips were thick and full, hers were thin and anemic. Full lips and high cheekbones were on her list from the days of dolls and Disney. Desperation...

He wasn't buying it, “Was that baby even mine?”

“Why would you say that?” She cringed at the thought. She was pretty sure the child was his. High School Biology lingered in her brain. The need to procreate often peaked at ovulation. Momma's baby, Daddy's maybe. He wouldn't care if he wasn't so GODDAMN vain. Good taste in man was a natural urge. She wanted to put her cigarette out on the divot in his perfectly square chin.

“I have a name to protect. Creating a person is not like birthing a tax shelter for Grammy's money. Maybe it's best that your body rejected the baby. Maybe it had a fatal flaw. I'm ready to move on if you will just admit it.” He broke the fading cherry off into an almost empty beer bottle.

"Admit what? That we are a failed attempt for post-war families trying to keep their reputations together?" Lord, she missed smoking. Puffing sent rushes through her body.

“You don't care. You just long to be a Mother. I am just an opportunity and an obstacle. You can't admit it. I need love. I loved you, until I realized the feeling wasn't mutual. You love the idea of being a Mother.” There were only a couple left from his six-pack of imported beer. He cracked another, hoping she wouldn't become violent like in the past.

“I don't care? That is all I do is care. You are a delusional ASS that only cares for yourself. Let yourself off the hook. The baby died, love. Does that please you?” She felt empty and hopeless. Her biology had failed them. The loss felt unbearable.

“So, you reach the bottom and lash out with blame. There is nothing I have wanted more in my adult life than a child. You and I both know the number of failed relations between then and now. This is no more my fault than yours.” Wringing hands betrayed a need.

"Why don't we try again?" Her hand caressed his forearm.

“Why should I care?”

“We can do this. We both need this. Please, don't leave again.”

“I have no choice.”

Her belly had never felt more empty. She hadn't eaten in several hours. Her womb torn from her bosom, and it flushed like waste. Across from her his features hardened like concrete. He gulped down his last beer. The click of the door latch shattered the silence. She looked at the phone. It lay silent. Picking it up, her thumbs pounded out a text before she lay it down again with a sigh.

The ringtone shocked her awake. Swiping quickly forced a tenuous, "Hello?"

“Either you are in jail, or Mark said no.”

“I lost the baby.”

“No baby and no boyfriend, so you call your lover?”

“Well, it's more complicated than that. I can't afford this motel another night. Can we...”

“There is no we, never has been.”

“I'm on the street if I can't make rent. Please...”

"I'll give you the number for the women's shelter again. If you stay clean they will put you up for a couple of weeks."