The New Arrival

Positive. Positive. Positive. All three sticks were positive. Her hand immediately reached for her phone to text him, but she stopped it. No, this will have to wait. She washed her piss-covered hands and headed back to her table.

Last month, her mind had been swimming in happiness and alcohol. Her John, her dearest adorable John, was painting a perfect picture of the future. “Let’s get a house in the suburbs. We will have a studio where I can concentrate on drawing. We’ll have a garden for our kids to play in. I’ll be a perfect house husband. I can drop the kids to the school, draw while they’re away, pick them up in the afternoon. Maybe all that will inspire me to finally crap out a great graphic novel….” His face returned to the usual taciturnity, but his eyes were still lost far beyond the horizon. “Come on, John, I’ve just got a raise, not a promotion; not yet. Besides,” she climbed on him intoxicated by his lips, “if we need to have babies, what are we doing here on the beach?”

She called for another Americano. She decided she did not want monosyllabic responses again. No, not today. Both in graphic novels and in real life, John communicated more with facial expressions. Today, she especially wanted to communicate with him.

The tiny bell attached to the door chimed, and her eyes met John’s: they betrayed irritation, but only the mild kind of irritation one has on minor interruption of routine. She retaliated with a smile. He kissed her and sat across her.

 “So, what’s the urgent news?”

 She wondered if her decision would significantly alter that expression.