Marital Bitch(77)

It's so obvious.

I must be the world's biggest idiot.

The moment we walk into Darla and James's house, the noise level goes through the roof. James is on the living room floor with Lilly and Alex; he has a Barbie in one hand and a toy truck in the other. I spy Fitz in James's lap, chewing on a soft block, drool coating his hand and the toy. James gives me a quiet smile and Darla leads me upstairs and into her and James's bathroom. I don't even ask why. My brain is well past questioning anything anymore. She sits me on the toilet lid and shuts the door behind her, locking it. I notice that we've lost Lindsay somewhere along the way.

"Colleen," Darla's voice is quiet but stern as she holds up a pregnancy test. I stare at it wide-eyed, about to cry. I'm clamming up and retreating to my germ-ridden, fast food littered world of an hour prior, but she won't give in.

"Yes," she says in a gentle, motherly tone. I can see that I won't be winning this one, but I decide to hold out for a little longer. She sits the test down on the counter in front of me.

Little fists bang against the door at alternating heights. Shouts for "mommy" resound from the other side in two different voices. Darla remains still but the voices continue. First Alex breaks out into a desperate cry and then Lilly escalates into a shriek. She cracks immediately and slinks out of the bathroom.

"Take that damn test," she hisses as the little boogers drag her away. Alone in the bathroom, I contemplate my options. I could take the test and either a.) be disappointed because it's negative which would only further serve to show that I'm really just fat; or b.) would confirm my hopes/fears that I am pregnant and of course it has come at a time when Brad can't stand to be around me, and possibly never will again. Some would say (namely Lindsay) that I'm being histrionic.

I look around the room to buy time for a distraction. The toilet seat is not terribly comfortable and I find myself shifting. My right foot slips out and smacks something that feels like it's loaded with water. I look down to see Alex's potty. At first I'm disgusted that it seems to be full. Do they ever clean that thing out?

And then a thought strikes me. I don't necessarily need to take the test with my urine. For starters, I'm being forced into a very emotional event that could send me back into a stinky tailspin; and to top it off, I don't even have Brad here to comfort me. That, of course, is my own doing; but it doesn't make it any easier.

If Heather knew why didn't she say anything? If it was so obvious, then why didn't we know? I call upon the detective that I know is somewhere inside of me and I analyze the situation from an unbiased standpoint. Psychologically, the only reason someone reads a letter as many times as Brad has obviously read Heather's is that it holds value for them. So where is the value? In the apology? In the admission? No.

It's in the "you love her" comment.

And most especially the "she loves you" comment.

Did I?

I suppose I did. Brad has just always been there, always so constant, so steady and wonderful. How did I not know? Perhaps, because I've never known any different.

I force my mind to focus on the task at hand: foiling the pregnancy test. I absolutely refuse to take a pregnancy test without Brad by my side. I think over the moral implications of using my nephew’s discarded pee in order to fool my overbearing but well-meaning friends and family. It only takes a moment for me to decide that it's morally acceptable. After all, it was discarded. It's not like I'm loading the kid up on water and making him go. That would be cruel.

I open the test and squat down before the potty, trying to get this over with as soon as possible. I take a deep breath and open the lid.

Oh, thank God, just pee.

Just as I dip the tip of the stick into the urine, the bathroom door opens and I think I'm busted. I close my eyes but don't move any other muscle.

"Auntie Colleen!" Alex shouts. I let out a deep breath and open my eyes.

"Shut the door, buddy," I say. He toddles in and closes the door behind him.

"What'cha do with my pee?" I cringe, realizing I've been caught mid-urine-theft. I smile as reassuringly as I can at the toddler who is giving me the stink eye.

"Can Auntie borrow your pee, buddy?"

"Don't you got your own?" Alex has one eyebrow raised, just like his mother, and his arms over his chest, staring at me. I remove the stick from the urine and cap it with as little mess as possible and then close the lid and wash my hands.

"I ran out and it's an emergency!" I say with big eyes, pouting. Alex takes a minute to think this over. Finally, he nods his head.

"But you gotta give it back when you get yer own again, okay?" The kid raises his eyebrows at me like this makes any sense. I just nod my head, smiling.