Marital Bitch(78)

"If you promise not to tell anybody else, Auntie will buy you candy, okay?" He nods his head excitedly. "Remember; don't tell anybody Auntie borrowed your pee."

"I won't," he mutters as he wanders around the bathroom. I stare at the pregnancy test on the counter and then look at the clock on the wall in order to time myself. Hearing footsteps coming down the hall, I quickly flush the toilet and readjust my pants and shirt and all just in time for Darla to walk in the door. She's all giddy and smiling.

"You just wait, Colleen. This is going to be positive." I smile, feeling a little guilty now.

"I doubt it, Darla." She shakes her head.

Minutes pass and we talk about different things: how Lilly is doing in school, how Fitzgerald is starting to work out his leg muscles in preparation to walk, my potential pregnancy, my shattered marriage, my ruined career. Finally, we look down at the test. It's negative. The twinge of sadness at seeing a nice big "not pregnant" across the digital display is only hidden by the fact that it's not my pee. It's not even a woman's pee. It's stolen pee from a toddler. I am the world’s worst aunt.

Geez, I'm screwed up.

Darla's eyes fill with tears and she hugs me. She shakes her head in disbelief and annoyance.

"This test is wrong, Colleen. I just know it." Her words are earnest. She seems half confused and half disappointed. It's like she really wanted us to be pregnant, too. I shake my head of the thought and we walk downstairs. I try to carry Alex just in case he gets a case of the blabsies and tries to out me, but I can't seem to pick him up. My body, both my breasts and my fat belly are getting in the way. Instead, I opt for holding his hand on the way down.

In the living room, Lindsay is on the couch next to Adam, talking quietly. I hear laughter coming from the back of the house in the kitchen. Lilly is gabbing away and before I can make a run for it, I see Brad. He's got Lilly seated on the kitchen counter, and he's listening intently to her day.

"What's Brad doing here?" I ask Darla as quietly as I can. At the sound of his name, his head shoots around and he stares at me. With hurt in his eyes, he gives me a sad smile. I return the sad smile, tears coming to my eyes.

"He's been staying here," Darla says and continues on behind, pushing me into the kitchen. I'd been wondering where he'd gone. Somehow, knowing he'd been less than 500 feet away is harder than if he'd been a couple blocks away at his mom's house.

"Well, this isn't awkward," James mutters. Darla gives him a look and he just shakes his head. "I'm just saying," he defends himself.

"Can we talk?" I ask Brad. He shrugs.

"Talk," he says.

"Alone?" I let go of Alex and he steps away from Lilly. His body has visually tensed and he looks like he's on edge. I look at him, I mean really look at him, and he looks tired. With a few days' worth of stubble and bags under his eyes, it looks like he's keeping up only slightly better than me. He's wearing his sleuthing suit, as I like to call it. He's either getting ready for shift or getting off shift. I can't remember his schedule for today.

"Here's fine." I gulp. Something stirs inside me. It could be courage, or fear. Hell, at this point, it could be gas. Either way, I feel this overwhelming desire to run to him and kiss him and to never let him go. I can't play games anymore. I can't hide behind myself in my untidy little hole. I've fallen to pieces without him.

"I love you," I blurt out. The relief of getting it off my chest sends me on a roll. I can't shut up now; but I can't look at him, either. I screw my eyes shut and ball up my fists and I let the verbal diarrhea spew. I hear a police radio in the background, but it doesn't deter me. "I love you and I don't want out and you're not just a friend. I love you, Brad. I love you!"

"Repeat central, repeat," I hear Brad say. Confusion sets in and I open my eyes. He's got the radio to his mouth, jaw slack, and eyes wide. In a moment of haze, I think he's talking to me.

"I said I love you! I don't want out. I want you, Brad. You!" I realize that I'm shouting, but I can't control myself, which is nothing new lately. He plugs his left ear with his thumb and stares at me. It seems he wasn't talking to me. He was talking to the station. But he heard me. I know he did. I can tell by the deer-in-headlights look he's giving me.

"Patrick," the nasally voice wafting through the radio belongs to Vicky. I still don't like her. "I said there's a burglary at the corner of Dorchester and Broadway. I know you're not on shift yet, but you're around the corner." He nods.

"We'll be on foot," he says with his work mask on. I can see my Brad under there and I want him to come out. I'm a selfish being at my core. Some poor sap is getting robbed around the corner and here I am pouting because I want my big mushy "I love you" time with my husband.