Miserable, pathetic, whore!
And then a new fear threatened to derail me—I hadn’t used any contraception.
“NO!”
I wailed out loud, then threw a hand over my mouth. “Shit! SHIT! FUCK!” David grunted but carried on snoring.
I wasn’t on the pill, I had no need; David was as infertile as the Gobi desert. But Sebastian … oh God!
I tried to organize a list of urgent jobs for the morning but all I could think was, what if I’m pregnant? For the briefest of moments I imagined an alternate universe where I was the mother of a blond-haired child with eyes the color of the ocean, with a husband who loved me. But that’s all it was: a moment.
Plan B Emergency Contraceptive—that was my priority. At least I could buy it over the counter. I’d have to drive into the city or somewhere I wasn’t known.
How could I be so stupid?
Everything I’d done in the last 12 hours had been lunacy. What on earth was wrong with me?
I realized belatedly that I’d ironed David’s pants to within an inch of their shiny-ass life. I let the iron cool and tiptoed into the bedroom to lay out the rest of the uniform. David was K-O-ed. I stared down at the man who was my husband, for better or worse. I gazed for so long, my eyes were dry. How curious. I couldn’t put a name to what I felt when I looked at him. Maybe something, maybe nothing. My emotional gauge was running on empty; I think it had been that way for a long time. Until Sebastian … no. Must not think. Must not think like that.
Back in the kitchen I fixed myself a coffee which I didn’t drink, and waited solemnly for dawn.
As the sun’s first light filtered weakly through the windows, I had resolved nothing. Go or stay? Stay or go? The devil I knew or the deep blue sea? Go or stay? Stay or go? Endlessly repeated through the torpor of my mind.
The doleful ring of the bedside alarm made me jump. David snorted awake, and I hurried to make breakfast. He liked it hot and greasy after a bender. Luckily, yesterday’s sprint to the store had furnished the refrigerator with bacon and maple syrup. I whipped up some pancake mix and put a dab of oil in the pan.
He arrived at the breakfast table with military precision and in a full-on sulk.
“Nice to see some food for a change,” he muttered.
“How many pancakes do you want?”
“Two.”
Silently I served him the guilty-wife special: three pieces of bacon, two eggs sunny-side up, two pancakes, syrup on the side and coffee.
“This plate’s cold.”
“You want me to heat it up?”
“I haven’t got time for that. Christ, Caroline! Can’t you do anything right?”
No. Probably not.
He left the house without a word. I wondered how long his sulk would last—nine days was the record.
Belatedly, it occurred to me that Sebastian would probably come looking for me once he was sure David had gone to work. I knew it was cowardly and unfair, and I was supposed to be the adult—but I just couldn’t face him.
I showered on the double and ran out of the house without bothering to dry my hair, scooping up my notebook from the hall table as I passed. I couldn’t say why—perhaps some atavistic memory of needing to write, from a time when life was simple.
As I drove away, I refused to look in the rear-view mirror. I had an almost superstitious belief that if I looked, Sebastian would appear. Cowardly to the last, it seemed.
I was ridiculously grateful to find an out-of-town mall with a drugstore sign in cheerful neon, the ‘Good Morning Pharmacy’. Not for me.
The woman serving was sympathetic until she happened to see my wedding ring; then the shutters of disapproval came crashing down and I slunk out, clasping my paper bag.
I hunted for a coffee shop and sat hunched in the corner to order a double espresso and a glass of water.
The Plan B Emergency Contraceptive packaging scolded:
‘Side effects may include changes in your period, nausea, lower abdominal pain, fatigue, headache and dizziness.’
I don’t care! Just don’t let me be pregnant!
I swallowed the pill quickly, then tore up the packaging into postage stamp-sized pieces. My hands were shaking as I sipped the espresso. I probably looked like another caffeine junkie after my fix.
I had to find a way to channel the flurry of half-formed thoughts that gushed through me. Eventually I pulled out my notepad, trying to make sense of the scrawled words and phrases. Working slowly and carefully, I started to plan my article. It felt important, somehow, that of the complete fuck-up I’d made of my life, that I do this one thing well.
I realized I’d been working for over an hour when the irritated waitress asked me if I wanted anything else.
Yes, a life! Oddly enough, that’s not something waitresses served up on a regular basis. I removed myself from her baleful gaze, leaving a larger than deserved tip. Coward.