“Soundslike bullshit, but I'll take it,” I said, finding a hint of a smile beneath thenerves, stress, and fear.
Hegrinned the way a dog smiles when you come home after a long day at work. Thetype of smile that seems to make the bad stuff not seem so bad at all. And Icouldn't help it, I smiled back, nearly forgetting about the little beannestled deep in my belly.
“So,”he said, pulling a big, fishbowl glass from the overhanging rack, “if you don'tmind me asking, what's got you so upset?”
Itwas none of his business, and I had no obligation to answer. But what is itabout bartenders that makes them so easy to talk to? Somewhere inside, I coulddistinctly feel the cork on my bottled-up emotions jiggle loose, and I didn'teven try to stop them from pouring out.
“Ionly found out that I'm pregnant two days ago,” I began, as he poured a varietyof juices and ice into a blender. “I went to the doctor to confirm it today,and lo and behold, I am indeed with child,” I muttered in a mocking tone,gesturing toward my stomach with grandeur.
“So,is it that you don't want a baby?”
Ipushed my fingers into my sloppy, ponytailed hair, hoping I didn’t look toomuch like a hot mess, and planted my elbows firmly on the bar. “It's not that,”I huffed over the whirring blender. “I guess I just never expected to actuallyhave one. I've always been so goal oriented and focused on my own thing. I likemy alone time. I like my life.”
“So,you're not sure a baby fits into everything you have going on,” he accuratelyassessed, pouring the frozen concoction into the glass.
Ipursed my lips and nodded. “Bingo.”
Flashingme a smile that crinkled the corners of his blue eyes, he said, “Let's justsay, I've been there.”
“You'vealso been knocked up by your on and off again boyfriend of three years?”
Helaughed boisterously, the type of laugh you throw your whole body into. I couldnever make Brendan laugh like that. Hell, I couldn’t remember the last time Ihad made him laugh at all, and how strange it was that I hadn't thought aboutit until this very moment.
“No,I can't say that I have,” he conceded, adding a few diced strawberries to thetop of the bright pink drink. An eerily similar color to the two pink linesthat had brought me in here in the first place. “But,I did knock up my wife of two years while I was in the middle of a bender. AndI definitely knew a kid would never fit intothatlifestyle.”
Immediatelyintrigued, I sat up taller on my stool and asked, “You're a dad?”
“Iam,” he said, nodding as he slid the drink across the bar to me. “I didn't wantto be at first. The night my wife toldme,I drankmyself into a coma. But then, the next morning, she woke me up with a swiftkick in the ass and a threat that, if I didn't get my act together, I'd neversee my son or daughter. And when she put it like that, I realized that I didwant to be in that kid's life. So, I checked myself into rehab, turned my lifearound, and here I am.”
Iswirled the straw around and nodded slowly. “So, you're telling me you gotwasted, and then had this amazing, life-changing epiphany. And now, I'mwondering why you didn't throw some booze in here ...”
Laughingagain, he folded his arms on the bar and crouched down to meet my eyes. “Whatsaying is, you've just gotten some huge, life-changing news. Nothing says youhave tokick up your heels and jump for joy the second youfind out you're having a baby, but nothing says you need to make any otherhuge, life-changing decisions right now, either. Maybe buy yourself somethingnice tonight. Eat whatever the hell you want. Forget about this shit for nowand just sleep on it. You might be surprised by how you feel in the morning.”
Exhalingdeeply, I nodded slowly, and before I could think twice about it, I said,“Well, I’m glad you turned your life around.”
“Thanks,”he replied, his grin softening. “So am I.”
Idropped my gaze to the drink and took a deep breath. And then, I nodded, beforetaking a sip. The burst of sweet, strawberry, bubble-gummy goodness excited mytaste buds enough to force my lips to smile around the straw.
“Oh,my God, this is amazing,” I exclaimed, before diving in for more.
“Toldyou,” he said. “It’s good for you, too. Lots of vitamin C.”
Igrinned as I watched him turn to help another mid-day customer. Two scary,little, pink lines had led me to stumble into this bar. Now, for the first timesince I’d seen them appear, I felt lucky. So much so, I hardly worried abouthow I was going to tell Brendan the happy—or not so happy—news.
***
Lookingaround now, I acknowledged just how small the apartment really was, but it wasmine and it had once made me so proud.
Icould still remember the moment when I had looked at my bank account andrealized that my book sales had finally tipped me into a place of financialstability where I could afford to venture out on my own. It had been such acolossal victory and I had felt so much triumph as I was handed the keys to thelittle one-bedroom apartment. I had then immediately rushed out to buy my ownteapot and microwave, feeling so excited and confident.
Butnow, I wished itwasbigger. Better.
Iwished there were two bedrooms instead of one. I wished that my kitchen tablecould accommodate a highchair and that my living room could fit one of thoseunreasonably huge baby swings. I wished that itwasall so much closer to my parents on Long Island.
Andwhat about baby proofing? If I made the decision to keep the baby, how could Imake an old, dusty apartment above a pizza place safe for a baby?
Islumped onto the couch and stared blankly ahead at the TV. It was amazing to mejust how much those two little, pink lines could change everything. IncludingtheprideI had once felt for this apartment.
