“Whatare you doing later? Do you want to grab dinner?”
“Uh,do we have to?”
Isighed, clapping a hand over my eyes. “Brendan, please. Are you able to go out?It doesn’t have to be for long.”
“Idon’t know, Kendo,” he muttered with a sigh, like this conversation wassuddenly the most boring event of his life. “Igottarun some errands, and—”
“Please,just tell me if you can go out or not.”
“Fine,”he grunted. “Yeah, okay, I can go out for a little while.”
“Okay,”I replied, “then I guess I'll see you later.”
“Yougot it. Text me where youwannago.”
Isighed disappointedly but agreed. Brendan had never once in our relationshippicked a place for us to eat and I couldn't expect that he would start now.
Then,he said goodbye and hung up. I got out of bed to use the bathroom and promptlyexperienced morning sickness for the first time. And as I threw up, I hoped itwasn’t a sign.
***
“Hey,Kendo.” Brendan greeted me outside the restaurant with a sweet kiss to thecheek. He slipped an arm around my waist and pulled me against him, unaware ofthe life inside my belly.
“Hey.”I turned my head, catching his lips with mine. “I haven’t seen you in so long.”
“You’reon a deadline,” he reminded me, smirking obnoxiously.
“Oh,that’s right!” I exclaimed in gest. “I knew I forgot something.”
Helet out a mocking laugh. “Oh, you’re funny.”
Wewalked together into the restaurant with my arm hooked around his. I rememberedthe early days of our relationship and how I had really loved that he was anequal opportunist and never seized control. If anything, I had always called theshots. But, three years later, I now caught myself occasionally wishing thathe’d lead instead ofkeepthe same pace. Because whilea woman doesn’t always want to be treated like a possession, every now and thenshe wants to feel possessed by the man who calls her his.
Wewere seated in a quiet corner. The hostess even gave us a knowing, cheeky sortof look, like she thought she was doing us a favor by putting us so far fromthe other diners. But the seclusion only served to build my anxiety, and Iprayed I wouldn’t throw up again.
“Whatare yougonnadrink?” Brendan asked, grabbing for thecocktail and wine menu.
Ishrugged and found a focal point in a smudge on the Tiffany-style lamp hangingover the table. “I don't know,” I answered, not yet ready to look at him.“Probably just water.”
“Water?”he exclaimed incredulously. “Who are you and what have you done with my Kendo?”
Itmust've been the hormones, but his repeated use of that nickname was picking atmy nerves like an old, crusty scab. He'd given it to me years ago, after we'dfirst met. He hadn't liked my preferred nickname, saying that it made me soundlike a boy. So, Kendo it was. It had never felt right, but I'd tolerated it andlearned to live with it. I'd even found it endearing at times. Tonight, though,my tolerance was having a difficult time putting up with anything I didn't carefor.
“It'snot like I drink all the time,” I replied defensively.
“Yeah,but you always get a drink every time we go out.”
“Well,I'm trying to cut back on calories,” I lied, remembering the two slices ofpizza and pint of fried rice I ate the night before.
Brendaneyed me with suspicion. He didn't buy what I was saying, but he didn't push itfurther, and I thought the conversation had been laid to rest. That was untilthe waitress came around and asked for our drink order.
“I'lljust get a rum and Coke, and she'll get a Manhattan.”
Iwas so taken aback by his brazen move that it took a few seconds for me to findmy tongue. When I had said I wanted him to take control every now and then,putting words into my mouth and making decisions for me wasn't what I'd meant.
“No,I only want a water, thank you,” I said, smiling at the waitress, beforeturning a scowl on my boyfriend.
“Oh,come on, Kendall. Lighten up a little.”
