How The Light Gets In

Gail had forgotten her shades and the sun felt like an assault making her cranky and distracted. That’s how she slammed into the back of the yutz who was standing in the middle of the sidewalk to peer at his device. And that’s how she tore her future husband a new one right there in front of God and everyone. When she ran out of invective he smiled.

The guy just smiled and introduced himself.

Nothing threw Saul. She loved that and hated that about him. He liked to say he had no earth. It was never too hot or too cold, too crowded or too far or too hard or too complicated or too much or too heavy for Saul. He was steady. He carried the load and never complained. Damn him.

“I’m pregnant.” She flung that at him after dinner.

“Really? Wow!” He set down his glass of wine and reached for her hand. “You’re ok with this?”

“Are you?”

“Sure am! How far along?”

“What about grad school? How do you think I’ll be able to finish that now?”

“Dunno. We’ll figure something out.” And there was that fabulous, infuriating smile. It took everything Gail had to not snatch her hand away.

She didn’t want to be like this; she really ached to be more like Saul. She wished she wanted to be pregnant.

“What if…….” and she just couldn’t say it.

Saul tipped his head, “What if what?”

Helpless, Gail felt tears welling up. She couldn’t say the words. Wait a minute. She could say it; of course she could say it.

I don’t want to have it.

Wait. Say that out loud. Ignore that gentle smile on his endlessly patient mug; just say it.

“What if I don’t want it?”

Saul’s face froze and Gail had the brief sick thrill of having finally gotten through to him before fleeing to the john to throw up. She felt as if she was vomiting for half an hour and emerged from the bathroom wrung out and shaking.

Saul was gone.

Gail went to the fridge for a Coke but sensibly got a ginger ale instead and sat down. There.

That wasn’t so bad, now was it?

Photo by Jorge Láscar on Flickr


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