Something Blue

seven

"What's it say?" Marcus asked, as I emerged from the bathroom with the plastic stick in hand. He was waiting for me on his couch while flipping through a Sports Illustrated. "It says… 'Congratulations, Daddy.' "

"No way." "Yes way."

"You're shitting me." "Nope. I'm pregnant."

Marcus leaned back on his couch and closed his magazine. I sat next to him, took his hands, and waited for more. Perhaps an embrace, a gentle touch, a few tears.

"And… you're sure… that it's mine?"

"Yes," I said. "That question is insulting and hurtful. I haven't had sex with Dex since-well, since forever. And you know it."

"You're sure about that? Not even one time this month? It isn't the time to exaggerate, Darce."

"Yes, I'm sure," I said firmly. It was the truth, thank goodness.

I thought of my high school friend Ethan, who is fair and blue-eyed and how he had married his pregnant girlfriend, Brandi, also a blonde. Months later she gave birth to a dark-skinned baby with eyes the color of Oreos. Rachel and I felt so sorry for Ethan-for the heartache and humiliation he had to endure during his divorce. But I actually felt almost as bad for Brandi. For some reason, I identified with her in a kindred, fellow-rule-breaker way. I knew she must have suffered incredibly for nine months, hoping and praying that the baby would come out looking like her husband and not the Native Alaskan she was melting igloos with on the side. The waiting must have been agonizing. Just thinking about it made my stomach turn. So it was a very lucky thing that I hadn't had sex with Dex in at least a month. I was sure the baby was Marcus's.

I put the stick on his coffee table and stared at the two pink lines. "Wow," I said, feeling giddy. "A positive test. I've never seen one of those… and I've taken plenty."

"Should we do another test? Just to double-check?" Marcus asked, pulling another box of tests from the Duane Reade bag. "I got two brands."

"I don't think you get many false positives with pregnancy tests," I said. "It only works the other way."

"Humor me," Marcus said as he tore the plastic wrapper off another test.

I sighed loudly as I retrieved the mug full of my pee from his bathroom.

Marcus's face fell. "You peed in my Broncos mug?"

"Yeah. So?"

"That's my favorite mug," he said, cringing.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, just wash it," I said. "And anyway, haven't you ever heard that urine is completely sterile?"

Marcus made a face.

"Since when are you a stickler for germs?" I asked, looking around his sty of an apartment.

"I'll never be able to drink out of that mug again," he grumbled.

I rolled my eyes and stuck a fresh stick into his precious mug. Then I slowly counted to five aloud, before withdrawing it and placing it on the coffee table next to the first test.

Marcus studied the second hand on his watch until I said, "A cross! That means positive!"

"Lemme see," he said, looking stunned and wide-eyed as he examined the stick, comparing it to the diagram on the back of the box. "It looks kind of faint compared to the picture."

"A faint cross still counts," I said. "It's the whole 'you can't be a little bit pregnant' concept. Here. Read the directions."

Marcus scanned the page of fine print, obviously hoping to find a disclaimer-a section on false positives. A flash of fear crossed his face as he put the directions down, "So what now?"

"Well, for starters, we're having a baby in about nine months," I said jubilantly.

"You can't be serious." His voice had a hard edge.

I gave him a look that told him I was totally serious. Then I took his hands in mine.

Marcus stiffened. "Are you sure that's what you want? 'Cause we have other options."

The implication was clear. I raised my chin and said, "I don't believe in abortion."

I'm not sure why I said it, because I am actually as pro-choice as they come. Furthermore, I didn't particularly want to be a mother at this stage of my life. I had none of the biological cravings that so many of my friends had been experiencing lately as we reached our thirtieth year. And I certainly didn't want to gain a bunch of pounds. Or have all of that responsibility, and those restrictions on my freedom and night life.

But at that moment, I was inexplicably happy with my positive pregnancy tests. Perhaps because I was so wrapped up in Marcus that the idea of having his baby seemed thrilling. The ultimate romantic endeavor. Or maybe I liked the feeling of reeling him in just a little bit more. Not that I questioned his commitment to me. I could tell he was crazy about me in his own peculiar way. But he was one of those guys you could never quite control, and being pregnant with his child tightened my grip. Not that I consciously got myself pregnant. Not really. I thought back to our make-up sex. Clearly, it was just meant to be.

And even clearer to me at that moment was this: a positive pregnancy test meant that my wedding was off. The fact that my relief was so palpable meant that I had my true answer: I didn't want to marry Dex. In one instant, I felt over Dex and our fairy-tale wedding, only thrilled to be a part of an even greater drama.

"I'll tell Dex today," I said with an aplomb that surprised even me.

"That you're pregnant?" Marcus asked, aghast.

"No. Just that the wedding is off."

"Are you sure you wanna do that? Are you sure you wanna have a baby?" he asked, looking panicked.

"Positive." I looked over at the sticks. "Positive. Get it?"

Marcus just sat there, looking shell-shocked and a little bit pissed.

"Aren't you at all happy?" I asked him.

"Yeah," he said glumly. "But-but I think we need to slow down and discuss our… options."

I let him stumble on. "I could have sworn you said you were pro-choice?"

"Okay. So I am pro-choice," I said with an exaggerated nod. "And I choose to have this baby. Our baby."

"Well, take your time thinking it all over…"

"You're hurting my feelings," I said.

"Why?"

"Because I want to have this baby," I said, getting upset. "And I wish you felt the same… I can't believe you haven't even hugged me yet."

Marcus sighed and put his arms loosely around me.

"Tell me you're happy. A little bit happy," I whispered in his ear.

Marcus looked at me again and said unconvincingly, "I'm happy. I'm just saying that maybe we want to slow down and think things through. Maybe you should talk to someone."

I gave him a scornful gaze. "You mean a shrink?"

"Something like that."

"That's ridiculous. People go to therapists when they are filled with despair. But I'm thrilled," I said.

"Still, you might have some issues around this thing," Marcus said. He always talked in generalities about our relationship-some issues, this thing, our deal, the situation-and sometimes with just a quick flourish of his hand. It always irritated me that he thought a hand motion could capture our essence. We were so much more than that. Especially now. We were going to be parents.

"I have no issues. I'm in love with you. I want to keep our baby. And that is that." Even as I said it, I knew that that was never just that in my world. That was maybe that or some of that or that along with a dose of this. But I kept going, resolute. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a wedding to cancel."

And that's exactly what I did. I marched right back over to the Upper West Side to break the news to my fiance. I found Dex putting away his dry cleaning, stripping off the plastic coverings and separating his blue shirts from the white. For one moment, I couldn't do it, couldn't imagine telling Dex that after years of being together, we were finished. But then I thought about Marcus and drew confidence from him.

"We need to talk," I said, all business.

"All right," Dex said slowly. And I could tell he knew exactly what was coming. He had appeared clueless for weeks, but his expression at that moment told me that even men have intuition.

Mere sentences later our wedding was officially canceled. A seven-year relationship over. It was bizarre how fast and easy it was. Technically. Dex was the one to pull the cord, saying that it would be a mistake to get married. Hearing him use the word mistake in relation to me made me backtrack for a second, but then I convinced myself that he was simply acknowledging a reality I had created. He was reacting to my emotional and physical withdrawal from him. I watched him, with all that balled, dry-cleaning plastic at his feet, and felt sorry for him.

I kissed his clean-shaven cheek and said what people always say when they dump someone under amicable circumstances. I told him that I wished the best for him and hoped that he would find happiness. And I meant it on one level. After all, I certainly didn't want Dex to die alone. But if I'm completely honest, I'd say that I did want him to grieve for a good long while before seeking out his next girlfriend, a girlfriend I hoped would never quite measure up to me. Little did I know that he would be looking for that runner-up in my best friend's apartment.