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“Next is the best part,” I said.
The barman, whose name was Peeved Pete, held up the cod. Mitchell closed my eyes as the fish came toward him, but Pete winked at me and pulled it back. I swooped in and pressed my lips against Mitchell.
He actually hollered.
The crowd went wild.
“Sorry,” I said. “Can’t resist that pucker.”
“Me next!” A guy with a strong Newfoundland accent called from the crowd.
Mitchell gave a growl, swinging around, but I pressed my hand to his cheek. “Don’t worry, b’y,” I whispered in his ear. “I’ll get him with the fish if he tries anything.”
“All right, on with it!” Peeved Pete shouted. The music intensified, and this time Mitchell kept his eyes open while Pete angled the fish toward him. The giant man pressed the fish’s cold, fishy lips against Mitchell’s.
The crowd hooted as he gagged, and took the glass of screech proffered by the assistant, who winked at him.
“Watch out or you’ll get the fish now,” I warned her, grinning.
Mitchell downed the fiery glass of alcohol—then looked as if he might retch it right back up. “Here,” I said, handing him my soda water.
“You’re a real Newfoundlander now,” Peeved Pete sang as he clapped Mitchell on the back.
“I kissed a fish for you,” Mitchell said drunkenly.
“You did.” I squeezed his hand. “And I’ll never do it for you.”
He gaped, then reached forward and swung my legs up with surprising agility given his slowed reflexes. Then he carried me right out of the bar as the crowd cheered on.
It was a short walk back down George Street to the hotel, but when we passed a convenience store, I told him to wait outside while I ran in. Nerves tinkling like the bells on the door, I headed for the pharmacy.
“Gum?” Mitchell asked when I came back out. “Or more fish?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” I said, hooking my arm through his.
Mitchell looked at me gravely. “Winona, I have to tell you something. I don’t think I can make love to you tonight. I’m too far gone.”
He waved his arm back in the direction where we came. “The screech!”
I laughed. “I know, baby.” Then I used my shoulder to get him out of the cold and into the hotel lobby. “We can do that tomorrow.”
It took all my effort to get him stripped down and into bed, and though all I wanted to do was the same so I could curl up next to him, I went to the bathroom to wash up, taking the little baggie from the store with me.
It was when I was talking to Mama that the thought had first occurred to me. That Mitchell and I had spent that time together, and that I still hadn’t gotten my period after that. I recalled missing a pill that first day I’d been with him, and I couldn’t remember if I’d caught up the next day or the one after.
That whole time had been a blur.
But now, apparently, it was a clear line. Two of them, actually.
My mind reeled. Somehow, I washed up, bringing the test with me. I got into bed feeling like the world was spinning, even though miraculously, I hadn’t had a drink tonight.
I left the test on the bedside table and climbed into bed, my heart thumping wildly.
I was going to have a baby.
We were going to have a baby. Worry began to spin out around me, and I caught my breath as I lay down.
Mitchell groaned, already half asleep. He pulled me into his arms, arranging my head so it was on his chest.
