Page 46 of Collide

He scoots forward to the edge of the cushions, resting his arms on his knees and clasping his hands.

“What are you saying?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t keep seeing each other.” I’m saying this more and more often as I grow larger and larger. It’s impossible to hide my stomach, and I don’t want to, but I’m also concerned for Gage. He can’t be a rock god with women fanning over him if he has a wife and kids. The temptation will be too great although I’m well aware of Gage’s strong willpower. Still, the road is an unforgiving place, and Gage is headed for another tour in the late summer.

“We aren’t doing this,” he argues. “Let them talk.”

“But someone like Sasha might be better for you,” I say, and he turns to face me, his expression the angriest I’ve ever seen from him. “At least you’d have sex and a pretty girlfriend who isn’t pregnant.”

“I said we aren’t doing this.”

“But—”

“Does it look like sex is all I want? Do you think I’m holding out until you give in, using marriage as an excuse?” His voice rises, his face turning read.

“I just don’t want to ruin this for you. Rock star lifestyle. Models. Women. Sex on the road,” I add, swallowing the bitter pill of him having carnal knowledge of someone skinny and sleek with shiny red hair and without constraints like a child.

“The only one ruining anything is you when you talk like this. Fuck them,” he says, using air quotes. “And fuck Sasha.” He stands, and I bite the inside of my cheek. You did, I want to say, feeling anger I shouldn’t feel that he was with someone else.

“Fuck them,” he repeats, pointing at the television set while he glares down at me. “The bigger question is what do you want, Ivy?”

Ah, the million-dollar question. I want him, and I tell him often enough, but it’s always mixed up with sexy times. I can’t even question Gage’s feeling because I know he really, really likes me, but is that enough? He’s already invested in the baby, and that’s a plus. He attends all the doctor’s visits, even going so far as to tell the physician he’s the dad and taking the browbeating she gave him about his whereabouts for the first four months. I felt sick after that visit like I feel sick with him angry with me and waiting on an answer.

“You know what?” he snaps. “I can’t do this tonight.” He steps around the couch and slips into his construction-style boots, not bothering with the laces. He tugs his jacket off the pegs by the door and drapes it over his arm. When he turns to give me a final look, I’ve made it up off the couch. As I stand, the baby rolls and gives a little kick. This always makes me smile, and my hand instinctively covers the basketball as the announcer called her. I walk around the couch and stand before Gage.

“The baby’s kicking,” I say, reaching for his hand to cover my stomach. Gage’s shoulders fall, and he shakes his head. He leans forward and kisses my round belly as he often does.

“I love you, baby,” he says to the kicking motion within me. As he slowly stands upright, his eyes lock with mine. “I’ll always love you, no matter what.” He’s talking to the baby still, but the look he gives me pierces my soul. He doesn’t love me yet, he often says to clarify, but he says we’ll get there. Love. But he loves the baby. Tears well in my eyes as he looks away from me.

“I’ll call you tomorrow. I’ve got a thing with the band later tomorrow night, so I don’t think I’ll see you before you go. Have a safe flight.”

I’m gob smacked by his exit. He never skips kissing me, and he’s never looked so sad. I collapse to the floor, clutching my kicking baby who seems to know I’ve been in an argument.

That’s right, little fighter. It’s only you and me. We’re the only ones I can count on.

+ + +

“Baby girl.” The familiar endearment from my uncle makes my eyes swim as I step into his arms two days later. Gage didn’t call. He sent a text. We didn’t see each other although I don’t recall him having a thing, as he said. I rapidly blink away the traitorous tears, not wanting my uncle to worry or know my troubles with Gage.

“How you feeling?” he asks, pushing me back so he can look at me and the bulging stomach that bumped into him when he hugged me.

“I’m good,” I tell him. I have a doctor in Seattle for regular checkups and another doctor in LA for the delivery, but this isn’t really what he’s asking about. I’d like to tell him I’m happy because, for the first time in a long time, I am. I’m happy with Gage, despite our fight, which brings a sting to my eyes.

Is it really over between us?

When I think about him, I realize he’s good for me. The longer we’re together, the more I accept I’ve missed out on the benefits of a boyfriend. Food delivery service. Late night phone conversations. Holding hands. And kissing. So much kissing.

“How’s Seattle?” He redirects his question as we settle on the leather couch. My uncle keeps a loft-style apartment in LA although he could live in my mother’s house. He doesn’t like the sterile feel of it any more than I do, and it’s one reason he refuses to move in there. He also says the house is mine, and he doesn’t want to impose, but I don’t really have a say in what happens with the sprawling ranch up in the hills outside LA. I’ll never live there once I graduate, which reminds me I need a place to live.

I’ve been thinking more and more about the next steps in my life. Finding a job doesn’t seem like a possibility with my focus on graduation and the arrival of the baby. I worry if I don’t get a job right out of school, though, I’ll lose valuable time and training experience. It’s a constant quandary for me, but as I sit next to my concerned uncle, I know things will work out. Somehow.

“Seattle is great.” I muster up a cheerful voice and will away the tears over Gage as I tell him about my classes and clinicals, holding off on the one question Tommy doesn’t like to address. He still doesn’t approve of my dating Gage, saying it’s bad press for him and additional stress for me. In some ways, I’ve wondered if my uncle is right, but after my fight with Gage, I don’t know if there’s anything left to worry about. I hold off the forbidden topic as long as I can. Tommy grits his teeth and clenches his jaw, and I hold my breath, knowing the question that’s coming.

“How are the boys?”

The band has completed a bunch of demos at a studio they found in Seattle, and they seem pleased with their new sound. They haven’t found a new bassist and have decided to forego one for a while. They also haven’t found a manager. Without one, they are the ones to schedule interviews, performances, and more on their own. It’s wearing Gage down as they really are ready for the next level of success.

The thought makes me pause. Gage already has so much stress with the band; he doesn’t need more from me and a baby.