Page 12 of Death is Familiar

And I was spiraling.

Down. Down. Down.

If I felt this way, scared, embarrassed, angry, wouldn’t that be proof enough of what I should do? I had a duty to uphold, things I needed to do to stay out of prison. My life was dangerous. Being me was dangerous. And I couldn’t stop being who I was. That wasn’t an option.

Down. Down.

But maybe I was freaking out because it seemed a little too good to be true. Like I had been so convinced I wouldn’t have children that I was afraid to want them. But did I need another responsibility? Absolutely not.

Down.

And Jack. Jack who I’d avoided because I knew what having a child meant to him. Did I owe him a child? No. Not in the slightest. It was my body my rules. But did part of me, for some unknown reason, want to see the pure unadulterated joy on Jack’s face if he found out that he was going to be a father? To see him be a father?

I sighed. I knew that answer at least.

“One little Jack baby.” That’s what he’d said to me when we’d been roofied, his face holding nothing but unbridled joy. All he wanted was one child. Well, technically five, but he’d settled on the one. And even that was out of reach for him. He’d exhausted the loopholes. And that man loved his loopholes.

And maybe it was a mistake. Maybe I needed to know more. But despite my reservations, and the twist in my nerves, I texted Jack.

I hadn’t seen him since he dropped Todd and me off at the apartment. And though I wasn’t ready to broach the subject, I needed time with him. To know him better. To enjoy his company, again.

And maybe a part of me thought that knowing him better would help me make a decision. To tip the scales more in one direction than another.

But I knew that if I did choose to continue, and everything worked out—since there was a chance that things wouldn’t work out—I would want to make sure that the child was cared for. Deep down I knew, world’s best mom mugs were not in my future. I wouldn’t be perfect, and I wouldn’t expect them to be. What I’d want is for them to be happy. Not successful. Not rich. Not the best of everything and anything. Just… happy.

Happy.

And that was a pleasant thought.

Pleasant enough to stop my ruminating, and turn my attention to the distraction I purchased.

On my way back to the apartment, I picked up a copy of The Mountain Serpent King knowing I could use a diversion. Something just for me.

I sat on the couch, the book settled into my lap when a text came through, it was from Todd: HI TODD?

Well, someone got my message. I put the book down to reply: You told me to get out today.

I could only imagine the look on Todd’s face when he’d realized what I’d left for him: Lots of effort in your art. You have my attention.

My message, HI TODD, took a lot more time than I would have liked to admit. Walking up and down streets with Botan to form letters, like writing with an Etch A Sketch, over a number of city blocks. The Ds were tricky. Fortunately, Pennsylvania Avenue was on an angle.

I probably should have written something different. Less specific. But it made me smile, even while texting: Gave me something to do. Don’t mind me. As you were.

Todd’s active typing bubble appeared. I waited a minute or two, but the animated dots disappeared. No other message came through.

Maybe he had nothing else to say.

While I contemplated whether or not settling back down to read was worth the chance of interruption, my phone buzzed, twice. Each line a separate message.

But these messages were from Jack: Feeling human again, are we? Dinner’s on me if you are up for company…

Well, I had to admire how direct he was. Our first real exchange and dinner was already on the table. Barring the follow up messages I’d received when I’d failed to uphold my end of the release agreement, Jack had respected my boundaries and kept his distance while I took time to heal.

I expected to have to do some smoothing over before the possibility of getting an invite. Thankfully, it didn’t look like Jack was holding a grudge, so I typed back: Are you inviting yourself over?

Again, Jack’s texts came through as separate lines: Me? Why I’d never. I’m inviting you to my place.

He promptly followed up with his address. A quick search revealed it to be a townhouse in Foggy Bottom.