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We slowly, mechanically, retreat from the kiss: tongues retracted, lips unconnected, eyes fully open as I remove my hands from his hair. My feet find the floor again. I stand. He straightens his shirt.
Like matched predators we watch each other warily, conscious of the unanswered question between us. What just happened?
“Yes?” he finally asks.
But I don’t know what to say. Yes what? Everything? Just everything? Just like that?
“I… I need to check on Landry,” I stammer.
The muscle in his jaw knots as he clenches his teeth in frustration.
“Yes. Fine. You should,” he growls.
Wobbly and breathless, I force myself to leave the conference room. Back in my office, Landry looks up with alarm when I open the door again.
“Are we in trouble? Do I need to go?”
Snatching my bag from the hook behind the door, I shake my head reassuringly.
“No, we are fine,” I say, though my voice sounds shaky and unconvincing. “But it’s late. Why don’t we just go? I can finish the rest of this at home.”
“Great,” she sighs. “I’m starving. Spaghetti?”
Hearing her easy distraction fills me with relief. I feel like I’m keeping her from the worst of this, keeping her mind on other things while we figure this out. If spaghetti makes her happy, let’s do it.
Back at home, we move easily throughout the kitchen, like the other thousands of times we have made dinner together. I even have a loaf of garlic bread in the freezer, and Landry pops her lips in delight as she tears open the crinkly cellophane.
“I swear I could eat this entire loaf,” she confesses, giggling.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I quip, trying to control my reaction when I look at her and see those bruises again. They take me by surprise every time.
Landry leans down and stares at her waistline.
“I hope you like garlic bread!” she declares to the fetus buried somewhere in her abdomen. “You are going to get a lot of it!”
Smiling grimly, I don’t say anything. I just get the plates and arrange them on the counter. A jar of premade sauce and some dried noodles doesn’t sound like a lot, but it is a good time for us to be together. Simple things like this make up a surprising bulk of normal family life.
“Pretty soon I’ll have to start coming up with names,” Landry muses, her cheeks stuffed with noodles. “What do you think of Charles? Too stuffy? How about Reggie or Blaine?”
Forcing myself to smile, I take a swallow of iced tea so I don’t have to say anything.
“Of course it could be a girl too. But I already have that name picked out. Loretta. Then she can be called Lori or Retta or Etta, her choice.”
Landry really does eat most of the loaf of garlic bread. I don’t know whether to be impressed or horrified.
“Clarissa? What do you think?”
I just shrug. “I don’t know. Probably better to wait. Maybe?”
Landry places her fork carefully on the plate. “Because you think I should give the baby up for adoption. Because you think the adopted parents should name the baby,” she declares accusingly.
Picking my plate up, I find an excuse to go over to the sink and not look at her directly. “I didn’t say anything like that.”
“But you are thinking it!”
The water pops on, and I rinse the plate.
“Clarissa! You’re thinking it. Right? Why don’t you just admit it?”
