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I down my drink. She isn’t wrong.
“You know your characters in When Tomorrow Ends, Jen and Harry?”
“Sure.”
“I want a love like theirs.”
I wouldn’t be so sure about that, I think but don’t say. “It’s fiction.”
“Maybe,” she shrugs. “But I don’t buy it.”
“Apparently, you already did.”
“You got me,” she answers with a frown. “What happened to your face?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I stand with the intention of refilling my glass. “Why are you here anyway? You shouldn’t be here.”
She shakes her head slowly from side to side. “You’re right. I don’t want to talk about any of that stuff either.” My eyes move toward her legs as she crosses and uncrosses them. Is she being suggestive? Or trying to get comfortable? She smiles that smile again, letting me know it’s the former. “I want to talk about us.”
“There is no us.”
She glares up at me and cocks her head. “Who are you trying to convince?”
How I end up in the guest bathroom with the girl propped up on the sink is anybody’s guess. Although I suppose when you mix alcohol and loneliness, it isn’t so hard to imagine. “You know, George,” she tells me afterward, “I’ve always been your number one fan.”
I wash up, while simultaneously strategizing my exit. “I don’t think you should tell Liam.”
“Liam who?”
“Seriously.”
She fixes her dress and then checks her face in the mirror. “Okay. Whatever.”
“I think he can be dangerous.”
She cocks her head. “What?”
“Just don’t say anything,” I tell her fumbling with my belt. “And stay away from my wife.”
Putting herself between me and the sink, placing her hands on either side of my broken up face, she looks me in the eye. “I want to have your baby.”
I don’t know if I’m surprised. But I realize in that moment just how much more I have bitten off than I can chew. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This one isn’t just trouble; she’s smart.
I’m actually kind of impressed. She’s offering me the only thing that I really want. A career comeback is all I’ve been focused on for months—years, if I really think about it. But why? It’s not for the accolades.
It’s for the legacy.
I’ve spent my entire career chasing that, because I know, after I’m dead and gone, nothing besides my work will be left behind. Every part of me that was supposed to exist in the future, the parts that were supposed to carry on long after I’m gone, are dead.
“Imagine it, George,” she murmurs. “A little boy—or a girl—who cares? Imagine them running around this place.”
The problem is I can imagine it. It’s the best and the worst idea I’ve ever heard. I shake my head, but the questions keep coming. How do you weigh the two? That which you know is wrong but also feels very right? How do you make the choice between your head and your heart? Is it even possible trying to please someone outside of you while trying to please what’s on the inside at the same time? “Please tell me you’re on contraception.”
“Only time will tell.”
I push her against the sink. It hurts my back. It hurts everything. “This isn’t funny.”
“Isn’t it?”
