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She doesn’t respond but storms out of my apartment.
I return to her apartment thirty minutes later and let myself in. Knocking once loudly on the door while opening it. She’s sitting at the kitchen table, eating the ice cream I bought directly out of the carton. Normally that sight would make me happy, but right now I’m just pissed as hell at her.
I throw an envelope on the table. “Take it.”
She looks at it and then looks up at me.
“Open it.”
She eyes it suspiciously and then pulls it closer to her. She picks it up and peaks inside. “For fuck’s sake, Declan.”
It’s twenty-five thousand dollars.
“Don’t try to return it or I swear to god I’ll set it on fire in front of you.”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t need this much.”
“Well, you wouldn’t fucking tell me how much everything costs.”
She closes the envelope and slams it on the table. “You’ve made your point. Congratulations on being rich, I guess.”
I put both my hands on the table, palms splayed out and say, “This money is forhim, Maggie.Our son. Not for you. You aren’t indebted or beholden to me in any way. It’s for our fucking baby.”
She winces and slams her spoon into the ice cream. She takes two deep breaths and then says, “I think it would be best if we communicated through lawyers from here out.”
Anger ripples through me. I want nothing more than to smash something with my bare hands, but instead I say, “Fine, Maggie. Whatever the fuck you want.”
––––––––
We haven’t spoken indays. Not since the fight about money. I thought we were making progress. She hasn’t come over for sex. We haven’t gone on a date. I keep replaying everything in my head. Maybe I was just a fool for pushing the money thing.
I settle into bed. I haven’t been sleeping well since our fight. It’s late, but my phone chimes. I know that’s either James or Maggie. Everyone else is silenced right now. I sigh and grab it. Either way, I can’t imagine it’s something good.
Maggie: SOS. Something is wrong.
I barely finish reading the text and I’m out of bed pulling on pants and racing toward her apartment. Her door is locked.
“Goddammit,” I mutter as I stumble back into my apartment and grab my keys. I let myself in. As soon as I do, I hear moaning coming from Maggie’s bedroom. I run as fast as I can – the moaning growing louder as I approach.
My heart stops when I see her – bent over at the waist, hands gripping the bathroom sink. There’s vomit in the toilet. She’s breathing shakily. Finally, her breathing normalizes, and she looks up at me. “I’m having contractions. It’s too soon. Declan, it’s far too soon.”
There’s panic in her voice and in her eyes. She sinks to the floor.
I walk closer to her, “Could it be Braxton-Hicks?”
She looks terrible – pale and sweaty. “I started feeling sick yesterday, and...”
I bend over and feel her head – she’s burning up. “Goddammit, Maggie. You have a fever.”
Why didn’t she call me sooner? I want to lay into her for not telling me.
“I started having contractions this morning, and I was hoping that they might be Braxton-Hicks, but they are getting closer together and stronger. I’m feeling worse. I’m so dizzy I can hardly stand. I just started vomiting.”
I reach over and flush the toilet. She turns her face toward me, tears streaming down her cheeks and says, “Declan, I think I’m in labor.”
“Did your water break? Are you bleeding?”
She shakes her head. Well, that’s something.
