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Lyndsey sighs and buries her face in her hands, “Fuck. That’s wild! What the fuck? How are both of you feeling? Does anyone want a coffee? I need a coffee.”
“I’ll take a drip,” Allison says.
“Same here!”
Lyndsey walks away, and I turn back to Allison, “I’d go for something harder after news like this, but us Exters have addictive personalities. Oh, and be careful with psychedelics. We have bad trips. I dropped acid once, and it was great, but I thought I was a pelican for four hours.”
“Got it. What about your parents?” Allison asks.
“Oh, they’re great! 90 and 91, healthy as horses.”
“Really?”
“Yeah!”
“I … I don’t have any grandparents, at least I thought I didn’t. My mom’s parents died when I was three and five.” Allison explains.
“Well, my mum’s going to shit herself when she finally achieves her lifelong dream of being a grandmother. She’s, like, made for it. She crochets. If you send her your measurements, she’ll make you a sweater.”
“I crochet, too!” Allison exclaims. She looks at me, and I realize that her eyes are shiny with tears.
“She’s going to love you. She’s not great with technology, but if you want, I’ll set up a Skype call with all of us,” I say.
“That would be amazing,” Allison whispers.
I hug her again, partially wondering how I’m going to break the news to Michael that he’s someone’s dad — and that someone happens to be my girlfriend’s best friend.
Fuck, Christmas is going to rule! Maybe we can all go to Bristol and have a proper English Christmas. I haven’t been home for Christmas in years.
Lyndsey returns with our coffees, and I’m relieved she’s smiling. She settles into the seat beside me, and we spend the rest of the afternoon with Allison. Lyndsey follows me to my house in the car. And we make dinner together, but there’s this sort of morose air in the house that we can’t seem to shake.
We take Violet for a walk, and when I reach for her hand, Lyndsey steps to the side, acting like she is avoiding a crack in the sidewalk. I ask if she wants to read at night, and she nods. We settle into opposite chairs in the library. She’s ten pages into her book when she sets it down and says the worst sentence in the English language:
“Vince, we need to talk.”
My stomach plummets. I take a deep breath and cross the room until I’m sitting beside her.
“What’s up?” I ask, offering her a smile. My face falls when I see tears streaming down her face. I start to panic.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Are you okay? Are you pregnant? Do you have cancer? Is this some sort ofA Walk to Remembersituation?”
Lyndsey shakes her head and sniffles. “No.” She says, her voice cracks, “I think we need to break up.”
Time stops. The room shrinks. My palms start to sweat as my heart pounds in my chest, battering against my ribs, desperate to escape. I can feel the pressure building behind my eyelids. My mouth is dry. I swallow nothing.
“Why?” I croak out.
“What’s wrong? Is it me? Who am I kidding? It’s probably me. I-“Now I’m crying, “I’ll do anything for you.” I say. I contemplate begging on my knees, and I’ve never been a man who’s had to beg.
“It, it’s complicated. Vince, ever since Thanksgiving, I’ve had this feeling I can’t shake. It’s like, I look at our lives from a birds-eye view, and I can’t see how they fit together.”
“What do you mean? We have the same job! We want the same things! At least, I thought so.”
“Vince, we’re in different places in our lives,” Lyndsey says. Tears are streaking down her face. It’s devastating.
“No! We’re in the same place!”
“But today, there was a solid twenty minutes where it occurred to me that you’re old enough to be my father. Granted, you’d be a young dad, but still. We’re in completely different places. I don’t know how much longer you want to tour. I’m just getting started.”
