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12
Mark
Sipping my beer, I watch Siobhan from the corner of my eyes. She's quiet, fiddling with the corner of the napkin under her cup of tea. She's staring out over the sea of people moving around us, but at the same time, she isn't really looking at any one thing.
I can't figure out what's wrong or changed, the past few days have been incredible. She's been nothing but smiles, and now she's withdrawn and distant. It doesn't make sense.
Following her eyes, she's fixed on a pigeon, blankly tracking it as it hops around the sidewalk.
“Crazy that a bug eyed bird like that saved thousands of lives.”
“What?” she asks, peering up at me with a lost look.
What is going on in her head?
“Pigeons,” I say, pointing to the bird pecking the ground around the trash can. “They were used to fly updates to soldiers in World Wars one and two.”
“Oh.” Her voice falters, lowering to a whisper as she gives me a weak smile. “I didn't know that.”
“What's going on with you?” I ask, pinning my eyes on hers.
Her lips fold down as she hugs her cup in her hands and arches her brows. “Nothing. There's nothing wrong. I'm fine.”
“It's something.” Scooting my chair closer, I clasp my hand around her thigh and give it a gentle squeeze. “What is it?”
“It's nothing. I said I'm fine.” Shaking her head, she looks at me, but she's still not here. Her mind is someplace else, and I want to know what she's thinking.
“Fine, if you won't tell me on your own, I have ways to get it out of you.” I dig my fingers into her leg. I squeeze harder just above her knee.
Sia giggles, jerking her leg free. “Hey, that's not fair. Tickling is torture, it's an unfair tactic.”
“Well, I'm not afraid to hit low to get what I want. So, you can tell me yourself or I'll work it out of you.” Moving my hand up, I poke at her belly, drawing out another laugh.
“Stop,” she says between chuckles.
“Nope, better speak up.” I lean closer and kiss her in the crook of her neck and nibble gently, making her shoulders scrunch up and her laughter grow.
“All right, all right, I'll tell you.” Pushing me away, she rubs the tingle off her skin with a smirk on her face.
“Good, so let's hear it. Why do you seem off today?” I lean back in my chair and watch her inhale a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Her eyes drift around my face, worry and fear coating her expression like a mask. Her lip starts to tremble, and her hands are shaking. Sitting up straight, she strips her eyes away and looks down.
“I just don't know how to say it.”
“Just say it.” Now I'm starting to worry. My heart begins to hammer inside my chest and my stomach clenches tight.
“I'm late.”
“Late?” I ask. “I don't understand what you mean.”
“Late,” she says again, her tone low and drawn out as her eyes reconnect with mine. “As in my monthly friend hasn't shown up yet.” Pursing her lips, she wraps her arms around her head and groans. “I mean, you're the only one I've slept with, and we haven't exactly been careful.” Her leg starts to bounce up and down rapidly and her eyes get big as saucers. “I just don't know what to think. I've never been late before, and I'm trying not to freak out, but I don't know what to do.”
Pregnant? A baby?
I'm struck with so many emotions at once. Fear, excitement, worry, happiness, all of them taking shape like a giant whirling tornado in my gut. They're wreaking havoc inside, pulling me in different directions.
But I can't be weak, I can't worry about myself right now. I'm not the one with sky high expectations and a family who chooses outward looks over inner happiness. She has enough on her plate, the last thing she needs to worry about is if I'll stay or run.
