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Silence has power, and running mouths tend to be void of anything meaningful to say.
Though sometimes I feel that Avraam’s silence has nothing to do with the power games he plays. This week, it feels angry, and I don’t know why. It’s nothing I’ve done, but there’s something hanging above him that’s pressing his shoulders down and causing him to drag his feet.
And then there’s the silence. It’s not a calm silence. It’s more like a quiet rage, and I’m not sure it’d be a good idea to ask him why.
But I need to get to the bottom of it. I can’t have him acting like this when I reveal to him that I might be pregnant.
No period. I haven’t taken a test yet, but I’m almost certain I’ve flown too close to the sun and melted my wax wings. Now, I’m falling to the ground and my only hope of redemption is landing in Avraam’s strong arms.
But what if he steps away, allowing me to hit the ground on my own? What if he has no interest in becoming a father? Would he leave me high and dry?
I’d like to think otherwise, but we’ve never talked about kids. He probably assumes I’ve been on birth control this entire time, and that means he can shift the blame to me.
And I’d probably take it. I mean, I should’ve stopped him and I didn’t. It takes two to get pregnant, and we both took part in this. At the very least, I can’t put all the blame on him. I have to take responsibility.
He’s coming over today. He likes stopping by on Thursdays, so I’m going to hint at the potential pregnancy and see what he says. If he’s still in a bad mood, I’m not hoping for much, but at least I’ll know if he can even tolerate talking about kids.
If not, I don’t have high hopes for our future together.
And that breaks my heart to consider.
I’m cleaning like crazy to cope with it. I’ve already made lunch for Avraam because I’ve figured out what he likes. For some reason, he’ll always take me out to fancy places to get steak and lobster, but he secrets prefers ramen noodles. I figured out they used ramen and cigarettes as currency when he was incarcerated, so I guess it makes sense.
Easier for me, anyway. I can always have some noodles on hand in case he’s hungry, which is often. A man his size needs to eat a lot of food to sustain himself, and I’m often amazed by how much he can put down in one sitting.
I keep checking the time as I clean, unable to go more than thirty seconds before looking at my phone. Avraam never texts, but he does show up around the same time every Thursday, and he’s later than usual.
Much later. It’s starting to worry me, but I don’t have his number.
Dammit, why does he always have to be so secretive?
I clean every piece of furniture twice while my mind goes through every possible scenario. He’s been driving that car all around town, and I know for a fact he doesn’t even have a license yet.
I’ve told him to at least take some driving lessons, but he acts like he can just jump behind the wheel after twenty-five years and know exactly what he’s doing.
Never mind he’s never seen a push-start of a regular sedan before. He thinks his Honda is an exotic sports car or something. It’d be cute if I wasn’t so terrified of something happening to him.
The police aren’t my main worry, sense they’re fairly absent around here. I’m more afraid of him getting hurt. I’m so emotionally attached to him that it’s not even funny. I’ve even almost said the L-word to him once or twice, but I bit my tongue.
Too soon. He acts like he’s obsessed with me, but with his recent moodiness I’d better not get ahead of myself.
So, I pretend I’m not falling in love. I feel something, but it can’t be love yet. I won’t allow it.
Finally, after toiling over every piece of furniture for the third time, I hear a knock on my door. It’s heavy and deep, just like Avraam always knocks. No sense of urgency, either. It’s commanding, not rushed.
“Coming,” I call, dropping the roll of paper towels onto the hallway table and rushing toward the door. I try not to act too eager, but I have butterflies in my stomach every time that I see him.
The door swings open, and I gasp when I see Avraam hiding behind a bundle of roses so big that I don’t even know how he’s going to get inside with them.
“Please excuse my lateness,” he purrs, forcing the roses through the doorway and handing them to me. I nearly fall back from the sudden change in weight.
“It’s-it’s fine,” I say with a nervous laugh as I stumble toward the kitchen. “These are really nice!”
“Thought you might like them,” he says, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. Always so cocky, but that’s one of the reasons he’s so charming.
I place the flowers on the table, their sweet floral scent expanding into the kitchen immediately. It’s going to smell like heaven in here for the next few days. It eclipses the smell of ramen, which I’m thankful for. Never did like that soupy smell.
“What the occasion?” I ask, turning to him with a broad smile.
