“Shh, baby.”
Paul pulls me to his chest, melting me to him by tucking the top of my head under his with his chin. This isn’t weird of him. I practice repeating that. It doesn’t take long to seep into my thoughts because I need him. Mom’s face reappears like a floating buoy refusing to stay underwater. Her look is plastered with the disgust that only I’m capable of producing in her. It’s a scowl that would make someone think she was watching a movie where a child was abused.
But, no. It’s just what I do to her.
Here, Paul smells like a fresh breeze, a hint of fragrance in a stale room. I’m nuzzling his neck without realizing it, drinking in his scent. Or maybe him. All of him.
“You’re gorgeous, ‘kay. It’s not you.” Paul’s lips brush my forehead lightly, or maybe it’s my imagination. I am carefree in his arms.
After a minute or so, Paul stiffens and begins prying me off him. “Okay, Katie,”
I know it’s bad. When Paul calls me Katie, it’s bad. Katherine? I run.
He says, “I’ll leave you alone,” and shuts the bathroom door, echoing my solitude in this little room.
What!? I didn’t marry him so he could walk out on me when it got hard. He’s put up with Mom accidentally cutting up his clothes because she thought my hooded sweater was his, and has been the physical barrier between Mom’s thrashing hands and me backed-up in a corner.
I mutter to myself how silly I’m being. Paul’s the type to run to the store to buy me painkillers, a hot water bottle, a soft toy and movies to watch while I’m resting for days and puking my insides out. Paul would never leave unless I needed time to think.
A realization hits me. I’m pregnant.
* * *