The Lies That Bind(56)

I know the next step is to talk to Matthew. It’s the right thing to do—the only thing to do. Yet here I am, holed up in my apartment, putting it off, eating ice cream in bed. Late that afternoon, I finally pick up the phone. Only I don’t dial Matthew. I call Scottie instead, which is depressing in its own right, and not at all the way I dreamed this moment would go down with my husband.

    After I tell Scottie everything, he says, “I hate to say this, but you may want to at least consider—”

“Do not say it.”

“Okay.”

“Were you actually going to suggest an abortion?” I ask, thinking that I feel heartsick enough remembering the drinks I’ve had since conceiving.

“I mean…kinda sorta…yeah.”

“You know I can’t do that,” I say, having had this discussion with him before, several times, including when I declined his invitation to go to a pro-choice march in Madison. “And besides. What if it’s Matthew’s? I’d be killing what would have been our firstborn.”

“Abortion isn’t killing,” he says. “And a fetus isn’t a child.”

“Let’s just move on,” I say. “There’s no use debating these points because I’m not getting an abortion. It’s just something I personally can’t do.”

“Okay. So then you still have two choices,” Scottie says. “You tell Matthew you’re pregnant and leave it at that…or you tell him you’re pregnant and confess that it could be Grant’s.”

“Right,” I say, my stomach in knots.

“Well, I bet you can guess my vote,” he says.

“You vote don’t tell him?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, why even raise that possibility?”

“Because it’s the truth,” I say.

“Yeah. But a truth he doesn’t want to think about….I mean, he’s going to love this baby no matter what.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then he’s a jerk!”

“I don’t know if that’s fair. And regardless, shouldn’t I find that out now?”

    “Ohhh,” Scottie says. “You mean, like, use this as a test? You tell him the truth, and if he’s a jerk about it, then you don’t marry him at all? Call the whole thing off?”

“Um, care to tell me why you sound so hopeful?” I snap at him.

“I’m not hopeful,” he says. “I’ve already begun planning your bachelorette party….I was thinking Vegas, since you’ve never been.”

“Oh, that’ll be so awesome,” I say, laughing so I don’t start crying. “Pregnant bride-to-be takes Vegas. Real classy.”

“First of all, the baby will be born by the time we take that trip. Second of all, who cares about all of that?”

“I care! You really don’t see this as upsetting?” I say.

“I see it as a challenge. You know, like being gay is a challenge. But I wouldn’t change it.”

He’s trying so hard to make me feel better that I can’t help being a little touched. “Thanks, Scottie,” I say. “Truly. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Scottie says, then laughs and adds, “even if you are a little bit of a ho.”



* * *



—

Somehow Scottie calling me a ho gives me the boost I need. It helps me acknowledge the absolute absurdity of the situation—and thereby gives me the courage to bite the bullet and call Matthew. I tell him I need to see him tonight—and ask if he can come over after work.

“Sure. Are you okay?” he asks, sounding worried.

“Yes,” I say as strongly as I can, convincing myself of the same. “But it is kind of important.”

“Wedding related?” he asks.

“Sort of,” I say.

“Are you still marrying me?” he asks with a laugh.

“Yeah,” I say. “Just come over, please?”

“All right. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”



* * *



—

    Three torturous hours later, I am buzzing Matthew up to my apartment, having finally showered and put on clean clothes. I’ve also taken all four pregnancy sticks, wrapped them up in tissue paper and ribbon, and stuck them in an old gift bag. I feel like an utter fraud, but I figure I will fake it till I make it, even if that process ends up taking nine months. Even if it requires one last lie of omission—for now, anyway—as I rationalize that there’s no way to go back in time and change what happened; that a baby needs to be loved; and that I’ll just do what’s the least harmful for both Matthew and the child.

When I open the door, Matthew looks more than a little worried. “What’s going on?” he says. “You’re scaring me.”

I smile and tell him not to be scared, even as my own heart races with something approaching terror. “I just…have something to give you.”

“What?” he says.

“C’mere,” I say, taking him by the hand and leading him into the living room, where his gift waits on the coffee table. I point at it and say, “Open it.”