WOUNDED BY HER
Exerpt
Jordan. Lisa and my baby. Jordan. Lisa and my baby. Ah, fuck. What do I do now?
Lisa has made it painfully obvious over the past week that she has reservations about being pregnant. She has not talked to me about any of them and I feel like I am running in circles. Something has to give with her. She is going to tell me what she is thinking tonight whether she wants to or not. I cannot continue in this circle of uncertainty.
Sitting down for dinner, I look to Lisa and ask, “So are you ready to talk about the baby?”
“Not really, but I guess I owe it to you and myself to go ahead and get this over with.” Lisa answers, her head bowed, avoiding eye contact at all cost.
“What are you thinking?” I ask, curious of the reason why she will not look me in the eyes.
“I am not sure I want a baby at this point in my life. I know you are older than I am, and I understand that you want a son. I’m not so sure I am ready to have a child. I worry about the possibility that I will have to raise our child by myself. It is no secret that I was raised in a family of police officers. I understand the possible repercussions all too well. I know all about the constant worry. Even though my dad is close to retiring, my mom still worries just as much today as she has for almost thirty years. I don’t want to live like that, worrying all the time.”
“First of all, you knew I was a cop when you moved in with me; when we started sleeping together. Did you not think about all of these possibilities then?” I ask, anger bubbling to the surface at her ignorance. “Lisa, I cannot guarantee that nothing will happen to me, that holds true for all families, not just those of cops. People die every day. Even if I were not a police officer, I couldn’t guarantee that something will not happen.”
“I understand that. I just don’t want to be left without anything to fall back on. I still want to finish my degree in Business Management. Having and raising a child hinders those plans immensely. In addition, we are not married; we live together and sleep together. More or less just roommates seeing there is no true commitment here.” She states motioning her hands between the two of us.
“We are more than roommates and you know it.” I argue, my appetite dwindling with every sentence spoken between us.
“Yeah we fuck every now and again but technically we are just friends sharing a house, sharing a bed. We are not much of a couple, you go your way and I go mine most of the time. How do you think that will look to everyone? I will look like some whore who got knocked up by accident.” She exclaims.
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