Laura Resnick - The Misfortune Cookie

While I zipped and buttoned, feeling self-conscious as Lopez watched me, I said, “I need to go home and get some sleep. Because then I have to go look for a new job now that you’ve closed down my place of employment.”

“I was doing my job,” he shot back. “And if Stella didn’t want her restaurant to be shut down, then she shouldn’t have . . . Um . . . never mind.”

Apparently my expression had made him recognize the folly of justifying tonight’s events to me at this particular moment.

Lopez sighed and, in an apparent attempt to placate me, said, “Look, maybe some acting work will turn up soon. You’ll get some auditions and . . . and . . .” After taking a good long look at my face, he said in defeat, “I probably just shouldn’t speak, huh?”

“No. And that shouldn’t be a problem for you.” I picked up my daypack. “As I’ve learned this past week, you’re really good at not speaking to me.”

I turned away and stalked toward the exit, eager to get out of here—and away from him, before I either hit him again or else burst into tears.

“Esther! Wait!”

I heard his footsteps behind me, but I didn’t slow down, let alone turn around. I had a dark feeling that tears might triumph in a few more seconds, and I didn’t want him to see that. Being around him kept reminding me of the night we’d spent together, which made it that much harder for me to bear everything that had happened since then.

“Esther, stop, ” he said, right behind me now.

When I felt his hand on my arm, trying to halt me, I tried to jerk away from him. “Leave me alone!”

He tightened his grip, pulled me to a sudden stop, and turned me around to face him.

“Don’t! ” I yanked myself out of his grasp.

“Sorry, sorry.” He raised his hands, palms out, and took a step back. “Sorry, but this is important. There’s something . . .” He looked uncomfortable. “Something I . . .”

Against my will, I felt a little flutter of hope unfurl inside me. “Something you want to say?” I prodded.

“Yes.” He nodded. “Something I want to say.”

I hesitated only a moment. “Okay. I’ll listen.”

“Good.” He took a breath . . . but seemed to have trouble getting started. “Um . . .”

I waited, running his lines for him in my head: I’m sorry. I should have called. I’m a toad, a worm, a dung beetle. But I’ll do anything in the world to make it up to you. Can you ever forgive me?

That would be a good beginning. I waited for him to start there.

“There’s something I keep thinking about . . .” he said tentatively.

I can never apologize enough for the way I’ve treated you. I don’t deserve it, but even so, I’m begging you for another chance.

I liked that. He could riff on that for a while. And then he’d need to explain what the hell had happened. Since it was obvious his tongue hadn’t been cut out by marauding bandits, I tried to think of some other acceptable excuse for his failure to call me. Maybe . . .

As soon as I left your apartment, I was abducted by aliens and taken to the mother ship. They didn’t release me until tonight. Nothing less than that would have made me go a whole week without calling you after what happened between us.

Hmm. Maybe not.

I frowned as I tried to think of a more plausible reason that would be equally acceptable.

Nothing came to me. I started feeling vexed with him again.

A week! A whole week .

“Well?” I prodded, thinking this had better be good. Really good. “What are you trying to say?”

“Are you still taking the pill?” he asked in a rush.

I blinked. “What?”

“We didn’t use anything that night. You know—protection. And, uh, I didn’t ask at the time . . .” When I didn’t respond, he added, “It’s something we should talk about.”

“Oh, now you want to talk,” I said, feeling fresh outrage rush through me. “All week, you couldn’t be bothered to speak to me! But now that you’ve arrested me, you’re feeling chatty.”

“Could we please stick to the subject?” he said irritably. “Just for a minute? ”

“I am on the subject!”

“Are you still taking the pill?” His voice was getting louder. “That’s all I want to know!”

A man being led past us in handcuffs looked at us with interest. So did the cop who was escorting him.

Lopez noticed and made an exasperated sound. “Great. We’re the floor show again.”

I waited until those two men were out of earshot, then I demanded, “How did you even know I was taking birth control pills?” We had never discussed it.

“I saw them in your bathroom a few months ago.”

“You’ve got no right to search my bathroom!”

“I didn’t. You left them lying out,” he said. “I noticed them when I was, you know, using the bathroom.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have noticed,” I sputtered, too angry to care how lame that sounded. “It’s none of your business.”

“It is now, ” he pointed out.

“So this is what you’ve been thinking about?” I demanded.

“Yes.”

“ This is what you wanted to say to me?”

“Yes. ”

I thought about hitting him again.

When I didn’t answer him, he said in exasperation, “ Fine. Let me put this another way. Could you be pregnant now?”

There was a roaring in my ears for a moment, and then everything went silent. I stared blankly at Lopez, suddenly feeling drained and empty. The combination of anger, humiliation, and hurt that I’d been juggling for days caught up with me, as did my fatigue, my financial stress, and my anxiety about finding another job soon enough to keep myself going. I felt ready to collapse, and I could hardly form a coherent thought. I swayed a little, feeling a bit dizzy.

“Are you okay?” He reached out to steady me, then evidently remembered my reactions tonight to his attempts to touch me, and stopped himself. “Esther? You look a little . . . Are you all right?”

“Yeah. I’m just really tired.” My voice sounded dull and distant to me. I felt dull and distant now.

Lopez rested his hands on his hips, looked at the floor, and let out his breath slowly. “All right, look. Maybe this isn’t the time—”

“I’m still taking my pills.” I’d been on that prescription for several years. It helped stabilize my erratic cycle and control my symptoms. “And I’m definitely not pregnant.” Nature had made that quite clear in recent days.

He nodded. “Okay,” he said quietly.

I knew I was really mad at him, but I just couldn’t feel it now. Everything had shut down. I just wanted to lie down and go to sleep. Nothing else mattered.

“Are we done?” I asked wearily. “Can I go?”

“Yeah. But I want you to wait here a minute, okay? I’m going to get a squad car to take you home.”

Since I couldn’t afford to waste money on a cab, and the logistics of getting home by foot and subway at five o’clock on a frigid winter morning seemed overwhelming just now, I nodded my agreement.

A few minutes later, Lopez escorted me outside, where it was dark and bitterly cold, and put me in the backseat of a squad car. A uniformed policewoman was behind the wheel. Her male partner sat in the passenger seat. I nodded in response to their brief greeting.

Lopez said to me, “They’ll wait in the street until they’re sure you’re inside your apartment. Turn on a light so they’ll know, okay?”

I nodded again, too tired to speak.

He said to the cops in the front seat, “Miss Diamond lives on the second floor, and her living room faces the street. Don’t leave until you see the light go on.”