Jessa James - The Baby Mission

I get up and head to the ensuite bathroom, not bothering to turn on any lights. In the bathroom, light is beginning to trickle in from above; some clever architect planned skylights through the whole house. The bathroom features bared cedar ceiling beams and simple white walls, which is a common theme running through out the house. The whole place was done by someone with more taste and spare time than I have, and it’s really minimal.

I brush my teeth in front of the giant mirror, inspecting myself. My beard is getting a little long, so maybe I’ll trim it today or tomorrow. I pause when I catch sight of the dual sink.

It’s not her sink, I remind myself. It belongs to whoever takes her place.

I hurry through picking some gym clothes, and then head down to the basement. I will finish my workout with some cardio, but now it’s time to pump some fucking iron in my home gym. I flip on the lights and touch a button on the wall to turn on the music. Rap blares out of the built in speakers, loud and fast.

Perfect .

I move around the machines, trying to decide where to begin. I start off easy with pecs then do traps.

After my first set of reps, I think of Emily again. I have a lot of mixed feelings about her, and about the end of our relationship. Enough that I took a long weekend off from work and went camping by myself to try to figure things out.

I camped out and lay under the stars, trying to commit to memory what exactly went wrong.

First off, Emily was probably pissed at my refusal to have her move in. Actually, I’d put off any number of things that signaled a long term commitment: getting a dog together, making vacation plans that were far in the future, even getting a family plan at the gym we both went to was too much for me.

Granted, she never really got mad anytime I just shrugged off future plans. Her mouth would thin, her eyes would narrow, but nothing that affected me directly. That’s how I managed to ignore her irate behavior for three years: being deaf and dumb.

So if I was going to learn anything from my failed relationship, I needed to figure out what I wanted. I also needed to commit to it. That was really the gist of what I took from the relationship.

Secondly, I figured that Mason was right when he accused me of going for the same type over and over again. Petite blondes carrying their yoga mats were my jam. If I were honest with myself, I liked that they were generally submissive and didn’t challenge me too much intellectually.

Basically, my type was the exact opposite of Cady, the girl I met the other night. I picture her, dark hair and grey eyes, taller than the girls I usually liked. She had breasts and hips, and an actual ass, not just a flat yoga butt.

And her personality is so different than anyone that I’ve ever dated before. She’s sarcastic and brainy, and she has a high-powered job at a law firm. She can stand on her own two feet, as opposed to Emily.

Emily had a lot going for her, but she also worked at a coffee shop and couldn’t live without roommates.

As I switch machines and really start to sweat, my mind starts to wander. First I think of work; I still haven’t signed Bryce, and I also have a meeting at work later today.

Then I think about Mason and Alex, my two best friends. I’ve got work buddies, but I’m really choosy about who I spend my downtime with. Mason is allergic to commitment, a new girl every night. I can’t believe he had the nerve to accuse me of only having one night stands.

And Alex… Alex seems to do well with women, but that motherfucker is so secretive. He could be fucking my mom, my sister, and my grandma, and no one would know. But whatever, he’s a solid dude. He always shows up when he says he will, even if that event is my grandfather’s wake.

I used to have more friends when I was in college, but they slowly fell away, pairing up and then marrying… then eventually vanishing. Mason and Alex are the only ones still standing, besides me.

Sadly, that’s pretty much it for what I have to worry about. I work out, I get shit done at my job, I hang out with my friends. My life is kind of empty, if I’m truthful with myself. At thirty five, I definitely thought that I would have married by now, maybe started a family.

Actually, that was what really shocked me about Emily leaving. I remember her finding the documents I had for a trip that I’d planned to take to Macchu Picchu solo.

“You weren’t planning on telling me?” she asks, throwing the documents down on me when I am lying on the couch. We’ve been dating for almost three years at that point, long enough for me to recognize her anger.

“Ohh… I mean, that’s like, three months from now,” I say, sitting up.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she explodes. She is really pissed off now, her blonde ponytail bobbing with every movement. “Seriously, how could you not tell me about this? Or… wait, do you already have a woman going with you? Omigod, are you cheating??”

“Whoa, whoa. First of all, no. Seconds of all, when would I have time?” I say defensively. “I’m just saying that… you know, it’s in the future. Who even knows what will be happening then?”

She fixes me with her gaze, pointing a finger at me.

“Are you questioning what will be happening three months from now in our relationship?”

“No…” I say guiltily. She stares at me for a second, and I start to question whether or not she can read my fucking thoughts. Because I said no, but what I meant was… maybe.

“You know what? That’s it. While you’re gone at work today, I’m moving my stuff out. Don’t bother arguing, cause I don’t want to hear it.”

“Wait, Emily—“

She pounds up the stairs, and I hear a faint slam. That would be the door to the bedroom.

Fuck.

The thing is, I went to work that day. I just figured that she would do what she normally did, go on a shopping binge and work out. Then things would be okay. I sent flowers from work, which I thought was a nice touch.

Only, I got home to find the house trashed, her keys on the counter, and a note.

Don’t EVER call me again.

I cringe as I listen to Kendrick Lamar, then turn off the rap. I finally head upstairs, grabbing my iPod on the way out. I head outside and start my run, with all the other rich people running early in the Buckhead neighborhood. I start the rap again, listening to Drake talking about how he’s famous.

I know that things with Emily fell apart because of me. That’s been made clear to me now, mostly through long nights of bitching about the whole thing to my friends. Alex and Mason listen, but they aren’t afraid to answer questions either.

So here I am, a newly… alright, not-so-newly single guy, on the prowl. The other night, I was pretty charmed by Cady… despite the fact that she’s not my type at all. Blonde, petite, amenable… none of those words applied to Cady.

Maybe that’s a good thing, I think. Maybe I need someone who isn’t my type, at all.

I try to picture myself dating Cady, holding her hand. Marrying her, seeing her face emerge from behind that white veil. Cady in the hospital, having our baby.

I can’t quite see it, but then again I’ve never been able to see it, not with anyone. Maybe that’s why I’m still alone at this age. Maybe I just have to pick someone who I think is worth my time and energy, and commit to her.

I pick up the pace, sprinting until I can no longer form thoughts.

I make it all the way to the parking deck at work and pull into my allotted space before I lose it. I turn off my car as the hot, salty tears begin to spill down my cheeks.

The goal, of course, is not to cry at all… but if I’ve got to do it, this is the place. Alone in my car, in the dimness of the parking lot, I am safe. I lean forward and rest head on my arms, which are propped on the steering wheel of my Mercedes. As I cry, my tears drip down onto my lap, wetting my white silk dress.