I nod and he looks relieved. I can tell that a part of the relief is that he’s wondered if I broke up with him for someone else.
He sinks down beside me on the bed.
“So do you want to start by telling me what’s going on or maybe just explain why you fucked me if you’re not interested in getting back together?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to do either.”
Neil makes a small laugh. “That wasn’t an option. I’m only letting you choose where we start.”
I take a moment to try to organize my thoughts into a disclosure that won’t amplify Neil’s uncharacteristic, volatile state.
“I was involved with someone else for a while, but it’s over.”
That seems to calm Neil a little and he nods.
“Are you in love with him?” he asks, his voice rough.
I shrug. “We’re over. It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to talk about that.”
“How long were you together?”
Fuck, why that question? There is no way to answer it without telling Neil things I don’t want to tell him. After several minutes carefully crafting the best way to answer, I’m trying to sputter out my response when all words take flight and I am knocked off my feet by what I am feeling.
I scramble from my bed and run into the bathroom to the toilet as the bile pushes upward from my stomach to mouth. I almost don’t make it and I barely manage to lift the lid and lower to my knees before the violent spasms start.
Oh fuck, oh fuck. Oh fuck. Not again. It’s getting more intense each day, as intense as it was yesterday. Over and over again I throw up, until I am sure there is nothing left in my stomach.
Struggling against my body, I pull myself up in front of the sink and splash water on my face. I breathe in and then out, hoping it’s passed, but I can feel my stomach take over again and I slouch over counter.
I can’t stop the spasms. There is too much rushing through me all at once.
I start to pant and splash more water on my face. Please, I don’t want to be sick all day today. Not now. Crap, how is it possible for there to be so much acid-tasting yellow bile?
Just the smell of it makes the sickness intensify and I vomit again. Panting heavily, I reach out, grab a hand towel, turn on the water, and once it’s soaked I hold it against my face.
I sit on the floor beside the toilet. Oh please, let that be the last. Breathe in. Breathe out. It goes away faster when I stop fighting it.
“When were you going to tell me that you’re pregnant?”
Oh no!
I look over my shoulder to find Neil watching from the open doorway. He waits until my labored breathing subsides.
“When were you going to tell me?” he repeats, more harshly this time.
The anxious and alarmed arrangement of his features warns me that he thinks he’s responsible for this. I say, “I hadn’t planned on telling you.”
Something changes in his eyes. It is something I’ve not seen before. The lines of his face harden in front of me inch by inch.
“Are you saying you weren’t going to tell me because you wanted to take care of it privately or because it isn’t mine?” he asks, his voice faint and emotion-roughened.
Crap, I didn’t want to tell Neil this, not like this, not this way, not ever. The answer will hurt us both too much if I allow it voice in the room. The truth will also make abundantly clear the parts of our history Neil doesn’t know and I’m suddenly desperate for him never to know that I was with Alan while we were together. Even though Neil and I understood we had an open arrangement, I don’t want him to know this.
My silence intensifies his anger.
“Fuck, Chrissie, don’t you think I deserve an answer to that?”
The knot in my throat is painful. “Yes, you deserve an answer. It’s not yours, Neil, and yes, I planned to take care of it privately, and yes, I didn’t want to ever tell you or anyone.”
His lower teeth cut into his upper lip, and it looks like he’s struggling with something only loosely internally contained.
Finally, he sinks down on the floor beside me, close but not touching. Minutes pass in heavy silence and it feels like neither of us knows what to say to each other.
Neil looks at me. “Does the guy know?”
I shake my head and his eyes flash at me.
“Don’t you think he deserves to know, Chrissie?”
“He doesn’t care and he doesn’t want to know. He ended it with me. We’re over. He doesn’t care about me. OK?”
My lips tighten as I struggle not to let surface how those words hurt me, but the words rip at my heart since they force me to remember that Alan doesn’t love me anymore. I set my washcloth down on the tile and lean back against the tub.
“How pregnant are you?” he asks.
I shrug. “Three months, I think.”
Neil looks alarmed again. “Think? Haven’t you been to see a doctor? If you don’t know how pregnant you are how do you know it’s not mine?”
I give him a hard stare since I’m not explaining that one to him. “I just know, Neil. It’s not yours.”
He shakes his head again. “You need to see a doctor.”
“I’m going to the clinic tomorrow. I’m doing it all in one appointment. Go to the clinic, get a pregnancy test, exam and termination all in the same day. According to Rene it’s no big deal. She’s had two abortions.”
“Fuck. I could have gone my entire life without knowing that about Rene. Is that why she’s so happy I’m here? She thinks I knocked you up? Is that why she wants to have breakfast with me this morning?”
I grimace at him saying knocked-up and murmur, “No, she doesn’t know and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t tell her. You’re the only person I’ve told. Jack doesn’t even know.”
His eyes fix on my face. “Are you going to tell me who you’ve been seeing?”
For a moment I debate whether I should and then I wonder why I am being stupid about this. Neil knows practically everything. Why not just be honest? Why not tell him everything? I already feel better, more calm inside, after the little I’ve already shared with Neil. Maybe if I tell him everything I’ll stop feeling awful and alone and afraid.
“I’ve been seeing Alan Manzone for almost three years. The baby is his.”
My voice is so quiet I can barely hear myself, but I know Neil heard me because his entire body tenses.
“Three years? You’ve been fucking Alan Manzone for three years?”
The way he repeats that makes me flinch.
“Is that why you broke up with me?” he asks.
His eyes burn into me and reluctantly I admit, “Yes.”
“Fuck, Chrissie.”
His legs come up in front of him, knees bent, and he plants his elbows on them, his face resting in his hands, his fingers tightly clenched in his hair.
“What else don’t I know? You might as well tell me everything, Chrissie.”
I’m so ashamed.
“You know everything, Neil. I’ve told you everything.”
He takes a slow, deep inhale of breath and then looks up. “Do you want me to stay longer? Go with you? Be with you during the appointment?”
I can’t believe Neil just offered to do that for me. “I was just going to go alone.”
“No, Chrissie. And I won’t let you. Fuck, I’m staying in Berkeley as long as you need me. I’ll go with you.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“You don’t have a choice. I’m staying. I’m doing it. You’re not going alone,” he announces stubbornly.
I drop my gaze to my clasped fingers resting in my lap. “Thanks.” I’m barely able to choke out that word before I turn into him and start to cry. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything. I don’t know why you would offer to go with me or why you always are so nice to me.”
His arm encircles me. “I love you. I’m pretty fucking pissed right now, but I love you.”
Shame burns my digestive track. “You should hate me.”
“Nope. Not doing it.” His hand moves gently on my back and once I’ve calmed he turns to look at me. “You need to call him.”