I poured some wine for each of us and decided to check on her after all. It wasn’t like her not to say something when she got home. Even when she was mad about something at work, she usually said hi. One time, she stormed in and dragged me to bed. That rough tumble would stick in my mind forever.
This time though, there was no hello. Instead she was drawing a bath. That was different.
I took the wine, holding both glasses by the stems in one hand, and heading to the bathroom. I knocked softly on the door. “Trina?”
There was no answer.
I tried the handle, but it was locked. I cursed myself for fixing the lock on the bathroom door after she’d had a snit about no locks in my house worked. “Trina, baby. Are you all right?”
I heard a growl. I straightened, surprised by it. Something was really wrong.
“What’s going on?” I asked through the door.
There was no answer. Now I was a little annoyed with myself. The very least she could do was to tell me to fuck off if she didn’t want to talk. “Listen, I’ll knock the door down if I have to.”
“I’m fine.” She said in that peevish tone that suggested I was an annoying gnat. I hadn’t heard that in a month.
“I have wine. Or do you want something else?”
“I want privacy,” she bit out.
I contemplated knocking the door down, but knew that would make her even madder. We had only a day or two left in this fake marriage, and I didn’t want to ruin it. She’d quarantined herself because she needed time, and not only should I respect that, but also, maybe she’d done it so she wouldn’t be a jerk to me. I had to appreciate that she’d made an attempt to control her natural urge to lash out at whoever was around.
I left her there, going to the kitchen. I drank my wine and finished preparing dinner, listening for her movement. Eventually, she drained the tub and I heard her rummaging around in the back. But she didn’t come out to the kitchen.
Deciding to check on her again, I went back up the hall to hunt her down. She was in her room, not mine, a fact that made my heart thud in my chest. Had whatever happened changed her mind about me? I scanned my brain for something I might have done to piss her off, but couldn’t think of something. Then again, sometimes it didn’t take much.
I knocked on her door. “Dinner is ready.”
She didn’t respond. I stood there like an idiot trying to decide if I should invade her space or let her be. The protective man in me wanted to invade and make sure she was okay. The smart man warned me that she’d be pissed off that I felt protective of her, and annoyed that I wasn’t respecting her need for space. With a sigh, I gave in to the smart man, and headed to the kitchen.
Pulled the lasagna out, serving two plates on the off chance she joined me. I put the salad on the table and grabbed a beer for me. I set her wine by her plate.
I sat by myself, something I’d done for years before, but tonight I felt lame. Why was I eating all by myself like some poor loser?
I heard movement, and she entered the eat-in kitchen area. Without a glance or a word to me, she sat and stared at her plate. I’d expected her to look angry and irritated, but instead, she looked sad and lost.
I wanted to take her hand and comfort her, but knew her well enough that such a gesture might not go over well. I inhaled a breath knowing I needed to steel myself for her wrath. “What happened? Did the mayor or Sinclair, or that new girl do something?”
She was silent, staring at her lasagna. I wondered if she heard me. Finally, she looked at me, and my heart broke from how lost she appeared.
“I’m pregnant.”
What?
There were a lot of things I imagined Trina saying that would have her this torn up. She and Sinclair had had a fight. The mayor fired her. She decided to take the job offer from Stark, which could be why she and Sinclair had a fight. But she didn’t say any of those things. She said, “I’m pregnant.”
I was gaping, but I couldn’t seem to stop as I simply stared at her. Inside, I had a lot of feelings, and while not all of them were bad, I wasn’t sure which I should vocalize that wouldn’t have Trina going even further down the road of complete undoing.
“How long have you known?” Of the bazillion questions in my head, that one was the least important, and yet it was the one that escaped my mouth.
“This afternoon. I didn’t even suspect…I just missed—” She choked on her words, but she didn’t need to finish. I knew enough about women’s reproduction to know what she meant.
She sniffled. “I’m never late.” She shook her head. “It’s all my fault.”
Had she not been on the pill? I suppose I was a douche for assuming she was. With another woman, I’d have used a condom for sure, but Trina was a Boy Scout, always prepared. There’s no way she’d have had sex without protection. She wouldn’t risk upsetting her highly ordered life. No, she’d have kids when she was good and ready. She’d probably have a sex schedule set to ovulation.
The end result was that it didn’t occur to me to ask about birth control because she’d have stopped me if she’d been unprotected. Right?
“It’s not all your fault. I
