A Life More Complete (28 page)

I make my way to the pitcher of
sangria on the table and pour myself a glass. Downing it in under a minute I
pour another and drink it down like a fish. I decide that restraint is not my
middle name and neither is self-control, so I pour a third glass and wander
over to the pool.

“Do you like it?” I hear from behind
and I don’t even have to turn around. He stands next to me and smiles brightly.

“Of course I do, Ben. You are a true
talent.” I step closer to him closing the small distance between us and hug
him. His body, his smell, just being near him makes my body tingle. It races
from my stomach through to my fingers and chills run over me. His arms wrap
around my small frame and the pressure from his body is calming.

“Engaged already, huh? You didn’t
waste a second,” he says making the situation slightly awkward, but I try to
ignore it. “Are you here with Tyler?”

“Yeah, he’s here. I heard you came
with a date, too.” I try to sound indifferent, but it’s hard. I have no right
to feel slighted or upset, but part of me does.

“Gotta pass the time somehow, right? Jessica,
her name’s Jessica. She’s playing bags with some of Jon’s friends. I’ll
introduce you to her later.”

We talk and the conversation comes
easily. I ask how Roxy is doing because I miss her as much as I miss Ben. He also
fills me in on his job and all his employees. We talk about his recent trip
down to Baja to surf, something we’re both interested in, and so the
conversation flows. He asks about Trini and I give him the condensed version
and he admits he’s been following it, but only because it concerns me, and as
he says it, I blush. I realize we’ve been talking for at least thirty minutes
and there’s been no sign of Tyler.

“It’s been great catching up with
you. I’m glad we still have the kind of relationship where we can be friends.”
I say, smiling and he hugs me a little tighter.

“I told you once a long time ago that
you didn’t have to be my girlfriend to be in my life. I enjoy being around you
and I’ll take what I can get.” He pulls away and smiles weakly.

“Thank you,” I whisper as I can feel
the tears forming. I know he’s still hurt, but there is no way he would ever
let on.

Tyler strolls up seconds later with
two beers in his hand. Giving me a Bud Light again, he smirks at me with a
pissed off look on his face. “So you gonna introduce me?”

I breathe in deeply, “Tyler this is
Ben Torres and Ben, this is my fiancé, Tyler McCarthy.” I emphasize the word fiancé
hoping it will subdue Tyler’s ill-mannered behavior. I should know better by
now. He’s about to bait Ben into fighting with him. The thing that Tyler doesn’t
know is that Ben won’t buy into it. He just won’t. It’s not in him to fight,
especially publicly.

“So I hear you’re a day laborer or is
it a migrant worker?” Tyler says with that smirk still on his face.

“Tyler! What is wrong with you?” My
eyes widen and I can’t seem to make him budge as I push him with both hands.

“Krissy, it’s okay,” Ben say
completely composed. “I think you’re misinformed...” Before Ben can finish his thought
Tyler jumps in again.

“My apologies, I just assumed you are
since you’re Mexican. Don’t they all work in the trade?” The appalled look on
my face is only getting bigger. I can’t believe this is happening.

“Tyler! Please stop.” I look over at
Ben who doesn’t seem to be phased by this debacle. “Look Ben. I’m sorry, but we
obviously need to be leaving. I’ll see you around.” Ben gives me a slight nod
to acknowledge my apology. I shove Tyler again and this time he moves, but he
begins laughing as he grabs my wrist and tugs me toward the car. I will not
have this argument with Tyler in front of Bob’s house.

I climb into the driver’s side of the
car and start the engine, while Tyler seats himself with a thump in the
passenger seat. Before backing out I text Bob and apologize for leaving without
a good-bye. Melinda hasn’t even arrived, so I leave that one to a later
conversation. I put the car in reverse and floor the pedal. Being this close to
Tyler is nearly impossible right now. He opens his mouth to speak and before
even a syllable is uttered I lay into him.

“I swear to God Tyler if you open
your fucking mouth it will not be pretty. Don’t even test me. Right now I’m so
angry with you I can’t even...” My words fail me at that moment while we are
flying down the 405 at an obscene rate of speed. I have turned into an extra
from Fast and the Furious as I pass cars, cutting them off and weaving. I need
out of this car. I can feel my anger building inside and a new and recent
development are the tears that seem, to come when anger hits me. (If I’m being
honest I seem to be crying at nearly everything lately.) They pool in my eyes
and fall silently down my cheeks. The humiliation and the frustration are
taking its toll on me when a stifled sob escapes my lips.

My little car jumps the curb with
great force when I pull into the driveway. I storm out of the car, up the
stairs and into the house. Slamming the door behind me, but it flies open as
Tyler smacks it with his palm. It hits the wall behind it and placing a small
circular knob shaped hole where it bounces off.

“How dare you!” I scream.

“How dare
you
!” he screams back. “I had to watch you press your tits up
against some other guy’s body, laugh at his jokes. Do you have any idea what
you looked like?”

“Grow up, Tyler. Grow the fuck up! I
know exactly what it looked like. It looked like someone talking to a friend. It’s
you who sees it for what it’s not.” I run my fingers through my hair completely
exasperated by this. I can’t take it any longer. “We’re done. I need you out.” My
tone is suddenly controlled. I pull the ring from my finger setting it down as
I walk past him into my bedroom. I climb into the shower and cry.

Just over four weeks have passed
since our blow out. I haven’t spoken to Tyler nor did he try to contact me. It’s
all very reminiscent of our original disgusting mess of a break up. The worst
part is that I’m not even nearly as upset as I feel I should be. I’ve been
spending my not so lonely nights living it up with Melinda. The two of us
picked up right where we left off. She’s hell bent on finding me someone new
and if not someone new just someone to bed for the night. I’ve never been one
to take home random guys from a bar and sleep with them, yet her promiscuous
behavior seems somewhat appealing given my current single situation. Yet I still
can’t do it. She’s all for me staying single since we spent the last couple of weeks
drinking at all of her favorite local hot spots. It’s starting to catch up with
me. My exhaustion is off the charts and my waistline is beginning to take a
hit, something I’ve never once struggled with. Coupled with eating out,
drinking and my lack of exercise my pants are beginning to create a lovely mini
muffin top and I fear for anyone within shooting distance of the weak button on
my pants. Today is no exception. The skirt I’m wearing is leaving a button
imprint on my stomach as I sit through an incredibly boring meeting at work.

Bored and annoyed, my conscience, now
my new best friend, has been telling me I made the best possible choice to walk
away from Tyler. Alone or not, it didn’t matter anymore.

Ellie begins babbling incessantly
about something I could care less about and when I yawn for what feels like the
hundredth time in an hour she gives me the stink eye. I widen my eyes and
stretch my arms above my head to orientate myself back into reality. But within
seconds I’m yawning again and mulling over my grocery list and what bikini to
buy from the latest Betsey Johnson line when a little blip goes off jolting me
from my previous thoughts. Another yawn escapes my mouth. Melinda slaps my leg
under the table and leans in close to me.

“Stop yawning. Shit, you look like a
damn fly trap.” I barely hear her as I grab my BlackBerry from where it lies in
front of me. The blip I can’t ignore, but Melinda I can. I scroll through my
calendar and there it is sitting directly in front of my face—my missed
period.

“Excuse me,” I say with too much
force as I push back from the table and head for the door. My fingers tap as I
seek refuge in the bathroom. I line the toilet with at least fifty sheets of toilet
paper each one tearing off the roll one sheet at a time causing me to curse
them every time. I hike my skirt up and pray that the cotton crotch of my
underwear is stained with that tell tale sign, but it’s not.

I pull out my phone and calculate exactly
how late I really am. Between the break up, work and being totally exhausted I
haven’t even noticed that I’m late. I’m never late. I’m one of those
set-your-watch-by-it-every-twenty-eight-days people. But somehow it slipped my
mind. According to the little red “P” marked on my phone’s calendar I’m almost
exactly four weeks late.
Four weeks?
Holy
shit. I really am oblivious and this now explains the extreme exhaustion. I’m
pregnant!

Last Friday I even fell asleep at my
desk waking a half an hour later with a small puddle of drool under me and the
imprint of my mouse pad on the side of my face.

I can’t be pregnant. You have to have
unprotected sex to get pregnant and that I know I didn’t do. I try to remember
all the times Tyler and I had sex over the last few months and it’s too many to
count, but I do know a condom was used every time.

Kicking the nine million tiny single
sheets of toilet paper into the toilet with the tip of my shoe, I try to
process exactly what is going on. I finally chalk my late period up to the
stress of the break up, but that thought just isn’t cutting it. Something is
off and I know it. I run into Melinda in the hallway while I’m walking back to
the conference room in a stupor.

“You okay?” she asks. “You’re being
totally weird.” The pause between her speaking and my first word is unusually
long and she begins to look annoyed.

“Uh, yeah. No. I don’t feel good,” I
say shaking my head. “Tell Ellie I went home sick.” I brush past her and grab
my things from my office. I need to get out of here.

I pull into the Rite Aid parking lot and
put the car in park. I’m going to end the suspense right now. I try to think
back to the last time my period was late and all I can recall is when I was a
freshman in high school and I began running on the cross-country team. The
intense workouts caused my period to go into hiding for a few months. After
that it remained the only constant I ever had in my life. Like a barnacle it
was shackled to me forever or at least until menopause.

I’m deep breathing in the Rite Aid
parking lot trying to figure out what would make my reproductive organs decide
that now would be the perfect time to hate me, but nothing pertinent comes to
mind. Resigned I leave the car.

I scan the signs hanging from the
ceiling as I try to locate the aisle I’m looking for, but the signs don’t say
anything like “Aisle for possibly knocked up single twenty-eight year old”. After
a few minutes of aimless wandering, a sales person asks if I need help finding
anything.

“Pregnancy tests?” I ask using only
those two words.

“Aisle two with baby items,” she says
smiling as if she knows my secret and is somehow thrilled for me. I guess the
look of disbelief on my face isn’t as apparent as I think. My palms begin to
sweat and I can feel the perspiration building under my arms as I head down the
aisle. Baby items, really? It’s like the whole aisle is saying, “Welcome to
your future”. Diapers, formula, pacifiers, diaper rash cream, and wipes, it’s
all here neatly wedged and perfectly faced next to the condoms and pregnancy
tests. It’s all overwhelmingly ironic.

I never thought there would be at
least ten different types of tests to choose from. I grab a nice assortment,
since I have it firmly rooted in my head that a false positive is entirely
possible and I need more than one test to confirm what I know to already be
untrue. There is no way I’m pregnant, but just to be on the safe side I choose
three different tests.

I toss the three tests onto the
counter in front of a teenage boy with acne-riddled skin and the smell of
patchouli radiating from his clothes. He rings them up without a word and I
tell him I don’t need a bag. He hands me the three tests and says, “Good luck,
lady.” He has no idea how much I need that right now.

I drop the tests on the seat of my
car and stare at them with an intense longing to go back in time and figure out
exactly how I ended up in this situation. Well, I know how I ended up in this
situation; I wasn’t fifteen anymore.

Arriving home, I put the tests on the
kitchen table and choose the least offensive looking one. They’re all offensive
at this point, but I make my choice based on the fact that the box is
unassuming and plain. I pull the Rite Aid brand test from the box, unfold the
directions that are now the size of a map of United States and begin to read. Step
one: Pee on stick. Step two: Wait three minutes. Step three: Read results. That’s
the condensed version. So I open the other two packages and find very little
modifications to the rocket science process. I take the foil wrapped stick into
the bathroom and commence peeing on the little absorbent tab.

I set the test on the toilet tank and
close my eyes. When I open them back up my eyes focus on the pee stream moving
slowly down the stick and through the little plastic window. First a light blue
line appears and then, as I feel my heartbeat quicken and my stomach churn, a
second blue line much darker than the first.
Three minutes, my ass!
That was more like three seconds. A series
of irrational, but totally rational thoughts fly through my head. Maybe it’s
too soon to read the results. I should wait the recommended three minutes and
that blue line will disappear. I retreat to the kitchen and chug a full glass
of water.