I Unlove You (12 page)

“
Look,
”
B
says, sighing.
“
This has obviously
come as a shock to both of us, but we
’
re managing and
figuring things out. And this one,
”
she continues, tilting her head to
me.
“
Is doing
…
okay.
”

“
Okay?
”
says Joey.
“
So, not happy,
then?
”

“
Goddamn it,
Joey,
”
I
hiss.

“
What I mean to say
is,
”
B
sighs.
“
It
hasn
’
t settled in yet. We
’
ve only just found
out. You
’
re the first person we
’
ve told, which
means, Joseph, you can
’
t say anything to
anyone.
”
Lowering her tone but adding more purpose to each syllable,
she leans towards him.
“
If you do,
I
’
ll kill you.
”

“
You
’
ll kill me? I should
kill you, getting pregnant. Aren
’
t you supposed to be
on the pill or something?
”

“
I am, but sometimes life has a
habit of happening.
”

“
Or ending, in this
case.
”

“
Damn it,
Joey,
”
I
sigh.

“
It
’
s okay,
sweetie,
”
she says, stroking my arm.
“
He
’
ll get used to it,
and in the meantime, won
’
t say anything to
anyone. Isn
’
t that
right?
”

“
What?
”
he
says.

“
You won
’
t tell anyone.
Say it, Joseph. Say you won
’
t tell anyone.
”

“
Like I would. If it was up to
me you
’
d take a trip to the hospital and never tell
anyone, ever.
”

Tightening her grip around my arm,
B
glares at him but
doesn
’
t say a word.

“
Okay,
”
he says.
“
Sorry. I
won
’
t. I promise.
”

Slumping in his chair, he looks at me with a blank,
lifeless expression. I wonder if this is how I looked the
moment
B
told me. I wonder if I looked so helpless and useless and
pitiful.

This feels like the morning after a heavy night of
drinking. My stomach swishes in circles, queasy and tender and
oh-so fragile. I shouldn
’
t feel physically
sick, but I do. Maybe I should be scared to an extent, but to feel
like this, and to act like this, and to look like Joey looks now,
the moment
B
shared the greatest news a man can
hear
…

I
’
ve wanted
B
for as long as I can remember, and
everything that comes with a life shared with another. That
includes a baby and a house, and moments that define who we are. I
want to be happy. I need to be happy. I
’
ll soon be a
father, and not only that, get to figure it out alongside the girl
I love.

This is life. This is the life I
’
ve forever
imagined. There
’
s so much time to
figure it out, and like all hangovers do, this one will soon end
too.

MAY 27
^TH
- MY PARENTS DINNER TABLE:

Telling Joey seemed to release a valve of sorts, the last
two weeks a surprising period of deep sleeps and stress-free days.
I
’
m not sure why, but I don
’
t sit at my
desk dwelling about the pitfalls and worries ahead, rather focus on
my daily tasks in hand. I
’
ve regained a part
of myself, returning home excited to see
B
as she tells me how
big our little bundle is, and about a new book I should read
because it
’
ll prepare me for
nappy-changing and baby-bathing and how to cradle them to
sleep.

“
I will read
them,
”
I said last night, as she placed yet another book on top of
my ever-growing stack.
“
But
there
’
s no rush, is there?
”

“
No,
”
she said, cocking her head.
“
Although,
it
’
ll arrive quicker than you think, mister. Just make
sure you read a few of them, okay?
”
she continued, lifting my arm and
wrapping it around her.
“
Speaking of books,
when are you going to clutter your own room with
them?
”

“
Not before we tell my
parents,
”
I said, caressing tiny circles into her palm.
“
Can you imagine my
mum
’
s face if she found them on my bed?
”

“
That
’
s why we need
to tell them.
”

“
We will.
”

“
You
’
ve been saying that
for two weeks.
”

“
I know, but
there
’
s no rush.
”

“
Aus,
”
she said, twisting from my
hold.
“
We have to tell them.
”

“
I know, but
—“

Placing her index finger over my
mouth, she shook her head.

“
Okay,
”
I sighed.
“
We
’
ll do it tomorrow,
at dinner.
”

Panic returned after that, an anxious beat haunting my
chest, although the tossing and turning of a restless night never
arrived. It
’
s strange to compare
my sleep now to that of a few weeks ago, as I
’
m sure I
should feel just as much panic. I suppose I do in many ways, but
it
’
s hard to determine how much. It comes and goes rather
than lingering all day long. I know I
’
m scared.
I
’
m sure I
’
ve yet to come to
terms with this. I can
’
t call whatever this
is
‘
excitement
’
, but it
isn
’
t dread, either. It
’
s something, and
it
’
s a much better something than the turmoil I felt
when
B
first told me.

“
Can you pass the carrots,
please?
”
I ask my father, inhaling the smell of boiled vegetables
and slow-cooked lamb. When I woke, I suspected the day would drag,
as I obsessed over my mother
’
s face and my
father
’
s tone. For some reason it
didn
’
t, just another normal day.

Within minutes my parents will know.
They
’
ll know that they
’
re to become
grandparents, that their lives are to change ahead of
schedule.
“
Thanks,
”
I say, as he guides the bowl into my
hands.

Holding it above the table, the light glimmers from my
father
’
s silver hair, his rolled up sleeve skimming the
top of the mashed potatoes.
“
No problem,
Dyl,
”
he says, glancing between
B
and me.
“
So, what have you two
got planned for the evening?
”

I
look at her and exhale, sensing any plans may alter once we share
our news.
“
Not much,
”
I say, stabbing a forkful of veg and raising it
to my mouth.

“
What are you reading at the
moment?
”
he continues.

“
Did you get the book I
recommended?
”
interrupts Mum, adding to Dad
’
s sentence, as
if they share the same voice. Growing up, each school year seemed
to begin with one of my classmate
’
s going through a
divorce. After a while it became so normal I assumed my own parents
would split up, often imagining how I
’
d take it and what
I
’
d
say.

As
time ticked on their bond grew tighter. I used to hate seeing them
kiss and hug and laugh with one another, because it
wasn
’
t normal. Arguments were normal. Distance and apathy.
Warped by Joey
’
s wariness towards
love and relying on others, I prepared for the inevitable: that
people leave, that love isn
’
t real, that
relationships run their course.

I
think Joey took solace from coming to my house and seeing my
parents, but he never trusted it. I can
’
t blame him,
because who would after watching their mother leave so young? We
used to swap stories about the books we read at bedtime, my father
reading to me, his mother reading to him.

One
night she read to him like she always had, the next, she
didn
’
t, because she was gone.

I
admired him so much, I knew he must be right, that the inevitable
would come between my parents, but meeting
B
changed this. Even
before we became an item I longed for her company and trust,
sensing peace when she was around. I knew life with her would be
easier than not, so as Joey grew older and more bitter, I lost
myself in books and poems that romanticised the gooey, screwy,
silly kind of love that couldn
’
t possibly exist,
yet must, as it did between my parents.

If
it could happen for them, maybe it could happen to
B
and
me.

“
I did,
”
I say, savouring the
array of fresh tastes revitalising my tongue.
“
It was
good.
”

“
What book?
”
asks Dad.

“
The Night
Circus,
”
says Mum.
“
I knew he
’
d love
it.
”

“
Is that the one you told me
about?
”
he says, motioning his lamb-filled fork towards
her.

“
One of the many
I
’
ve suggested. Maybe one day you
’
ll
listen.
”

He
smiles.
“
Maybe.
Maybe.
”
Clearing his mouth, he points his fork at
B
.
“
Do you give Dyl a hard
time like his mother does me?
”