Fluke (20 page)

I started to get the eerie feeling that Heather really
would
find me, and the thought of that confrontation made me very uncomfortable.
 
I grabbed another of the tests just in case the first one I chose was commonly known to be a bad choice to everyone except me (elimination of Fluke
F
actor) and briskly walked towards the end of the aisle to the checkout lanes.

Only two registers were open;
Gerland’s
was pretty quiet at this hour of the morning. Why they opened so early, I had no idea, but it was handy for those moments that someone might need an egg or some kitty litter.
 
Or, of course, pregnancy tests.

As I neared the first register, I noticed that there was a small floral department at the end of the store.
 
Small bouquets of flowers lined green shelves, and there was a cooler with roses visible.
 
After a moment's thought I walked over, and looked through what was there.
 
My eyes focused on a small plant inside of a dark pink basket on top and I picked it up.
 
It was a little cheesy, but I thought it
would be nice.
 
I wondered if Sara would somehow see a plant as a bad thing to give her.
 
Should I be getting roses? I browsed through the cooler with roses again, then walked back to the little plant.
 
I turned it around in my hands and decided that I liked it.
 
It was different.
 
Probably a fluke, just like me.
 
Sara would understand and appreciate it.
 
I walked to register one, plant in pink basket, and two home pregnancy tests in hand.
 
Twenty-seven dollars and change had me on my way.

****

I looked in on Sara again when I got home; she had moved to the center of the bed, still sleeping soundly.
 
One hand was extended outwards across my spot, and I wondered if she had been reaching out for me in her sleep.
 
It was a warming thought.
 
I pulled the door, left it open just a crack, and walked into the kitchen.
 
I scanned through the cabinets, and found one with some space where I set the tests and the plant.
 
I tried to think about what I was going to say when Sara and I finally did sit down and have our talk.
 
The truth was that I had no idea where to start.
 
In the end, I just reached into the refrigerator and gathered the makings for breakfast.
 
Setting eggs on the counter, I envisioned them cooked, and it was so real that I could smell them. My stomach growled quite loudly at me; I was starving…the last thing I had eaten was the oysters, and they didn’t last long inside of me.
 
I found peppers, ham, and cheese, and set them on the counter.
 
I would just let fate guide what I said.

But first, breakfast.

I had just set two plates on the table, a vegetable omelet and two pieces of buttered toast on each, when I heard the toilet flush.

“Are you cooking me breakfast again, Mister Fluke?” Sara called from down the hall.

I smiled and replied, “You bet.
 
Ask
Flukey
if he wants anything.”

“Will do,” I heard her laugh.
 
“We’ll be out as soon as I get dressed.”

I poured two cups of black coffee and two glasses of orange juice, admiring my work on the table.
 
I felt domestic at that moment, like a male Martha Stewart.
 
I let out a small laugh and said out loud, “Now, for the finishing touch, the piece de resistance.”

I pulled the plant out of the cabinet, the strange looking stick with one leaf hanging off of it in the pretty pink basket, and placed it in the center of the table.
 
It wasn’t the greatest of table art items, but it looked nice enough, and I knew that it would bring a smile to Sara’s face.

Sara came into the kitchen, wearing a yellow T-shirt I had never seen before and a pair of beige
capri
pants.
 
She looked
fabulous, as always, and I told her so as she sat down in front of her omelet.

I watched her to see the moment when her eyes caught the plant, but she didn’t look up from her plate.
 
She picked up her fork and started cutting off a section of omelet, slowly and quietly.
 
I leaned forward and kissed the top of her head as I sat down in front of my plate, ravenous, ready to tear into my omelet.

“Did you notice the centerpiece?” I asked, shoveling a hunk of omelet onto a piece of toast.

“Yes, it’s very nice, Adam,” she said, slowly working on her breakfast, not looking at me.

I furrowed my brow, slightly let down by her response.
 
I hadn’t expected fireworks from a silly looking plant, but I had figured with the current mood, it would have at least gotten me a kiss.
 
We ate our breakfast in silence, and I wondered if Sara had slipped into another trance.

She pushed her plate with the omelet only half-eaten towards the center of the table and lit a cigarette.
 
As she exhaled, I asked her, “Something wrong?” through a mouthful of toast.

She reached behind her, pulled something out of her back pocket, and tossed it onto the table.
 
As soon as I recognized the thin square item, I almost choked on my toast.

It was a picture, a picture of Sara, a picture of Sara when she was a little girl.
 
It was one of the pictures I had looked at yesterday, and I had apparently missed putting back in the shoebox.

“I found this on the floor of my closet,” she said, looking at me.
 
“Any idea why it might be out of its box?” It wasn’t exactly an accusing tone, but it wasn’t the most pleasant of tones, either.
 
It definitely confirmed my fear that she had discovered my venture into her private life.

I swallowed hard to get the soft hunk of toast down my throat.
 
It was the first time she had spoken to me with any sort of anger in her voice, and it made me feel terrible.
 
I felt like a shit, a big, nosy shit.

I thought briefly about denying it.
 
I almost said, “Well, I have no idea why this picture is out of its box,” but I knew better.
 
Nobody but Sara, Killer,
Flukey
, and I had been in the place
for a while, and Sara was too neat a person, too organized, to have a picture discarded on the floor.
 
I knew I just needed to own up to it.

“Sara, I’m sorry.
 
I just came across your pictures, and…” I started lamely.

“You
came across
them?” she repeated.
 
“Really?
 
How did you just happen to
come across
shoeboxes on a shelf in the back of a closet?” She tapped her ashes and looked at me, waiting for an answer.

“Okay, okay.
 
I didn’t come across them; I saw the boxes and opened them up.
 
I was just curious, Sara, that’s all.
 
I didn’t mean to invade your privacy or anything.” I explained, miserably.
 
“I saw the pictures and couldn’t put them down.” I lit a cigarette and tapped a non-existent ash into the tray.
 
I felt humiliated, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, his mother waving her finger at him.

She stared at me and I stared back sheepishly, the frown on her face accented by her tired-looking eyes.
 
The look on her face showed that she didn’t really want to be angry or upset with me, but instinct had overtaken her before she had time to think.
 
She took another drag, and her face started relaxing slightly.

“Well, Adam, if you wanted to see pictures, honey, all you had to do was ask,” she explained, the tone in her voice softening.

“I know, and I’m sorry.
 
You were at work, and I was bored, so I just…explored a little.” I picked my fork up, speckled with egg, and turned it between my fingers.
 
“I just wanted to learn more about you, I guess.
 
That’s all.”

She leaned forward in her chair and put a hand on my hand, forcing me to put the fork down.
 
“It’s all right, Adam,” she said.
 
“I didn’t mean to overreact.
 
I’ve just been such a private person for a long time…it’s a little hard sometimes for me to accept that I’m not alone anymore.”

The break in her anger triggered my idiot side and allowed it to surge forward.
 
I let it out this time by picking up the last corner of a piece of buttery toast and sticking it to my forehead, where the butter held it fast.

“You’re not alone anymore, Sara.
 
You’ve got
Toastface
Fluke stapled to your hip,” I said, toast stuck to my face.
 
She eyed the toast and laughed, and the anger vanished from her face, replaced by the smiling, laughing Sara that I loved.
 
The woman who, quite possibly,
had baby Fluke in her tummy, somewhere between a vegetable omelet and a slice of buttered toast.

After Sara removed the toast from my forehead and wiped it clean with a napkin, I cleared the table and started filling the sink with water and dish soap.
 
Sara sat in the kitchen, and we talked as I washed the greasy pan and the dishes.

“I like the plant, Adam.
 
It’s interesting.
 
Thank you,” she said to my back.

“I thought it would look good in our house,” I said, repeating the words “our house” in my head.
 
I liked the way it sounded.

“What’ll we do if I
am
pregnant, Adam?” she asked, and I could hear a trace of apprehension in her voice.

“Well, Sara,” I started, rinsing the pulpy residue of the orange juice from a glass.
 
“I don’t know.
 
How do you feel about it?” I didn’t know what to say, and I thought maybe she could answer for both of us.
 
Or at least I could hear her answer first before formulating my own.

I heard her light a cigarette and drop the lighter on the table.
 
“I don’t know if I want to be a mother, Adam.
 
I don’t know if I could get an abortion, though.
 
I don’t know what I think.” She sounded confused and tired, which echoed my sentiments.

“Well, I know one thing.
 
We need to figure out if you’re for sure pregnant or not,” I declared.
 
She looked at me with raised eyebrows, silently telling me that she already knew for sure.
 
I didn’t know much about women’s cycles, but if Sara had never been late before, then that didn’t bode well for us.

“I guess we’ll need to run to the drugstore,” she said.
 
I thought of the pregnancy tests in the cabinet, and wiped the suds off of my hands with a dishrag.

“No, we don’t.” I opened the cabinet and retrieved the two boxes, holding them in front of me, posing like a model in a home pregnancy test advertisement.
 
“
Toastface
Fluke has already taken care of that.”

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing
Toastface
is here with me,” she said, reaching for the boxes.
 
She turned them in her hands, looking at one box, then the other.
 
She set them on the table and asked, “Did you think to pick up any booze for us to celebrate the
results? Because you know I’ll need a drink afterwards.” She smiled at me, but I knew she wasn’t joking.

I shook my head, realizing that she was right…whatever the results of the pregnancy test was, we had reason to get drunk.
 
I found my keys and started for the door.
 
Sara hopped up and said she wanted to come along, so we left, off to buy booze.

In the car, headed to Barney’s Package Store, I asked Sara, “What if you are pregnant? Maybe you shouldn’t drink.”