Authors: Stacey Wiedower
Spotting her purse on the back of a kitchen chair, Erin rifled through it for her keys and darted out the door before she lost her nerve. In the car she turned the radio up loud, letting a particularly obnoxious Pink song drown out her thoughts.
Inside the store, she gave a cursory read to the claims on the boxes, choosing a kit labeled First Response that contained three test sticks. She wedged the bright pink box between a loaf of bread and a bunch of bananas, feeling like a fugitive as she laid the three items on the checkout conveyor belt.
She rushed back into the apartment, her heart pounding an uneven rhythm in her rib cage. Sherri was in the kitchen, and as soon as Erin walked in she called out, "Have you seen my computer bag?"
She came into the living room, took one look at Erin's face, and said, "You're taking a test, aren't you?"
Erin nodded absently, dropping the grocery bag on the coffee table and whipping out the pink box. She began tearing it open as she walked back to her bedroom. Sherri followed her. On her way to the bathroom she stopped, perching on the edge of her bed to read the instructions in the package insert.
"It says it's most effective first thing in the morning," she said, looking up at Sherri.
Sherri sat down beside her. "You can still do it," she said, nodding. Erin was surprised at the authority in her tone.
"You've done this before," she said in a flat voice.
"Lots of times," Sherri said. "And I know other people who've done it, too, and it doesn't matter what time of day you test. If you're preggo, you're preggo."
Erin looked at her doubtfully and then back down at the box, feeling suddenly very naïve.
She read the instructions one more time, slowly and thoroughly, before taking the box with her into the bathroom and shutting the door. She slid one test stick from the box and peeled open its plastic package, following the steps to the letter.
For sixty long seconds, she prayed harder than she'd ever prayed for a single pink line.
Decisions, Decisions
Erin pulled up to the curb in front of the pizzeria at 4:59, surprised to find an open street spot this time of day. She slid her car into it, her eyes scanning the patio for Devon's blond hair before she even cut the engine. He was there, sitting at a table near the one they'd occupied on their first date. She knew he'd seen her because in his position he had a full view of the street. But he wasn't looking up.
She took her time getting out of the car and sliding her credit card into the slot in the meter. She felt exhausted, and she hadn't even spoken to him yet.
When she reached the table, she paused before saying anything or sitting, her hand resting on the back of the open chair. He gazed at her evenly, and she couldn't decipher anything from his expression.
"Hi, Erin," he said. "Long time, no see." His tone was dry, but there was humor around the edges.
She smiled—tentative, abashed—and sat down. "Hey Dev."
"I went ahead and ordered some wine. I hope you don't mind." He gestured to the half-f glass in front of her.
"I don't," she said, but she didn't reach for it.
"I'm sorry," she said, as he said, "Look, I've been—" They both laughed nervously.
She nodded toward him. "You first."
He picked up his own glass of red wine and took a sip. "I've been thinking about you…about things with you and me. I'm sorry I came on so strong." He stared at her for a few seconds, and she didn't attempt to interject. "I knew where your head was, and you weren't keeping any secrets from me."
He paused again, longer this time.
"I haven't met anybody like you in a long time, Erin. I like you a lot."
The last statement seemed to make him uncomfortable, and Erin assumed, as she'd known from the minute she met Devon, that he wasn't used to being in this position. He was a self-assured man who wore his heart on his sleeve. He'd been hurt by his ex-wife, yes, but she guessed that otherwise he hadn't faced much rejection.
The silence stretched on for another moment, and she realized he was waiting for her to talk. She half-smiled at him.
"I like you, too, Devon," she said lamely. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. I don't have a single excuse for not returning your calls. I just—" She fumbled for the right words. "I'm not ready to be in anything serious."
"I know," he said quickly. He smiled in a conspiratorial way that caught her off guard, and heat rushed to her face. After a moment he said in a low voice, "I was just hoping it wasn't anything that happened in bed."
Erin's breathing sped up, and she picked up her glass of wine to mask the effect of his words.
"Are you ready to order?" The voice seemed to come out of nowhere, because a second earlier it had seemed like there was no one around but her and him. Flustered, Erin looked up at the server who'd materialized by her left elbow.
"Uh…I think we'll need another minute," she said, picking up her menu for the first time. The server smiled blandly and said, "Sure, take your time." She moved to the next table.
Erin gave Devon a pointed look. He watched her, his lips twitching at the corners. "You're very dangerous for me."
His face grew more serious. "I don't want to be," he said.
She knew that. It was the reason he
was
dangerous. Although she'd fallen into bed with Devon more casually than anyone in her past—she'd only been with four men: Clay, her first long-term boyfriend, whom she'd lost her virginity to the night of high school graduation, Mathew, Noah and then Devon—she got the feeling she couldn't date Devon casually.
Of all the men she'd been with, he was the most
adult
. She wasn't sure what gave her that impression. After all, he seemed like an overgrown kid, what with his casual, arty style, his paint-splattered Vans, his car—an older-model Volvo that was square in a hipster sort of way—and his job as a freelance graphic designer, which gave him free time at weird hours.
But he owned a house that he took pride in, and he had a kid, and despite all his efforts to appear laid-back, he had his shit together in a way she couldn't even relate to, let alone compare to.
She shivered involuntarily, though the air that hung around them retained its summer warmth. He inched his chair toward hers, which had the effect of making her want to scoot hers back. But she sat stock still.
"I'm not asking for a commitment," he said. "I'd like to see you again, but if you want me to back off, I'll leave you alone." He sat back in his chair. "I wasn't really sure you'd show up today. And if you hadn't, that would have been the end of it."
Erin nodded slowly. "I was surprised to get that last message from you. I figured you'd already given up on me."
"I should have given up on you." He laughed. "Don't think I haven't asked myself what kind of pathetic loser keeps calling a woman when she's made it clear she doesn't want to talk."
"It's not that I didn't want to talk," Erin said. "I just didn't know what to say." She leaned forward. She'd been undecided, but now she made up her mind to tell him everything. "At first I didn't know what I wanted," she said. "I left your place the morning after—" His eyes seemed to soften, to burn as she looked into them. A little breathless, she kept going. "And then I went out with Paul that weekend." These words she said quickly, noting that he looked unperturbed, or at least unsurprised. "And then I realized this just couldn't work, not with you, not with him, not with anybody. The blog—"
She floundered for words, finding it difficult to explain even to herself how an experiment she'd hoped might lead to a relationship kept her from forming relationships. The whole thing seemed suddenly so silly, like she'd missed the fatal flaw in her plan.
He nodded though, and looked as if he understood. At any rate he didn't interrupt, for which she was grateful.
"Then when I kept letting your messages build up, it got harder for me to call you back. And I've been busy with the website—" She trailed off, not wanting to morph into trivial excuses.
"And then my period was late."
He'd looked like he was on the verge of saying something, but when she said those words, his eyes grew wide. His lips formed an
O
shape, like he'd sucked his words back in and they were lodged in his throat. She felt instant remorse at the way she'd phrased the sentence.
She reached out and touched his hand. "I'm not," she said simply. "I took a test this morning."
Erin watched him, and she could tell he was trying hard not to seem too visibly relieved, because she felt the same way. Inside, she felt herself holding something back, that niggly little doubt that said sure, the test was negative, but she was still late. She wasn't one hundred percent sure she should trust Sherri's dismissal of the first-pee-of-the-morning rule—she knew she'd be peeing on another stick at first light the next day. She'd also called her gyno's office that afternoon to make an appointment to triple-check. She was overdue for a checkup anyway.
But she no longer felt panicked about it, which helped her keep control as she watched Devon's reaction.
He swallowed hard and then took another sip of wine. "If you had been—" he started, and she stopped him.
"Don't. It's okay," she said, unwilling to deal with another man's chivalry. "I knew what I was doing, and it's turned out all right."
The waitress came back and paused for a split second before talking, seeming to sense the tension at the table. Erin, who was leaning in toward Devon, sat back. "Have you had a chance to decide?" the woman asked.
Erin glanced up at her and chuckled. "I still haven't even looked." She turned to Devon. "Margherita?" she asked. It was what they'd ordered last time.
His face still held traces of his shock. "Sure," he said, looking from Erin to the server. "Large."
The woman hastily collected the menus and rushed off.
Erin leaned forward in her chair again and rested one arm on the tabletop, unsure what to say next. Devon watched her as she watched him.
She felt like time had never moved slower.
"Where do you want to go from here?" he asked finally, echoing her thoughts.
Erin picked up her glass and took a sip of the wine he'd chosen, which was delicious, of course. She glanced away, taking in the scene around them for the first time since she'd arrived. Several tables were in the process of being filled, downtowners just coming in after work. It was 75 degrees, calm and clear—perfect fall patio weather. She twirled the stem of her wine glass in her fingertips.
After a long moment, she turned her eyes back to his. "I'm game for going out again if you are." The words surprised her because she hadn't planned to say them—she'd arrived expecting to break things off with Devon the way she'd done with Paul the night before.
That hadn't been easy, especially after her emotional encounter with Ben. Despite his solid, stable exterior, Paul was fragile from a feelings standpoint, easily hurt—and her current situation made it too easy to hurt him. She'd told him she couldn't handle dating exclusively right now, which would have felt clichéd and awful if it wasn't so obviously true—and if she hadn't known that Paul knew it was true, thanks to the blog. Still, she'd had the feeling he wanted her to say she'd give up the blog for him—and there was a part of her that wanted to do just that. She
wanted
to see Paul again, to spend time with him and learn more about him and find out where their relationship might lead. But another, stronger part of her knew it wasn't fair to lead him on.
Devon was a different story—he didn't seem fragile at all. She glanced at his face from under her lashes, gauging his reaction to her words.
"I'm game," he said, shifting in his chair and angling his body closer to hers. This time she had no desire to move away.
A surge of confidence came over Erin she hadn't experienced in a while. She lifted her glass and took a long sip.
"Oh…kay," she said, her eyes narrowing. "Are you sure you can handle dating somebody who goes out with other men for a living?" She paused. "Whoa, wait a minute—I don't like the way that sounded." She laughed, and he did too.
"I told you I knew what I was getting into." He leaned forward slightly. "Are you sure you can handle going on more than one date with the same man?"
She smiled wryly at him. "I think I can manage it."
He moved another inch closer. "Good, because I'm not sure how I'd handle watching you walk away this time, knowing I wouldn't see you again."
Her breath caught in her throat.
Does he get it or doesn't he?
What was she getting herself into? Unlike Paul, and unlike Ben, Devon didn't come with any pressure. But could she really trust him—or more, could she trust herself around him? And was she crazy to want to go out with him again, considering the scare she'd just had?
She leaned slightly away from him.
"Too much?" His eyes laughed at her deer-in-headlights expression. "I know you're not ready for anything serious, Erin," he said. He reached forward and placed one finger under her chin, pulling her back toward him. Then he held up his other hand as if swearing an oath, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I promise I won't even try to get you into bed tonight."
Her eyebrows shot up, and she eyed him evenly. "Well that's good, because when I leave here I'm heading to my folks' house. I doubt they'd like it much if I brought you in and had my way with you."
He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. And then she smiled and sat back in her chair, and the tension that had surrounded the table lifted, making the air on the patio feel suddenly lighter.
Erin felt lighter too, and happy for the first time in days. The conversation moved to other topics—her internship, a crazy client he was working with, Hilary's wedding, her old job. They talked until their food arrived, and the whole time they ate, and for another half hour after they finished.
When they separated on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, Erin said, "I'll call you."