VIOLET SKY, takigawa chris yuu

━ chapter thirty-seven

act iii

life will go on;
together?
no.

chapter thirty-seven

❛you'll do just fine❜

━━━━━━

"Can I ask you something?"

Crumbs from the brownie fall to Amara's t-shirt, a corner slice half-eaten in her hand. A laugh track resonates from the TV, playing a rerun of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Her phone is crammed between her shoulder and her ear.

"You just did," she says, just to annoy Chris, then bites into the brownie.

"Very funny," he deadpans. "But really."

"Yeah, sure."

Curiosity and a little bit of anxiety blooms inside her. He usually doesn't ask to ask her something. In fact, these conversations, calls that take place after she's put Ricky to bed, usually after a long day at work — they're mostly . . . relaxing. Or rather, there is no expectation, no pretense to hold. They just talk — about baseball, what he's doing in his free time, what she's doing in her free time, albeit the little of it that she has; sometimes it's the weather or politics or even gas prices. One could call it small talk and Amara feels no need to shy away from labeling it that but all she attests to these conversations, no matter what they're about, is that they help her unwind.

While this might be a turn from their usual topics, it doesn't necessarily need to be bad because of that.

"I was just . . . wondering," he says, hesitancy edging his low tenor. "What the situation with Ricky's father is."

"Oh." The syllable slips from her lips out of reflex, relief relaxing the tension that wound itself through her achy shoulders again subconsciously.

Chris is immediately contrite. "I'm sorry, if you don't —"

Amara laughs. "No, it's fine, it's fine. I just thought . . . I dunno. I thought this was going to be more serious than that."

"What did you think I was going to ask?"

"Nothing. Anyway, um, no I don't mind you asking. That's fine. What do you want to know?" She pops the last bit of brownie into her mouth and finishes off the cup of milk, setting it on the coffee table on top of a coaster.

"I guess . . . just the story? What happened? Because I'm not sure, but I'm assuming Ricky doesn't see him at all."

She brushes the crumbs off her shirt into the empty Tupperware that previously held the brownie. A few land on the hardwood floor, making her grimace and grab a napkin to pick them up. "No, he doesn't. I met him — his name is Jordan — about four years ago. I was in the Master's program at the time, here at UT —"

Chris interrupts her, his tone awed, "You got your Master's at UT? That's awesome."

Something warm niggles in her chest and she smiles, tossing the napkin into the Tupperware then leaning back into the couch. "Thanks. He was in the program, too but for engineering, I think. Anyway, we met in the library, since our paths really wouldn't have crossed otherwise. And you know . . . it wasn't anything serious. I wasn't looking for a relationship and neither was he. We were just messing around. Being careful, of course, but . . . you know. It wasn't even a case of slipping up or anything. We took all the precautions, but I still wound up pregnant."