This rockstar life

2.9 Watermelon

Content: See Introduction for general content notes.

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"D'you want a baby?"

"What?!"

"A baby. Phil's had one."

"Yeah, I heard."

"He's really happy."

"Well that's nice." I go back to chopping tomatoes.

"So...do you? Want one?"

"What, right now?"

"No, not now. Ever?"

This is not a conversation I thought we'd have to have for a while. Not for years. But maybe it's for the best to have it early? I know how I feel, have always felt, and I don't think I'm going to change my mind. And I am painfully aware it can be, has been in the past, a dealbreaker. I feel that sense of impending doom, when it grips the top of your head (do other people get that?). I don't think I could bear to lose this now when it's only just begun, and I can't tell from the way he asked what answer he is hoping for.

"Err, well, I don't think I'd be any good at it. And I'm not sure I could, after... everything." I'm answering carefully, and purposely not looking at his face so I don't have to see if there's disappointment there. But really, I have to know, so I put the knife down and turn around. "Do you? Want one?"

"I...I don't know...I think I... shouldn't? It's," Steve gestures vaguely at his head, "hereditary, I think. Not...fair...to put that on someone else."

I can hear the effort it is taking to tiptoe through this conversation. I hold out my hands and pull him into a, slightly-tomatoey, hug. "I think maybe not everyone is meant to be parents? I can barely keep myself alive. And my plants always die because I forget to water them."

"Yeah." He sighs. "What if I left it in a cab or something?"

"A pub more likely!"

He gives a rather mirthless laugh.

"You're a good uncle though, Karin loves you." I wave at the splodgy painting he brought back from his Christmas visit home and stuck on the fridge.

"Hmm. It's not really the same though."

"I guess not."

After we stand there together for a few moments in melancholy silence he kisses the top of my head and, sounding a little brighter, suggests "We could get a puppy?"

"They need as much looking after as a baby really. How about a goldfish, or...a cactus?"

"Do I get to name it?"

"Depends..."

There is a pause. Then I feel him trembling, which turns into giggling, and he says, "Rick. With a silent P."

"Oh good god."

(January 1990)