Live, Laugh, Loathe

Chapter 16: Drew

This is going about as well as I thought it would.

There's a reason I've never let him drive me home.

"What?" I ask, pretending to have no idea why he's furious right now. I kick off my heels and barely contain my wince as my calves cramp. I refuse to give him more ammunition right now.

"Please tell me I'm imagining this. This is a joke, right?" His hands are in his hair, tugging on the strands in frustration as he turns slowly, taking it all in. The kitchen is just a fridge, a tiny counter, a hot plate, and a sink. A couple of upper cabinets hold my plates and a single pot and pan. There's no separation from the living space, primarily taken up by my bed. Every remaining available space holds my clothes. I can tell the moment he realizes that there is no door for a bathroom. Yikes, I'm in trouble.

"Where the hell is your bathroom, Drew? And don't you dare try to lie to me."

"Damon, really. This is obnoxious. The floor shares the bathroom. This used to be a boarding house a hundred years ago. I'm one person; it's not like I need much space." I turn away, digging through my tiny dresser to find PJs.

"Do not brush this off, Drew! Because the fact is, you aren't just one person anymore! Pretty soon, you're going to have a fucking baby! What the hell did you do when your morning sickness was bad? Puke in the communal toilet while someone yelled at you to hurry up?" His eyes are frantic. I need to diffuse this now.

"Well, usually, I saved my puking for the office. That way, you could hear it."

He turns red. My attempt at humor did not diffuse the bomb; it detonated it. Oops.

"Nope. No. This is unacceptable. Pack an overnight bag. You're moving in with me."

"Absolutely not! Damon, just go home. This doesn't concern you."

"Doesn't concern me? You're pregnant with my kid! What happens when she's born, and you don't have space for a crib? Fuck me; this is why I keep pushing to have conversations about the future. You can't keep living here. Pack. Your. Things." At this point, we are toe to toe, fuming at each other. Pretty sure we're going to get a neighbor pounding on the wall telling us to shut up soon.

"Back. Off. Damon! I am not moving in with you. Don't you dare try to force me! I was going to find a new place; it just hasn't happened yet." I don't tell him that nothing I've found is affordable. With all the costs of a new baby, on top of my student debt, I could never afford even a modest two-bedroom in New York by myself.

"Well, now you won't have to. You're moving in." He charges over to my bed, pulling off my pillows and grabbing my things off my nightstand.

"What the fuck, stop that! I'm not moving in!"

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not!"

"Oh my god, Drew! You know what? I kind of hate you right now!"

"Ha! You know what? I hate you more!"

"Well, I hate you the most!"

"And I hate you to infinity plus one!"

We're silent for a beat, breathing hard, nose to nose.

Then we burst out laughing. I fall to the bed, unable to keep standing. I'm laughing so hard.

"Did you really say 'to infinity plus one'?" He asks, still laughing and joining me on the bed. I just keep laughing, tears streaming down my cheeks. He reaches over and takes one of my hands in his. His hand is warm and comforting.