World of Make-Believe: Chelsea's Story

A Place For Bargaining

"Alex." Chelsea leaned back in the seats of the Delacorte amphitheater, listening as some high school students practiced for 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'.

He snorted as he sat, six-pack of cheap beer clinking. "The Hell'd you pick here for?"

She smiled against the orange of the setting sun, watching him shiver in his thick coat as he twisted a cap off, "For teenagers they're decent." Chelsea shrugged, pulling her legs up, sneakers resting against the seat ahead of her, "That one there is doing a great job as Puck."

Alex choked on his laugh, "Who? I didn't know you were into this artsy crap?" He wiped at his chin, taking another drink.

"No." She mused, chin resting on her palm, eyes glued on the green haired child. "You wouldn't have, would you?"

"Hmm?" He swallowed hastily, "What does that-"

"I forgave you for cheating, you know." She murmured, musing on the subconscious choice of words, not really talking to him anymore.

"Oh, Pet-" He let his beer set on his thigh, "Chels, you're not gunna bring that up again? C'mon. I told you I've had a shitty week." He ran a hand over his face, slumping in his chair. "I didn't ask you out so you could fucking guilt trip me for all the shit I did way back when. I compromised, I met you out here in this cold with beer from the gas station when I wanted to go to a real bar, buy the good stuff. You could at least listen-"

Chelsea knew she would have felt guilty just yesterday; just hours ago. "Okay Alex, fine." She turned towards him, finally taking in the disheveled hair, the stubble, the bags under his eyes - his coat was buttoned crooked.

She felt nothing where once panic and worry would have boiled over. "What's got you throwing such a fit?"

"A-" His chest puffed, his face turned deep red. "A-a fit?! That's what you think I'm doing?" He slunk further in his seat, then straightened, scraping a hand through his hair. "I- Fuck, Chels. I'm not 'throwing a fit', I'm having a crisis." He paused, waiting for Chelsea to ask, continuing when she didn't. "Sally is pregnant."

Chelsea reached between them, pulling out a beer and popping the top off and tilting it, "Congratulations. I'm sure she'll be a lovely mother and I know the baby will be beautiful."

She watched over the edge of the bottle as she drank the weak alcohol. Those perfect white teeth flashed as Alex's mouth opened and closed wordlessly, shaping what may have been his silent argument to her salutations. His skin flushed from red to pale to purple, veins protruding along his neck and forehead. For a moment Chelsea entertained the fantasy of him keeling over from an aneurysm.

Then his gaze turned to her. The apathy quickly faded to concern as a madness touched the edges of his eyes. Chelsea noted, as his chest rose and fell in waves, that the sky was a beautiful red and violet mixture beyond the bare branches. The teens were belting out Act 5, Puck brilliantly leading to his address of the audience.

The hiss and pop of another bottle opening beside her turned her attention back to her company.

"They aren't half bad." Alex motioned with his bottle. "I guess I have to learn to like teens. I'm going to have one soon." He looked green at the words, took a deep, long nurse from the bottle, gasping when he swallowed. "I'm not ready to have kids, Chels." His voice trembled.

"I don't know what to say." Chelsea sipped from her own drink, squinting at the teen playing Puck. "Is Sally excited?"

He snorted, "She's ecstatic." He finished the bottle, cracking open a third.

"Should you slow down?" She set her bottle down.

"Maybe you should speed up." His voice growled, his eyes pinned her.