Standing By

Betrayed

(Tim)

I stretched awake, the sun pouring through the windows and the partially closed blinds. Ahh, sun. Just my kind of weather. Forget a white Christmas—this Texas boy wants a yellow Christmas! Bathed in sun!

I sat up slowly, actually feeling well-rested. I stood up and made my way to the bathroom, singing softly to myself, making up my own lyrics to Yellow Christmas as I went along. I made some yellow water in the toilet then flipped the shower on. I needed a yellow towel. Not the tan ones or the white ones that were neatly stacked up on the tub. Yellow, for my yellow Christmas. I knew we had one around here somewhere. I opened the linen closet, bypassing the blue and red towels (who has ever heard of a blue Christmas or a red Christmas?) and pushed cleaning supplies to the side, trying to find the towel I had in mind. A box of tampons flew out at me and deposited its contents at my feet. I kicked them back into the floor of the closet. She wouldn't be needing those for a few months now. I found myself starting to get a little excited for a baby. Next Christmas we'd have a little one and we could teach it all about the holiday and shower it with fun toys. It might actually be nice. I closed my eyes, trying to picture my new son or daughter. What would he look like? My brown eyes or Jenika's blue eyes? My dark features or her light complexion? I was kind of hoping for a boy. I could teach him how to play sports and play cars with him... I could see myself tossing a ball around in the yard with him and grinned. I thought I'd be a good daddy. I hoped I would be a good daddy. If nothing else, I can love him and learn as I go.

I finally found the yellow towel I was looking for and pulled it out, still grinning. What would we name him? Tim Junior just seemed pretentious. We should give him his own name. Need to let him be his own person.

I hopped into the shower, names racing through my mind. So many to choose from. Needed something that sounded good with our last name too. Somebody Foust. Hopefully Jenika and I could agree on something. Our track record was less than ideal right now.

I was no closer to naming our future child when I got out of the shower. I stepped into the closet to find something to wear, my eyes lighting on a new red sweater. Frowning at it, I pulled it down and checked the tag. My size—and twelve dollars. Hmm. Wonder where it came from. Had Jenika gotten it for me and expected me to wear it today? I pulled the tag off and slipped it on. What the hell, might as well. I was in a good mood. I tossed the tag in the trash can haphazardly then looked at myself in the mirror. Not bad. I could live with it.

I brushed my teeth and combed out my hair to let it dry. Today seemed like a contact day so I popped them right in. Feeling froggy, I pulled my razor out for a shave. Ugh. The blade was disgusting. Soap scum, crud, hair. Blech. I ain't putting that on my chin. Making a face, I carried it to the trash can to pop it off.

I found myself staring dumbfounded into the trash can. Several used tampon applicators. What the hell? Why? Women don't have periods when they're pregnant. They can't. They had to have that, uh, junk inside them when they're growing a baby. Was Jenika on her period? Couldn't be. She was pregnant! Then again, the only other alternative was that we had a menstruating burglar. I stared down into the trash can for a few minutes, all thoughts of shaving gone, just trying to make sense of things. What the hell. If she was on her period, she couldn't be pregnant. She told me she was pregnant. Surely she wouldn't have lied about that.

My insides now feeling a little shaky, I reached out and touched one just to make sure I wasn't imagining things. Yep, tampon applicators. Not imagining things. Jenika was on her period. She must have lied to me.

Feeling totally betrayed, I stumbled to the side of the bed where she kept her cell phone and her iPad. Her phone was gone, probably had it with her, but her iPad was there. I knew her passcode—she'd told me her passcode a long time ago and never bothered to change it—so I typed it in. I had no idea what I expected to find. I was just feeling hollow inside and on autopilot. Her last text message had been from her brother Mark. Blinking tears from my eyes, I opened up the text string. I was snooping at this point and I knew it, but although I felt a little guilty about it, I halfway felt justified, having found pretty good evidence that she'd lied to me about something as major as a pregnancy. I scrolled back a few days.