Disastrous

Thirty Nine

2 months later

Austen holds my hand as we walk silently down the street, a thick burden pushed between us. Neither one of us could speak as he pushed Rory's stroller with one hand, gripping tightly to my hand with the other. I focused on the feel of his fingers between mine, and clutched menacingly tight to the small brown paper bag in my other hand. I couldn't say a word, though I desperately wanted to.

His arm rubs against mine but I don't mind, and I spare a glance up at his face to see his eyes locked straight ahead. I can't tell if he's upset or overthinking the situation. I want to tell him that I'm sorry, again, but he's already told me that it's not my fault and that he couldn't possibly be angry with me.

We make it back to the house, and Austen easily picks up Rory's small stroller to get up the steps. I unlock the door quickly, and flick the porch light on for Arabella. The house is dark and silent and my heart is pounding too fast. I'm scared. I'm so scared, and this isn't fair.

Austen kisses my shoulder lightly and tells me he'll put Rory to bed. I thank him, squeezing his hand as he brushes past me, and goes into the bedroom we share. Austen had moved out here semipermanently a few weeks ago. We weren't anything near a couple, though I couldn't describe what it was we were. Austen did so much for me, and for Rory, and for Arabella. He helped around the house, fixed things that were continually breaking when the maintenance man couldn't seem to figure it out, and even though I tried to fight him on it he paid for a lot of things.

I figured out early on that Austen was fairly well off when it came to money. He hadn't told me at the time, but the antique furniture store back in New York was actually a family owned business, and Austen was one of the joint owners. He had assets all over the place, and inheritance from his great grandmother. A lot of inheritance. And he had made some very good investments early on, which also did his bank account good.

I didn't like accepting things from him, but Austen would just pay without me knowing. When I went to pay the water bill the week before, I had gotten to the bank to be told it was already paid by a transfer account through Austen Whitby. I nearly killed him for doing that.

He comes out of the room moments later and stares at me. I realize I've been standing in the hall, stalling, not wanting to do this. He smiles sadly and takes a deep breath, walking over to me.

"It's okay." He whispers, rubbing my bare shoulders softly. "We'll be okay."

I nod, and clutch tighter to the paper bag we had walked to get at the health store. Austen nudges me forward and I gulp. He tells me he'll wait in the living room and I nod, entering the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind me. I lean my hands on the sink and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My skin is tanned from the warm sun here, and I think about the March weather back home. It's probably cold and the snow is probably squishy and wet, like slush.

I run my fingers through my hair and tear open the bag. I open the small white box and take a seat on the toilet. God, I really was a mess. A fucking disaster who constantly made stupid decisions.

I pull my pants down and attempt to pee. It's harder than I thought but that might be because I'm nervous, I've drank 3 bottles of water in the last hour and a half.

When I'm finally able to, I sigh in relief. Moments later I'm standing completely still and staring down at the counter, waiting, dreading, praying.

Five minutes pass quickly but the last five seem to go by in slow motion. I tap my fingernails on the counter top and chew on my lip. This shouldn't be happening.

One minute left.

I stare harder, as if that would make this go any faster. I know Austen is nervously waiting in the living room, probably just as much of a wreck as I am. I feel my eyes begin to water and I know before I even know for sure. I know what it's going to say. I can feel it.