Prompt: About a velvet coat, iPhone, Peanuts slippers, astrology book, and vinyl records
The street was quiet, when she walked up it, passing the lampposts as they flickered to life and squinting against the final glares of the setting sun. The brisk October wind ruffled her dark hair and her jacket. She dug her hands into her pockets, stilling its movement.
Her heels clicked impatiently on the pavement as she made her way across the deserted street and up the stairs. Without knocking, her olive-skinned hands pushed the door open. Of course it was unlocked. It was always unlocked.
Up the stairs and to the left stood the plum colored door she was looking for. It was open too. Also as usual.
She called out a hesitant hello, shedding her black leather jacket. It was soon hung on the stand next to the door. She looked around, taking in the foreign-familiar apartment. Familiar because she had been in it countless times. Foreign because he had moved all of the furniture around. Again.
The modest apartment had one bedroom and one bathroom, with a combined living and dining room, and a secluded kitchen. The building it was hidden in was old, brick, and had the tendency to make odd noises at all hours of the night. The windows were tall, framed in rich cherry wood. The same wood covered the floors, the built-in book shelves, the door frames, the doors, the baseboards, the cupboards.
The walls contrasted them nicely, the rich cream softening the harsh, dark wood. Her favorite rug was still in the living room, underneath the claw-footed coffee table. Its red and cream and green pattern was familiar, and she made a mental note to take the Victorian rug back when she got the chance.
Glancing around again, she paused. An iPhone sat on the table, buzzing excitedly, an unidentified number flashing across the screen. It stopped seconds later. It rested sullenly in its nondescript black case, on top of an open book. She looked closer: Hellenistic Astrology? It was one of her favorite books. The spine was worn from flipping pages and studying the images and charts depicting horoscopes and the ascent of souls into the stars. What was it doing out?
She listened for the sound of him moving around. The bedroom was open, but the bathroom door was closed, a steady patter of water coming from the other side. She pursed her lips; he was always in the shower.
Back in the living room, she sank into the armchair between the grey, stone fireplace and the couch and coffee table. The fire was out, but would be lit, she imagined, whenever he emerged from his watery escape. A worn pair of slippers sat under the side table to her right. She smiled fondly, remembering the day she had given them to him and her own surprise when he had declared he loved them. They were Peanuts themed and similar to moccasins; Snoopy was opening a present on the top of the left one while Woodstock decorated a Christmas tree in a Santa hat on the right one. He must still like them. They were worn. The fur on the inside was flattened; the color was fading and the bottoms becoming thin from accompanying him on laps back and forth before the fireplace.
"You don't have to sit in the dark," his deep voice hummed from behind her. His cadence was slow and strong and familiar. Reprimanding her softly for sitting in the dark. She turned to him and gasped slightly. His dark hair was different than she remembered, shaved shorter on the sides, but shaggy on the top, sticking to his forehead and dripping into his eyes. His tanned skin stretched over his broad shoulders, his lean arms and his trim torso. A dark blue towel was wrapped firmly around his hips, and he seemed to glisten in the light from behind him.
He was more muscular than she remembered, too.
"I know," she uttered softly, eventually. Shaking herself from her staring, she stood and wandered to the window. In the reflection, she saw him make his way toward the lamp in the far corner, perched carelessly on top of a box of vinyl records that had probably been open and sifted through earlier in the day. He loved the way they sounded, even if he wasn't fond of the artist playing.
"Right," he voiced. He had turned on the lamp and made his way back to his first spot, leaning on the door frame. It was silent for a while until he sighed and made his way back down the hall. He emerged a few minutes later, dressed this time. His grey pants fit him well, along with the black button up he had put on. The peacock blue-green blazer – one of his favorite jackets and also a gift from her – was thrown on over it, the velvet seeming to shimmer in the low light. It stung slightly to see him looking so good, so okay with wearing her gifts. He must not have remembered she gave it to him.
She remembered the missed phone call and put the two together. "Are you going somewhere? I'm sorry, I should have called ahead. I'll just leave you-"
"I'm not going anywhere," he interrupted calmly, but there was a hardness in his eyes. He didn't like it when she worked herself up. She had seen it so many times. She had been the cause of it for most of them. She winced and he noticed, a guilty look immediately coming over his face. She turned to the window.
"I just came to tell you that I went to the doctor today," she said in a small voice. He heard her perfectly. He took a step forward and then hesitated. The coffee table and the couch separated them.
"Yeah?" was all he could manage. She nodded.
"Yeah," she echoed. "He said that the growth over the last three months has been minimal. Less than they thought it would be. They think I'll make it the next two months, and then I can get the treatment."
"Oh."
"The baby's fine, too. Better than fine."
"Good." He sounded relieved and pained. Scared and strong and like the most confusing man she had ever encountered.
"Do you want to know the sex?"
"You know?" Anticipation colored his voice. She nodded, pain poking at her insides. Now, he only cared about the baby. His sick girlfriend was just a vessel to deliver him a child. A child he had chosen against.
Well, ex-girlfriend.
"Yes," he said eventually. "I want to know."
"It's a boy," she murmured, barely above a whisper. He let out a breath he probably didn't realize he was holding. A boy. A miniature him. A reminder of the man who wanted to choose his girlfriend over his baby. The man who didn't understand just how hard it was for her to have this baby, to keep it alive and growing and thriving. Who didn't understand that if she got better, it would mean giving up the ability to have another baby.
"Yeah," she said, taking a deep breath. "That's all I wanted to say. I'll leave you to your plans." She was out the door, pulling her jacket over her shoulders and placing a gentle hand on her pregnant belly as she slowly made her way down the stairs. She heard him call her name but ignored it, sweeping into the night like she had never been there at all.
