Tilt (33 page)

right next to me. Like now. We are on

a blanket, beneath a star-crusted sky,

and it’s stifling. Not a blink of breeze

to ruffle the late-August night. Dylan

has been mostly silent. Sucked into thought.

Now he reaches for my hand.
I wish

I could make it rain,
he says softly.

Okay, that is not what I expected

him to say. Not even close. “Why?”

Well, we need it. Don’t we? And if

I could make it rain here right now,

I would be all-powerful. I could . . .

take things back. You know?

I lean into him, and he gentles his arm

around my shoulder. “We can’t take

anything back. It’s where we go from

here that means everything.”

I leave it there. No decisions. Not

tonight. No ultimatums, ever. What

he really needs to know right now is,

“I love you, Dylan. More than anything.

This doesn’t change that. Nothing

can. You are all-powerful to me.”

That Makes Him Smile

And this is the closest to okay

I have felt for days. I scoot

into his lap, straddle his legs.

Can I reach him this way? I lock

his eyes with mine. “Kiss me.”

He hesitates, and I see a flash

of doubt, so I cover his mouth

with mine, and there is nothing

tentative about the way I move

my body, eel-like, against his.

God, I’ve missed this amazing

rush! I lift my shirt over my head,

wait for him to take his off, too.

And we are skin against skin

in the sage-scented night and I

am overwhelmed with love for

him. He rolls me off him, onto

my back, starts to unzip my shorts.

But Now He Stops

When We Finish

The blanket beneath my head

is soaked with tears. Because I know,

as much as I want it not to be true,

nothing will ever be exactly

the same between us. We’ll grow

closer. Or we’ll be ratcheted apart.

We lie facing each other and

he kisses me sweetly.
Don’t cry.

He licks the wet from my eyes,

and the gesture is at once kind

and sensual. I flip over, draw back

into him, loving the way I fit so well

in the harbor of his body. He sighs

as he strokes my still-flat belly, high

smallish breasts. I wish we could stay

just like this forever. Warm. Secure.

Indivisible. But I’m not safe now.

And winter always comes. “I’m scared.”

I know. I’m scared, too. We need

to decide what to do, and then it

will get better. I . . . I’ve asked

around. An abortion costs about

five hundred dollars. I’ve got more

than that in my savings account.

Abortion would be the easiest

way out. But I keep thinking about

Audrey. I can’t get her out of my head.

How could I live with that kind

of regret? “What if I can’t, Dylan?

What if I decide I want to have it?”

Every muscle in his body tenses.

He grows corpse-stiff.
It isn’t all

your decision, is it? Don’t I get a say?

I sit up, reach for my shirt. “Of

course you do. But it’s my body.

And it’s my . . . our . . . baby inside.”

He Jolts Upright

Don’t, Mikki! It’s not a baby.

It’s just a little glob of cells.

It never has to become a baby.

“A little glob of cells? What

is that? Internet research?”

I should know. I did it, too.

What did you expect? Total

disinterest? Sweetheart, I’ve been

stressing as much as you have.

He reaches for me, but I yank

away. “Really? I guess you’ve

been throwing up every morning?

Worrying about what to say to

your mom and dad? Thinking

about school, how friends will

gossip, or even if you’ll have any

friends if someone finds out?”

Except for the throwing up, yes.

He Is So Sincere

That I smile. Almost feel sorry for him.

But not as sorry as I feel for myself.

“I’ve been over and over this a million

times. I know the smartest thing would

be to get rid of it. But I don’t think I can.

I’ve seen the pictures, too. I know it

doesn’t look anything like a baby yet.

But it’s more than just a little glob

of cells. It’s you and me, and it’s alive.”

Sounds like you’ve made your decision.

And that I don’t have a say at all. Get

dressed. I’ll take you home.
He is angry,

and now so am I. “Dylan, your decision

would be for some doctor to stick a tube

up inside me and vacuum our little problem

away, like dog hair and dust. I still might

choose to do exactly that. I’ve got a couple

of weeks. Either way, I need your support.”

It’s a Silent Drive Home

When we get there, he kisses

me good night, just like always.

Just like always, I say, “I love you.”

And he tells me he loves me, too.

The house is quiet. I tiptoe upstairs,

use the bathroom, slip between crisp,

cool sheets, scented like detergent.

Clean. Like I can never be again.

It is one of those nights when real

sleep doesn’t come, just that space

beyond true awareness. That place

where you wander through dreams,

knowing you’re there. I know I’m here,

waves licking my ankles, and somewhere

beyond the breaks a baby is crying.

Floating, for the moment. The choice

is mine. Stand here and let it drown,

or dive, swim like hell to save it.

Dylan

Drowning

Can’t float. Forgot how to swim.

Tired of treading water.

Going down. Down.

Down.

I have never loved her more.

Can’t imagine being without her.

What will it take

to

make her see that we cannot

possibly become “three”?

What does she want from me—