by J.P.J. Fox
“You want to go out to eat?” Gil asked, considering what Jennie had just proposed as he was hanging his coat in the hall closet.
“Yeah,” Jennie said from the kitchen entrance.
“It’s a nasty night to go out. And the roads might get icy.”
“Then let’s go soon . . . before it gets below freezing.”
Gil closed the closet door. “How about tomorrow? I’ve had a long day.”
“There’s not much to eat here,” she said as Gil joined her in the kitchen.
He opened the refrigerator. “Looks like we have plenty.”
Jennie pushed the door closed. “I’m not cooking tonight.”
“Relax then, I’ll fix something.”
Jennie scowled. “Not tonight. Let’s go out.”
“Is something wrong? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine—just hungry.” Jennie began to gather the things she always carried: her keys, her lipstick, her phone, while Gil stood and watched.
“Are you ready?” She grabbed her overcoat she had left hanging on the back of a kitchen stool.
“What’s the rush?”
“You said there might be icy roads later.”
“And I said it was a good night to stay in.”
“Please, Gil,” she said, demanding spousal cooperation.
“Okay.” He returned to the hall closet and fetched his coat. “Let’s go to the Village Tavern, it’s close.”
She met him in the hall. “No, the tavern is too busy. I’m craving pasta. How about Olives?”
* * *
Gil parked outside Olives, shut off the wipers, and checked the instrument panel. “Temperature is already down to thirty-three, so maybe we should get take—” Jennie was already out of the car.
She chose the booth all the way in the back, and they ordered a bottle of San Pellegrino with lemon. Jennie paid little attention as the waiter recited the specials, then she excused herself after he left and slipped out the back door.
When Jennie returned to the table, Gil caught the distinct aroma of tobacco.
“Did you just have a cigarette?”
“Yes,” she said. “And next I’ll have a martini.”
“But you’re pregnant,” Gil stated.
“No, I’m not.”
The short silence that followed signaled an opportunity to speak, but rather than ask, Gil hoped Jennie would volunteer an explanation. Instead, she flagged the waiter, and Gil watched in awe as his wife ordered a Grey Goose martini. After the waiter left them alone again, Gil looked into Jennie’s eyes, searching for a sign to guide any response.
“I had real coffee today—for the first time in two months,” she said.
“Besides the caffeine and nicotine, you want to tell me what’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I’ll be better when my drink comes.”
“Jennie, what’s going on?”
She tipped her head and stared into the space just before him.
Gil wanted to present compassion, but at the same time his confusion and frustration filtered his words. “Talk to me,” he said leaning in.
“We’re not expecting anymore.” Jennie glanced over to the bar, and saw her martini perched at the service station, then she looked back at Gil and announced: “I had a miscarriage.”
Gil looked down at the table, then into Jennie’s eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Honestly, I think I am, but something tells me I’m fooling myself. Dr. Jenkins said this didn’t mean children aren’t possible, just not this time.” She paused when the waiter brought her martini, then continued, “I was going to tell you yesterday, but I didn’t know how.”
“When did this happen?”
“Yesterday afternoon.” She took a sip. “I’m sorry, Gil. I should have told you. . . . I just didn’t know how.”
Gil looked around the dining room, fortunately sparse in inclement weather, and thought: This is how? Then he thought again: Show compassion . . . empathy, something beyond ‘Are you okay?’ He opted for hope. “We can try again,” he offered.
“Of course we can,” she replied, “. . . but . . . let’s not rush into that.” She took another sip from her martini.
“Right. We have plenty of time.”
The waiter came by. “Are you ready to order?”
“No, not yet,” Gil said. “We need a few months—I mean minutes.” After the waiter turned away, Gil drank his lemony water to bide time, wondering whose turn it was to speak.
“Maybe we should order to go,” Jennie said.
Gil opened his menu. “What do you want?”
“Nothing, really.”
“You were craving pasta.”
“I think those cravings are gone.” She took another drink. “Just order whatever you want, and maybe I’ll share.”
“Shrimp scampi on linguini?” he asked, aiming to please.
“Sounds fine.” She sipped again, then fidgeted a bit.
“We’ll be fine,” Gil echoed, taking Jennie’s hand in his. “We just need to adjust and regroup.”
Jennie sat back, withdrawing from his clasp, and finished her martini. She spied the waiter returning. “While you order, I’m going out for another puff.”
Gil gave an excuse to the waiter, paid the check, and met Jennie outside. He draped the coat she’d left behind over her shoulders as he kissed the back of her neck. “I’ll warm up the car. Take your time.”
“No dinner?” she asked.
“I’ll fix up a nice pasta something for us at home.”
During the drive, Gil told Jennie about a small triumph that happened at work. She stared out the passenger window, and when she noticed that he’d finished, she chimed in,
“You know, sometimes being hungry is more satisfying than a meal.”
* * *
“She’s reversed,” Gil said to his best friend. Following Toby’s delay to respond, Gil added, “and she’s back to smoking.”
“Well, I’ve quit smoking three times, which means twice I’ve failed,” Toby replied. “It’s really hard. . . . You fall off the wagon.”
“Yeah, I know,” Gil said. “. . . But it just seems like she’s back to her old self, like nothing’s happened, nothing’s changed. This was a big deal—a loss.” He drank from his pint, giving Toby a pause to interject.
“Well, I’m sure it’s hard for both of you.”
“No, it’s not,” Gil said. “It’s not hard for Jennie. Not even surreal.”
“Surreal?”
“Yeah, that’s how it feels to me.”
They both drank, finishing their beers. Toby flagged the waitress and ordered refills.
“Can we see menus, please?” Gil asked. As the waitress left, he returned to Toby. “I’m hungry. Are you?”
“Not really, but you order if you want.”
They sat silent for a moment, and then the menus arrived. While Gil browsed, Toby watched until he felt bored, then looked at his menu although he wasn’t hungry.
“Extreme nachos?” Gil asked.
“Sure,” Toby replied, just as the waitress returned with their beers.
Gil ordered, then took a drink and started his agenda.
“There’s no insurance bill for the miscarriage.”
“Huh?” Toby replied.
“It’s been three months. She said she went to the doctor. Nothing on our insurance records yet.”
“Well, that shit gets clogged more than a public toilet.” Toby drank, looking worried. “Where are you going with this?”
“Then I checked bank accounts. We both take cash withdrawals freely, but she took a few hefty ones before the time of our unfortunate tragedy. And no checks to doctors.”
Toby leaned in and looked straight into Gil’s face. “There wouldn’t be a check yet if the billing isn’t processed.”
“Or maybe she paid cash,” Gil said raising his brows, “. . . for services?”
Toby sat back. “Whoa—you are going too deep and too fast here for me. You need to discuss this with Jennie. Have you—”
“Before I do that, do you think I have a right to be suspicious?”
Toby paused then said, “You have a right to the truth. . . . But don’t press for it if you don’t truly want it.”
“Yeah, great advice.”
“You want advice?”
“Yeah!”
“You’re going down a dangerous path, so don’t drag me onto it. What’s between you and Jennie is your business, and whatever might be missing between you two is your business too. As a friend, all I can do is listen, and the only advice I can offer in this situation is: Be careful, be extra careful. Whether you’re right or wrong about this, an explosion is possible. . . . You and Jennie are solid. Work with that.”
“Funny you should say that. Jennie says ‘We’re a solid couple.’”
Toby craned his neck to see the Rangers game on the screen over the bar.
“A couple,” Gil muttered to himself.
“There are bar seats open now,” Toby said. “Shall we move?”
Hockey with nachos followed.
After the second period of the game, Gil told Toby, “I gotta head home soon.” He ordered a seltzer with lemon.
Toby seconded. “Yeah, me too.”
They quenched their post-nacho thirst with seltzer.
“You know what my last conversation with Jennie was? Over lunch today she said we should go away for Easter.”
“That’s next week,” Toby replied.
“Yup. Too expensive to pull that off this late. We’d need to plan something. She said we have money saved. And we do . . . from when we learned she was pregnant.”
A commercial break ended, and the game resumed.
“I guess she’s decided she doesn’t want kids,” Gil said while Toby was fixed on hockey. Right then Gil decided he’d let Jennie plan a vacation, within reason, no rush.
* * *
From their table overlooking the bay, Jennie relished the blue hues of the Caribbean waters and said, “We needed this. We’ve needed this for six months.”
Gil raised his champagne glass, and Jennie clinked hers with his.
“I’ve noticed you’re not smoking since we came here,” Gil said.
“I’m giving that up.”
“Good for you. It’s not easy, I understand.”
“You know,” she said, “we could take this a step further.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re a solid couple. Maybe there’s more. . . . Maybe we should try again?”
Gil could hardly believe what he just heard.
“A child?” Jennie said, leaning in with dreamy eyes.
“Yeah . . . let’s think about that. We like thinking about that sometimes, don’t we?”
After that sunk in, her fanciful look switched to curiosity. “Do you think you might still want kids?”
“I don’t think . . . that’s possible,” Gil muttered.
“Why not?”
Gil stalled before responding, “Because I’ve had a vasectomy.”
“You had a vasectomy!” She leaned back and glanced around nearby tables; nobody was within earshot. “When was this?” She looked him in the eye. “Why haven’t we talked about this?”
“You had an abortion, didn’t you?”
Jennie blushed full red, and she couldn’t hold looking him in the eye.
Gil continued. “And you never talked to me about that, did you? So, I’ve done my part, to finish the deal. That trip to Boston wasn’t business—I got snipped.”
Jennie was speechless.
“I thought that’s where we were at. . . . Like you’ve said, we’re a solid couple.”
Jennie stared at her husband for three seconds, then looked away.
Gil browsed the menu while Jennie gazed out to the bay.
“What are you hungry for?” he asked.
After a ten-second pause, she answered without turning back, “A cigarette.”
* * *
“You got snipped?” Toby took an inquisitive swig from his pint.
The barmaid returned. Gil ordered a dozen Buffalo chicken wings. When she left, Gil replied to Toby, “Well, that’s what I told Jennie, but no, that didn’t actually happen.”
“So, what are you doing here? Bluffing?”
“Just trying to figure her out. Just playing my hand,” Gil stated.
“What game are you playing?” Toby asked. “And how good is your hand?”
Gil didn’t respond.
“You’re not trying to trick her into a surprise pregnancy, are you?”
Gil blushed and didn’t answer, taking a moment to confess, “We haven’t had sex since our vacation.”
“So, you’re both bluffing. . . . What are the stakes?”
* * *
Gil set another date with Toby at the Village Tavern. The place wasn’t busy when they took a booth, ordering a pitcher of Yuengling as they were seated. When the waitress delivered the cold beer and chilled glasses, Gil ordered pork riblets with tamarind-ginger dipping sauce from the SPECIALS blackboard. Toby chose the grilled goat cheese with fig compote on multigrain bread.
Gil filled the glasses and they both drank, waiting for each other to start the conversation.
“You and Carla doing okay?” Gil asked Toby.
“Yeah, we’re fine.”
“I admire you two.”
“Why?” Toby asked.
“You’re in sync.”
“And why are you telling me this?”
“As a couple, as parents, you seem satisfied.”
Toby waited for more.
“We’re a solid couple,” Gil said. ”Right? Everybody says that about Jennie and me.”
“I believe I’ve even said that,” Toby replied.
“I tipped my hand and told Jennie the vasectomy was a hoax.”
“What did she say?”
“She left the room. I think she slipped outside for a smoke.” Gil sipped, then continued, “I fixed her a martini, and we changed subjects when she came back.”
He paused when the waitress brought their meals.
“We’re on a level playing field now. . . . Jennie’s back on birth control, and she’s talking about a foster child, even adopting. She said, ‘Maybe it’s the right move for us. No pregnancy, no breastfeeding, no diapers.’”
Gil downed a long swig, then dipped a riblet and chewed heartily. His face shone with content when he licked, then wiped his fingers and followed with another sip.
Toby took a bite from his sandwich while waiting for Gil to elaborate. Gil resumed speaking and Toby listened, doubting every word as they ate together.
© 2024 Jason Paul Fox All rights reserved.
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