The only sound in the large gallery is our breathing.
揥e should go,?Crew says finally. 揚eople came for dinner, not a show.?
I don抰 smile at the lame joke. He can抰 really see my face, anyway. I just walk out of the gallery and back into the hallway, heading in the direction of the lobby. By some small miracle, we don抰 encounter anyone. Crew抯 hair is mussed and his shirt is wrinkled. I抦 sure it would be obvious to anyone what just took place between us.
The hot air waiting outside smacks me in the face like a sauna, seeping away the cold, dry air conditioning and saturating my dress and hair with humidity instead.
Roman isn抰 waiting outside. The car that gets pulled up outside in front of the fountains is Crew抯 black Lamborghini.
揥here抯 Roman??I ask as we climb into the car. I was kind of counting on his presence on the drive home.
揑 gave him the rest of the night off,?Crew responds.
揙h.?That抯 all I can come up with. I stare out at the city lights instead, right until we pull up to a gas station.
A quick glance at the gauge tells me there抯 more than half a tank. We didn抰 need to stop. But I say nothing as Crew climbs out. Neither does he. There抯 no knowing smile. No joking words. He climbs out and shuts his door with an ominous thud.
Tears burn my eyes as regret simmers in my stomach. I抦 braver than this. Stronger than this. My mood梞y emotions梪sed to be my own. It抯 concerning how reliant I抳e become on how Crew acts to inform my own feelings.
I step out of the car, not caring the silk hem of my dress is dragging on the dirty ground. 揑抦 getting a water.?
A nod is Crew抯 only response. The sharp scent of gasoline swirls in the damp air as I cross the parking lot and head into the convenience store. Some pop song streams through the speakers.
揈vening.?The woman behind the counter gives me a tired, perfunctory smile.
I nod in response as I pass the register and head for the coolers in the back. I grab a bottle of Fiji and spin to see卲regnancy tests. A whole shelf of them. Different brands and colors promising quick results. I hesitate. Come up with excuses. I scan the shelves, surprised by the number of different options promising accuracy and quick results.
What抯 the difference? It抯 just a stick you pee on, right?
With a heavy sigh, I grab three boxes at random and walk to the register, setting the water and the tests down on the scratched plastic counter. The cashier looks at my left hand between ringing the first and second box up. I roll my eyes when she抯 not looking.
Marriage doesn抰 make you worthy of becoming a mother.
I pay for everything and take the plastic bag, heading back into the humid night air. Crew has finished fueling, but he抯 still standing outside the car. His hands are in his tux pockets and his eyes are on the sky. I slow my steps as I approach, drinking the sight of him in.
Watching him, I accept that some part of me wants to hope I am pregnant. Wishes that the test will be positive and that Crew and I have the type of marriage where I抎 give him a onesie that said something nauseatingly adorable, like I love my dad. Where I抎 know he wanted a kid because it was a piece of me and him, not an heir to pass an empire of fortune and responsibilities along to.
揇id you get food??Crew lowers his gaze from the sky and looks at me. Or more specifically, at the bag I抦 carrying.
揘o.?I reach the passenger door and climb inside.
揇ammit.?Crew settles beside me and closes the door. 揑抦 starving. The food is always shit at those things.?
Try possibly being pregnant, I think. I say nothing.
揥hat did you get??
揥ater.?I reach down and grab the plastic bottle out of the bag. The boxes of pregnancy tests audibly shift in a scrape of stiff paper. Crew raises his eyebrows but doesn抰 comment.
I take a long sip as we speed along the street. The cold water hits my empty stomach, causing a loud gurgle. I suffer through an uncomfortable few seconds as the water warms in my belly before taking a few more, smaller sips. We drive in silence for another ten minutes until Crew unexpectedly pulls over.
揥hat are you doing??
揑 told you, I抦 hungry. So are you, it sounds like.?He flicks on the hazards. 揟his place has the best fried chicken in the city.?
揟here抯 food at home.?
揘othing prepared. I抦 not dragging Phillipe out of bed at this hour to make me something.?
揑t抯 his job.?
揥hat抯 the real issue? You can抰 spend ten extra minutes in a car with me??
I don抰 answer, just look out the window.
He sighs, heavy and exhausted. 揇o you want some chicken??
揧es. And a chocolate milkshake.?This sounds like the sort of place that would have milkshakes.