I Unlove You (16 page)

“
Don
’
t be,
”
she says, squeezing
my hands tighter.
“
We
’
re in this together, and I want you to do
whatever it is you need to do. So long as you know
I
’
m here for you, and that Joseph and your parents are
too. I know Joseph
’
s useless, but that
boy will do anything for you. Don
’
t feel like you have
to do this on your own.
”

She
rests her forehead on mine.
“
I know
you
’
ll be a great father. That
’
s all that
matters.
”

“
You think?
”

“
I know.
”

I
kiss her cheek and bundle her face into my chest, hugging her
tightly and devouring as much of her strength as I can.
We
’
ve spent so many moments in this coffee shop; intimate
moments, normal moments, first moments, quiet moments, enough
everyday moments to last us a lifetime.

But
yesterday
’
s moments are no longer the same as
tomorrow
’
s. Life
’
s different now, and
I must accept this. Being blind from bliss isn
’
t brave.
To be brave is to be human, and to be human is to
feel.

I
don
’
t feel brave yet, but I have many feelings. I suppose
allowing them to breathe is a step in the right
direction.

JUNE 20
^TH
- THE PUB:

"I had a dream last night," I say,
as I slump forwards onto the table, a folded beer mat scrunched in
my hand. "I ate the baby."

Coughing and spluttering, Joey
loses some of his beer as it dribbles down his beard. "Come
again?"

"I ate him. Or her. I don't know,
the sex of the baby wasn't clear. But I ate it."

"You ate your baby?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Pushing myself up, I glare at him. "How should I know? It
was a dream. All I know is, I couldn
’
t get back to sleep,
and must have stared at her stomach for a good two hours. "Sorry,"
I kept whispering. "Sorry I ate you, baby.""

Mouth open, and with a stare that
looks beyond me, he lifts his pint glass to his lips. "That can't
be normal," he says, wiping his mouth. "That isn't a maternal thing
to dream about."

"Paternal."

"What?"

"I'm the father. It's paternal,
not maternal."

"Whatever, brother," he sighs,
grabbing the beer mat out of my hand. "Whatever you call it, you
aren't supposed to eat your baby."

"I know," I say, resting my
forehead on the table. "It wasn't a real baby, though."

"What do you mean?"

"It
wasn't a baby with arms and legs, rather the baby inside
B's
stomach right now."

"As in the foetus?"

I lift my head and nod.

"Jesus."

"I know," I whine. "I read the
other day that it's five centimetres long. That's not even as wide
as your phone." Throwing my hand out in front, I motion towards his
matte black obsession. "And he, or she, weighs less than a
Babybel."

"The cheese?"

"Yep," I say, eyes closed tighter
and tighter so no light can creep in.

"Wow, that's so small. I mean,
it's weird, isn't it? When you consider it, the idea of conception
makes no sense at all. How does something so small grow into
something big? How does it develop speech and eyes and teeth? I
mean, teeth are weird at the best of times, but when you think
about how they're created from your man-potion, whilst your penis
is in a vagina... And hair. Hair is strange."

"Stop."

"Soon, that little boy or girl
will have your eyes or smile, or, God help us, your
nose."

"Stop, Joey," I plead.

"I know. I'd be upset, too. Have
you seen your nose?"

I grit my teeth. "Can't you see
I'm in pain?

"Sorry," he says, laughing. "I'm kidding. Kind of. I mean,
your nose is rather
—“

"Joey!"

"Sorry."

I straighten up and man-handle
another beer mat, folding the corners and tearing off strips. "What
am I going to do?"

"What do you mean?" he says,
draining his pint and sliding the empty glass towards
me.

"How can I do this? How can I be a
father? We're not ready to be fathers."

"You're damn right about
that."

"So? What are we going to
do?"

"We?" he asks. "I love you like a
brother, brother, but this is your baby. Not mine."

"You're going to let me suffer on
my own? Is that how this goes?"

"When it comes to a baby?
Yes."

"You're a terrible friend.
”

"Whoa there," he says, placing
both his palms on the table. "First of all, let's not say things we
can't take back. Second, it's your round."

"What am I going to do?" I sigh, slumping back in my
chair.
“
I
’
m twenty-two, for crying out loud. I know
nothing about fatherhood. Have you seen what I'm like around kids?
Do you remember when my cousin gave me hers to
hold?"

"I do. It was awful," he says,
nudging his empty glass closer to me.

I recall the awkward afternoon
last year, still able to see little Jordan's fearful eyes. He knew
I didn't know what to do. He sensed my fear, and cried and
struggled in my arms. "It's okay, just take him off me," I said to
my aunt.

"You're doing fine. Just hush in
his ear and rock him from side to side," she said.

I wasn't fine then, and I'm not
fine now. I won't be fine in seven months time either. How can I
be? How can someone learn to be a father? You're either ready or
you're not, and I'm not. Not now. Not anytime soon.

"That poor baby knew I didn't have
a clue," I say, rubbing my forehead and stretching my neck. I look
at Joey and notice his pipe: in and out of his mouth, on the table,
and then in his hands.

"What if I'm like that with my own
child?" I continue.

"You won't be," he says, clenching
the pipe between his teeth. "It's different when it's your
own."

"How do you know?"

"Because...that's what people
say."

"Which people?" Beer mat back in
hand, I drop tiny shreds on the table.

"Loads of people. They say, 'It's different when it's your
own. You don't mind the shit or sick, or the fact they keep you up
all night. It's
different
.'"

"And you believe them?"

Looking to the ceiling, he shakes
his head. "Nope."

"Exactly," I say, running my
fingers through my curly hair, which is longer than usual and in
need of attention. "It's nonsense. You know when you're ready, and
I'm not ready."

"How do you know you're not
ready?"

"Look at me," I say a little too
loud, finger still caught in my hair. "Do I look ready?"

"You're doing okay. I mean, you
were
doing okay,
until
…
"

"Until what? Until I realised this
is real? That I'm a father? That soon, a little boy or girl will
rely on me for everything? Not just some things, Joey. Everything.
Is that what you mean?"

He looks to the ceiling again.
"Yes."

"That's right. I was fine, when I
hid from the truth, but now, as I face it, I'm far from fine. I'll
never be fine again. Never."

"It's...it's just
hormones," he stutters.

"That's women, Joey. The guy
doesn't go through that."

"Well, maybe you're a
hermaphrodite."

"A hermaphrodite?
Really?"

He shrugs.

Torn between anger, despair, and a
complete meltdown, I laugh. A manic laugh. An out of control laugh
that ensures the table to our left, surrounded by two middle-aged
women, gawk at us. The kind of laugh that fizzles out into a
half-cry. A pathetic and desperate reply to your best friend
accusing you of being half man, half woman.

Silence descends over us, although
the rumble of footfall and clinking of glasses continues. "Hey. You
okay?"

I shake my head as a spiking
sensation prickles the corners of my eyes. "She's
perfect."

"Who is?"

"
B
. She's perfect, and on top of everything, and I'm useless.
Utterly, hopelessly, useless."

"Brother, she isn't perfect, and
although I agree you're kind of useless, you've been so good
through all of this."

"No, I haven't."

"You have. You've been calm, and I know
B
appreciates it. She
loves you, and you love her. I mean, if you had to go through this
with anyone, wouldn't you want it to be with
her?"

I nod.
“
It
’
s more
real each day. Every morning I wake up knowing we're a day closer
to picking baby wallpaper, and choosing names, and finding a real
house we can one day call home. I wake up on the verge of dying,
whereas
B
lies next to me, perfect. She's strong and calm and at
peace, and worse of all, she's being strong for me. How unfair is
that? How useless am I, a soon-to-be father who places more stress
and worry on to the woman he loves and got
pregnant?"

He
flashes his stupid grin at me. "For starters, you're not useless.
Trust me, you're doing fine. Second, when it comes to
B
, you're
blind to everything but her perfection. That girl struggles, too,
she just hides it well."

"No, you're wrong. Last night we
lay in bed, reading like we always do. It's our peaceful time when
we don't need to talk or think or do anything whatsoever. We just
sit, read and relax.

"It's when we read the same book and race each other,
seeing who can finish first. It's where we read
To Kill a Mockingbird
and
On the
Road,
and the letters we
write to each other. It's peaceful and easy, and it's a place I
love, because I just watch her and enjoy her and take her all
in.

"But last night was different,
like all the other nights of late. She read a baby book, and so did
I. With her damn red pen in one hand, she made notes and drew
circles and prepared for our baby's arrival. She did it without a
care in the world, biting the tip of her tongue like she always
does when reading.

"All I could do was look at her
whilst she smiled and nodded, turning to my own page every now and
again and re-reading the same paragraph over-and-over. She must
have ready fifty pages, whereas I suffered through three. And when
I turned off the light she slipped into an instant sleep, whereas I
once again watched her.

“
The people we were are already gone. Life's already
changed, because how can we regain what we had? We can't go back to
being a couple who reads novels before bed, enjoying music and each
other's silence. We used to stay up into the middle of the night,
but in a few months we'll have early morning bottles to attend to,
and late night cries. We won't have time for literature, because
we'll be swarmed by toddler books and 'how-to' books, and shitty
parenting books that contradict one another and make me feel like
an even greater failure.

"I
know I shouldn't be afraid of losing something as stupid as a
bedtime ritual, but I am. I
’
m scared of losing
us and who we are, and I'm not ready to become who we need to
be."

Light-headed and out of breath, I
sway from side-to-side.

"Brother," Joey says with a deep
breath. "I know what you're saying, but the truth is, we're always
evolving. Each day we move on and lose part of who we were. Are you
the same person now as you were at fifteen...or seventeen...or last
year? We all have to let go of the past and focus on who we are
today.

"At
the end of the day, I'm still Joey. You're still Aus. Your
circumstances may differ, and your outlook on life, and your
desires and all that crap, but it doesn't stop you from being
you.
B
will still be
B
. I'll still be me."