I’m waiting outside Casey’s apartment for her to come out so I can take her to a dinner she forced me to agree to, where she wants us to talk about the baby and how we’re going to raise it.
When she comes out to the car she catches me a little off guard by saying, “Hey, why don’t we skip the dinner, go back into my apartment, and have crazy sex?”
I’m pretty shocked by this, but even more shocked by my reaction as I say, “I think we should go eat dinner.” It doesn’t take me long to search for an answer as to why I passed up free grudge-fucking with my ex-girlfriend—Alyna. I don’t want to cheat on Alyna. At face value, not wanting to cheat on Alyna should bother me, but as I stare at Casey I’m almost calmed by the fact that at the moment I really only want to fuck Alyna and no one else.
Casey gets in the car, puts her hand right on my dick, and says, “Then after dinner, I want you to come back here and fuck me silly.” Despite the fact that Casey is carrying the doomseed of my life in her gut, this gets me pretty horny, but as soon as I get a hard-on I start thinking about Alyna and I know I don’t want to fuck Casey. I’m genuinely surprised by this seemingly impregnable psychological defense I seem to have developed.
As we drive, I make sure to hit the brakes a little harder than I need to at each stop in the hopes of jarring the fetus loose and causing an instant miscarriage. As I come to the fourth or fifth abrupt stop, it doesn’t seem to be working. Nonetheless, I stomp the brakes whenever traffic allows, reasoning that it only takes one good one to bust the fetus loose.
We pull into the valet at Lawry’s and it doesn’t seem like the fetus is detached. I walk into the place behind Casey and kick her back foot so she trips on herself going up the stairs, still hoping to jar the fetus loose. She shoots me a pissed-off look that I explain away by saying, “Sorry, it was an accident,” but the unborn life-ender in her gut seems to be doing fine.
We sit down, get our water and bread, and then it starts.
She says, “So what do you think we should name it?”
I am a statue.
She says, “I was thinking Willamena for a girl and Kerry for a boy. What do you think?”
I hate both of these names. I say, “Casey, do you really think we should have this baby?”
“Uh…yeah. What else would we do? Give it up for adoption?”
“You could have an abortion.”
“An abortion?!? Why would I abort a child that was conceived through love?”
“Do you remember the conversation we had in the coffee shop a few days ago?”
“Yeah, but you were just confused. You didn’t know what you were saying. This baby, our baby, is going to bring us back together and make you see that you still love me, that you never stopped loving me.”
I want to open the salt shaker and dump it in my eyes.
The waiter comes over and takes our orders, giving me a quick breather from the worst conversation I’ve ever had in my life. Then he leaves and it’s back on.
She says, “Don’t you want to see what a baby that’s half me and half you would grow up to be like?”
I think about this for less than a second and say, “No,” with more certainty than I’ve ever had about anything in my life.
“But that will change once you actually see the baby. They say no man can stop himself from crying when he first sees his little baby.”
“I don’t want a baby. Have an abortion.”
“No. I’m not having an abortion. We’re having this baby and starting a family.”
“What?”
“I’m sure if you just apologize to my parents and tell them you were like confused when you blew up on my mom and everything, they’ll forgive you and we can still get married.”
“I don’t want to get married.”
“Well, I’m not having a child without being married to the father.”
“Then get an abortion.”
“I can’t believe you’re being such an asshole about this.”
She wants me to say something. I don’t.
She says, “It was meant to be. I mean, if I was on the pill and still got pregnant, then this baby is meant to come into this world and we’re meant to be its mother and father.”
Now she really wants me to say something. I don’t.
She says, “Well, aren’t you going to say something?”
“Get an abortion.”
She says, “I am not getting a fucking abortion,” right as the waiter brings our drink orders to the table. He pretends he didn’t hear it, but he must have. I wonder briefly if he’s ever been privy to any identical dinner conversations.
She says, “We’re going to get married. We’re going to have this baby and we’re going to start a family.”
“I’m not.”
“What do you mean, you’re not?”
“I’m not starting a family.”
“You don’t have a choice. I’m going to have your baby. You’re going to be a father.”
“But I don’t have to be around for it. All I’m required to do is pay you, which I’ll do as the law dictates.” I’m hoping this line of reasoning will make her realize she doesn’t want to have a baby if the father won’t be around.
She says, “You wouldn’t want to see your child grow up?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I just don’t want to.”
“You wouldn’t want to help me raise our child?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Same reason.”
Our food comes. Over the course of the meal, Casey continues to try to convince me that the best thing to do is to get married, have the child, and start a family. I stand firm in my disinterest in her plans.
On the drive home I continue to try to jar the fetus loose with more abrupt driving maneuvers.
At the end of the night, she once again invites me in to have “crazy sex.” Upon my refusal she reaches for my pants and says she won’t take no for an answer. She explains that she’s missed me and “my penis.” Although I’m very tempted to fuck her just to see if a few deep thrusts might knock the fetus out of her uterus, my genuine affection and respect for what Alyna and I have keep me from leaving my car.
Once I finally get Casey to go back inside her apartment by promising to at least think about getting married, I drive to a party where I’m supposed to meet Alyna. As I drive I wonder if Alyna ever had an abortion or ever would. I assume she would but is careful enough to not get pregnant in the first place.