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Hudson
It’s been a month since Kate’s said more than three words in a row to me. Living like this is worse than it was with Mary, who was at least good at small talk. There’s no doubt in my mind that Mary’s pulled something. I just can’t imagine what.
I sit at the bottom of the driveway, wondering if she’ll come out or if I’ll have to walk up to my own front door and knock. I could bust in, of course. I’m the one paying the bills and the house is half in my name. Affair or not, Mary has no legal right to lock me out. I can’t afford the Marriott forever. Staring up at the front porch, where I’d otherwise be worried about a new paint job, I can’t imagine why she’d double the life insurance for any reason other than some twisted plot to kill me. Between her old browser history and claims that it’s Jack the Ripper research, I don’t know what to think. She’ll get the house. She already has. It’s time to find out if she’s really pregnant. I promised Mom.
Pulling the keys from the ignition, I take a deep breath and step out into the driveway. She’s already changed the code to the garage. I imagine she’s done the same with the locks. Out or respect and not wanting an argument, I knock three times before the door finally swings open. What greets me is like something out of the movies. My wife of ten plus years looks nothing like she did when I left two months ago. Her hair is platinum blonde and over her head she wears a black veil.
“Halloween?” I ask. That was weeks and weeks ago.
“Something like that,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “Can I help you, Hudson?”
“I came by to pick up stuff,” I say, entirely full of shit but determined to get to the bottom of whether or not she knows about Kate. Mary is a lot of things but she has a horrible poker face.
“Nothing here. Gave it all to the Good Will.”
“My tools?” I refuse to give her the fight her glare tells me she’s prepared for. She looks like a moron with the fake hair. I don’t tell her, but bite the inside of my mouth avoiding it.
“Yep.”
“My weights?”
“Those too. You can leave now.”
“I pay the mortgage on this place.”
“And you left. Residential abandonment. You should know better,” she says, smiling.
Not so fast. “Yeah, well, I’m back.”
“Didn’t work out with your girlfriend?”
My jaw drops. “What girlfriend?”
Mary laughs. “Oh, Hudson, be serious. Two women. Both pregnant. You think we won’t eventually put it together? You aren’t exactly great at covering your tracks. And Hudson River? My God. Not very original.”
Fuck. She’s been all over Facebook. I could kill Kate. I warned her about this. I wonder how long she’s known. Christ, does Kat know too? “Look, I’m not here to argue. I’m here to pick up my stuff.”
“Do you have any intention of being a part of this child’s life? Or, should I just write that off? I thought you wanted a kid? Wasn’t that what you begged me for all those years? Or is Kate’s baby enough?”
Whelp. That answers that. Fucking Christ. What else? No wonder Kat’s been such a bitch. They’re probably working together to plan my death. “Oh, give it up. You aren’t pregnant.”
Mary’s eyebrows raise. “I’m not? Shall I take another test right now? Would that help you out?”
Now, it’s my turn to fold my arms over my chest. With both feet planted firmly on the front steps, I nod. “It would.”
“Then come in.”
I watch her pull the stick out of a sealed package. I watch her bring it to the bathroom. I look around the living room as I wait for her to emerge with what she’ll inevitably call a false negative. But she doesn’t. Ten minutes later, I sit in the middle of my former living room staring at a true positive. Fuck.
I hate myself for it. Mary has a great point about this. For years, I’ve asked her for a child and now, here it is. I want to rip her stupid wig or extensions off and shake her. I want to shred her stupid veil. Maybe I could get custody. If I could convince a judge that she’s totally crazy, chasing a serial killer through pages of history, then maybe...
“When do you see the doctor?”
“Already did. Due May 27. Don’t you ever call your mother? She knows. She’s all excited about gender.”
“What is it?”
“Too early to tell,” Mary says, shaking her head.
I try to picture Daisy with a baby brother or sister. Then, I try to imagine Kate even allowing it. It’ll never happen. I’d have a better shot with Mary, who will be less maternal: less protective.
“Okay, then. Well, let me know how I can help.”
“I won’t need any of that. We’ll work that out—the financial stuff—in mediation.”
“But I’d like to be involved.”
“After the baby is born, you can. But I don’t need some soon to be ex-husband poking around at my prenatal appointments while he plays house with another woman. I won’t be forcing you into ultrasounds, if you know what I mean.”
How she knows I’d been living with Kate is a mystery. If I could get on the computer, it would tell me things. But with how unhelpful she’s been, uninviting even, well, I might as well give it up. I have no idea how to respond to her. Changing the topic, I ask, “Isn’t hair dye bad for a kid? Or is that a wig?”
“None of your business.”
“If it impacts the kid, it’s my business.”
“If you cared about the kid you wouldn’t have left.”
“I didn’t even know you were pregnant. I found out by postal service if I remember correctly. Classy, Mary. Classy.”
“Well, it’s just as well. I wouldn’t want you with me for a kid. Is there anything else you need, Hudson?” she asks, flipping her hair.
That’s when it clicks. The wig, hair, or whatever it is: it’s familiar. The gas station. She’s been following me. She has to know exactly where I lived with Kate. She knows about Kate. She knows Kate’s pregnant... She’s probably been in the hotel too.
“You’ve been following me.”
Mary shrugs. “And?”
“Sick.”
“No, Hudson. Sick is you. Sick is your twisted game of pitting two women against each other. Of creating the entire situation. You can leave now. I promise you, we’re both better off without you. Girl power. Like I said, think pink. And how do you feel about the name Ingrid?”
Her confidence is unshakable. I’ve never seen her quite like this.
“Are you taking your meds?”
“None of your business. Now, you can leave or I can call the cops.”
“They won’t throw me out of my own home.”
“They will if I feel threatened,” she says, smiling. “Look at me. Petite. And you? Well, you could stand to lay off the Fritos.”
Fuck this. For now, she can win. I’ll handle her in court. Bitch.