A Pact For Life (37 page)

Each step from the sidewalk to the front door took a little bite out of his confidence. It wasn't enough to cause him to turn back, but it did change his walk from a float to a clomp. He no longer was confident enough to attain the 25,000 miles per hour necessary to escape gravity.

At the front door, he reached for the knob like he always used to at Diana's condo, but stopped halfway there. Reluctantly, he pressed the doorbell, took a deep breath, and waited for an answer.

The door opened, and face to face for the first time in weeks, they both had that heart sinking, 'holy shit!' type of reaction, but only Diana made it known in the form of a gasp.

“Cale!? What are you doing here?”

With remnants of confidence still rattling around inside, Cale did his best to play it cool. “I got your messages and wanted to talk about everything. Sorry about being MIA these past few weeks.”

“Oh, I'm so happy,” Diana said as she studied Cale. He looked terrible, and she knew it was more accurate to say he was a POW rather than MIA.

“Wow, look at you. Your stomach looks ready to burst.”

“I wish it would. No one ever told me how achy the last few months are.”

“What hospital are you going to for the delivery?”

“St. Luke’s. You better be there for it.”

Giving such a direct order made them both feel good. For Cale, it was that intimate level of familiarity with the bossy Diana. For Diana, it was a small recoup of power since the earlier phone call with Andrew left her feeling powerless.

“Of course I'll be there.” Cale said as he thought of something to say to get her back. “So listen, I've been doing some thinking lately, and I want to be in our daughter's life.”

“Really? That makes me so happy, Cale. You should come to my office sometime to work out a custody agreement.”

Custody agreement? Cale's primary goal for coming over was to get Diana back. Talking about custody was definitely not a way to do it. In deflection, he said, “Let's wait until the baby is born, then we can figure all that stuff out.”

“That sounds good to me. Do... do you want to come inside?”

“Sure.”

As Cale stepped inside, Diana asked, “So, how's it going?”

“Oh, you know, not too bad...” From the corner of his eye, Cale saw a pair of shiny, black, men's shoes that looked far more professional and expensive than any he's ever owned. His head started to spin as he managed to spit out, “I still can't think of any new pieces. Brian and Nick are the same as ever. My dad was just in town. He says hi.”

“Just hi? That doesn't sound like your father.”

Cale grinned. “You're right, it was actually closer to this,” He grabbed her hand, kissed it, and said very casanova-esqe. “Hello there, beautiful.”

Diana gave a smile that melted everything in a two mile radius. “That was uncanny. Just add some gray hair and you're him.”

“Thanks, I've been studying him for long enough.”

This led to a silent face-off. The proper term for their expressions during this would be, 'titter'. It's a sort of a closed-mouth laughter, almost in disbelief, but good nonetheless. That was the moment Cale decided would be the best to get her back. Black shoes be damned, he was going to win her over.

Before he could speak though, the front door opened and a voice came through it. “Diana, I'm home. Listen, I'm sorry about earlier, I took the rest of...” Right behind the voice came a tall, dark, and for Cale, a literally soul-crushing form of a man. Suspiciously, he said, “Hello?”

Diana panicked. Andrew and Cale meeting was something she knew would happen eventually, but figured it would happen when she could control it.

“Andrew, this is Cale... my ex.”

“Oh, it's really nice to meet you. I'm Andrew Finnegan.” He said and reached out to shake Cale's no longer bandaged hand. Cale, who only heard about two words since Andrew walked in the door, went against everything that made him, him, and shook Andrew's hand like any typical 15-80 year old man would do. Someone had taken over his body, and he didn't want to regain control.

He never heard Diana describe him as her ex. Like being called her boyfriend, being called her ex was something equally displacing, but also carried with it a feeling of worthlessness.

With his hand still gripped with Andrew's, Cale switched to his best impersonation of an adult, “It's good to meet you, too.”

“So Diana tells me you're some kind of artist?”

“I used to be. Now I help run a coffee shop over in Cap Hill. What about you?”

“I'm a cardiologist.”

Smarter, better looking, fitter, richer, hell, name any category and Andrew would've wiped the floor with Cale. Sure, there were things like drinking and a tolerance for pain that Cale might've won, but who wants to win those things anyway? And how was someone supposed to win drinking?

“So I should probably get going. Um... I guess just let me know when you go in for delivery, and I'll meet you there?”

“Absolutely. Call me if you need anything, okay?” Diana responded. She felt bad for Cale. It was obvious to anyone who spent longer than five minutes with him that he was forcing politeness and a smile because he surely was dying inside.

Forgetting the box of clothes with his name on it, Cale gave several awkward nods in Diana and Andrew's direction followed by a scramble for the door.

He left the house that should've been his that contained the woman who was once his who was pregnant with the baby that was his, and never turned back till he got to the bus stop. He wanted a drink.

The Cale Dawkins' Death Watch 

Death Clock: 11:58 

Injuries Sustained: A crushed spirit and a broken heart.

Current Substances: Completely dry (regrettably)

Number Of Women In Past Seventy-Two Hours: Zero

BLASPHEMATIC THERAPY

The Diana Young Pregnancy Update 

Estimated weeks till delivery: 4 

Shape of stomach: A pearly skinned Buddha. 

Food Craving: A panini with salami, provolone, and spicy mustard.

Mood: Bored

Knowing full well the procedure by now, a dress-wearing Diana sat in front of Dr. Lincoln ready for the typical questions. That’s why it was such a surprise when Dr. Lincoln threw her a curve.

“So, Cale didn’t come with you?”

Diana took a second to decide how honest to be with the good doctor. She didn’t want to tell her the whole story. It was way too long, way too personal, and all around painted her as a terrible person no matter how hard she spun it, so instead she went with, “Ummm, we split up. He won’t be coming anymore.”

Dr. Lincoln genuinely apologized, “Oh, I’m terribly sorry, dear.”

“Don't worry about it. We both agreed that we're best on our own.”

With a thrust of a speculum, Dr. Lincoln intimately asked, “Is he still going to be there for the delivery?”

“He better be!” Diana answered with a type of spice that had been all too rare in her life as of late.

“Well, just in case he isn't,” Dr. Lincoln said as she examined inside Diana. “Is there is someone else you would like in the delivery room? I can make a note in your chart to let the hospital know.”

Diana should’ve thought about this longer than she did. “Can you add Jenny Ferri? She’s my assistant.”

Dr. Lincoln nodded, scribbled the update into Diana’s chart, and said, “So have you already started your maternity leave? For most of my patients, it's their favorite part of the process.”

“I'm not taking time off until after the delivery.”

“Really? You're that busy?”

Once again, the fire of Diana Young was lit. “There's partner meetings, client relations, advertising, continuing education, and hundreds of other things that have nothing to do with practicing law. It takes a lot to be successful, and if I have to give up two weeks of lying on a couch watching talk shows and soap operas, then too damn bad. I'm strong enough that I don't need to leave all my responsibilities for one of the other partners.”

Diana drew a breath and continued. “I know this makes me sound like some sort of hardcore feminist, but I don't want to be treated equally just because I'm a woman. I want to prove my worth, and since my colleagues are all males, that means I have to work that much harder. So no, I won't be taking a maternity leave. My time off will start on the day of the delivery and last until I feel I'm ready to come back.”

Dr. Lincoln nodded and tried her best to empathize with Diana's position as she began the ultrasound. She pressed the sonar stick onto Diana's stomach, but immediately pulled back and squealed, “Oh Diana, look at your stomach!”

Like trying to look over a giant hill, Diana could barely tell what it was Dr. Lincoln wanted her to see. Sticking through the gel-coated skin on her stomach was a tiny little hand. Her daughter was extending a high five for a speech worthy of all hard working women.

The places Cale awoke on the days that followed meeting Andrew

•On the floor curled up in front of his toilet.

•A queen sized air mattress with a brunette whose name he couldn't remember.

•Face down on the smooth concrete floor one foot away from his bed.

•The drunk tank at the Denver Police Station. They picked him up for what was reported as, 'Excessive vigilantism with a traffic cone'.

•The brunette with the air mattress again. He still didn't remember her name, but in his defense, when you're depressed, fucked up, and lonely, a vagina and a bed is all that matters. Names mean squat.

Now that he had time to really think about Diana and Andrew, Cale came to one logical conclusion. To think is to feel, thus, in order not to feel, one must not think. It was a very easy philosophy to follow. All Cale needed was a bar that served martinis.

On this particular night, Brian and Nick were at the bar with Cale, but Nick was merely there in the way someone in a coma is 'there'. His attention was 100% focused on his phone and a cocktail napkin littered with handwritten notes.

As Cale's fourth martini was placed in front of him, a sober Brian asked him, “What do you think about that girl out there smoking?”

On the patio, a skinny, dark redhead in a loose, black and white polka dot dress was staring out toward the empty street. They couldn't see her face, only her back, hair, and the trail of smoke emanating from a cigarette.

It took only one glance for Cale to say, “No.” If she would've had any other color hair, he would've been out there smoking with her in an instant, but dark red was just too familiar.

“Come on, Cale, the only way to get over Diana is by fucking her out of your system.”

Cale took a hero's pull from the cocktail glass and bitterly said, “You're clueless if you think that will make me feel better. Do you really wanna know what will help me? How about a fucking sculpture? Any fucking piece that will make me feel something besides worthless.”