Monday, November 22, 2004

Who's your daddy?

I didn't feel like proof-reading. If I have typos, I'm sorry.

Keep up. Things are about to move quickly.

Jazz has been...introspective this week. I assumed it was because I outed us with Jesse and Danny and she was nervous about it. Does anybody know where I'm going with this? I bet you do. I bet you have an idea, every damn one of you. Apparently, I'm the only motherfucker out there who had no idea. The only one who blissfully went about his life trusting the cosmos would do as I willed them to do. The only one with enough arrogance to believe her behavior had nothing to do with anyone but herself.

When the phone rang tonight and I heard her voice, I knew something was wrong.

“I was making sure you’re home. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”

On a Sunday night? You know that feeling you have when adrenaline soaks your muscles in dread? Like when your heart starts racing and you can suddenly hear sounds only four legged animals can hear? Yeah, I had that feeling.

“Sure, baby.”

She hesitated through an awkward silence and then hung up without saying anything else. Should I have not said that?

Jesus. What the fuck is she about to do? Is she breaking up with me? We haven’t been together, physically, in over a week. I didn’t think anything of it, other than ‘dammit, why won’t she give it up,’ that is.

And last night she wouldn’t sleep over, which is unusual. She laid on me while we watched some movie on HBO, her head on my belly, then got up when it was over and said she had to go.

But Thursday night she voluntarily sat beside me and let the guys see us together as a couple for the first time in public. If she were going to dump me, surely she wouldn’t have made a move like that, making her feelings known, just to undo it all. Okay, just shut up and calm down. Maybe it’s the broker again, the one who came onto her a few months. Maybe he’s done it again and she’s been trying to work it out by herself and now she wants my help. Or, maybe it’s the finances. I know she has a credit card with a balance, something I’ve gotten onto her about. But I don’t know the balance. Maybe it’s higher than I figured and she hasn’t been comfortable saying anything because of my credit lecture.

If that broker has come onto her again, I’ll break his knees.


Shit. I never heard the door open. “I’m in here.” I felt safer sitting on the edge of my bed. Like she couldn’t possibly deliver bad news in the bedroom where we’ve slept together. In the kitchen, yes. The living room, yes. The bedroom, where she told me she loved me less than 2 weeks ago, no.

“What are you doing?”

“Just sitting here.” I patted the spot beside me and she sat down and faced me. It wasn’t the broker, or finances, or anything else. It was me. I could see it.


My god she smelled great. It’s a sweet scent, so subtle you have to breathe deeply to really appreciate it. It’s the same scent she was wearing the first time she came to the house, sat on my island, and intimidated the hell out of me.

She turned away. Shit, shit, shit. I swallowed and looked at my hands as they laid uselessly in my lap. I was afraid if I spoke it would only bring the bad news faster. And if she was going to leave me I was damn well not going to hurry her through it.

I steeled myself. I won’t ask why. I won’t ask her not to do it. I’ll respect her feelings and her decision and handle it with decency. Then when she leaves I’ll get wasted and smash up the furniture and hope it hurts like a motherfucker.

All right, I can’t take it any longer. “Jazz…?”

Her eyes, which are a mixture of dark green and brown, were suddenly overflowing with tears when she looked at me. “Jay, I’m pregnant.”

…………..wha…………….um………….blink, swallow………’re……….. “You’re what?” It was a stupid thing to say. A response that required no thought whatsoever, hence the reason it popped out of my mouth. “Pregnant?”

She nodded.

“We’re gonna have a baby?”

She didn’t nod.

Oh god, oh god, oh god. What does that mean? What does that mean? “You’re pregnant?” I asked again.

She nodded again.

I don’t understand. What’s my next move? Is this where I get happy, sad, pissed? What does she want me to be? Why is she staring at me like that? Am I supposed to say something? Oh my god. I…oh my god.

A baby.

My baby. Jasmine has my baby. Is she sure? “Are you sure?”

She handed me a stick with two windows and a blue stripe in each one. Was she holding that this whole time? “This one is the control window. This one is the results window. Two stripes means positive.”

Jesus Fucking Christ, she’s pregnant. It’s mine, right? I mean, I know this is probably a stupid question, but this isn’t some “I’m pregnant with your brother’s baby” Jerry Springer bullshit, right?

Deep breath. Exhale. Do it again, deep breath. Exhale. Jazz’s face was completely solemn despite the tears slipping down her cheeks. Okay, so she’s crying and she’s upset. Time to push the “She’s Having My Baby” bullshit song out of my head and tend to her.

“Come here.” I hugged her tight and she just crumbled into sobs. In all honesty, I didn’t understand why she was crying, but I held her for ten solid minutes while she did. Once she pulled away I grabbed the hand towel from the bathroom and let her wipe her face.

I leaned her back and laid down on the bed beside her, one leg over her thighs, kissing her nose and cheeks and forehead, then smiled at her. I told her how I felt about her and told her we’ll move forward from here, together. I let her know that I’m fully aware I have no say in what she decides to do, but assured her I’d be there no matter what.

I think she’s scared. I’m not sure why exactly, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand it. I’m scared myself. I just don’t know if her reasons are the same as mine. I doubt it. What does this mean for us? Will she keep it? How will it impact us if she doesn’t? Will I feel the same about her knowing she had my son or daughter inside and chose to terminate? And if she keeps it…suddenly there is a lifetime bond between us. Regardless of whether things work out between us down the road, if she keeps it this will tie us together for the rest of our lives.

I won’t propose because of this. I know that sounds callous, but it isn’t meant to be. What would that say of our marriage if I proposed because I got her pregnant and not because I wanted to be with her for the rest of my life? If it were me I’d like to know someone proposed for the right reasons, not from social pressures. And then there’s her perspective. At work, with the shark pool. Her family and friends. What do I do? What the fuck does she want me to do? It’s her body. But it’s our baby. Inside her body.

She told me to let it sink in, then we’ll talk about it later this week. I kissed her belly and asked her to stay the night with me. She said I should be alone tonight and went home.

So what did I do? I blogged.