Let Him Have His Moon

"Yeah, you're right. She understands."

"Then just tell her everything."

I pulled open the bathroom door, shut it behind me, and a sharp cramp twisted low in my belly.

My eyes landed on the pads in the storage basket, and it hit me that my period was a week late.

I took a pregnancy test from the drawer and tore it open.

Five seconds. Pregnant. Two to three weeks.

My mind went blank.

I stood up slowly and walked out to the living room.

I meant to tell Gavin, but he came out of the bedroom in a fresh, dry set of clothes, his voice gone gentle.

"A leak? The unit downstairs is coming up?"

"Don't be scared, I'm on my way over. Shut the door and stay put."

The woman on the other end had a soft voice, thick with tears and panic.

As he passed me, he tossed off a line without stopping.

"Something came up. I'm heading out for a bit."

I watched his back and swallowed what I'd been about to say.

Right then, my phone buzzed.

I glanced at it. My best friend, Gloria Lyons.

"Val, these past few nights I keep dreaming the apricot tree in front of your old house is heavy with fruit."

"My mom says when the old folks dream of a fruit tree bearing fruit, it's usually a pregnancy dream."

She paused.

"You're not expecting, are you?"

I looked down at my flat stomach.

"Yeah. I am, actually."

"But I'm not keeping it."

"What? Not keeping it?"

"Haven't you always wanted a kid?"

Gloria was stunned.

I looked at the instant ramen in the trash, the mud-caked shoes at the entryway, the clothes stuffed in a bag.

"Gloria, remember the year my dad was dying, how I begged him for one painting, and he said he doesn't paint people?"

"Today's the anniversary of my dad's death. I went back to the old house."

"I found a whole box of portraits he'd painted of someone else."

I let out a soft laugh and shook my head.

"Spending a whole life with a man like that. There's no point."

Seven in the morning, my stomach churning.

I got up out of habit to drink some water and found the filtered water dispenser wasn't running.

Gavin had bought it.

It had broken two weeks ago. I'd told him more than once to have someone come fix it, and he kept forgetting.

Or maybe he'd never once remembered.

I pulled a knit cardigan over my shoulders and got up.

The moment I stepped out of the bedroom, I saw Gavin making breakfast in the kitchen. The smell was a spicy noodle soup.

Naomi was beside him, rummaging through a shopping bag.

"Stop looking."

Gavin turned his head, chopsticks still moving, a curve at his mouth.

"The chicken feet you love are tucked underneath."

Naomi gave a soft little hum.

Gavin smiled and took a cute little bowl from the corner of the cupboard.

That bowl. He'd had it custom-made from an artisan ceramics studio, and the pattern on it was a moon.

The day it arrived, I thought it was for me and was happy about it for a good while.

But he put it back in the box and said, flatly,

"Not for you. It's for something else."

Back then I assumed the something else meant he'd use it for his painting, and I didn't think much of it.

But now he ladled the noodle soup into it and handed it to Naomi.

"Eat at the table, it's too hot in here. I'll fry you an egg."

Naomi took a sip of the broth, her eyes lit up, and she lifted the bowl to his lips.

"Gavin, it's so good, you have a taste too!"

Gavin was cracking an egg into the pan, the oil hissing and spitting up, and he leaned down and took a sip without a second thought.

My hand tightened around the cup, and my thoughts drifted back a few years.

Back then Gavin and I had just moved in together. I'd seen a new spicy noodle soup at the supermarket and bought a pack to try.