Two days. That was it, two days and I was over it. Molly had rearranged all my belongings in the first day, making a pile of things to keep and things to throw away. Today she had somehow managed to rearrange my life. I’m not sure how I ever thought this to be a good idea, Molly and I moving in together. But here we are, sharing a tiny match box sized studio apartment in the trendy part of town. I wanted to have a beer on my front verandah, not at some snobby bar downstairs with all the phoney’s in their hundred dollar business shirts. I stuck my head out the window and lit a cigarette. I really missed my front yard.
“Jack, what are you doing out the window?”
Shit. I looked at the sky, someone had to hear me. All I want is five minutes alone, is that to much to ask.
“Jack are you smoking?”
Apparently five minutes was way to much to ask. I flicked the cigarette out onto the street and drew myself back inside. I turned to face her, to find tears brimming in her eyes. Crap.
“How could you? Don’t you care about me at all? About us at all?” She said, as she broke down, sobbing, her shoulders heaving and shaking with each loud wail.
“Molly. Of course I care. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care…”
“What! Now I’m just some charity case. You just moved in with me out of pity. Well, up yours Jack!”
“That’s not what I meant. Molly, come on, come and sit down, you’re supposed to be resting and taking it easy. Remember what the doctor said.”
The wailing slowed and I edged closer to her. I reached out to her, gently, not wanting to frighten her and placed my hands on the bump protruding so visibly beneath her loose shirt.
“It’ll be ok, baby.” I said, patting Molly’s stomach. I hoped it felt reassured, because I was swallowing down the urge to vomit.