Yesterday was one of those life changing days. I wasn’t pulled back from the brink of death, or won the lottery. It was kind of subtle, and it wasn’t until the day had passed that I realised everything would be different from here on out. Then again, the change had been coming; I just didn’t see it until it was upon me.
As usual, I should start from the beginning.
Loraine’s words, ‘Loose lips sink ships’ stuck in my head all evening. Did she know? Of course she knew. But if she did, why didn’t she say more?
And there was that test. When I got home last night, I picked it up and took it to the bathroom, but I couldn’t even bring myself to open the box. I talked myself into thinking that I couldn’t pee on command. So I went into the kitchen and drank five glasses of water. I still didn’t have to pee.
I took the text back into the lounge, where it sat in its box. Taunting me. I took it to the bathroom again, but still couldn’t bring myself to open it.
About midnight there was a knock on the door, and my heart sank. I truly thought Fife was gone. I thought he’d never be back. I thought he was finally out my life. I ignored the door. The knocking got louder. I ignored it. The knocking continued. I had to make him go away, once and for all. I’d tell Fife through the door to leave, and then call the police. With my phone in hand, I looked through the peep hole. It wasn’t Fife. It was HarryPotter.
I opened the door and he stepped into the flat without saying a word. He pushed the door shut with his foot, grabbed me, pulled me towards him and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around his neck; I could feel his scruffy stubble across my face. His hands moved up my back, and he pulled me even closer.
Finally he stepped away. I was stunned. He walked me into the lounge. We sat on the floor and he explained.
‘I haven’t stopped thinking about all of this, and I don’t care if you’re going to have another man’s child. I don’t care if you’re not going to have another man’s child. I just don’t care. I’m sick of losing you. This is ridiculous.’
‘But it’s so complicated,’ I said.
‘Do you want to be with me?’
I said, ‘Yes.’
He kissed me and said ‘That’s all that matters. We’ll figure out the rest as we go.’
‘I still haven’t taken the test,’ I said.
‘I know. I’m reading your blog again,’ he said.
Shit, that blog. This blog.
I asked him if he was angry that I’ve been writing about him, and he said, ‘I don’t like it, and it drives me a bit nuts. But that’s who you are, I’ll have to live with it.’ Then he added, ‘By the way. Congratulations.’
‘Your job? Your promotion,’ he reminded me.
Oh yeah. It was all getting a bit surreal. I asked him how he knew, and he said, ‘I read your blog before I drove over. Actually, I guess the blog isn’t so bad. I’ll always know what you’re thinking.’
Should my friends, families and lovers always know what I’m thinking? What am I doing? Loose lips sink ships. Why do I compulsively write in this blog? Why can’t I just write in a diary like a normal person? I was so angry with Fife for using his novel to write about our relationship. Yet, I was doing the same thing. Why didn’t any of you, my bloggy woggy followers, scream at me in the ‘comments’ section. Why didn’t you shout at me, ‘For fuck’s sake. You’re just as bad as Fife’? Why didn’t I realise what a big hypocrite I was being?
I had been lying awake on the bedtress, curled next to HP, feeling like everything was almost right in the world. Almost. I knew what I need to do to make it perfect. Well, not perfect. But better than ‘almost’.
I needed to take the test and I need to stop blogging. Or, stop blogging about my life, my work, my friends, my loves, and my family. This will be my last personal blog. I’ll still keep in touch. I’ll still talk about publishing and interning and agenting. But it will have to be general, about the industry — not about me or my life in publishing. I’m sorry, but I can’t do it anymore.
HarryPotter has suffered through me. He asked me to stop blogging about him, but I continued, and he loved me anyway. I owe it to him. I owe it to Loraine. And I owe it to Conspiracy to stop. I owe it to my friends. So, I shall have to stop.
But don’t worry. It won’t end until I’ve told you the results of my test. That wouldn’t be fare to you, my bloggy woggy followers, who have supported and consoled me along the way.
I slipped out of bed last and walked lightly to the bathroom. I didn’t want to wake HarryPotter. I finally opened the box. My stomach was rumbling with nerves, and I wanted to begin crying before I even knew the results. I read the directions and opened the foil packed the stick was kept in. It was time.
I pulled down my pants and discovered that the test wasn’t needed. In the night, finally, I started my period.
It’s funny that for your life to change, sometimes things just need to go back to the way they should be.