#44. One Last Call

#44. One Last Call

The phone rang as Patrick walked into his living room.

It was Monday and April was at work. She had decided to work as far through the pregnancy as she could safely, so while Patrick’s evenings were still lonely, the clock was ticking steadily toward the day when everything would change. He imagined what it would be like when he could expect April to be here when he got home, with a baby in her arms, watching TV in her slippers. He imagined TV dinners, because he was positive the quality of their meals could only go down from even the present low. He pictured relatives arriving and departing through a revolving door, always wanting to see the baby, hold the baby, play with the baby. His baby, his child.

He fully expected it to be one of those relatives when he picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi,” said the voice.

Patrick inhaled, held it. “Is this . . .”

Pause. “Yeah.”

“Wow,” Patrick said. “Susan. Hi.”

“I’m glad I caught you. I thought maybe it was still too early.”

“Just walked through the door.”

“Yeah,” she said. “And April’s . . .”

Patrick waited. “She’s at work.”

“Right,” she replied. He heard her take a deep breath. “Well – have you noticed?”

Patrick scratched his head, cleared his throat. “Uh, do you mean that you disappeared? Yeah.”

“Yeah. I was going to make a joke.”

“Oh.”

Another pause. “I thought I should explain,” she said.

“Okay.”

“I went back home. I’m living with my parents now, temporarily anyway.”

“So that’s where you went,” Patrick said. He pursed his lips. “How’s that? Moving back in with them?”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.” Pause. “It’s better, I think.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Because I – I still have some friends here. And I get along with my parents really well, so that’s not a problem. It’s a lot less lonely. It just – wasn’t going to work out down there.”

Patrick swallowed. “Yeah. Okay.”

“I just thought you should know.”

“Okay.”

Silence, for a long while.

“Well. I guess I’ll let you go,” she said.

“April’s pregnant,” Patrick said.

“Wow,” she said. “Wow, great. Congratulations.”

“Due in August,” Patrick said.

“That’s great,” she replied.

Patrick waited. He didn’t want to say it. Did she understand? he wondered. Was she doing the math, counting back the months? Maybe she would be if things had gone differently between them. If things had taken a turn for the worst.

“It could’ve –” Patrick began. He looked down at his shoes. “Could’ve been different –” He grunted. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“How much – how much does you moving have to do with me?”

She sighed, then fell silent for a moment. “Some,” she said. “I don’t know how much. I don’t know how to answer that.”

“Some,” Patrick repeated. He sighed. “Well, I’m sorry. For however much it’s my fault that you felt like you had to leave. I didn’t want things to end up that way.”

“I know,” she said. “Thanks.” Pause. “I don’t know what else to say.”

Patrick thought of plenty of things to say. He wanted to tell her he missed her, that he wanted her to come back, that they could be friends, that they could still see each other, that he still felt something when he thought of her, that he knew she felt something too.

But then he breathed, and his heart slowed, and all he said was, “I don’t know either.”

“Okay,” she said. “Good luck with the baby.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Good luck at home.”

“Thanks.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Patrick hung up and sat down on the couch. He closed his eyes and listened to the clock, almost in time with his breathing. He opened his eyes again to discover an empty room. Everything was still. Everything was in place, in preparation.

He leaned back, put a hand on his chest and turned his eyes upward. “Thank you,” he whispered.