In May of 2004, they were twenty-five and thirty, which meant they were not too young, not even close. The show Friends was about to air its final episode, and the characters’ faces were on buses all over the city. The baby would be born when Jess was twenty-six, well into adulthood, a solid education under her belt. Cobie was having friends over and was distracted by assembling snacks and straightening up while Jess watched for Malcolm’s car from her bedroom window. “I’ll be back in a bit,” she called out to Cobie when she spotted his black Nissan, and ran down the stairs and around the corner, where he always got lucky with parking. When he found a spot, they walked to Duane Reade and, shocked by the prices, picked the cheapest test. But then as they waited on line and Malcolm read the small print on the box, Jess knew that no matter what the result, she wouldn’t trust it because it was half the price of the others, so she told him to hold their place while she went back and picked the most expensive. When she returned, he pulled her close and kissed the part in her hair. “Don’t worry,” he said.
“You don’t worry either,” she said, circling both arms around his waist.
Waiting ahead of them were ten other New Yorkers getting bits and pieces of daily life: mascara and Benadryl and condoms and greeting cards and toothpaste. It was a beautiful spring night.
She didn’t want to take the test at her apartment because Cobie was home and would have questions. Malcolm was surprised that she’d said nothing of her suspicion to anyone else, not to Cobie, not to anyone, and felt moved by it, a secret that was entirely theirs alone. So they walked the city for over an hour, the box shoved into Jess’s bag, until she couldn’t take it anymore and suggested running into the bathroom of a Pizza Hut they’d passed as they were walking through Times Square. “I’m coming, too,” Malcolm said, following her. “You think I’d wait outside for this?”
On the phone with him earlier that day she said on a scale of one to ten in terms of being sure she was at an eight, but now that she was about to actually pee on the thing, an eight felt overly dramatic. “So where are you now?” he asked. “A five?”
“More like a three,” she said. She made him turn around and plug his ears because she didn’t want him to see her pee but she also didn’t want him to hear.
He laughed, “I’ve seen you in more compromising positions.”
“I don’t care!” she said.
She was two weeks late. She was unusually tired. Things smelled weird but this was Manhattan and there had been a stretch of hot days.
“What now?” he asked as they huddled close together to look at the stick.
“The directions say it can take up to two minutes.” Out in the jam-packed restaurant, a song he loved was playing over the din. He hooked his fingers in her two front belt loops and pulled her close. He’d once come out from behind the bar at the Half Moon to dance to this song. A woman made an offhand remark that there was nothing better than a big man who was light on his feet, and Malcolm asked if anyone would like to see what that looked like. He touched his tie, had a moment of stillness, and next thing he hunched his broad shoulders and took off. The crowd clapped to the beat and made a circle around him. He danced faster, better. I love this guy, Jess thought that night. After one chorus he went back behind the bar as if nothing had happened. Remembering that, Jess understood that before the song was over, they’d know. Someone banged on the door, and Malcolm shouted that it would be a minute.
She peeked early, showed him, but they held their reactions until they got outside, away from the long lines of tourists ordering stuffed crusts to-go. It had gotten dark in the short time they’d been inside.
“I’m supposed to be upset, right?” she said. “You’re supposed to be upset. We’re supposed to ask each other how this happened. Then I’m supposed to say you don’t have to feel obligated. Are you upset?”
She studied him under the bright lights of Times Square, a false daytime at night. He didn’t seem upset. He was unflappable. She’d seen it at the bar and she was witnessing it now.
“Nope,” he said. “Are you?”
“No.”
He was built to take a blow, rock back on his heels for a moment, maybe, but never fall. We can do this, she thought, and knew he was thinking the same. She didn’t know how, it would no doubt get complicated, but she knew in her heart that they could. The sidewalk was thick with people. Usher was on the ten-story screen above them, saying how much he loved New York while “Yeah!” played in the background. There was no mystery; they both knew exactly how it happened. She forgot to renew her birth control prescription. To get a fresh pack of pills before heading to Gillam for the weekend she’d have to wait at Health Services for probably over an hour since she didn’t have an appointment. If she waited, she’d miss the best train, and she wanted to get to Gillam as soon as possible, get to him. Hours later, when she told him, he said it was fine, he’d pick up condoms, or they could skip it this time, it was up to her. But she didn’t want to skip it. What could happen? One little time. But then it turned into several times, because she stayed the whole weekend and he never got around to buying condoms and she didn’t make it to Health Services until Monday.
“I want to marry you, Jessie,” he said. “Not because of this. I wanted to anyway but I was thinking about how I’d ask.” He paused. “You are—”
“What?”
She knew why she loved him, but she wasn’t sure why he loved her. He appeared to be struggling with something, finding the right word, nailing down an exact thought, and even seeing him struggle opened something in her and she knew that his was the name written onto her soul, no matter what came next. “You’re kind and funny but there are a million women like that. You’re smart, obviously, but it’s not that either. You’re different. You see things differently. It’s like I knew you right away. I’m never more myself than I am when I’m with you. I don’t know how else to describe it.”
“Malcolm,” she said. “I’d marry you tomorrow.”
“So let’s,” he said, sweeping her up roughly.
“Careful! The baby!” She laughed, and he clutched his head as he stared at her midriff.
“Holy shit.”
“I never wanted a wedding. Like in a hall with centerpieces and stuff. That’s not me. I’ve never once had a fantasy about a wedding dress.”
“I know.”
“The courthouse sounds perfect to me. Quick and easy. Walk to lunch after.”
“Well, maybe a party at the bar, right? Something low-key?”
She laughed, “Of course.” And then her expression changed. “Oh God. You have to come with me to tell my parents.”
“Will they want us to do it in a church? My mother will definitely say something about that but she won’t really care.”
“Well, yeah, but—” She laid a hand on her stomach. “I think that ship has sailed.”
“What about school? We have to find a place to live.”
“I’m done after finals. I’m about to accept that position with Laborers’ International. I take the bar in July. We have nine months to get ready. Well, eight I guess. I think my mother will help as long as we’re close by. It can work.”
“And Hugh has already said something about wanting to retire. He asked if I’d be interested in buying the place.”
“And you would be interested, right? You love that bar.”
“Yes,” he said. “This is going to be so good.”
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