Free I Unlove You by Matthew Turner Page B

and fixation towards the dark stuff becomes more apparent
each day. It highlights another reason why pregnancy fails to
appeal. After all, who wants to double in size, be unable to sit
down without the help of others, or push a football-sized object
out of their nether regions? The thought of no coffee for months on
end? No, I couldn ’ t do it, and I feel
for B , because she, too, loves coffee, but not in the same vein
as me.
    “ How on earth will you cope
working here? ” I say, breathing in the fresh, bitter smell of ground
beans.
    She
sighs again, pushing her hot chocolate further across our
ankle-height table. “ I don ’ t want to think
about it. I may have to quit. ”
    “ You can ’ t quit this
place. You love it here. ”
    “ You love it
here, ” she says, reaching above her head and removing a book from
one of the many bookshelves dotted around the room. “ You could
take over my shifts and fulfil your dream job. ”
    “ I wouldn ’ t want to
ruin the mystique, ” I say.
    “ What
mystique? ” she laughs. “ This place is too small to have
mystique. ”
    “ Are you kidding? ” I say, motioning my
hands from our table to the cobbled-together counter a few feet to
my right. “ A place like this defines romance, with its antique,
individual tables, some too small, others too big; and the way the
lighting is never quite right: too bright on a sunny afternoon, too
dim in the evening with lamps older than the both of us; and how
the bookshelves don ’ t match, nor the
cups or plates or the candles. ” I continue, my hands dancing along
with my words. “ You don ’ t decide to create
something like this, it evolves. If I was to work here,
I ’ d lose that intrigue, just like you have. Remember,
you once loved this place as much as I do. More so,
even. ”
    “ Nobody loves this place like
you, ” she says, leaning on her knees. The room ’ s shadows
cast half her face in darkness, whilst the sun screaming through
the window illuminates the rest.
    “ You used to, ” I say, brushing a
stray strand of hair away from her cheek.
    “ You think you know me so well,
don ’ t you? ”
    “ I do know you so well.
There ’ s nothing about you I don ’ t
know. ”
    “ Is that so? ”
    I nod.
    “ Well, I ’ m afraid I have
bad news for you, mister, because every girl has
secrets. ”
    “ Even from
me? ”
    “ Especially from
you. ” She winks.
    “ I see. Well, at least I have
coffee. ”
    “ Cruel. ”
    Crossing my right leg over my left thigh, I smile. “ You know,
you won ’ t be able to keep it a secret from these guys
for long, ” I say, angling my eyes towards the
counter.
    “ Are you saying
I ’ m getting fat? ”
    “ No. I think your coffee-less
diet will give you away long before your body
does. ”
    “ I hadn ’ t thought about
that. ” She bites her lip. “ I guess we better tell
everybody soon. ”
    “ Yeah, I guess
so, ” I say, recalling the night at my parents ’ .
    After the initial shock settled, the rest of the evening,
and indeed the days since, passed without incident. Talking
about B ’ s symptoms, and listening to my father share stories of when
I was in the womb, we laughed and smiled and celebrated like a
family. Although the time will come to create plans and discuss
money and birthing processes, it wasn ’ t
then.
    Regardless, my mother remained
quieter than usual, her eyes unable to hide her worry. I think my
father sensed this, for he barely shut up all night.
    “ When your mother first told me
she was pregnant, I was listening to Beast of Burden by the Stones.
I ’ ve never been able to listen to that song the same
way, ” he said. “ I remember our first trip to the doctor, and how
nervous I was. I just knew they were going to find an extra finger
or thumb, ” he continued, sharing one story after
another.
    “ The moment I first saw
you …” he trailed off, smiling and kissing my
mother ’ s cheek. “ You two will be great
parents. ”
    As
a