Free A Measure of Blood by Kathleen George Page B

one if she wanted one. He wasn’t sure what to say to her.
    â€œI have no savings. I live in an efficiency,” she said. “I’m ridiculous. That’s going to change. I’m working next year in the schools. At least I can get a bigger apartment.”
    He wanted to say he was ridiculous too. He didn’t tell her he only had a cell of a room in his mother’s house—or what was really his father’s house, way up in State College. His childhood was in Puerto Rico, his high school in Florida where the stud guys pushed him around and where anybody was lucky to get home from school without being stabbed. And after that, everything was even worse when they moved up to State College so his mother could take care of his father, who was sick and dying.
    He attended college halfheartedly. His father, a professor, got tuition benefits and couldn’t see not using them. Nadal didn’t mind learning, but papers, exams, teachers had stressed him almost to the breaking point.
    â€œLet me see your apartment,” he said to Maggie.
    When they got to her building on Hobart Street and she fumbled with her key, he stood behind her, looking at the mailbox. What he saw blew his mind. It made him ecstatic. Her last name. Same as his. Same as the one he got from the professor. Brown.
    â€œYou don’t know a Professor Arnett Brown, do you?” he asked, feeling giddy.
    â€œNo,” she said. “Why?”
    â€œJust checking. He’s a prof I had. Same name as yours.”
    â€œAnd hundreds of others. It’s a common name.”
    He smiled. “And mine. My name.”
    â€œYou’re kidding.”
    â€œYou see! This was meant to be.”
    â€œI don’t think so.” But she laughed.
    They kissed a little. She said, “For me, relationships keep not working out. It must be something about me. But what do I do about wanting a baby? I dream about being a mother. I really want to be a mother.”
    â€œThat’s a good feeling.”
    â€œWhat do you know about it?”
    â€œWell, I want to be a father.”
    â€œReally? Most men don’t want to.”
    He could only remember the strutting boys from his high school, counting off their conquests, their offspring. “It makes you a man,” he said. “It makes you somebody.”
    â€œOh, Lord.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œDifferent worlds. I mean, I knew you were young, but … Thanks for the movie, Mr. Brown.”
    He kissed her. At first she didn’t kiss back. Then she did. They started to mess around. She said, “We shouldn’t be doing this. I can’t get into a relationship.”
    â€œYou said you wanted that.”
    â€œSure, with the right person.”
    She looked right through him. They kept messing around. They even ended up on her bed. She made him stop short of intercourse, but he knew that one little drop could make its way up the river and end up getting her pregnant. He hoped it did.
    When he got up to leave, Maggie’s hair was wild. She looked very beautiful. “I’m sorry,” she said.
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œI don’t want to lead you on.”
    â€œDidn’t we have a good time?”
    He waited to call her because he knew he was supposed to make her want him. He also had work at the Kinko’s in Bellefonte and he had classes—all of which he hated. And then it rained for weeks and hitchhiking in the rain was a bummer.
    Finally he did call her. He said, “We could just go for a hamburger.” At that point he was in his fourth year and she had started teaching.
    â€œI could use the company,” she said.
    He got himself to Pittsburgh and to her apartment with half a minute to spare. They walked up the street to the Squirrel Hill Cafe where burgers were cheap. She ordered a beer, so he did, too. He had to show a card, because the waiter didn’t believe he was of age. She rolled her eyes. “See?”