7 min read

The Talk

“Are you sure you’re okay?” “Not really.”

 “You alright?”

“I’m alright.”

“You don’t look alright.”

“I am, though.”

“Okay then. What are you having?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m getting the burger with cheese fries. And a Coke.”

“That sounds good.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Not really.”

“Put the menu down and talk to me.”

“Can we not do this now?”

“Do what? I’m just asking. You’re the one acting all weird.”

“We’ll do this when we get home.”

“Wait, are you breaking up with me?”

“What? No, of course not. Are you crazy? We’ve been together for four years, you really think I’d break up with you in a restaurant? In public?”

“I never know with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’ve been acting weird all week and I’ve just let it go. I thought, maybe it’s your time of the month, maybe you’ve just had a tough week at work. I don’t know. You don’t tell me anything anymore.”

“I do tell you things—“

“No you don’t, you’ve been ignoring me all wee—“

“I’m pregnant.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“I mean I’m pregnant. I took three tests. I’m pregnant. I peed on the stick, three sticks, three different brands, three different days. I’m pregnant, Ry.”

“You’re pregnant. Like, pregnant pregnant.”


“What are you going to do about it?”

“What do you mean, what am I going to do about it. What are you going to do about it?”

“It’s your body.”

“But it’s our baby.”

“It is, isn’t it.”


“Do you…do you want to keep it?”

“I don’t know.”

“So you want to…abort it.”

“I don’t know.”

“Jesus. How did this happen?”

“It just did. People get knocked up all the time.”

“Yeah, people. Not us. Fuck.”

“Why are you so angry?”

“I’m not, I’m just—I don’t know. I don’t have the money to raise a kid, you don’t either. Do you know how much diapers cost? A stroller? Fucking…cribs and those walkie talkie monitors. And what if it gets sick? That’s more money on hospital bills and—“

“Calm down. People are looking.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, this is our future. All our plans…we were going to travel. We were going to do a lot of things together.”

“We still can.”

“Not with a baby.”

“What if we get…you know, married or something.”

“Do you really want to be one of those people who gets married because they got knocked up?”

“Forget about it. We might not even have the baby.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t mind not having it.”

“Oh ‘you don’t mind’ aborting the baby? Take this a little more seriously.”

“What do you want? I’m trying to be rational. You were complaining about how much the kid’s going to cost and you don’t want to get married, so it’s pretty clear where you stand.”

“Fine. Okay.”

“Okay, what? Okay with the not keeping the baby?”

“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. I’m too young to do this. We can barely afford rent with both of us working. When you have the baby you’ll quit your job and that’s half our income, gone. That baby—that thing is going to suck me dry.”

“I can still work. I’ll give it to my mom. Or daycare.”

“Daycare costs a lot of money, Jules.”

“Fine, yeah, we’ll do it.”

“Do what?”

“We won’t have the baby.”

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“You have to say what you’re going to do to it.”


“Because if you can’t even say it then you won’t do it.”

“I said I’ll do it.”

“Then say it.”

“I…won’t have the baby.”

“Say you’re going to abort the baby.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Jules, if you can’t even say ‘abort the baby’ what makes you think you can say it to the front desk of a hospital.”

“What’s wrong with you? I’ll do it. Christ. I’ll do it, okay?”

“Do what?”

“Abort the baby! I’ll abort our fucking baby!”



“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”