of despair I’m wearing. This news has bought my past rushing back, images of wartime, of my mother dying in agony because we couldn’t afford meds. The photographs of my father, dead, his body a sick map of bloodied cuts and broken bones. It’s all rushing through me, showing me who I really am. Will this poison in me be in my child?
I think of Cassie, my sunshine girl. Wouldn’t my poison also destroy her in time? Would it have stopped me? I doubt it.
It’s as if the moment I realize I can’t have her, I truly understand just how much I want Cassie.
I won’t be my father, though. I won’t abandon my kid. Despite it being the last thing I want to do, I’ll do right by Liza. For my kid. The child she’s carrying.
The enormity of it all is too much to comprehend. I can’t figure out how I feel because my emotions are a mixed-up mess of anger, resignation, despair, and a kernel of something else. Excitement maybe, at having a child of my own. My flesh and blood. There’s no one of my blood left in this world, and that’s a lonely feeling if you let yourself think about it.
When eight rolls around, I find myself in my old haunt of Maxim’s. A place I used to go often to meet women, but haven’t been to in ages. Twenty minutes later, Liza deigns to arrive. She flounces in as if she’s some queen, and I roll my eyes before taking a much-needed sip of whisky. God, get me through this without me losing my temper, I pray.
“Hey, K, baby.”
She smiles and struggles up onto the stool opposite mine. Her belly isn’t that big, but compared to her frame it is. She’s always been super skinny, but she looks slimmer now, and when I really look at her face, she’s sallow under her foundation.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
“Yes, just tired. It’s tiring being pregnant.” She sounds snappish as if this is my fault.
It takes two to tango, and she enjoyed the dance as much as I did.
She waves the barman over and orders a glass of wine.
“Are you supposed to be drinking?” I ask. Pretty sure she’s not.
“It’s one glass of wine, K, stop being a nag.”
“Don’t fucking call me K.” I shake my head and take another big sip of whisky.
“King K,” she purrs. “That’s what they call you, King K. It’s a good job it’s not King Kong, or you’d sound like a big ape.” She snort-laughs, and I grind my teeth. “I guess if you’re the king, and I’m carrying the heir, that makes me a queen, right?”
“Not my fucking queen. You’re an incubator, so don’t go getting ideas above your station.” Ah shit, and there goes my promise to myself to play nice.
Her eyes flash, and she shakes her head. “If I’m merely an incubator, then I guess there’s nothing to talk about.”
I sigh and rub the shadow already forming along my jaw, despite having shaved that day. I need to control my temper, or she’ll piss off and take my child with her.
She sips at her wine and pouts at me over the rim of the glass. “Let’s not get off to a bad start, okay? You should be nicer. You’re a bitch, K.”
Oh, but she’s making it so hard to place nice.
“Bad start? You text me a picture of your belly as if we’re besties and you’re sharing gossip. You come here, late, and then proceed to drink, while heavily pregnant. You look like shit. Have you been eating right? Taking vitamins?”
“Oh, so now you care,” she says with a snarl. “Now the great Konstantin gives a shit. Where were you when I was trying to get ahold of you to tell you, huh?”
“We were over; why would I take your call?”
“Then you can’t blame me for telling you the way I did. I had to let you know.”
I sigh and glance at my watch. “Listen, you need to move into my house.”
She stares at me and laughs. “What?”
“You’re pregnant, with my child, and I’m going to take the best care of you.”
She takes a big swig of her wine, and I take the glass from her and place it out of reach. I call the bartender over and order a mineral water. He places the glass in front of me, and I slide it to Liza.
With narrowed eyes, she takes a sip. “Listen, I don’t want to live with