But I need it

756 words

I don’t know what it is that she needs, but it’s not a baby, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m leaning more toward a new career opportunity in a different state, and she’s asking him to come along. Or a medical procedure of some sort, and she’s asking for his support. I don’t even fully know what their relationship is.

I was really happy that the word count was more than 750 words when I stopped where I did, because that’s exactly how I wanted it to end. Sorry we won’t get to know what the conversation was about.

The two of them had been silent for a while, boisterous customers flirting and jostling around them. Sitting quietly at their table, they were a somber island in an ocean of laughter and bad decisions in progress, some repercussions would see the light of day tomorrow, others months from now. Starla hadn’t meant to have this conversation now, in the middle of their neighborhood bar. But the words were out, laid between them on the table like a menu, and now they had to choose. Well, Starla thought, Connor had to choose. She lifted her eyes to see if she could see his choice on his face, but his own gaze was on the table, his lips thin and pale, his hands shredding a straw wrapper. Bits of papery pulp dusted the sticky table, and he wiped them away before sitting back and opening his mouth to speak.

“Starla, I—” A half-filled pint of beer exploded on the table, courtesy of a gentleman in his 30s trying to recapture some of his gloriously misspent youth. He’d been standing next to their seats, butt precariously close to Connor’s face, having an animated conversation with three women at once to bolster his odds. Starla had been watching his technique, and though she thought it was clumsy, he seemed to be making progress with one of the women. But his confidence tipped too much toward the “over” category, and he’d lost his grip on his beer while making a point. 

The glass didn’t shatter, but did an almost choreographed dance to inflict as much yeasty damage as possible. Both Starla and Connor were doused with the sour IPA before the glass came to rest on its side, slowly rocking in a puddle of its own making. Starla and Connor jumped from their seats, shaking their hands and assessing their clothes. Connor got the worst of it, and he stared down at his soaked shirt. He sighed loudly. “Come on, man,” he said. 

The mid-thirties man was horrified. “Oh my god. Oh. I am, I am so sorry,” he said, as the women he was trying to impress retreated. He looked around desperately for napkins, but finding none in the immediate vicinity, used his hand as a squeegee to slide the liquid off the table and onto his own shoes. “Ah, shit,” he said. “This isn’t going to work. I’m going to see if I can grab some napkins.” He left, and Starla knew they wouldn’t see him again. 

Starla rummaged through her bag, producing a package of Kleenex along with a crumple of unused Starbuck napkins. “Here,” she said, passing them to Connor. He took them and began dabbing his shirt. “Do you have more? Do you need one?” he said, holding the Kleenex package out to her and assessing her clothes. She waved him away. “It was mostly my arms. It’s fine.” Connor nodded, turning his attention back to his shirt. 

“Do you want another beer?” Starla asked, making a move toward the bar. This movement caught the hopeful eyes of several other customers who’d been ready to pounce on an open table. They became disinterested when Connor sat back down. “No,” Connor said, “I’ll just suck on my shirt for a while.”

Starla laughed perhaps louder than she should have, relieved the tension was broken and that he seemed to be in a good humor, despite the choice placed before him and the misery of a brew-soaked wardrobe. She checked her seat for puddles and sat down again, and Connor followed, not bothering to check his own seat. 

Connor gave up trying to dry his clothes, and began absent-mindedly shredding the napkin. “That guy had spectacularly bad timing,” Starla said. “You were about to say something.”

“Yeah,” Connor said, “I was.” He took a breath, but the momentum broken, his resolve seemed to have weakened.

Starla placed one hand over his, steadying it and saving the napkin from further destruction. “Connor,” she said. “I know this is difficult for you. But I need it. I promise I’m not trying to manipulate you or push you to a decision you don’t want to make. But I have to be honest with you. I need it. I need this. It’s probably the most important decision I’ve ever made for myself, and I’d like you to be a part of it. But I understand if you can’t. I swear. I’ll understand.”

Connor lifted his head and studied Starla’s face. He squeezed her hand hard, once, and let go. Starla knew then that the answer was no.