The door slammed shut and woke Mere. The sun was already setting. She’d slept for over an hour. Sleeping for two, she thought as she rubbed her eyes.

Patricio threw his coat across the couch. He rubbed his hands. “Cold out there. Low 40s and not even Turkey Day yet.” He reached under her blankets. “Warm in here.” He touched her neck.

Mere yiped and sat up. “Oh my God, Patricio. Knock it off.”

“Touchy.” He collapsed on to the couch.

Mere pulled her legs up to her chest, so he wouldn’t sit on her.

“Long day at work.” Patricio rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Ten-hour shift. A car accident. A heart attack. Quiet down at the casinos.” He reached for Mere’s hand. “What’d you do all day?”

Mere yawned and stretched her arms out.

“Did you study?” He peered across the living room to the bookshelf. “Nope. All seven volumes of the MCAT study guide still safe on their shelf.” He lifted his head and sniffed. “Did you cook me that dinner you promised? Nope.” He patted her knee. “Did you get a less shitty job?”

“Screw you.” Mere pulled herself up off the couch. “I will prepare your dinner now, Master.”

“I’ll help. What’re we having?” Patricio groaned as he stood up from the couch and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You look like you’re getting a cold.”

Mere shrugged. “Can’t tell what I’m in the mood for. Nothing sounds good.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “That’s sweet, but I can do it.” She gave him a kiss and pushed him back down on the couch. “You worked all day. I’ve got it.”

Before he could reply, she went into the bathroom and shut the door. Pulling down her sweats and undies in one motion, she sat, stared at her pale, white thighs, and finally peed. Kath came back to mind. Kath standing in front of the mirror, holding a bag of peas to her eye, while Mere unbraided her hair.

(2)

Two weeks ago, Kath finally convinced Mere to come to the roller derby bout after work. They changed in the women’s bathroom, which they had all to themselves. Not many female customers at Hooters. Mere had peeled out of her skin tight shirt and micro-shorts. They had left a mark around her middle.

“You’ve put a little meat on your bones, girl.” Kath winked. “Looks good.”

Mere had watched Kath pull on lycra shorts and her team jersey, the Derby Demons. She always looked good. She was bent over the sink and scrubbing off the make-up she wore to make her almond eyes more prominent and seductive.

“Asian eyes are exotic. Exotic equals bigger tips,” Kath told her during job training. “You should play up the blonde girl angle.” Kath was saving up for a ticket to Peru where she could teach English and hike Machu Picchu. “You should come.” Kath had issued the invitation during an unusually slow shift. “You’re always saying how you’ve never been anywhere.”

She should go. She thought it then. Kept thinking it every few weeks.

Mere was caught off guard staring at Kath’s ass.

“Once you’re done admiring, can you hand me my hairbrush?”

Kath had gotten hurt near the end of the derby bout. Elbow to the nose and a black eye. Mere had driven Kath to her apartment, put a bag of peas on her eye, and felt her nose to see if it was broken. Calling Patricio would have been the obvious thing. He wasn’t on shift and had a stocked EMT bag.

Instead, Mere unbraided Kath’s hair and brushed it out.

“I love your hair,” she said as she ran her fingers through the long, thick black hair that would be straight if it hadn’t just come out of braids. Then, Mere helped Kath out of her derby uniform and into sweats. Kath ran a hand down Mere’s arm and held her face.

They didn’t kiss. Mere had been reliving this moment for the past two weeks.

(3)

“You okay in there?” Patricio knocked on the door. “You’re still not eating right. Fatigued. Negative COVID test.”

Mere sighed and flushed the toilet. “Taking a shit, if you don’t mind,” she called over the running water in the sink.

Patricio came in anyway, wrapped his arms around her, and dropped his hands to her stomach. They locked eyes in the mirror. Her eyes answering his question.

“Really? I’m right?” He dropped his arms. “I had to guess. I can’t fucking believe you!” He stomped into the living room. “When did you find out?”

“A month ago.” She can’t justify it.

“A month?” Patricio slammed his hand against a wall. “A month!” He pulled his hand down his face. “Dios mio, a fucking month.” His eyes squint shut. Mere saw him squeeze back tears. “Estas embarazada de un mes, but you don’t think I need to know?”

She followed him into the kitchen.

“Who knows? Tu madre? Kath?”

Mere was silent. Here was her opening and courage failed her. Courage had been failing her for almost a year. The courage to admit that she didn’t want to go to medical school. The courage to admit that, although she loved Patricio…. The courage to admit that she wanted to be with Kath. No—not be with her. Not just in her bed. To be tangled around her. She already was tangled around Kath.

“Bueno!” He banged the dishwasher open. “We’ll do it your way. No talking. Bring the baby home in June. Surprise! Look what I won at the dollar slots!” He started slamming plates into the dishwasher. “Why is this kitchen such a hellhole?”

Mere slid past him to the sink. Rinsing the cereal bowls, she said, “No one. No one knows.” She handed him the sharp knives with the points down.

“Yeah, right!” He grabbed the knives from her and pointed them up near her face. “Your mama doesn’t know? She’ll need time to prepare for the shock. Her American Girl Doll giving birth to a wetback.”

Mere rolled her shoulders. “She never called you a wetback.” She pointed at the knives. “Put them in points down.”

“No! I don’t want to. They don’t get clean that way.” Patricio yanked the bowls out of her hands. “Now is not the time for your Jesus on Adderall methods of loading the damn dishwasher.”

“I didn’t tell her because I’m not sure about keeping it.”

Patricio stood up. He turned his back on her. He opened the fridge and stared for a full minute.

Mere ran blistering hot water into one side of the sink and added too much dish soap. She quietly took water bottles off the counter and sank them under the bubbles one at a time.

Patricio threw a package of hamburger meat next to the stove. Mere jumped at the sound of it slapping down on the counter. He tossed out buns, rolled a tomato across the counter, and threw a package of romaine lettuce on top of the pile.

The lettuce did it. Mere gagged, heaved, and threw up a bit in her mouth. She spit into the empty side of the sink, gagged some more, and rinsed her mouth with steaming hot water. She spit again and screamed. Tears of pain and frustration spilled down her face. Mere sank to the floor and put her face on her knees.

“Put the lettuce away. I can’t look at it, or I’ll puke.” She heard the fridge open and shut. A hand nudged her on the shoulder. She shook her head. “I need to sit here a minute.”

Patricio slid down on the other side of the dishwasher. “Ugh. Why’s it so greasy?” He reached across for a dish towel. “Mere, ask for help. Ask for help when you need it.” He twisted the towel in his hands. “Don’t drive me out.”

Mere lifted her head. “I don’t need your help. I need an abortion.”

Patricio balled up the towel and threw it at a cupboard door. “It’s not that easy. What if I want this baby?” He kicked his foot out against the fridge door. “I know it’s not perfect. But it’s still a blessing. An imperfect blessing.” He stood up and reached down to pull her off the floor. Mere allowed him to haul her up.

He squeezed her hand. “Besides, what’s more Catholic than a fast-tracked Silver Queen wedding ceremony?” Mere slid past the open dishwasher and stood with him. She held his hands. “I can’t have you both.”

Patricio wrinkled his brow. “Mere, that’s how it has traditionally worked. Maria, Jose, and baby Jesus. We just got things a little out of order. Los padres will get over it. In time. A long, long time.”

Mere squeezed his hands, willed him to stop talking. She pulled his face down and kissed him on the forehead.

Patricio drew his hands away and covered his face. “No. No, seriously no. Kath? I’m right, aren’t I! When did you—?

“We haven’t!” Mere cut him off. “Not yet.”

“How do you know? How do you know that’s what you really want? Patricio’s breathing was rapid. Is that what you really want?” He took a deep breath and shut his eyes. “How do you know it’s not just a—”

“Don’t you dare say it! You think it’s a phase? A phase!”

“Well, is it?” Patricio put his hands on her arms. “What if you don’t like it?”

“It’s not about the sex, Patricio! For fuck’s sake! I’ve been agonizing over this for months.” She tried to shrug his hands away, but he held on. She twisted. “I’ve been falling in love with her and denying it. I’ve been sick over it. And then this!” She looked down at her belly.

Patricio clutched at her hands. “Mere. I love you.”

“I love you, too. But I have to choose.”

“You choose her?” His derision, his indignation, and most painful of all, his shame were captured in those three words.

“Yes, I choose Kath.” She meant only to pull her hands away. Maybe that’s all she did. But she knew that she also shoved him. Shoved him hard.

The time it took Patricio to fall was only a millisecond. And a lifetime. His feet slipped out from beneath him. He flailed backwards onto the open door of the dishwasher, which managed to hold his weight. Mere grabbed him by the forearms, thinking of his back, maybe his neck, thinking of replacing the dishwasher. She pulled him up, then slid on the greasy floor. The olive oil she’d spilled at lunchtime when she fried up a quesadilla.

She had him halfway up, but then he slid back down. She toppled on him. He screamed in pain.

Blood. Blood covered her hands. Blood covered the white cupboard and the counter as she pulled herself upright. “I’ll get help. I’ll call for help,” she panted. She knelt down beside him, laced her fingers with his, and looked. Blood was dripping down his back. His shirt was already soaked. The knives. The knives upright in the silverware tray.

Pounding on the front door got her up again. Mere swung the door open. “Chris! Phone! Call 911.” He’d heard everything through the shared wall. “Chris, help him. Pull him up! Roll him on his side. Stop the blood!”

Chris handed Mere his phone. She punched buttons. Said her address. Said blood and knife. She threw the phone on the counter.

“Mere, I’ll lift him. You get the dishwasher shut.” Chris bent and hugged Patricio under the arms as best he could. “Easy now. We’ve got you.” He made eye-contact with Mere. “One. Two. Three!”

They laid him down on his side on the kitchen floor. Chris went to the window to watch for the ambulance. Mere slid to the floor and pillowed Patricio’s head on her lap. His eyes were already glassy. So much blood. “Chris, where are they? It should only be a few minutes, Patricio always said.”

Chris shook his head. “I don’t know, Mere. Talk to him.” He went back to the window.

Mere whispered in Patricio’s ear, “Hang on, hang on, hang on.” She closed her eyes and prayed. “Our Father, Who art in heaven…” She heard a faint whine of sirens.

Chris sprinted from the window, out the door, and thumped down the stairs.

Mere ran her fingers through Patricio’s hair. His eyes were closed. “Stay with me, Patricio. Stay awake!” Her tears dripped onto his face. He didn’t move. “I promise, God. If he lives, I promise You. I’ll stay. We will go to church. We will have this baby.”

Kath was lost to her. Beautiful Kath who she would follow up a mountainside, her strong calves, flexed and leading the way. It had been a dream. This was reality.

– Margaret E. Gillio