Unthinkable

I try and find some comfort in the warmth of the mug clenched tightly between my palms but the bitter cold of rejection still stings within my bones. I find my eyes captivated by the swirling of the cream within my tea, a gentle sway of motion among the otherwise sedentary liquid. The gentle murmur of voices around me provides the perfect backdrop to lose myself in, a hum of noise and activity that I can focus my mind on instead of reliving the horror of telling Sidney all over again. I want to glance up into the concerned face of the man across from my but my strength is dwindling and it requires so much effort to speak about this with a stranger.

“Blake?”

My head snaps up to find his tired eyes boring into my own. “Sorry,” I mutter. “My head isn’t here.”

He nods understandingly. “He’s not a bad guy, you know?”

I nod, knowing in the recesses of my mind that Pascal Dupuis is telling the truth, but all I get are flashbacks of the anguished expression on the planes of his face as he walks away from me and his child.

“You just might need to give him some time to come around.”

I admire the way he is defending his long time friend and team mate but my patience is minimal today and my hormones are getting the best of me. “He’s not the only one that’s had to adjust to this,” I snap unceremoniously. “This wasn’t planned for me either.” I sigh, the pressure lifting off of my chest. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to take this out on you.”

To my surprise he chuckles lightly. “You’re not the first pregnant woman I’ve encountered. I have four children myself.”

My expression softens and I try out a smile for what feels like the first time today. “That sounds wonderful.”

Pride is written into every experienced line on his face. “I would be lying if I said it wasn’t difficult. But it is by far the most rewarding thing I’ve done in my life. Hockey means nothing at the end of the day if you don’t have a family to come home and share it with. Something that Sid knows all too well. He will be a great father, you know.”

I wish I could agree, could throw any weight of opinion into his argument, but the whole truth of the matter is that Sidney Crosby is a stranger to me and I have absolutely no idea of whether or not he will be a good father. My experience with him is limited to one night of drunken passion and a devastating blow of telling him he was going to have a baby.

“Put yourself back in his shoes,” Pascal continues. “This must have been a huge shock for you when you found out. You needed time, space, you needed to think everything over. But eventually you came to terms with it. Sidney is just in that beginning faze. He’s in shock and he just needs a little time to absorb the enormity of it all.”

I think back to when I first found out, crouched in a ball on my bathroom floor, tears pouring currants down my face. The gasping, suffocating feeling of immense fear. My sympathy for Sidney grows. “I don’t want to force this on him,” I admit reluctantly. “If he doesn’t want to be a father then I don’t want to make him. I can be a single mother.”

Before the sentence has even left my mouth Pascal is shaking his head. “I’m sure you’d be a great one, but you didn’t make this baby alone and Sidney has responsibilities he needs to stand up for. Responsibilities that he will stand up for because he’s a good man.”

“I don’t want him to resent me. Or this baby. That’s no way for a child to grow up.”

“You just need to give him a chance,” he insists. “Let him think over everything and then go from there.”

I swallow back the situation and try not to let my emotions overrule me.

“If you’re okay with it, I’d like to speak with him on your behalf. I know him well and I think I can get him to see clearly,” he offers gently.

“I don’t want you to have to put yourself in the middle of all this mess,” I defer.

“I really don’t mind. And to be honest you could use every defender in your corner,” he says with a cheeky grin.

I can’t help the genuine smile the reaches my face. Despite the seriousness of the conversation, he has a way of making light of it without demeaning it and making it feel unimportant.

“Alright,” I concede. “You have yourself a charity case.”

He laughs joyfully, clearly amused by my attempt at joking.

“There’s no game tonight,” he continues. “Why don’t I head back to the arena and talk to him and then we can arrange a meet up in a bit if that’s alright for you?”

“You think he’ll agree to that?” I ask, stomach instantly full of butterflies.

He nods assuredly. “I think he will, yes.”

While my mind is playing over all possible disastrous scenarios and looking for a way out, my head is already nodding consent.

“Good,” Pascal says. “Leave me your number and I’ll call you in a couple of hours.” He passes his phone across the table and I dial my number, pressing call and watching as it is received into my own phone, then slide it back to him.

“Thank you for everything,” I say to him as he slides his phone and wallet back into his pocket. “It really means a lot.”

He sends me a playful wink. “Any time. I’ll talk to you in a few hours.”

I smile wistfully and watch as he walks away, dreading the next meeting I’ll have with him and Sidney. I slowly pack my stuff back into my bag and leave the café, mind reeling with the events of the day.

I’m not sure what to do with myself so I slowly make my way back to my apartment and sit down on the couch, exhausted after an emotionally draining day. I am just contemplating getting up to make something to eat when a knock sounds from the door. Confusion seizes me. This is not a day and age where people show up unannounced anymore. Knocks on the door are always preceded by a text or a phone call. A small bit of fear creeps in as I cross the threshold and peer through the peephole, my heart sinking into my knees as his face, shadowed by the brim of his Pens hat, reaches my eyes.

I clamp my hand over my mouth in shock, gather my thoughts, then open the door. He stares at me expectantly with a blank expression, my own confusion and fear mirrored in his eyes.

“Hi,” he manages quietly, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his pants.

“Hi,” I say back, then continue to stare.

“Can I come in?” He asks softly.

I shake my rudeness and shock from my mind and pull the door towards me. “Of course.” Like the good Canadian boy he is, he takes off his shoes at the door and waits expectantly for me to say something. When my stubborn mind reminds freshly blank he says, “I think we need to talk.”

I nod, steadying my fear and opening my mouth. “I think so.”

“Do you want to have this conversation standing in your front hall or should we go sit down?”

I can’t tell if he’s being cheeky or if he’s irritated, but when he quirks a small, almost indiscernible smile at me, I know his comment is light hearted.

“The living room,” I offer, leading the way down the short hall to the large and open living space. I drop myself down into the arm chair and gesture to the couch across from me which he takes obligingly. “How did you know where I live?” I ask skeptically.

His face remains stoic with a hint of a smile in the recesses of his eyes. “I’ve been here once before, remember?”

Heat sears into my cheeks and I bite down on my lip bashfully. Flashbacks of that night of twisted sheets and anxious kisses replays again. “Right,” I say, embarrassed. “How could I forget.”

He takes this statement in a way I hadn’t anticipated and shifts uncomfortably around my words.

“What made you want to stop by?” I am trying to remain casual and indifferent but my emotions are so overruled by my hormones that I can’t help but realize the gravity of the situation. If I play this wrong, if I let my temper get out of check, if I say or do the wrong thing, my child could have no father. And the responsibility of that guilt would kill me.

“Pascal.”

It’s one simple word with the weight of the world behind it.

“I hope he’s not the only reason you came,” I say shyly.

He shakes his head. “No. But he was the driving force.”

I nod, unsure where to take our conversation. I decide to let him set the pace. I can see that he’s struggling but he takes a deep breath and plunges into the unknown territory anyways.
“I’m sorry for how I reacted earlier.”

I appreciate his apology immensely. “It was to be expected. I’m sorry I had to drop it on you like that. But we didn’t exchange numbers or anything and I had no other way of getting ahold of you.”

He nods. “I understand. I have a few questions for you though and I hope you don’t take offence.”

A small fear grips me. I will be completely open and honest with him but I am dreading this amount of intimacy in such a fragile situation.

“I don’t really know that this baby is mine,” he treads lightly and without looking at me. “And I wish more than anything that I could just take your word and be done with it. But I’ve been in this situation before and I was lied to.”

My fingertips find my lips in shock that anyone would lie about something so enormous. “I’m sorry,” I mutter.

“It’s in the past,” he continues. “If this is my baby I will be in it’s life as a father…” he hesitates before continuing. “But I want a DNA test.”

I wish I could say that I’m not hurt by his request, which is fair and understandable, but there’s a part of me that is anyways. “You can have a DNA test. I promise you that I’m not lying.”

His eyes find mine, begging to see the lie within them, but he seems satisfied with my answer. “What exactly is it that you want from me?”

My face is placid as I contemplate his question. “I’m not after your money if that’s what you’re asking,” I defend.

He blinks away my answer.

“When we find out the baby is yours and if you still want nothing to do with it, I’ll leave your name off the birth certificate. You can pretend this never happened.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t want that. I just don’t want to find out that I’m being played like a fool.”

“I’m not…I wouldn’t…” I’m trying not to take his words too personally but I can’t seem to control my emotions. I shake the tears from my eyes, desperate not to break down in front of him.
“I wish that was enough for me,” he says, anguish across his face as he rubs his palms over it. “If this is my kid, I’ll be there. You have my word. But until then, until I know for sure, I can’t risk getting attached.”

His candour is so surprising that is stops the tears from spilling over my eyes. “So you’re saying that you’ll have no part until after the baby is born?”

Confusion splits his face. “They do DNA tests all the time while the baby is still in the womb.”

“Yeah, and with dangerous risks. It poses serious harm to the baby,” I say a bit too quickly.

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Blake, but until I know for sure that the baby is mine, I can’t be a part of anything.”

“So you’re saying no doctors appointments, no nursery shopping, nothing until after I have physical evidence for you?”

He swallows and I can tell he’s trying to steel his resolve. That the tough exterior is simply a shell to the weakness he’s feeling right now.

“I’m sorry. I wish it were different. If you get the test before the baby is born then I will be a part of all of that. But I need certainty. I can’t have these doubts in my mind.”

I can see that his words physically hurt him to say. “So my two options are to put the baby at risk to prove to you that I’m not a liar, or to wait and go through this all alone to still prove to you that I’m not a liar.”

“I know it’s unfair…” He starts.

“It is unfair,” I say harshly, fed up with defending myself over and over again. Tired and exhausted by it all. “Of course it’s unfair. I’ll tell you what, you can leave now and I’ll call you in five months when your baby is born.”

I stand and glare down on him, ruled by my frayed emotions. With a guilty look and tired eyes, he stands from my couch and walks back to my front door in silence, slips on his shoes, and pulls the door towards him.

“I really am sorry, Blake.” Then lets the door shut behind him.

Notes