He wasn’t just a liar and womanizer, but I thought when Rick learned, he might surprise me. He didn’t.
But I was a new convert to the religion of protection and preparation.
I arranged to meet him in the place we first did it, an abandoned Chinese restaurant space in not the greatest part of town.
“You were a jerk, you know, telling me you’d had a vasectomy.”
“Ah, I lied. So that’s what this big mysterious meeting is all about? Give me a break, Renee.”
“A break? Then what am I supposed to do now? How am I going to support a kid?”
“Get rid of it.”
“You’re still being a jerk, I see. And apparently you don’t know me very well. I would never do that.”
“I can’t believe you’re going to abandon me, like you don’t have the slightest investment or responsibility here.”
“Oh, don’t be so sensitive.”
“Sensitive? I’m too sensitive, am I?”
“Yeah.” He was looking away like he was thinking about where else he wanted to be. Tapping his foot, like he was wasting a bunch of precious time discussing a triviality, not his future son or daughter.
“You know, you could be a little more sensitive. Maybe I should give you sensitivity training.” I reached into my bag.
“Oh my God. Put that gun down.” Rick was looking for an easy way out, but it was fun seeing him get a taste of the fear I’d had when I learned he’d lied.
“By the way, I’ve decided to get rid of it.”
“Good. Now put the gun away.” He was already back to looking distracted.
“Not the baby.”
“What do you mean?”
“Turns out, you were almost right.”
“How?” He starts smiling at me, that confident smirk he gets when he thinks he owns the world.
“I decided just now. It’s too late for me, but not for you. Guess what? You’re getting that vasectomy.”
Patricia J. Hale has had stories published in Powder Burn Flash, Flashshot, Flash Pan Alley, MicroHorror, Fictional Musings and soon in Apollo’s Lyre. She writes because she can’t stop herself. Her husband can’t stop her either. For her latest work, see patriciahale.blogspot.com or reach her at firstname.lastname@example.org.