Michaelmas. After strolling along the River Cam through the tranquil college garden, she turns into the medieval Second Court, and someone collides with her.
“Oh, sorry!”
She recognises the voice. He gave a welcome speech at her freshers’ tea, wearing a boat club hoodie and a dazzling smile.
“Here, your phone.” His hand brushes against hers. Heat floods her face. “Hey. What’s your name?”
“Um, Xuan.”
“Jack.” His eyes are a shimmering blue. “Wanna get coffee?”
Eventually, she allows him in her room. He fingers the periwinkle streak in her sombre-black hair while their clothes litter the floor. His touch is feathery light. “You’re exquisite,” he murmurs. He presses himself against her. “Can I?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
She pulls him closer, gasps as he pushes into her. There’s blood afterwards. He changes the sheets, disposes of the condom and holds her through the night.
Hyde Park sparkles in the winter night. They amble through the fair, hand-in-hand. At the basketball stall, he wins her a teddy bear.
“Think of me when you cuddle him in Kuching.”
Lent. She’s dragging her suitcase back to college, her teddy bear nestled in her backpack. Her pace quickens when she spots Jack holding a pint outside the Pick. But it can’t be him because he’s kissing another girl.
“I’m sorry, but I never said we were exclusive.”
“But… I thought…”
“I just ended a long relationship. I really like you, but I’m not looking for anything serious.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I — I don’t know. I’m a dick. I’m sorry.”
“But… I think I love you.”
When she sees him the next day, a knot forms in her chest.
“Jack. It’s fine. I don’t mind.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You said you never wanted to see me again.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”
As he thrusts into her, she pictures the girl he kissed, and digs her nails into his flesh.
Easter. She’s late. She buys a test from Superdrug, opens it with shaking hands, and sets a five-minute timer.
He’s kissing her neck, but she keeps her back turned, ramrod straight.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m pregnant.”
He drops his hands from her waist and sucks in a deep breath.
“Is it mine?”
She whips around to face him. “Get out.”
She wakes to a deleted message from Jack. The doctor books her in for three days later. She texts Jack the date and time; he leaves her on read. She shuts her eyes, her shoulders heaving.
Her appointment’s in an hour. Vomit swirls down the sink as she pulls on clean clothes, yanks a brush through her hair. On her way down, she dumps Jack’s teddy bear into the trash.
She lumbers through First Court and there’s Jack, by the leaden wooden gate.
“Xuan, wait.”
She crosses her arms. “What do you want?”
“Can I come?”
“What for?”
His eyes are a pallid blue. “I don’t know. I feel like I should.”
They’re in the shadow of the medieval college building. He’s wringing his hands, avoiding her eyes.
She throws back her head, laughs, and, pushing past him, steps into the sunshine.
Originally from Singapore, Ya Lan Chang lives in Cambridge (UK) with her husband and their three-year-old son. Her work has been published in Litro, Cha: An Asian Literary Review, and Quarterly Literary Review Singapore.
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