Page 24 of Unexpecting

And then I was off to see David, to let whatever would happen, happen.

Anyone who lives in the city with a living brain cell knows not to drive anywhere close to Woodbine and Queen in the summer, and here I was—a beautiful Saturday morning in June, in my car, driving south onWoodbine, trying to make a left onto Queen Street. Impatiently, I waited for a break in the traffic. I’d waited so long to see David again. Like a sign from above, Alanis Morrisette came on the radio with ”You Oughtta Know.″ I love that song. David bought the CD for me when it first came out, and I used to play it over and over again, despite his being absolutely sick of the song. But he would always let me listen to it without complaint. He was a good guy. He is a good guy.

I was going to see David, and everything would be all right. I’d be able to have a baby. This was the right thing to do. I had no idea how things would work out; I just knew they would.

It’s so nice being such an unconcerned optimist.

It was easier to find David’s house than it was to find parking close by. The address David gave me was nice—a duplex, with a huge porch and a gorgeous red maple in the front yard. It was on a street directly north of the boardwalk, which explained the lack of parking. I finally found a spot three streets over. By pure luck, someone was leaving just as I drove by, but I had to reverse up a one-way street to claim the parking spot. In my excitement, I twice kissed bumpers with the Expedition behind me, but I checked when I got out and there was no damage. Not that my little Jetta could hurt a huge gas-guzzler like that.

So I was there. And despite the traffic, I was early. It wasn’t even ten thirty, and David said to show up around eleven. What was I thinking coming so early? Now I had to wait around like a loser. I was actually standing in front of his neighbour’s house, sort of hidden by a huge maple tree so that David wouldn’t see me if he happened to glance out the window.

So either I stood out there for half an hour, went for a little walk to waste time, or headed up to David’s door and hoped that he was not too put out by me being early.

I checked in a nearby car window to make sure what I was wearing was appropriate. I had on a faded denim skirt that hit mid-thigh, and layered tank tops in white and blue because it was hot for June. I might be ghostly white and covered in freckles, but at least the skin that was showing wasn’t all squishy and cellulite-y. Because of the humidity, I pulled as much of my hair as I could into a ponytail—my curls always look freaked out when it’s humid. I thought I looked fairly good. Okay, maybe even better than fairly good.

I was good to go. Let’s go see David and get this on. Unfortunately, I still couldn’t head to the door.

″Casey?”

Aw, fuck a duck. While I was standing there hiding behind the tree, who comes walking up the street from the beach with a couple of dogs (a beautiful brown Labrador and a scrappy little Jack Russell) but David? I knew I was one mass of blushes. Even the tips of my ears were warm, and I had no idea what to say.

″Hi,” was the only thing that came to mind.

″I was hoping to get back before you got here, but someone,” he tugged on the leash for the Lab, “insisted on taking his time.” He gave me a big smile. “It’s good to see you again.” He pulled me into a hug that was at first awkward, but then quickly eased into being warm and comfortable. I could stay like that all day, except that David must have been running on the beach because he sort of smells a little, but I was not about to complain. I’d missed his smell. I exhaled without even realizing I’d been holding my breath.

″Let’s go in,” he said as he pulled away.

″I’m sorry I’m early,” I told him. “I guess I misjudged the traffic coming down here.”

″No problem,” he told me. I watched as David pulled the dogs behind him and crossed the street.

″You live—there?” I asked before I could stop myself. I still hadn’t moved. David gave me a funny look over his shoulder from the middle of the quiet street.

″Couple houses up. #104.”

For whatever reason, I had it in my head that he lived at # 105. David gestured with a sweep of his arm to a duplex almost exactly across the street from where I was. “Home, sweet home.”

I stepped onto the porch behind him and almost got knocked aside by the Labrador’s wagging tail. This place was just as nice as the one across the street, with lots of terra-cotta containers filled with flowers and an old milking jug painted with a picture of a lake, a loon, and a dock. There was even a woven reed mat with “Welcome” on it. I felt my spirits sink as David unlocked the door. There had to be a woman around here. How uncomfortable was that going to be, if she came home to find an ex-girlfriend hanging around? I’d be pissed.

″Are you sure?” I stammered as David held the door open for me. “I mean, won’t it be weird if, you know, someone comes home and finds me here?”

″Depends on what you’re planning to do to me,” he teased. “Get in here. I’m hot—we’ll have a drink. All very innocent and unweirdlike. Don’t worry.”

I wished he would just say if he was married or not. It was starting to freak me out. As soon as I was inside, I began scanning the place as David pointed out the various rooms; I started to feel a little hopeful when I saw no evidence of womanly knickknacks or magazines. When there’s a serious girlfriend, you can always tell. I thought for a moment I’d hit the bull’s eye—then I see the copy of Us on the kitchen table, but there’s a picture of Jennifer Aniston on the cover and I remembered David always liked her. There was actually not a lot of clutter, which really surprised me when I thought back to the pigsty David used to call a room. His domestic abilities must have improved some.

I told David how nice his place was. It was one of those open-concept places, with the kitchen, living room, and dining room all occupying a huge space with gorgeous, dark hardwood floors. There was not a lot of furniture, just the bare essentials—table and chairs, couch, television, and bookcases. I smiled when I noticed the collection of Harry Potter books among his tattered science fiction novels. How did I know David would have them?

″Sit down,” David invited. “I’ll get us a drink, and we can start to catch up.”

I sank into the comfortably shabby couch and kept looking around.

There was lots of evidence of dogs, including a faint aroma like wet wool. Not very pleasant, but the dogs themselves were great, especially the Lab. He parked himself right at my feet, and I got the feeling he was telling David he approved. Yay! I’d already won over the dog.

″Oscar,” David scolded as he poured my Pepsi into a glass “Give her some room. He loves making new friends,” he said as he gave me an apologetic smile.

″He’s beautiful.” I reached down to give him a scratch, and the Jack Russell scrambled over, eager for some attention as well.

I tried to look at something other than David, but my eyes were continually drawn back to him. He was wearing tattered cargo shorts, which he kept hitching onto his thin hips. Still a swimmer’s body, I thought, noticing the breadth of his shoulders and the leanness of the rest of his body. And the legs—his calves were always impressive, and age hadn’t changed them much. Or the bony knees. David’s knees are probably hisworst body part. They’re quite horrible, like upside-down muffin tins smack in the middle of very nice legs. Nice legs, ugly knees.

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