Page 70 of The Book of Summer

Because while she plans to end the pregnancy now, she didn’t necessarily have the same designs before. Not that Bess wants to be a mother under such circumstances, and she’d pity any kid forced to have Brandon for a dad. But at first Bess simply didn’t know what to think. In telling Brandon she was looking for something: a sign, a hint, an outright directive. Be careful what you wish for and all that. He gave her one hell of a “sign.”

“I’m pregnant,” Bess had said, simple as that.

Because, while the situation was and is complex, this particular problem is quite basic. An unexpected pregnancy, the great equalizer. It’s happened in every country, in every tax bracket, in every year since the dawn of time. Pretty straightforward, at least until you realize it’s a total fucking disaster.

“You dirty slut” had been Brandon’s reaction.

“Um, excuse me?” Bess choked out.

It was a low blow, yet also quite Brandon. He had such an aggressive, full-metal-jacket way of talking to people, followed by a heavy dose of manufactured charm. It’s amazing what handsome, upwardly mobile guys can get away with. To think, Bess once considered him refreshingly direct.

“You can’t talk to me like that,” she’d said.

“Fuck yeah, I can. You’re a complete piece of shit.”

“Hey! Our marriage is ending, but I deserve to be treated like a human.”

Brandon shouted something else, jumped to his feet, and then lunged toward Bess—lunged!—before remembering where and who he was. Brandon was a tech executive, a man with stature, if only in his own mind. They were sitting in a Starbucks on Sand Hill Road, only five minutes from his office. Someone might be watching.

“You dirty fucking slut,” he said again, to be sure she heard.

He pulled back, then clenched his hands together.

“Jesus, Brandon, calm down,” Bess answered, trembling. “The baby is yours. I haven’t slept with anyone else in seven years, so you can stop with the ‘slut’ claptrap.”

“Nice try, bitch,” he said. “If you think you’re going to trap me…”

“Trap you? No, I very much want the divorce. More than ever.”

“‘More than ever,’” he said, mocking her in a girl’s voice. “Ugh, you disgust me. So you want money. Is that it? You’re trying to shake me down for cash?”

“What cash?”

“Fuck. You.”

“Listen, I don’t even know if I’m keep—” Bess shuddered. “I don’t want anything from you, not a single penny. Shaking you down? Please. I’m lettingyouhave the house, remember? The house we bought together but with my money.”

Both of their names had been on the deed, but they used Bess’s savings for the down payment. Brandon’s cash was all tied up in his new company, the business now dead thanks to a fight over code. This was how badly Bess wanted out. He was allowed to have everything she put into that marriage, including their home.

“So are you keeping the baby?” Brandon asked, growling at her from across the table.

God, Bess thought at the time, the things that happened in a Starbucks. Books written. Divorces decreed. Pregnancies revealed. Bess had read somewhere that meth heads frequented the private bathrooms. All of humankind, foibling in a Starbucks.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Bess admitted. “But, rest assured, if I go ahead with the pregnancy, you won’t have to contribute a thing.”

“You’re not keeping it.”

“I haven’t made a decision but, like I said, I want exactly nothing from you, should I decide to… proceed. I just wanted you to know.”

“You’re not keeping it,” he repeated.

“I realize this is quite a shock and we’re not exactly in a place of mutual understanding.”

“You’re not having this baby.”

“I might, I might not,” Bess said, trying to keep her voice measured and low. “But you don’t actually have a say.”

Eyes were beginning to make skittish glances in their direction. Bess felt like she was back in the ED, battling a patient with “chronic back pain,” a patient who was desperate for oxycodone but who wasn’t going to get it, at least not from Dr. Codman. Brandon had that same jittery-irate-irrational vibe, as if his pulmonary system were about to rupture.

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