The Weight of Small Things by Sherri Wood Emmons Page B

It’s his child, too, and he has a right to know. Besides, maybe he’ll surprise you. Maybe once he gets used to the idea, he’ll be happy about it. Wendy didn’t think she wanted kids, but once she got pregnant, she was thrilled.”
    “Yeah, so thrilled she left,” Bryn snapped, then, seeing Bob’s wounded expression, she immediately regretted her words.
    “I’m sorry, Bob. Oh God, I’m sorry. Don’t pay any attention to me. I just need to learn to shut up.”
    “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m okay. But you’ve got to tell him. You know that, don’t you? You’ve got to.”
    Bryn sighed, nodded. “I know,” she said softly. “I just don’t want to.”
     
    An hour later she stood fumbling with her key. She could hear the television blaring inside the apartment. Paul was home. She turned the key, set her shoulders in determination, and opened the door.
    “Paul? I’m home.”
    He sat on the couch, watching the news and eating peanut butter on crackers. He looked up at her with a vacant smile, then turned back to the television. The smell of pot hung heavily in the room. Bryn winced at the smoke, willing her stomach to stay calm. Oh well, she thought, now is obviously not the time to tell him.
    She dropped her purse onto the table in the kitchen and plopped down beside him on the couch. “Any messages?” she asked.
    “Huh? Oh . . . no,” he replied, his eyes never straying from the screen. “Hey, did you ever notice how long this guy’s nose is? Man, it must be a mile long.” He stared transfixed at the newscaster, who was reporting on a bomb threat at the Miami airport.
    “How much did you smoke?” she asked, looking into the ashtray.
    “Just one joint. Geez, don’t start,” he whined. “I just had one little joint to unwind. Don’t get all bent out of shape.”
    “I didn’t say anything,” Bryn said soothingly. “Just asking.”
    “I’ve got another one, if you want to join me.” Paul nodded toward a wooden box on the shelf. “It’s pretty good stuff. . . . Might make you feel sexy.” He leaned over and nuzzled her neck.
    Bryn pulled away. “You need a shave,” she snapped.
    “So I’ll shave,” he said with a shrug. He smiled and reached his hand out to touch her breast, then slipped it beneath her shirt. “Come on, baby. It’s been a while. Why don’t you smoke a joint and loosen up a little?”
    He took her nipple between his fingers. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he whispered hoarsely.
    Bryn rose abruptly. “I’m tired,” she said. “And I have a lot of work to do.”
    “What’s wrong with you?” Paul asked. “You’re always tired these days.”
    “Maybe I’m just getting old,” Bryn said, shrugging her shoulders.
    Maybe I’m just growing up, she thought. God, how could I even think this man would be ready for fatherhood?
    Paul stood up, wobbled slightly. “Head rush,” he said, smiling.
    He walked over to Bryn, put his arms around her, slid his hands under her shirt again. “You’re not getting old, baby. You’re still my sleek sex kitten. Now come on, let me warm you up.”
    He took her hand and pulled her toward the bedroom.
    Bryn allowed herself to be pulled along. Pot usually made Paul horny. She knew if they didn’t have sex, there would be a fight. And she was just too tired to fight tonight.
    Paul fell back onto the bed, pulling her on top of him, his hands clutching at her breasts. She looked down at his red-streaked eyes gazing up at her blearily and shook her head. He lifted her shirt over her head and raised his lips to her breast. She sucked in her breath sharply as she felt his teeth nip at the swollen, tender nipple. It hurt. Now he fumbled with her belt. She pushed his hand aside and unbuckled the belt, but he had already reached his hand down to shove her skirt up around her waist. She sighed and stood, letting the skirt slip to the floor, and waited.
    Paul sat up and pulled her panties down to her ankles, then reached out to