Writing Log #2
Jan. 5th, 2005 09:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kilroyMore from "February," same chapter. Credit given for reconceptualizing time and novel-surfing to get a better idea of the whole.
"Are you sure you want to do this, Mickey?"
She looked at me for a long time. "No," she said quietly. "But I don't have much of a choice, do I? If I keep this baby, I'm going to have to raise it. I'm not putting it--him--it out for adoption. And if I have a kid, then I either have to raise it by myself--which for all my high opinions of myself, I don't think I'm qualified to do--or I have to find someone else to raise it with me."
She paused to suck on a cigarette. "I can try and get the father to help me raise it. But even if I found him, I don't want to marry the son of a bitch. The kid would be better off without him anyway." Another pause to tap the ash. "Or I can ask Emma to forgive me, and we can raise it together. And she would. She really would."
"Yeah," I agreed. Which itched at me. "So why not do that?"
She blew a quick snort of smoke through her nose. "What do you want to hear? I can tell you whatever bullshit you want." I started to say something, but she waved her hand at me. "I know, you want the truth. Well here's a few comforting tidbits.
"First, the kid would be messed up for having a missing, deadbeat dad even if it had two mommies. I don't really want to put it through that, especially if it'd go chasing after him when it turned sixteen.
"Second, I'm not making any lifelong commitments over this one mistake. It was stupid, and it was huge, but there's no way I'm spending the rest of my life making up for it. It wouldn't be fair to me, and it wouldn't be fair to the kid.
"Third, and this is probably most clear to you, I do not want to be in a long-standing relationship with someone who has the clear moral high ground. We could never be equals again-- she'd always be forgiving me, pitying me, reminding me of what I did. Hell, she wouldn't have to remind me, we'd have a squalling ten-pound brat to deal with anyway. So no thank you, I'd rather just have this done with, send it along before it starts developing a gendered pronoun, and forget this ever happened."
She opened her mouth as if she was going to say something else, then clamped it around her cigarette and turned away. A moment later she stubbed it out, threw it in the bin, and walked back into the clinic.
I stood outside for a long time trying to figure out that look, the tightness as if she had just tasted something horrible.
"Are you sure you want to do this, Mickey?"
She looked at me for a long time. "No," she said quietly. "But I don't have much of a choice, do I? If I keep this baby, I'm going to have to raise it. I'm not putting it--him--it out for adoption. And if I have a kid, then I either have to raise it by myself--which for all my high opinions of myself, I don't think I'm qualified to do--or I have to find someone else to raise it with me."
She paused to suck on a cigarette. "I can try and get the father to help me raise it. But even if I found him, I don't want to marry the son of a bitch. The kid would be better off without him anyway." Another pause to tap the ash. "Or I can ask Emma to forgive me, and we can raise it together. And she would. She really would."
"Yeah," I agreed. Which itched at me. "So why not do that?"
She blew a quick snort of smoke through her nose. "What do you want to hear? I can tell you whatever bullshit you want." I started to say something, but she waved her hand at me. "I know, you want the truth. Well here's a few comforting tidbits.
"First, the kid would be messed up for having a missing, deadbeat dad even if it had two mommies. I don't really want to put it through that, especially if it'd go chasing after him when it turned sixteen.
"Second, I'm not making any lifelong commitments over this one mistake. It was stupid, and it was huge, but there's no way I'm spending the rest of my life making up for it. It wouldn't be fair to me, and it wouldn't be fair to the kid.
"Third, and this is probably most clear to you, I do not want to be in a long-standing relationship with someone who has the clear moral high ground. We could never be equals again-- she'd always be forgiving me, pitying me, reminding me of what I did. Hell, she wouldn't have to remind me, we'd have a squalling ten-pound brat to deal with anyway. So no thank you, I'd rather just have this done with, send it along before it starts developing a gendered pronoun, and forget this ever happened."
She opened her mouth as if she was going to say something else, then clamped it around her cigarette and turned away. A moment later she stubbed it out, threw it in the bin, and walked back into the clinic.
I stood outside for a long time trying to figure out that look, the tightness as if she had just tasted something horrible.