Faithful Lies

"One more, pleash," Mark asked, bordering on drunkenness.

The bartender complied in some surprise. "What happened, buddy?" he asked the man. "Why're you drinkin'?"

Mark sighed. "Well...."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


I was in the maternity section of the clothing store, having been dragged there to help my wife pick out a new dress. She was four months in and the bulge was growing quite visible. It seemed the only people around were us two and a nearby cashier.

“Does this one look good on me?” Eva held up a baby blue dress.

I sighed heavily. “They all do.” I paced over to her and put my hand on her belly, the five-year-old gold ring lying coldly there. She flinched instinctively from the cold. “Are you alright?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yes. It’s just that your ring is cold.”

“Oh.”

Out of nowhere, a pale, bare hand slapped my face.

I blinked in shock, trying to process the information. Eva dropped the dress, letting it rustle down softly. The cashier scrambled over to the commotion.

“I must protest,” he complained, his words directed at the newly arrived, clearly pregnant woman.

The woman shot him down with a single, damning look. “This bastard,” she pointed at me, “is this bastard’s father.” This time, the finger was pointed at her belly.

Eva’s jaw dropped with far less grace than the dress had. The cashier imitated her. “I, uh-,” he stammered, taking a few steps back.

“I am not!” I proclaimed.

“Yes, Mark, you are.” And the woman broke down.

Eva rounded on him. “You.” The single whispered word channeled all her instantly acquired rage. She turned and left.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two months and two hundred thousand dollars later, Mark was sitting at the bar.

"Wow," the bartender said simply, turning after a pause to serve his other customers.

Mark finished his glass and set it, empty, on the counter. Next to six others.