Someone Else’s
You know how this story ends. This is how it started.
“I don’t know.”
Joe stood by the window with his back to her. His shoulders were tight. She knew this was a sign he was trying not to break anything.
“You don’t know.”
“No.”
He turned around, and his face was red. “You don’t know how you got pregnant?”
“I don’t.”
“That’s not fucking possible.”
She sat at the table with her hands folded in her lap. The baby moved inside her. Not much, just enough to remind her it was there.
“I know it’s not possible,” she said.
“Then how?”
“I don’t know.”
He crossed the room and stopped in front of her. She could smell him—sweat and wood and the sourness that came from not sleeping.
“We haven’t—” He stopped. Started again. “We agreed. We agreed to wait.”
“I know.”
“So how the fuck are you pregnant?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop saying that.”
She looked up at him. His eyes were raw.
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“No.” He stepped back and paced to the other side of the room. “You’re telling me you don’t know. That’s just fucking bullshit.”
Her chest got tight.
“Joe—”
“Don’t.” He held up one hand. “Don’t say my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re the one who’s hurt.”
She stood up. The baby made it harder to move, but she managed. She crossed the room to walk over to him. He didn’t back away, but he didn’t look at her either.
“I am hurt,” she said.
“You’re hurt?”
“Yes.”
“You’re pregnant with someone else’s baby, and you’re hurt? Give me a fucking break.”
“It’s not—” She stopped. There was no way to finish that sentence that he would believe.
“Not what?” He looked at her. “Not someone else’s? Then whose is it? Whose baby are you carrying?”
“I don’t know.”
He made a sound. Somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Or both.
“You don’t know. Right. You don’t know how it happened. You don’t know whose it is. You just woke up pregnant one day.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Then what are you saying?”
She pressed her palms against her belly. The baby moved again.
“I’m saying I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Because there’s no explanation that doesn’t mean you fucked someone else.”
He’d been dancing around it for weeks, but he’d never said it that plainly before.
“I didn’t.”
“Then how?!”
“I don’t know!”
She was crying now. She hadn’t meant to cry. Crying made it look like guilt, as if she were trying to manipulate him. But she couldn’t stop.
Joe stood very still and watched her. She could see him trying to decide whether to comfort her or walk away. Whether she deserved comfort. Whether he was strong enough to walk away.
He didn’t move.
“Is it Daniel?” he asked.
“What?”
“Daniel. From the market. Is it his?”
“No.”
“I’ve seen him look at you.”
“Joe—”
“Or maybe Thomas. That fucking carpenter who’s always smiling at you like he knows something I don’t.”
“It’s not Thomas.”
“Then who?”
“No one.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake... Babies don’t just appear.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because you’re standing there and telling me it’s no one’s. Like that makes any goddamn sense.”
“I’m not saying it makes sense.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t know whose it is because I don’t know how it happened.”
He grabbed the back of a chair, and his knuckles went white.
“You’re lying,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“You have to be. Because the alternative is that you’re insane. And I don’t want you to be insane.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not? Maybe it’s easier if I’m just broken. Maybe that’s better than the truth.”
“What truth? You seem like you don’t even know what the truth is.”
“I know I didn’t choose this.”
“Didn’t you?” He let go of the chair and moved closer. “Didn’t you choose to be somewhere, with someone? Didn’t you choose to let something happen?”
“No.”
“Then how?!”
“I don’t know!!!”
She was shouting. She hadn’t meant to shout, but the words came out that way anyway.
“I don’t know, Joe. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t fucking know! I wake up, and I don’t know. I go to sleep, and I don’t know. I feel it moving inside me, and I don’t know. Is that what you want to hear? That I’m as lost as you are? That I can’t explain it? That it doesn’t make sense to me either?”
He stared at her. There were tears on his face, too.
“I want to believe you,” he said.
“Then believe me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not possible.”
“I know.”
“Then how can you—” He stopped and frantically rubbed his face with both hands. “How can you stand there and tell me you don’t know and expect me just to accept that?”
“I’m not expecting anything.”
“Yes, you are. You’re expecting me to stay. To pretend this is normal. To raise someone else’s—”
“Stop.” She wiped her face. “Please stop.”
“Why? Because it hurts? It should hurt. It fucking kills me.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” He moved closer. Not threatening, just close. “Do you have any idea what this is like? To love someone and not be able to trust anything they say?”
“I haven’t lied to you.”
“You’re lying right now. Every time you say you don’t know, you’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Then give me a name. Give me someone to blame. Someone to hate. Because right now all I have is you.”
She opened her mouth and closed it without saying a word, without naming anyone.
“I can’t,” she said.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t.”
He turned away and walked back to the window. He put his forehead against the frame.
“I keep thinking about leaving,” he said.
“I know.”
“Everyone thinks I should. My brother, my friends. Everyone who knows.”
“What do they say?”
“That I’m a fool if I stay. That you made a fool of me. That I should cut my losses and find someone who won’t fuck me over.”
“And what do you think?”
He went quiet for a while. The silence was killing her.
“I know I love you,” he said. “I think I’ve loved you since we were children. I think the idea of not being with you makes me want to die.”
She waited for him to finish.
“But I also think you’re lying to me,” he said. “I think you know exactly what happened. And I think every time you say you don’t know, you’re protecting whoever did this.”
“There’s no one to protect.”
“Then how?”
“I don’t know.”
He didn’t turn around. Just stood there with his forehead still pressed against the frame.
“I can’t keep having this conversation,” he said.
“I know.”
“Something has to change.”
“It will.”
“What?”
She touched her belly. The baby was calm now.
“The baby will come,” she said. “And then you’ll have to decide.”
“Decide what?”
“If you can stay.”
The baby came months later.
She labored all night. Joe stayed; he’d decided to stay. Or he’d just never chose to leave. It wasn’t the same thing, but it would have to be enough.
When the baby came, the midwife cleaned him and placed him in her arms. He was red and screaming and covered in blood.
“What will you name him?” the midwife asked.
She looked down at the baby. His eyes were closed, and his tiny fists were clenched.
“Yeshua,” she whispered.
The midwife smiled. “That’s a beautiful name, Mary.”
This was a great spin on the story! Just ambiguous enough to sell it. Well done!
Gosh my mind was spinning. I thought this can't be Jesus. I was thinking "did she go to a party and get roofied?" Then I thought it was cute she named her baby that, but then she was named and I remembered the line about a carpenter. Then I saw HVR's comment about Joe and it clicked for me, but I did not have it figured out like he did.