Chapter One
"No, no, no…" Eyes squeezed shut forcefully, Mimi crossed her fingers and held the offending stick away from her. Her heart was pounding, her lips trembling- it had been months since Roger had been reunited with her and a single month since she'd been completely clean, but all she could think of at the moment was how much this reminded her of the days she spent roaming the street in search of a dealer who would compromise.
Of course, terror and desperation weren't the same thing- but to any casual observer Mimi could have been holding a needle rather than a pregnancy test and they wouldn't have been able to tell the difference.
It wasn't that she didn't want a baby. It wasn't that she doubted Roger's parenting skills. It wasn't even the money issue. Those were all legitimate concerns but none of them were quite as frightening as the prospect of having an AIDS baby. Mimi knew full well that a child born to two HIV positive parents was doomed from conception, and she also knew that she wouldn't be able to take it if the kid she was already beginning to love, this possibility of a child, died before its first birthday.
Nearly all of the ten minutes she was supposed to wait had elapsed but Mimi was afraid to open her eyes. What if it was positive? What if it was negative? Torn, she bit down on her lip until she tasted her diseased blood and slowly lifted her lids-
"Mimi!" Roger's voice shattered the calm before the storm, and almost as a reflex she whipped the test into the trash beside the sink. "Come on, I can't be late to my own show!"
Trying still to quiet her thundering heart, the Latina forced a faltering smile onto her face as she responded. "Coming!" There, her voice sounded normal enough. He wouldn't be able to tell- would he? If he could, he would have known already… Disregarding that confusing train of thought, she stood and dusted herself off, thrusting her hands under the tap and washing them furiously as though it would wash the misgivings from her mind.
Now she had to go see her boyfriend's new band play their second ever gig and pretend they didn't suck. It wasn't the time to be worrying about morning sickness and missed periods and what she suspected might be a baby growing inside of her.
"Hurry up!"
"Hold your horses, I said I was coming."
Shutting off the water, Mimi wiped her wet hands on the handtowel and hurried out the door after him. In the hall, the bleached blond rocker grinned and caught her in his arms, pulling her into a kiss.
"Mmm… Ready now?" he asked against her lips. Nodding, she pushed slightly away from him, an odd feeling in her gut. She ignored his questioning look and instead hopped up onto the banister of the stairs, challenging him.
"See you at the bottom!" Waving with her pinky cheekily, she let go and slid downwards, leaving Roger to chase after her.
"Hey! Not fair, you had a headstart!"
"Well whose fault is that?" she called up at him, and unbidden the image of their imaginary child came to mind.
Whose fault, indeed?
The music was loud, the crowd thriving, but Mimi wouldn't concentrate on the club or the band onstage, her boyfriend at their head with the microphone to his lips. Not far away, Mark's camera was rolling in his hands; at the bar, Joanne was prying a tipsy Maureen away from a blonde bartender with bright pink lips. Her entire world had shifted and the only thing she could think of now was the test back home in the garbage, the test that could determine her entire future- and Roger's as well.
"- and the cellophane sun hangs low in the sky!"
Roger's voice was raw and rough and pure emotion, as per usual. She tried her hardest to concentrate on it, on the lyrics flowing so perfectly from those chapped lips that had once been only scribbles and musical notes in a ratty black notebook. With large brown eyes she observed his foot tapping in time with the beat, his fingers on the strings and the pick in the opposite hand, shining in the bright stage lights. There he was, carefree and so very happy.
And Mimi might be the one to ruin it.
"Is everything okay?" Startled, the mocha-skinned Latina turned to meet Joanne's concerned chocolate eyes. A quick glance confirmed that Maureen had moved on to a new bartender, a brawny man that must not presented as much of a threat. Joanne smiled wanly as she followed her gaze.
"I have to pick my battles," she said, shrugging. "But are you okay? You seem subdued."
It was true. Normally Mimi would have been at the front of the crowd, her skirt flaring as she danced, the glitter in her hair shimmering and making an ethereal glow materialize around her. Roger would check to see where she was and cast her a heart-stopping smile from the stage. Normally everything would be perfect and romantic and exciting. But tonight…
"I'm-" The words were stuck in her throat, so she swallowed and rephrased. "I don't know. I'm scared."
"Of?" Raising an eyebrow, Joanne's concern seemed to increase tenfold. She stepped closer, their sides pressed together in the throng, and lowered her voice. "Roger's treating you well, isn't he?"
"A perfect gentleman," she agreed, biting her lip and internally debating with herself. If she was going to confide in anyone, shouldn't it be Roger? The one who loved her, held her, lit her candle? But this wasn't exactly something that she could bring up in casual conversation with him. She could imagine his reaction.
"A baby? A- a BABY? Me? A dad? God, no, Meems you've got to be kidding me. We're not ready for a baby. We- we can't HAVE a baby."
"Then what is it?" Recognizing the younger woman's hesitance, Joanne quickly added, "You don't have to tell me." Banishing Roger's ghostly voice, Mimi shook her head.
"No, it's- Joanne. I need some advice." Anxiously twisting one of the rings she wore on her fingers, she glanced up from beneath her lashes. It wasn't like her to be so hesitant, so shy, but this couldn't be called an ordinary situation.
"Well, that's what I'm here for." Smiling, Joanne lightly pulled her by the shoulder until they had maneuvered away from the majority of the crowd and into the shadowy edges. Her eyes were soft, encouraging, and Mimi felt a surge of hope.
"I- threw up this morning. And yesterday." Holding up an index finger to stay Joanne's worried exclamations, she took a shaky breath and continued. "And… And I'm late."
Understanding turned to dawning horror in seconds on Joanne's face before she composed herself and Mimi winced, lowering her head. Instinctively, she placed her hands over her lower stomach in a vain attempt to feel the child that might be growing there. Tears pricked unexpectedly at her eyes- so this was what it felt like to tell someone that you're a mother, but in the worst way possible.
"Oh, honey." The black woman pulled her into her arms and Mimi hugged her back fiercely, shivering not from cold but sheer terror. "It's going to be okay. You'll be okay."
"Joanne, I don't know what to do," she murmured brokenly, eyes falling shut as she allowed her friend to rock her. God, but she was only a child herself, barely twenty and already her life seemed to be over. "I don't know for sure. I don't know how I'm going to tell Roger or- or if it's- or if he or she will even- even live-"
She shut her voice off when her sentences began to unravel and break into fragments, near-sobs that she stubbornly refused to utter. Joanne smoothed down her expanse of curly hair, hugging her close for a moment more before she finally sighed and gently leaned away to look at her meaningfully.
"Until you know for sure, don't worry about it. It might just be a stomach bug and an off month." She paused, then added more certainly, "Roger loves you. He might be an idiot but he loves you. If you need help telling him…"
"No… No, I can do it." She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince- probably herself. Nodding absently as though confirming it, Mimi looked up again and smiled as much as she could. "Mascara?"
"Perfectly intact." Joanne patted her on the shoulder and, deeming her stable for the moment at least, glanced distractedly back to the bar where Maureen was spinning on a stool and giggling, obviously drunk. "I should probably-"
"Go get her," Mimi laughed, gesturing in that general direction, and Joanne gratefully squeezed her before scurrying away to her fiancée. Taking a deep breath and holding it, Mimi tried to take her friend's advice, her eyes returning to the man she loved on stage. He'd moved on to a new song.
"And ordinary men abound!"
The set was almost over and soon they'd all be heading home for the night. She really ought to be immersing herself in the crowd before Roger realized that something was off.
Joanne was right. Dwelling on this would only lead to a nervous breakdown. Hell, for all she knew she might not even be pregnant…
Bracing herself and setting a cheerful smile on her face, Mimi reentered the crowd.
Later that night, the loft was dimly lit and blissfully quiet but for the clicks and clacks of Mark's camera as he cleaned it, and their own soft breathing. The filmmaker sat on one end of the couch and the happy couple cuddled on the opposite side, Roger nuzzling into Mimi's neck as she swatted at him, giggling. She'd calmed down since the club, all thoughts of her maternal troubles fleeing her mind, and now she could relax and enjoy the evening.
"Stop- stop- Roger, go shave. You're scruffy," she pouted, folding her arms. He snickered and rubbed his chin on her cheek just to be obnoxious.
"No can do," he said proudly. "Real men have-"
"Roger, I have a penis and no facial hair," Mark deadpanned without looking up.
"That's why I said real men-" Roger started, snorting, and before he could finish what was most likely a highly offensive sentence Mimi slipped out of his arms and stood before him, foot tapping impatiently. He gave a gusty sigh. "Do I have to?"
"Yes," she confirmed and fought off a smile as Mark's voice chorused with hers smugly. Roger scowled at them both and heaved himself off the couch, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck before stalking to the bathroom.
"You're just threatened by my manliness…"
"Thank you." Blinking, Mimi looked back to the crookedly smiling blonde man. "I've been trying to convince him for a week now. He's been a stubborn ass about it."
"Maybe he'll take your advice more often if you let him fuck you. That's what I do." Smirking, she dug a pack of cigarettes and fished a lighter out of her purse. She ignored the filmmaker's stuttering, blushing protests to her words and wandered towards the fire escape. "I'm gonna go light one of these. Want one?"
Mark managed to stammer a "no" before she shrugged and stepped outside, shutting the door behind her. He fought down the flush on his normally pale skin. "Damn it," he muttered to himself, trying to banish Mimi's words from his mind.
He was just about to return to his camera when Roger, grumbling moodily, slammed a door and came marching back out of the bathroom. "Mark, where's my razor?"
There was a subtle edge to his voice- have you been using my razor? Mark shook his head at the underlying question and murmured, "No haven't seen it."
Huffing in annoyance, the guitarist ran a hand through his messy, gel-spiked hair and gazed up at the ceiling looking for the answer. Mark ducked his head to disguise an affectionate grin- so damn cute- and Roger suddenly snapped his fingers, triumphant.
"Got it. I left it at Mimi's last time I stayed over." He strode to the door without a pause and yanked it open, slipping out into the hall and calling behind him, "I'll be right back!"
Bemused, Mark just shook his head, glad that Roger hadn't commented on the redness of his face. He looked down and winced at the smudge on his camera lens that still refused to come off, rubbing at it with a fine white cloth. Unbothered by the fact that, as usual, he was alone, Mark settled comfortably into the silence.
At least if he was by himself there was nothing to remind him of the mental images that Mimi had unwittingly given him.
"Where the fuck did I…?"
Roger had no qualms about talking to himself. When you live with Mark Cohen for a decade, you end up pretty desensitized to that sort of thing. Talking to inanimate objects and empty air becomes the regular, nothing to even bat an eye at. He muttered under his breath as he dug through the drawers in Mimi's bathroom, searching for his elusive shaving razor.
"Fuck!" He hissed and jerked his fingers to his mouth, sticking them in and tasting blood. Wincing, he drew them away and ruefully watched as crimson welled to the surface in three neat lines. "Found it." More carefully, he used his uninjured hand to pick the razor out from amidst the hairstyling instruments where it had been misplaced and set it aside at a safe distance. "Fucking fuck." Maybe he just liked the sound of the expletive but it really did hurt.
The rocker stood and opened the medicine cabinet, pulling out a box of Band-Aids and unceremoniously ripping one out of the package to place it awkwardly over his fingertip. Three bandages later the disaster was under control and he prepared to sweep the empty wrappers into the garbage, snatch up his razor and return to the loft. As he was about to do so, something caught his eye-
Simultaneously, the blood drained from his face and all thoughts of his seductive girlfriend disappeared without a trace. Effectively turned off, possibly for the rest of his life, Roger reached into the small trash can and shakily pulled out the most terrifying piece of plastic in the world.
A pregnancy test. Every boyfriend's nightmare, but especially his.
Apprehensively, he turned it over… and choked.
He'd never been so afraid of a little pink plus in his entire life.