Would it fit

Write a story which includes the phrase  And then she wondered if it would ever fit………


Leeds Savage task for March 23, 2011.

The lounge room was disheveled with a briefcase and handbag discarded oddly in the hallway, their shoes muddled at the end of the sofa, Paul’s shirt and mobile were thrown on the coffee table and Clair’s blouse was half caught up on the magazine rack. The door to the bedroom stood ajar, trousers slung on the handle. The scent of stale booze and sweaty bodies hung comfortably in the air over a quiet conversation.

Paul is laying on his side, one leg still entwined, his head propped on an elbow, hand resting still on her chest.

“So?”

“Oh god, Paul, sorry, yes, of course we can, but then, I don’t know….when? Like this year?

“Well I was sort of thinking, you know, like sometime soon......”

“Its a heck of a …… I suppose, …..I .. um…. Well yes , I guess…., but…..why now?

He looked down and tracing his finger round her breast said simply, “Why not now?”

“Um, I’m thinking.” And she was. Thinking hard. But nothing came. Married?,,,, Shit!

She’d always known that they would probably end up married but she had not given the timing serious thought.

Alright, that’s not true, she had thought about it. But not seriously, not really and not about when. Like now, now? It couldn’t be now. Could it? There had to be too much to talk about, there must be, like….oh, what are all those things to think about? There must be heaps..

Then she saw Paul was looking at her, he was looking worried.

She leaned up, kissed him, smiled and gave him a hug.



The embrace developed, as it does, the play was gentle this time, caring, lingering, exhausting and finally satisfying. They lay quietly, Paul still beside her, just touching. She had started to think again. Her whole time-line and schedule is going to have to be worked out, yes, timing,,, timing was something that really did need to be thought about……

First, her masters, there was really no way she could defer that again, She just knew that she had to be head down bum up to get that done or waste fifteen years of commitment, well a commitment of sorts, but all that work, the bloody tears and frustrations. No, the masters had to get done before marriage. So that’s sorted. Six months. At least, shit. Then she’d need to plan an engagement party, finish decorating the flat, sell the flat, buy a family type home. Have to go to Canada and spend time with Paul’s folks sometime…. Have to allow ages to organise a wedding, AND, what about a honeymoon, would we even have a honeymoon? Then there is all the crap you need to do to move in to the new home, and what about work? Would they consider part time? Maybe she should think about a baby. Oh, baby. A cloying goo flowed into her brain for a second. Yes, perhaps a baby. The sweetness vanished as she had a worry about if she could actually get pregnant, oh for shit sake this isn’t the time to worry about that, there must still be more stuff to think about being married.

And then she wondered if it would ever fit in the time she had actually left herself. She remembered she was 39,,,, and five months, and what, twelve days? How the fuck did she know that? Was she that pre-occupied? She had been noticing she’d get angry really quickly lately, felt paranoid sometimes, and had once or twice thought her hormones might be going weird. That worried her. Kids, shit. Now she lay there worrying like an expert, worrying about if she’d buggered up her eggs with all the shit she’d taken, what if her body wasn’t going to make a kid? If it did how could she change and be a mother? This gender draw is a crock. Old Rod fucking Stewart and Rupert bloody Murdock are squirting progeny into every passing womb without a second’s thought. Fatherhood, no problem anytime, motherhood, a huge fuckin’ use-by date… Crap. And Paul’d be the same, she bet he’d never thought about not being able to be a father either. Bastard.

The gentle mood was gone, forgotten completely as she lay there, worrying, getting sadder, growing angry, then remorseful, helpless. She rolled over, curled her face into her pillow and got washed over by some unwanted sobs.

Paul, moving over, held her “Hey, what’s the matter honey?”

“Oh fuck off, leave me alone, and don’t touch me, you, you,,,,, ahrgh, ” she stuttered, pulled away and fled into the bathroom.

“And get out of my place” she heard herself shriek as she slammed the door. Dissolving into confusion she sat, head in hands.

There were footsteps, Paul tried the handle and then softly knocked on the locked door, “Claire?, What’s the matter honey, what did I do?”

As if he didn’t know.