𝑱𝒆𝒇𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒚 𝑺𝒕𝒚𝒍𝒆𝒔

     It’s dusk, and I’m driving my Benz on the street of West 7th. It’s one of the trendy areas in Fort Worth known for its upscale boutiques, eateries, and nightlife. Ella lives around here, in a quiet idyllic neighborhood I’ve grown to love. It’s distanced from the hustle and bustle of the city. I wouldn’t blame Ella for her choice of stay. Her work is also close by, providing her with all the convenience she needs now that she’s expecting a child.

     I take in the view of the surroundings. Cars drive past me at a uniform acceleration. As I ride deep into the tranquil area, I see buildings nestled between newer houses. I watch tree-lined pavements sweep past, put on classical music from the stereo, and listen to the gentle sound.

     I pull up into a narrow driveway twenty minutes later. Light spills from downstairs, and I suppose Ella is waiting for me. I visit her every evening after work to check on her. It’s become a routine, and I’m beginning to like doing it. I don’t like her living alone in this big house. I wouldn’t want something happening to her and help would be far away.

     I’m planning on getting her a housemaid. If I don’t forget, I’ll discuss that with her tonight. Cutting the engine, I unbuckle the seat belt, take out my phone from the glove compartment, and step out of the car, shutting the door.

     A cold wind greets me. I inhale and exhale, then walk up to the front door. I let myself into the house with my keys. I slip off my coat and hang it in the short hallway that leads to the living room. Loosening my tie, I enter the house, overwhelmed by the quietness as I walk to a table and drop the keys.

     Ella bounces from the kitchen in a fluffy nightgown, tying straps around her waist. Her sleek long hair moves wantonly as she nears me with an inscrutable look. She stops by a wooden pillar and rests her head against it.

     “Hey,” she says.

     “Hey.”

     I sense something wrong just from listening to her voice. She doesn’t sound like the Ella I know who’s always exuberant, and I wonder why she isn’t in the mood today. Somehow I’m worried too. She’s going to be the mother of my child. I don’t want anything bothering her. I want her to be psychologically stable. Anything that happens to her, happens to my child too. I know I’m being overprotective, but I’m going to be a father, and I wouldn’t want anything to jeopardize that.

     “How was work?”

     “Fine,” I say as I pace toward her. Once I’m close, I fondle her plump cheek with one hand while the other hand gingerly touches her belly. She reacts to that by placing her hand on mine.

     “How’s little Jeff doing?”

     She smiles coyly before she says, “Excellent.” Then she looks between me and our hands. “He moved yesterday.”

     I can’t contain the excitement. Our baby is growing each day. He’s going to join us soon, and I can’t wait. Ella presses my hand onto her belly, then whispers, “Listen.”

     I stop paying attention to every other sound surrounding us: the birds chirping, the trees swaying, and the turbulent wind entering from the windows, but I don’t hear anything.

     “I can’t—”

     “Shh,” she says, “listen by feeling.”

     I do what she tells me and that’s when I feel it. It’s an imperceptible movement which will easily escape you if you don’t pay close attention. Little Jeff moved. This is so exciting! I smile at Ella, and she smiles back.

     “You’re going to be a father.”

     “Yes.” I pull her into a hug, brushing her back. Somehow all my problems begin to seep out of my system, but I know it’s only temporary.

     We pull apart and she says, “Have you eaten?”

     “I’m starving.”

     She lets go of my hand, saying, “I’ll be right back,” before she disappears into the kitchen.

     Still smiling, I walk to the dining room, which is a small section of the house that adjoins the kitchen. I take a seat in one of the empty chairs and bring out my phone. Running a hand through my hair, I go online and check for any new messages, particularly from Adrienne. I’ve received messages from Nathan, my secretary and friends from college, but none from Adrienne.

     She doesn’t text to check on me, and when I text her she doesn’t respond. I believe she doesn’t come online, which explains why she doesn’t text me. She’s cut off from the world and each day, I feel like I’m living with a stranger. My marital home is depressing, and the truth is that I don’t like going there. It reminds me of my problems.

     Ella steps into the dining room with a plastic tray. She places it in front of me and takes a seat beside me.

     “Thank you,” I say and start to eat.

     Halfway through, she spills out, “I went to see Adrienne today.”

     My heart skips a beat. The morsel in my mouth nearly chokes me. I grab a glass of water and gulp. Then with a deep sigh, I ask, “What for?”

     “There’s no need to get tense. I just wanted to see her and say hi.”

     “What did you tell her?”

     She stares blankly at me and my heart hammers thinking she’s told her about our baby.

     “Relax, Jeff. Like I said, I went over to say hi. Can’t I do that?”

     She’s angry. I know that because her voice is husky. Right now I’m behaving like a jerk, or maybe I’m a jerk. I don’t know why I reacted differently after learning Ella visited my wife. I’m forgetting that Ella and Adrienne are still friends, and she doesn’t owe me any explanation for seeing her. My conscience is killing me, and I can’t hide it any longer.

     “I’m sorry,” I say sincerely. “I’m just—”

     “Scared that I’m going to tell Adrienne?”

     I don’t reply, nor do I bob my head or shake it. I’m devoid of any action. She leans forward and holds my hand.

     “I will never do something as wicked as telling Adrienne about us when I know she’s in no condition to know about us. I wanted to see her personally. Don’t forget she’s still my best friend.”

     I look at her face, which had mesmerized me so much that I succumbed to the temptation. I got to know Ella through Adrienne. We’d all gone out to the movies after I proposed to Adrienne. I learnt a lot about her, including her abusive relationship with her Hollywood boyfriend Nick, who rose to fame by playing the lead role in the movie Redemption. Adrienne had gone into the washroom then, so we had ample time to talk.

     I don’t remember what steered our conversation. She told me about Nick and how he was physically abusing her and even cheating blatantly. I encouraged her to end the relationship if she felt unsafe. She thanked me afterward and told me she’d give it a thought. Our friendship blossomed over meals when she dropped by our house after Adrienne and I got married.

     Then I fell terribly ill. Adrienne went overseas on a business trip. After I told her, she said she was going to let someone come over and help me recuperate. I told her I was going to call my Mom, but she insisted I shouldn’t bother her. Initially, I didn’t know she was going to ask Ella the big favor of babysitting her sick husband.

     That afternoon, there was Ella knocking on the door. I was happy to see her, and I was also glad when she told me she’d broken up with her abusive boyfriend. I told her she’d eventually find the right man and that she made the right decision.

     Adrienne trusted Ella to take care of me. Least did she know we’d end up having an affair. Stupid me. I should have resisted the attraction. I did not until it resulted in Ella having my baby. I can’t imagine how Adrienne would take it when she finds out about the secret I’ve been keeping from her.

     “I know,” I say. Apart from her beauty, she’s got a kind heart, and she’s very considerate. Sometimes I wish I had met her earlier.

     When I’m done eating the meal, I dab my lips with the napkin. “It was delicious.”

     She smiles warmly and picks up the tray. “I’m glad you like it.”

     She carries it to the kitchen, and I trail behind her. She puts the tray on the countertop, taking the plates to the sink. I hurry to her side and open the tap.

     While she washes the plates, I say, “I was thinking of getting you a househelp.”

     She dries the plates with the napkin after washing them. “That won’t be necessary. I can take care of myself.”

     I don’t like the sound of that. “I’m just worried about you staying all alone in this big house.”

     She puts the plates in the cabinet, walks to the refrigerator, and brings out a jug of orange juice. I get the glasses and she pours the drink into each, handing one over to me and sipping from her own. After three sips, she says, “You don’t have to worry, Jeff. I’ll take care of our baby.”

     I sip mine and say, “I can’t stop worrying. Can I?”

     She chuckles. “Don’t be so hysterical. Nothing’s going to happen.”

     “I know.” We lock eyes, and I begin to wonder why I didn’t marry Ella instead.