Jennifer said, “Excuse me, please. I’m in the middle of something. What price could you pay?”
Mark snorted like that was the worst bargaining he’d ever heard, which it probably was. The young brunette, with her hair in a ponytail, a toddler by the hand, and a baby in a stroller who was chewing on the ear of a stuffed dog, checked her wallet and said, “I could do sixty, I think. I just found a job, finally, and we were able to get a place of our own again, is why I want the couch. It’s so nice, not messed up and stained like all the other ones I’ve seen, but I just …” She blew out a breath. “Can you hang on while I call my husband?”
Jennifer said, “You can have it for sixty, if you can haul it away today. I don’t have a truck.”
“Really?” The woman’s entire face lit up. “Thank you. That’s so … that’s great.” She handed over the bills. “Could you hang on to it for me? Just for the rest of the day? My husband’s at work until four, but I’ll have him come over the second he’s done. And if you need any help moving stuff back into the house or anything, he could give you a hand.”
“Sure,” Jennifer said. “I’ll hold on to it until then. And hey. If you want some curtains, too—go on and take them.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Hey, I’ve been there. And congratulations on the new place. That’s such a great feeling, isn’t it?”
The other woman, who couldn’t be more than twenty-five, blinked back tears and said, her voice choked, “Thanks. It’s just … everything costs so much, you know?”
“Hey.” Jennifer stood up, reached across the table, and gave her a hug. “I know.”
The woman gulped the tears back, fished in her diaper bag for a tissue, and said, “Thanks. I mean it,” before she moved off to check out the curtains.
Jennifer wrote SOLD on a sticky note with a Sharpie, stuck some tape onto it, and told Mark, “Since you’re here, go stick that on the couch, would you?”
He took it, but he didn’t go. He said, “You’re a terrible negotiator. She was probably lying anyway. You’re way too soft.” With a smile, like she was an idiot, but she was cute. She was familiar with that attitude.
“That why you came over here?” she asked. “To tell me that? You could’ve saved yourself a trip. I already knew it. And my compassion isn’t for sale for twenty bucks. It’s not for sale at all.”
“Hey,” he said. “Don’t be like that. I’ve been thinking about you a lot, that’s all, and I had the day off and thought—why not swing by? You’re looking great, by the way.”
Since she was wearing cotton drawstring shorts, a red V-necked T-shirt, and no makeup, and also had her hair pinned on top of her head in an “oh-my-gosh-it-is-unseasonably-warm-and-I-am-moving-furniture” kind of way, she had a feeling she knew what he was referring to. “You mean my boobs are looking great. And I’m guessing you haven’t found anybody else who’s willing to have sex with you whenever you want it and cook your dinner half the time.”
He said, “That’s harsh. Maybe I haven’t found somebody as sweet as you, how about that? And can I help it if I notice my favorite parts first?”
“I still look fat in clothes, though,” she said. “And I’ve decided I’m not that sweet,” then broke off to sell her dining-room table and chairs. Ninety-five bucks. Could have been worse.
“Aw, babe,” he said, when she was done. “Don’t be like that. I was mad, that’s all. You attacked me out of the blue, after four years together, and then you dumped me. What do you expect?”
In answer, she stood up, took the Post-It out of his hand, said, “Watch my cash box,” and went over to stick the sign on the couch.
When she came back, he was staring at her. Squinty-eyed. He said, “Wait. Wait. You’re selling all your stuff, and you’re … no, you’re not. You would’ve told me.”
“Yep,” she said. “I’m pregnant. Four months.”
He went pale under his tan. She hadn’t realized that was actually a thing, but she knew it now. She waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. He just stood there, counting backward in his head like he was watching his life collapse around him.
She could’ve told him. Sure she could’ve. To be honest, though, she was enjoying this.
“Hang on,” she said, and negotiated the sale of her dresser to a middle-aged lady, then walked over to straighten a table of lamps.
She knew he was behind her when she heard him saying, “If you’re thinking I’m helping with this without a fight, you’re dreaming. Why would you have it, anyway? You had to know I wouldn’t want it.”
She froze. If she turned around without some words formed, she was going to slap him. Her hands gripped the edge of the table, and she thought, Don’t hit. Don’t hit.
It wasn’t working. Her hand had already come up, and she was turning when she heard the other voice.
“You know,” Harlan said, “I’ve heard some lousy things in my life, but that ranks right up there.”
Why was he here? He and Annabelle, because she was right behind him. What?
Mark said, “Hey, buddy, get lost. This is a private conversation.”
Harlan said, “You know? Not so much.” Mark had turned to face him, and they both looked ready to go, like a pair of bull elk in rutting season. Which was stupid, because the rut had already happened, and the better bull had won.
Annabelle said, “What? Harlan …”
Mark said, “Oh. You’re Kristiansen.” Thrown off-balance, then recovering to say, “You know what? I don’t care who you are. It’s still none of your fucking business. When your girlfriend gets knocked up after she told you she was on the Pill and traps you, I’ll come tell you what to say to her, how about that?”
His voice had risen, and Harlan took a step closer and said, “Shut up and back off. Now.”
All right. This was ridiculous. Half of Jennifer wanted to laugh, and the other half wanted to see if Harlan would actually fight for her. Well, not quite half, because from somewhere, her better nature had her stepping between them.
Unfortunately, at the same instant, Mark’s arm shot out to shove Harlan, which meant he shoved her instead. Hard. In the breast. In the nipple.
Pain like a lance. She cried out, doubled over, and clutched at herself, Mark jumped back, and Harlan grabbed him.
Harlan had the guy’s arm twisted behind his back, and now, he kicked him in the back of the knee to get him down. The guy staggered, but kept his footing, and Harlan twisted his arm harder and wanted to break it. The red mist was rising, and he was …
Jennifer was there again, forcing her way between them, shouting, “Harlan! Don’t!”
He let go fast, stepped back, and grabbed her to shove her behind him, and the other guy staggered again and turned. Three women and a couple of teenagers had appeared on the driveway somewhere in there, too. The women were exclaiming, and one of the teenagers had her phone out.
Jennifer wasn’t getting out of the way. She said, “Mark! Stop it! You’re not the father!” She shouted it, actually. And now, she was shoving the guy—Mark—the ex—back.