The man at the bar grinned when I asked him for ginger tea. “Pregnant?”
I coughed. “Me? Definitely not.”
He laughed. “Not you. Your wife.”
“Um… no. Bad meat. Also not my wife”
He shrugged. “That’s a shame.” He unscrewed a jar, dumping spoonfuls of leaves into a little bag.
I shook my head. “It really isn’t.”
“You never know when it’s too late to have one. Babies are good to keep around.” His eyes twinkled, the kettle whistled, and he turned around again to tend to the concoction.
I sighed. “Look, I just came down to get something for nausea, not to be convinced that we need to have a baby. We don’t need to have a baby. We’re eighteen. My mom had me when she was thirty-eight. We’ll be fine when- if– the time comes.”
He pulled up a plate, slicing off a hunk of bread, and handing it to me with a steaming mug. “Give her this, free of charge, and come back for more when she’s done. Tell her to eat the bread. It’s good for the baby.”
“There is no baby.”
“Take the bread.”
I sighed loudly. “I don’t want bread.”
“Take the saintsdamned bread.”
I just couldn’t win. I took the bread.
Quick note: the featured images on my writing portfolio posts have little to nothing to do with the excerpt. The way that they formatted, however, was a bit nicer than they were without any pictures! I’m going to hopefully replace them with more pertinent images in the future, but this may take some time as I am using my own material.