Another sketch

Yesterday I stumbled on a folder with a few sketches I've written and saved. At first I was going to post this one as it was originally written but then... I'm hardly ever able to re-read something I've written and not edit it in some way. Here's the new, and hopefully improved, version.

Enjoy...


Different Needs

"Drew, I want a baby." Her voice is calm, but inside… inside Marianne is churning. Why doesn't he say something?

"Marianne, we talked about this," frustration shades Drew's weary voice. "You know how I feel about kids. It's not what I want." He pauses, assessing her stricken face, and amends, "It's not what I want for us."

He shifts on the banquette seat and reaches across the booth table to take her hand in his, gently massaging the pad of her palm, "There is so much that we can do if we don't burden ourselves with kids. We can travel, move from city to city every few years. You've always wanted to live in Europe…" his voice trails off a bit, allowing the artful pause to fill Marianne's mind with images of the two of them, young and carefree in London or Paris. "We are lucky to have jobs that give us the flexibility to work anywhere in the world. It's a life most people only dream of and we can have it."

His soothing voice is hypnotically reassuring, "It's a life we can have if it's just the two of us."

"But…" Marianne pulls her hand away and his lips tighten a little. She doesn't notice, gesticulating over her plate of half-eaten salad, intent on making him see things her way. "But we can still do all that. People travel with kids all the time. While he's little, he'll sleep most of the time anyway and then it will be the three of us…" her eyes bore into his, searching for understanding, for agreement.

Drew says nothing and encouraged by the silence, Marianne presses on,

"Think about it, wouldn’t it be fun to see the world with our child? Your son or daughter? To show it to them as we are experiencing it ourselves?" Marianne pauses, her face glowing with hope and joy as the brilliant images of their happy little family whirl through her mind. "Just imagine how wonderful it will be…"

She is picturing the three of them walking up the Spanish Steps in Rome; Drew carrying their son on his shoulders when the boy grows tired, pointing out the sites, answering dozens of questions as they fall from the child's lips. The three of them in London, in front of Buckingham Palace, waiting for the changing of the guard, each holding the child's hand, gazing at each other with eyes filled with love. She sees the three of them in Paris, wandering the tiny cobblestone streets, stopping at a little café when it starts to rain, Drew holding the door open for their little girl, in a flared coat and adorable beret, just like a tiny life version of Madeline…

"Marianne," Drew's voice cuts across her thoughts, startling her out of the reverie and wiping the images away, "Marianne, I don't want kids."

He marshals his thoughts, preparing further arguments. Arguments that have been brought up before, in various places, in many words, but with the same conclusion. Tonight will be no different; they will talk, she will cry, he will calm her down and eventually they'll leave the restaurant and go home. To make love, to pretend all is well.

As he watches, Marianne leans back folding her arms across her chest. He shakes his head, sighing,

"Marianne, do we have to go through this again? We…"

"Drew, I'm pregnant."