Claire and I met one another's gaze across the dim kitchen, our eyes expressing volumes without our lips moving. She offered a casual wave, tossed her russet curls out of her eyes, and then returned her full attention to the frosty glass of milk in her hand.
"Night, Claire," I offered as I turned to leave the room, trying not to let my eyes linger too long over her hunter green nightie. "Will you lock up before you turn in?"
"No problem." Her voice was muffled behind the glass as she savored a luxuriant sip. "Night Alex."
I moved up the thickly carpeted stairs to my bedroom, the house around me silent as I collapsed into an office chair to gaze without seeing at the screen saver my monitor projected. Combing my fingers through my hair, I felt like the world's filthiest man, and if jerking off over the thoughts I had would cure this condition, I would have been in remission weeks ago.
It was all Dave's fault. My brother was never gifted with responsible spending. He appreciated things, but didn't have the restraint to accumulate them by hard work and self-deprivation. This included Claire.
As she frequently was, my mother was right: I would regret letting the couple stay with me. Dave caught me at a moment of weakness and distraction. I had been busily finishing up an overdue project for work, and instead of being smart and ignoring the repeated calls to my cell, I had answered the fifth despite the nagging doubt in my gut.
Of course he wanted something. The crux of the conversation that had been padded with self-deprecation and overabundant complements for me was that Dave and Claire needed help. Dave had lost yet another job. The pair were sixteen days behind on their rent, and Claire could not go to work due to her condition.
"It will only be for a couple weeks tops," Dave assured with the rowdy roar of a beer fed crowd in the background. "I just don't have the cash right now, and by the time I do, our asses will be out in the street."
"Did you ask Mom?"
"She said no way. I think she's just gotten really selfish in her old age. Having us there would be too much work, and she can't be bothered. She's being really shitty if you ask me."
"Imagine that. She actually wants to enjoy her retirement. How selfish. If you're so hard up for cash, what the fuck are you doing out at the bar again?"
"Claire's pissed. She's been crying for the last three days. I love her. I do. But it's gotten so hard to put up with her lately. She cries all the time, her ass is getting bigger, and all she does is read baby books and accuse me of ruining one of the most important times of her life. I guess I'm not a chick. I don't get what the big deal is except that I'll need to earn even more money. She knows how I feel about this kid situation."
"So you'll be thrown out?"
"They'll take us to court first, then throw us out."
I was hunting files, trying to suppress the annoyance I felt, when Claire's bright blue eyes flashed in my mind. The thought of her pregnant and unkempt, sleeping in a car while they sold off all their possessions made a twinge of guilt shiver through me. I had an almost mundanely stable life and certainly didn't want for anything financially. The perfect bachelor life with all the electronics, casual sex, and free time I could want.
"Look. You guys can stay here, but you're not going to just bum around and live off me like a parasite, David. I expect your ass out at every temp agency in town, and when you aren't there, you'll be hunting apartments. Your wife is depending on you, and you've really fucked it up."
"Man, thank you! I know it was a dick thing to do, but you have no idea how unbearable my boss was. I'll make it up to you. I swear. Thanks, little bro."
Winter always hits our part of the country hard, and when they arrived later the next afternoon, I was even more pissed off at Dave. Claire scurried up my shoveled front walk, snowflakes dotting her hair, an evergreen coat barely able to cover her bulging belly as she carried two cardboard cartons toward the house.
"Whoa!" I flung open the door, running out to help the poor girl with the boxes. "Claire, you aren't supposed to be lifting things this far along are you?" She hurried inside behind me, collapsing in a recliner near the door to catch her breath.
"Dave gave me light boxes," she panted, running fair hands through her long hair to brush away the clinging snowflakes. "And I'm getting fat and could use the exercise, Alex. Look at this!"
Gaining her footing, she struggled out of the tight winter coat to display herself, turning in a circle to emphasize her point. I did not see a "fat" woman. I saw a creature more enticing than any other I had known.
From her tiny feet in their ebony boots to the basic black maternity pants and dark purple sweater she wore, she looked glorious. Her complexion was flawless and radiant as if it had been cast in porcelain, her cheeks a bit more full and ruddy, and her cleavage definitely more substantial above the rounded protrusion of her belly. Pregnancy did more than agree with her. It enhanced her.
"You look great!" I enthused, reaching out to offer her a friendly embrace. I knew the event she was trying so hard to make the best of was weighing on their already fragile marriage. The time in a woman's life that is supposed to be the most joyous and miraculous was turning out to be anything but either of those things. I felt obliged to pick up the slack where my son of a bitch brother left off. "You should try to get work in some of those maternity catalogs."
"You're funny," Claire shrugged. But I saw the faint hopeful glimmer of self-respect in her eyes before it was stamped out by the approaching footsteps of her husband.
A couple weeks had grown into a month and a half. And while it was an inconvenience having to share my modest house with two more people, I found that Claire's company more than made up for the uncomfortable tension between Dave and myself. She was pleasant to talk with, and I learned that she loved books of all kinds, not just the ones that preoccupied her due to her pregnancy and impending motherhood. I began to eat home cooked meals instead of take-out far more frequently than I'd prepare for myself. Dinners at home hadn't been this good since my last live in girlfriend. If I got home from work late, there'd be a little something thoughtfully put together for me to eat, even if it was just a sandwich, and I was touched by Claire's consideration. It felt more like a home rather than a house, and it was all compliments of my sister-in-law and new roommate. I also got used to all the other acts of thoughtfulness Claire displayed: washing my clothes along with those of Dave and herself, light cleaning simply because she had the time and energy to do it and even someone to keep me company in the evenings. Dave often met up with friends or retired to their room to watch television alone and contemplate the latest fuck up he had achieved, leaving us plenty of time to talk and get to know one another more than we had in the past.
I did my best to ignore all the squabbles I overheard when they thought I was asleep or too engrossed in projects to notice. I'd hear Dave rumbling on, Claire's futile attempts at optimism and reassurance, Dave's voice raising, then sniffles and the opening and closing of their bedroom door followed by the squeak of stair treads as Claire left their room and went downstairs.
Tonight, things had proceeded as they always did. Dave came back from yet another unproductive day around six thirty. Claire had baked lasagna, and she and I were clearing our dinner dishes as Dave stomped through the front door, muttering under his breath about software training and the cost of a two-bedroom apartment.
