He didn’t just ask me that did he? But then I look at him and see he’s frozen in place too, a look of regret in his eyes. He really did just ask me if I‘m pregnant. “What?” I manage to ask, but I can’t move, “What?” “What?” he says, looking to me and any expression from his face is gone. He looks vacant. If he thinks for one minute that I’m going to pretend he didn’t just say that, he can think again. “What did you just ask me?” “Nothing.” “Fuck off, Deacon.” I stand up, unable to sit and process this information, “Don't treat me like I’m an idiot.” I feel the nervous energy radiating off him, colliding with the anger I’m trying desperately to contain. Deacon paces the shop, gripping a handful of his hair and curling his other hand into a fist. “Deacon!” “I said.” he turns around, and in two quick strides he’s in my personal space, “Are you pregnant?” “What?” I fold my arms protectively across my body and take a step away from him.
