He looked outside the hotel window, where the sky was the color of the paint in the new bedroom, where Christine had declared the color: “a perfect glowing sky,” after the paint had dried and the crib had been uncovered and the plastic tarp peeled off of the violet carpet. Blue, incase, and purple, incase: the gender-bases covered. He had gotten up from bed and looked out the window, listening to the water in the shower. The affair needed to end.

His girlfriend had once said, “maybe when I’m thirty-five,” but the unexpected, unintended news had changed her. Without child, she had been depressed, burdened by too much work, long hours and the rudeness of the brokers. Afterwards, she planned ahead. Color found its way into her skin, even through the winter. Her Mother had saved the crib, various clothing and toys. A smile etched itself permanently onto her face, radiant and always lurking.

“You’re glowing,” he’d said. “You’re absolutely bright.”

When her arms sagged and her stomach seemed to propel itself forward, like a bowling ball that somehow gained mass, she asked him if he had been having an affair. He immediately thought back to any evidence he may have overlooked. He had used cash for the hotels, and condoms. They had met in a Hotel in Fairfax, far enough away.

“No. Don’t be silly.” He wondered if he had waited too long to respond, if perhaps a wayward glance down and away had clued her in. “Don’t worry,” he told her. From where she stood, half bent on the kitchen table, he had to stand and walk over to her. He walked slowly. He placed his hands on her shoulders, and felt her stomach pressed against his. She had the most beautiful eyes.