Chapter 7: Baby
The smell of burnt coffee followed them out of the duplex, clinging to Edwin’s grey henley she’d commandeered. It was long on her, the sleeves rolled, the collar smelling of his skin and last night. Dave’s knowing smirk over his chipped mug had been the price of admission for breakfast, and Svet had paid it with a theatrical eye-roll, nudging Edwin’s foot under the table.
Now, in the silver BMW, the world outside was Monday-morning bright and ordinary. Too ordinary. The profound shift between them felt like it should have cracked the pavement, but the suburban houses just sat there, bland and unimpressed.
“So,” Svet said, sipping the last of the terrible coffee from a travel mug. “Games room. You trying to recapture your youth, old man?”
Edwin drove with one hand, the other resting on her thigh, a casual, claiming weight that was entirely new. “My youth was spent waiting for you to finish golf practice. The games room is just a place with air hockey. And you’re avoiding your lit review.”
“You’re not my keeper.”
“No,” he said, his thumb stroking a slow arc on her jeans. “Just your distraction.”
The Varsity Alley was a cavern of nostalgic noise—the clatter of pins, the digital chirps of arcade games, the low thump of bad pop music. It smelled of greasy pizza and industrial cleaner. They claimed an air hockey table in the back, near a flickering Skee-Ball lane.
Svet played like she did everything: with aggressive, whole-bodied commitment. She slammed the puck with a sharp crack, leaning over the table, her tongue between her teeth in concentration. Edwin played defensively, with efficient, calculated blocks, barely moving his feet.
“You’re cheating!” she yelled after he banked a sneaky shot off the side into her goal.
“It’s physics. You should study it.”
“I study the mind, you jerk!” She fired the puck back. It ricocheted wildly.
He was laughing, a real, open sound she still wasn’t used to, when a voice cut through the din.
“Edwin? Hey, no way!”
The girl approaching was all soft edges where Svet was sharp. Daisy. Her name popped into Svet’s head with a visceral jolt, supplied by a fragmented memory of a high school party, a whispered confession from Edwin years ago that he’d thought he liked her, before he knew what liking someone really cost. She had friendly brown eyes and a smile that seemed genuine, her hair in a messy bun, wearing a university sweater.
Edwin straightened up, the laugh fading into a polite, closed-off smile. “Daisy. Hi.”
“Hi yourself,” Daisy said, her gaze flicking to Svet, then back to him, warm and knowing. “Wow, it’s been forever. How are you? Heard you’re at the academy. That’s so you.”
“It’s going. Yeah. How’s nursing school?”
“Exhausting. All I do is study and cry.” She laughed, a light, tinkling sound. She hadn’t looked at Svet again. The conversation was a bubble around the two of them, a snapshot of a past where Svet hadn’t been the center.
Svet felt it first in her jaw, clenched tight. Then in her stomach, a cold, heavy stone. She watched Daisy’s hand touch Edwin’s arm briefly, a familiar gesture. She watched Edwin’s posture—not leaning in, but not retreating either. He was being polite. Neutral. It was infuriating.
“We should totally catch up,” Daisy was saying. “A bunch of us from the old neighborhood get together sometimes. You should come. Bring your friend!” She finally, blessedly, looked at Svet, offering a generic, friendly smile.
Svet didn’t smile back. She stared, her brain white with a static rage that was entirely disproportionate and absolutely real. This was the girl. The one he’d looked at before he knew how to look at her. The ghost of a might-have-been, standing here in stretchy jeans and a hopeful expression.
Edwin opened his mouth, probably to give a non-committal sure, but Svet moved.
She walked around the air hockey table, the puck forgotten. She stepped into Edwin’s space, closer than was strictly necessary, sliding her hand around his waist, under his jacket. She felt him go very still. She looked up at him, ignoring Daisy completely, and let every raw, possessive thing she was feeling show in her eyes.
“We gotta go soon, baby,” she said, her voice clear and carrying. The word hung in the sticky air. Baby. It felt foreign and perfect on her tongue. “You promised to help me with that thing at my place.”
The shift was instantaneous. Edwin’s arm came around her shoulders, pulling her tight into his side, a solid, unquestioning answer. His neutral politeness vanished, replaced by a focused intensity that was only for her. “Yeah,” he said, his voice dropping. “I did.”
He looked back at Daisy, and his tone was final, a door closing. “It was good seeing you, Daisy. Take care.”
Daisy’s smile faltered. She read the room—the possessive hand, the anchored body language, the word baby—and took a small step back. “Oh. Yeah, of course! You too. Nice meeting you…”
Svet didn’t supply her name. She just turned her head, pressed a quick, firm kiss against Edwin’s jaw, right where his stubble was coming in. It wasn’t a romantic kiss. It was a stamp. A claim. She tasted the salt of his skin, felt the slight roughness.
Then she extracted herself from his arm, picked up her Celsius can from the ledge, and walked away. She didn’t look back. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, a frantic, fighting rhythm. She heard his footsteps behind her, steady and sure, following without a second’s hesitation.
She pushed through the heavy doors into the blinding afternoon sun, the noise of the alley cutting off abruptly. She kept walking across the parking lot, not toward the car.
“Svet.”
She stopped. The asphalt was hot through her shoes.
His hand caught her elbow, turned her around gently. His face was unreadable. “What was that?”
“What was what?” She took a sip of her drink, willed her hand not to shake.
“The ‘baby.’ The kiss-and-walk-away. That whole… performance.” His eyes searched hers, not angry, but deeply curious, like she was a new piece of music he was trying to decipher.
She looked away, over the roof of his car. “I didn’t like how she looked at you.”
“How did she look at me?”
“Like she remembered something I wasn’t a part of.” The admission tasted bitter. “Like she had a right to.”
He was quiet for a long moment. The sun warmed the side of her face. “She doesn’t.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?” He stepped closer, his shadow falling over her. “Because what happened in my room last night… that wasn’t a shared memory with anyone else. That’s ours. Only ours. You don’t need to mark me like territory in a damn arcade.”
Her chin came up. “It felt necessary.”
A slow, understanding dawned in his eyes, and the stern line of his mouth softened. “You were jealous.”
“I was not.” The protest was automatic, weak.
“You were.” He said it with a note of wonder. He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek. “You have no reason to be. Not even a little bit. But… I kind of liked it.”
She finally met his gaze. The fierce possession she’d felt melted, replaced by a shuddering, vulnerable relief. “You did?”
“Yeah.” He leaned in, his voice a low hum just for her. “But next time, maybe stick around to see the payoff. Walking away is dramatic, but staying… that’s what proves the point.”
He kissed her then, properly, in the middle of the parking lot. It was slow and deep and tasted like validation. When he pulled back, he kept his forehead against hers. “Let’s go. My shift at the record store starts in an hour.”
She nodded, the cold stone in her stomach gone. As they got into the car, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out. A notification from a dating app she hadn’t opened in weeks. And below it, a text from an unknown number.
Hey Svet, it’s Marcus from The Grid. Got your number from Jessa. Hope that’s cool. You left your sunglasses on the bar that night. They’re pretty distinctive. Want to grab a coffee and I can give them back?
She stared at the screen. The world, with all its complicating, competing echoes, rushed back in. She glanced at Edwin, focused on reversing the car, his profile sure and calm in the daylight.
She locked her phone without replying, and dropped it into the cup holder. It landed with a soft, decisive tap.