XY XX

LASAGNA ISSUE

Once back home from work, doubt surfaced again. Anxiety draped Xenia when she thought of the eventuality of Gregory leaving her. The woman recalled all her mother's boyfriend departures, but Mark's image haunted her the most.

The way he left was mortifying.

Xenia's first trimester of pregnancy was terrible; she vomited all the time. The woman had sleepless nights and awful humor to crown it all. Unconsciously, she took out her frustrations on the only person around, Mark.

In return, Mark came home late. He hung out or pretended to have too much work to do on his startup.

Sex was a no-no for Xenia; she didn't feel comfortable enough to have sex during her pregnancy without forgetting the fatigue.

Mark complained. According to him, Xenia was supposed to be on fire with the rush of hormones. As a result, the man went to Sophia, who had no problem satisfying his hunger.

When the second trimester began, Xenia felt better, but the father to be was distant. Mark appeared uneasy when she touched him.

"What's wrong, Mark?"

"Nothing, I'm tired," the man shrugged off her hand.

Being exhausted became a usual excuse. Coming home late sometimes became not returning home at all.

Nothing, in particular, occurred the day Mark dropped out of their relationship. The problem was the dish served for dinner.

"This again," Mark glared at the plate of Xenia's homemade lasagna the woman posed on the table.

Xenia gave a timid smile, "It's been a while; I thought you liked my lasagna."

"I said I liked it; I didn't expect the lasagna to become a routine like brushing by teeth."

"Come on, Mark, I don't cook it every day," Xenia said, cocking an eyebrow of amusement, not seeing the scheme behind the man's complaint.

"But you cook it once a week. I'm tired of this," Mark chucked his fork on the table.

"Okay, let me give you something else," Xenia got up, ready to prepare another dish. Guilt played on her consciousness; Mark probably felt neglected since she was pregnant.

"No, Xenia, it's enough. I'm tired of this. This lasagna is tasteless like us."

"Mark, it's lasagna. You are not going to throw a fit about a God damn lasagna, are you."

"It's not about the friggin' lasagna Xenia; it's about us. The baby, the whole thing, I'm not sure it's what I want for now," Mark shook his head and got up.

"What do you mean, it's not what you want? We've been together forㅡ."

"Maybe it's already too much. Listen, Xenia, I'm too young. We're only 25. I don't see myself eating your lasagna for the next decade."

"What? You are talking bullshit, Mark. I made lasagna, and you are creating a life crisis out of it."

"Yeah, I am, because I don't want this life. I don't wish to have a baby now, and I don't desire you, I don't wish my life to resemble that," Mark pointed at the dish cooling off in the middle of the table.

Xenia began to panic; she understood the lasagna triggered something more profound.

"Please, stop it, Mark, you are scaring me. What do you mean you don't want the baby? I'm six months pregnant."

"Well, I don't want it, I don't want this future with you," Mark headed to their bedroom, where he started packing his belongings.

Xenia entered the bedroom and attempted to snatch the clothes from the man's hands, "Mark, are you kidding me? What are you doing? Stop it."

"Leave me, Xenia; I don't want to hurt you. Let go of me."

"What are you doing? Are you leaving me? You can't go now, Mark, I'm pregnant."

The man stopped and glared at Xenia with the utmost loathe, "what you want to use your pregnancy to keep me hostage? I said I don't want it; keep your baby."

"If you didn't wish to have a baby, then why didn't you say so? Why did you keep quiet? Why, Mark?"

"Because YOU got all excited about having one," Mark pointed an accusative finger at Xenia.

"So, you're saying it was my will alone; you didn't wantㅡ."

"If you had taken your pillㅡ."

"I told YOU I needed a new subscription because I had weird side effects, but you were too eager. Mister, I didn't want to use a condom because YOU don't get enough feels with the rubber, and now you are blaming me. What did I do?"

"Nothing, that's the problem, Xenia. You do nothing; you are just there letting life sway you. You have no ambition, no dream; you just want your full time paid job, your baby, and your lasagna."

"What's wrong with wanting a simple life, tell me, Mark?"

"It's not I desire."

"So you are leaving, I have no ambition, and I'm not interesting, but I was interesting enough for you to ask me to borrow money for you since my accounts were all clear with the cash I earned with my simple job. You were happy to have me pay all the bills while you chased after your Bachelor's degree. I was interesting enough for you to screw me, and now you're done you want to go, just like that," Xenia snapped her fingers in front of Mark's face.

"Don't get vulgar. I'm sorry, but I can't cope with this."

"Fuck you, Mark."

"Xeㅡ."

The man had no time to finish. Xenia slapped him.

"Satisfied," Mark asked.

Xenia slapped him again.

"You are lucky you're pregnant; now move out of my way."

Xenia thought Mark would come back, but three months later, there was no Mark to cut her daughter's umbilical cord. One of the supposed to be happiest moments of her existence found itself trashed by the tears of sadness that shed on Xenia's nightgown. She nursed her newborn baby to sleep, with her tears, and hoped to never fall for another men's vain promises.

The memory made Xenia shudder as she watched Gregory tuck Sia in bed.

Relationships always started sweet and ended up bitter.

XY XX

"Hey, what's wrong?" Gregory asked as he followed Xenia to the living room.

"Nothing," Xenia said, crossing her arms.

"Xenia, you can't cross your arms and say there's nothing," Gregory said knowingly.

"I'm just crossing my arms. It's a natural movement," Xenia replied in a tone that reminded Gregory of their altercations when he arrived in Astoria.

"No, Xenia, when someone crosses their arms, something is bothering them. They don't want to talk about it, and they're in a defensive mode."

Xenia nodded, "you've got that right; I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay," Gregory understood that retreating was the best action at the instant.