The Last Time I wanted to Throw my Laptop Out from the Window

…was when Dora wrote to me she wanted to have a baby.

Dora was a thirty-year old Belarusian running a small advertising agency. A woman of average looks yet intense presence.

And my lover.

She decided she wanted a baby. She wrote it to me. This is how it went:

Her: “I want to tell you something. I decided I want to have another baby.”

Me: “Wow.”

Her: “Yeah, I know. It will complicate things between us.”

Me: “Uh-uh.”

Her: “But don’t worry, most likely it will not be right away. If Claude gets to it twice a month, that’s an over-estimate.”

If you’re not good at reading between the lines: Dora was my lover, but she lived a two-hour flight away from me. We got to see each other about once a month. Claude was her boyfriend, with whom she already had one child. With whom she lived. On whom she was cheating. With me.


Back to the conversation.

Me: (Silence)

Her: “There are different points at which we may end this.”

Me: (puzzled) “What do you mean?”

Her: “Of course, you may want to end this right now. Or, when I find out I am pregnant. Or, when the fact I am pregnant will become visible. Or…”

As her voice started trembling, I waved her to stop.

Now I remember, she did not write this to me. She told me. We were sitting in a bad Indian restaurant somewhere on the outskirts of the city. It was a foggy November morning. A summer fling two months ago, on this morning it was turning into something very sticky.

Me: “Ok, we should better end this now.”

I mean, would have made total sense had I said that, right? But I didn’t. I said this instead:

Me: “Shush Dori. Don’t worry about it. Let’s pay and go back to the hotel.”

It was only after that I felt this urge to throw my laptop out from the window. That evening, when — after endless lovemaking in her hotel room, walking her to the mall where she would shop for gifts to bring home, walking her to the train station and going alone to my apartment — I sat down to write her an email in order to express how that day made me feel.

And every time since then when I sat down to write to her.



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Kasper Nowak

Kasper Nowak

Attentive observer. Accomplished charmer. Dark side of another person. Some of my stories might not have happened. But they all could have.