The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

49

"So." Harleen taps the base of her mocktail glass against the table in the noisy restaurant. "What are your intentions with my Sienna?"

Jonathan sips smoothly on his scotch. He's enduring the sombrero Harleen slapped on his head, and the mariachi band playing in the corner.

Meanwhile, I'm a bundle of nerves, staring resolutely into my margarita mocktail. Cheeks beginning to turn pink. Feeling rather like a teenager who's just brought her first boyfriend home to meet her parents.

Jonathan says, "I care for Sienna very deeply."

"And you're not coercing her into any of this fear baby stuff?" Harleen asks, eyeing him with suspicion.

"Harleen—" I try to interrupt, but she silences me by holding up a hand.

"Quinzel interrogation," she reminds me through the tassles of her sombrero. "Quinzel. Interrogation."

Jonathan watches with amusement, waiting until Harleen's attention is fixed back upon him before responding. He leans forward slightly, his expression sincere. "I have no intention of coercing Sienna into anything she doesn't want. I vow to protect and support her, always. The concept of a... fear baby, is something we've both consented to and discussed extensively."

"And is this fear baby for research, or because of your personal feelings?" Harleen asks.

I fight the urge to cover my eyes with my hands and sink into the ground. Instead, I nervously glance at Jonathan. Awaiting his answer.

He's already looking at me, his expression tender. "It's both, actually," he replies, still maintaining eye contact with me. "Sienna's work is invaluable to me. It's one of the many things I admire about her, and I believe it has the potential to benefit many. Change the world. But beyond that, on a deeply personal level, I care for Sienna. And I want to share this experience with her."

Harleen studies him for a moment. Weighing everything up in her mind. And then she nods, seemingly satisfied. "Good. Because I've got a baseball bat with your name on it if you hurt her."

I cough into my drink as I fight a laugh. Jonathan raises an eyebrow but keeps his composure. "Noted. I assure you, Doctor Quinzel, I will not."

Harleen leans back, her sombrero slightly askew. "Welcome to Taco Tuesday, Doctor C. It's great to have you."

He lifts his glass in a mini toast. "Likewise, Doctor Quinzel. Actually, I've been meaning to speak with you. I hear you're facing eviction from your apartment?"

My jaw drops just slightly before I quickly recover. God damn, he's got some nerve.

"Yes, because the stinking capitalist assholes who own this city are getting out of control," she laments. "But we'll be fine, Doctor C. We have a few weeks' notice."

Our food arrives — Jonathan's grilled chicken tacos with a side of guac, Harleen's spicy shrimp, and my...

"I'm sorry, I think there's been a mistake," I tell the waitress. "I ordered the Mexican ceviche?"

Jonathan clears his throat. "I didn't want to trouble you, dearest, so I rectified your order."

I practically pin him to his seat with my glare. "You rectified my order?" I repeat.

Harleen sips noisily from her straw, eyes and tassles swinging between us both.

"Sweetheart, did you review the list of foods to avoid during pregnancy? Raw fish is one of them," he replies calmly.

"Ceviche is basically cooked in citrus," I try to argue.

"And I'll not have you get sick. Not when there's perfectly good fish tacos with a side of rice and beans on the menu," he says, pushing the plate closer to me.

I stare at the offending rice and beans. "Harleen, you bring that baseball bat with you?"

She exhales. "Wow, Doctor C. You're really taking this fear baby thing seriously, huh?"

He looks me in the eye. "I take Sienna's well-being very seriously. Always." Then he looks away. Picks up his knife and fork. "I guess I was overly cautious this time. I'm sorry, Sienna. I'll have the waitress bring back the menus."

"No," I tell him, chewing guiltily on my lip. "Thank you. It was very thoughtful. And the tacos look amazing."

I bite into one, and find it to be true — there's lime and avocado and coriander, small dollops of fresh sour cream and pickled onions, thinly sliced greens and wholesome corn tortillas. I stare for a moment in surprise — it's the best taco I've ever tasted.

"Can you order for me next time, too?" Harleen asks, taking a forkful of my food to try and rolling her eyes back in appreciation.

"Actually, I think your order's perfect for you," he says. "Though, I'm surprised you didn't add corn chips on the side."

Harleen stares at him, then at me, in wonderment. "That's exactly what Sienna says each time, too."

"You're a snacker," I shrug. "It only makes sense."

"Well, no more eating out for the rest of the week," she says. "We have to eat up all the food from the spirits before we go apartment hunting."

"Actually, I wondered if you might consider living a little further out of the city," Jonathan says casually. "My neighbour's house has just come on the market."

"Oh, I can't afford to buy a house," Harleen says. "I barely have a 401k in place."

But Jonathan shakes his head. "I'm considering buying it myself. It's an older property, like my own, and I have a passion for restoration. It seems a shame for it to go uninhabited."

Harleen's eyes light up. "Really? That would be great!"

I'm more skeptical. "That seems a little convenient," I point out.

His eyes sparkle. "What can I say? Sometimes things just work out."

Or sometimes people get fear gassed into selling their house.

"Besides," he continues, "I'd like to have you closer to me, Sienna. Particularly while you're carrying our child."

"Driving into the city so often getting to be a chore?" I ask, my words loaded with the fact he comes to visit every night.

"You will never be a chore," he says. "But if there's an accident or bad traffic, I might not be able to reach you quickly enough."

"That's so sweet, Doctor C," Harleen says. "And hey, we'll be able to have sleepovers all the time! And once the baby's here, they can come to Aunt Harleen's to give you guys some alone time."

Jonathan smiles. "I appreciate the offer."

"What do you think?" Harleen asks me, finished with her tacos and washing them down with the last of her mocktail. "Should we at least see the place?"

I glance at Jonathan. Suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude. With heavier emotions I cannot understand. "Sure," I say. "I'd like that."

His eyes light up in response.