Roll of a Lifetime

by Melanie Greene

  Instead, even as his business was in crisis and even though they were still so new to each other, he’d said he was all in. He’d pledged to stick by her and the baby.

  He’d said he loved her.

  She interrupted his jokes about catering. “It’s not just you.”

  “I—what’s not just me?”

  “All in. It’s not just you who’s all in, Theo.”

  His smiling voice warmed her. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I mean, we have to talk a lot through, and you’re busy, and I’m almost a whole state away from you, but ... yeah. It’s not just you.”

  “Okay. Because you know I don’t only mean it, that I’m all in, as the baby’s father, right? I’m talking about us. Our relationship.”

  Her heartbeat raced the baby’s. She managed to ask, “Are you sure? It’s okay if you need more time. It’s a lot.”

  “You were always a package deal, Rachel. You and Hannah. It doesn’t scare me off now that the package is bigger than I’d bargained for.”

  She laughed. “You’re joking about my size already?”

  “No. Don’t turn my beautiful analogy into a bad joke.” He was laughing, too.

  “Sorry. I knew what you meant. Tension. I didn’t come into this mall expecting to end up bowled over by emotion. You tend to steal my breath, Theo.”

  “Serious?”

  She hoped he could hear her own happy sincerity. “Serious.”

  Hannah loved Aunt Johnston’s porch swing. Over and over that evening, Rachel had to push them off and add a little side-to-side wiggle so it jostled them in unpredictable paths.

  Rachel’s laughter died as soon as the man stepped from his truck at the curb. Hannah climbed down to try to push the swing herself, but all Rachel could do was watch Brent Berg mount the porch steps.

  “Hey there, Rach. Your aunt told me you’d be by tonight. This your baby girl?”

  She stood and picked up her daughter.

  “Mrs. Johnston told me all about what a cutie she is. So like her mom, huh? Going to be a real heartbreaker someday.” He smirked. She remembered that smirk. She once thought that smirk meant inside jokes. Private confidences that proved she was special. “So, you know I’m still looking for someone for that job. Mr. Steichen says you’ll be perfect. Why don’t you go ahead and apply?”

  “No.” She’d refused once via email; she could do it again in person.

  “Come on, Rach, you’d be doing me a real solid.”

  She flinched. And caught herself on the recoil as his ‘I’m so confident I deserve your compliance’ voice opened a backlash of memory. Doing Brent a solid, back when she was fifteen, meant staying up late baking, so he could strut through game day showing off how her cupcakes were tastier than the other team girlfriends’.

  She’d been doing him a solid the first time he’d guided her to jerk him off, two minutes, he promised, faster if he could see her tits, and he would fail his bio test if he was obsessing over how horny she made him.

  Doing Brent a solid meant going to his buddy’s pool party, playing along when they snickered that they couldn’t find a towel for her wet body, letting him perch her on his lap and murmur in her ear that he needed her ass to hide his hard-on from the other guys.

  She’d been doing Brent a solid that afternoon she sucked him off in the school parking lot, with his fist in her hair keeping her in place for his thrusts and also keeping her from looking around to see the observers he later claimed he didn’t hear approaching.

  “No.”

  “At least let me tell you more about it. You in town for a bit? Come out for a tour. Or leave the baby here and come get a drink with me now.”

  She settled the solid weight of Hannah against her chest. “No.”

  She wouldn’t elaborate. She didn’t owe it to him. He’d taken all her favors, and then some, and Rachel was learning she wasn’t that person anymore. The one pleased when someone needed her. The one ignoring her inner voice to yield to the voices around her. The one unsure she was worth it.

  She cut off whatever Brent was saying. “No.”

  He leaned back on his heels, at last silent. “Message received, Rachel. Damn. No need to be a bitch about it.”

  Her hand belatedly covered Hannah’s ear, and Brent had the iota of decency it took to look ashamed. Not that he offered so much as a quiet “sorry” as he turned and left. Not that she needed his apology to feel better.

  She felt great. She’d stuck up for herself, and she wasn’t even shaking from the adrenaline rush.

  “Cricket? Was that Brent Berg just leaving?” Aunt Johnston pushed open the screen door so they could head inside. She set out a plate of crackers and cheese for Hannah.

  “Yes, and good riddance. I can’t have you talking to him about me, Aunt. There’s too much wrong to get into, but he isn’t someone I can work for, okay?”

  “Well I knew that already. You told me once. I didn’t ask him to pester you about it.”

  “Hmm.”

  “I did not, so don’t take that tone, love bug. I know well you don’t want to be moving back here.”

  “Oh, Aunt. It’s not because I wouldn’t want to live with you again. Listen, he was aggressive with me in high school, and he thinks he can get me to do what he wants again now. I’m not the insecure girl who has to prove she’s worth loving now, you know?”

  Aunt Johnston gave the best hugs.

  Rachel wanted to confide in her, but it was a lot of story and she needed to turn in early for their next long day of driving. And she’d got it in her head that telling her parents and sister about the baby first would bridge some of the space that stretched between them.

  As she settled in for the night, leaving Aunt Johnston to take care of all of Hannah’s bedtime tasks, she sent heart and bed and sleep emojis to Theo. He was a man who wouldn’t demand anything from her as proof that she cared. His solidity didn’t depend on Rachel propping him up in any way. It was a part of him, like his kindness and his intuitive nature and his sexy playfulness and his love.

  She hadn’t expected his love. And now, the clash with Brent fucking Berg fresh in her mind, she wondered if that was because for so long in her life, love with men was transactional. She had to earn it, or thought she did. With sex, sure, but also by going along with their plans and setting aside her needs and accepting the blame for anything they decided was wrong. With the likes of Brent and Sergei, she always knew the score and how close she was to losing what they thought—what she thought—was love.

  Theo, though. His love just was. He gave it to her, and didn’t demand a word in return. Or a deed, or a thought, or an action, or a promise. It was hers, unconditionally.

  And if she had the right to it without working to earn it.... If that’s how real love worked, she needed a serious think about what her own heart was up to.

  His cousin texted him: So you and Rachel are a serious thing?

  Theo: Where’s that question come from?

  Tomás: Your son.

  Oh, Demeter’s ruffled horsefeathers. He phoned. “What did he say?”

  “You can’t wait ten minutes until you get here and ask me in person?”

  “Do I sound a ton like you should be messing with me?” Which wasn’t the most graceful way to say thanks for taking Andres for a few hours while he dealt with the company, but Tomás was good at reading between the lines.

  “You will be here in ten?”

  “Yeah, I’m on my way. Is Andres okay?”

  “This little monster? He’s got venomous claws that can freeze his victims in their tracks, did you know that?”

  “Of course. He inherited them from me.”

  “Huh, that explains it. Hey, kiddo, go ask Tío Enrique to chop up some mango. Warn him your dad’s on the way so he’d better go light on the Tajín.”

  “Hey.”

  “Calling it like I know it, primo.” Tomás must have held the phone towards the kitchen, because Andres’s giggling echoed down the line
.

  “Seriously, what did he say?”

  “That Daddy is dating Hannah’s mommy.”

  “He didn’t mention anything else?”

  His cousin was also good at picking up on potential gossip. “Anything like what?”

  Theo did not want to have this conversation while stuck behind a tow truck. He’d told Andres about his relationship before Rachel joined them for dinner, but didn’t intend to mention the baby until he knew much more about where he and Rachel were headed. Which didn’t mean his son hadn’t overheard something. “Anything like anything. Like he might be trying to process some big news and isn’t sure what it is. For example.”

  “What big news?”

  “Listen, I’m trying to find out what he knows, okay, so I can sit him down if I need to.”

  “Theo, what big news do you have that might warrant a sit-down?”

  “It’s—I’m not talking about anything specific.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Hey.” He clutched the steering wheel.

  “It’s fine, he’s in with my dad. I’ll go outside. Will that make you happy?”

  He’d be pulling onto his uncle’s street in a couple of minutes, but giving the news without being face to face appealed to him. “You can’t tell anyone.”

  “Híjole! Y’all elope or something?”

  “Jesus. No. She’s ... we’re going to have a baby.”

  Tomás went quiet. Theo signaled his turn and waited for the cross traffic to clear, listening intently for any kind of response. Nothing. Not a peep.

  He cut the call and coasted to a stop at Enrique’s curb. When he got out of the car, his cousin was standing in the carport, arms wide. Theo jogged straight at him and let himself be caught up in a massive hug. Tomás gripped his head and planted a kiss on each cheek. “Wow. Are you happy? You’re happy. Look at you. Wow. And Rachel? I can see it, man. I really can. She’s great. Congratulations, baby.”

  Theo’s heart thudded. He hadn’t celebrated at all. He and Rachel, they hadn’t celebrated. Maybe she had with her friends or family, but the two of them had gone straight into negotiation and coordination and management of various crises. Even her veiled declaration of the day before was wrapped in layers of logistics.

  Tomás’s effusive reaction unleashed a reservoir of emotion within him. Because awkward timing and uncertain future aside, the reality was, he got to have another baby. A new tiny person, to hold and marvel at and adore in all the stages and all the days of its life.

  His to love and treasure every day.

  Theo dropped his head to his cousin’s shoulder. Tomás hugged him tighter while he let himself whoop out a laughing cry.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Welcome to our home!” Dad said, opening the condo door wide and kneeling to engulf Hannah.

  “Say hi to Grandpa.” She leaned down to kiss her dad’s pate. When they were growing up, it was a game she and Blythe played, planting loud smacks on the top of his head whenever they caught him unawares—slouching at the table, napping on the sofa—to reinforce how much balder he was getting year by year. Now he sported grandfatherly fluffs of hair above his ears, and an otherwise hairless head. It was funny how familiar it was, kissing that baldness, how much more connected to him it made her feel, compared to chatting on video calls.

  Hannah kept her arms locked around his shoulders as he stood and backed so they could enter. Mom hugged everyone at once, already asking about luggage and road conditions and bathroom needs and meal times.

  “Let’s show Grangran all your potty skills, okay?”

  They took a group trip to the half-bath under the stairs, which made for a crowd, especially when Rachel had to lean over to help with wiping and pulling up the padded panties. But Hannah enjoyed the fuss and applause, and Rachel in her turn enjoyed the rare chance to shut the door and pee in private.

  While her mother and daughter played, Rachel hauled their bags up to Blythe’s old bedroom, then joined the others in the den. Dad passed everyone servings of his latest smoothie blend. Cucumbers and beets and apples. He even had a cup with a lid and straw for Hannah, so at some point since their last visit he or Mom had paused by the kid aisle in the supermarket. That was nice.

  “Guess what?” Mom was pulling out her iPad.

  “Potato,” said Hannah.

  “Well, no, not that.”

  “She’s got a farming game she plays on my friend’s tablet,” Rachel explained.

  Mom’s face cleared. “Oh, right. Well, I can download it, if you want.”

  “It’s fine, she was just making associations. What’s your news?”

  “I listed you as a co-host for Blythe’s baby shower tomorrow. It’s going to be beautiful.”

  She held her hand steady as Hannah took sips of her smoothie. Dad had served the adults in matching glass mugs, nice heavy ones with swirls of color around the rim. Hannah wanted to taste from the green side and the yellow side and the purple side, and was ignoring her grandfather’s comments about it being the same as what was in her cup. Experiment over, Rachel wiped Hannah’s beet-colored upper lip and set aside her mug. “Blythe’s having a baby shower tomorrow?”

  “I know, I know.” Mom handed over the iPad, which displayed the invite: ‘Blythe’s Baby Boy Brunch!’

  “Blythe’s having a son?”

  “She didn’t tell you?”

  She shook her head. Hannah’s smoothie was making condensation rings on the coffee table. It was the same table they’d had in their house growing up, the one they played games at and where Blythe did her homework—Rachel had to sit at the kitchen table, where Mom could monitor her progress as she went about her afternoon mom tasks. They’d sold that kitchen table, along with Rachel’s bedroom furniture and the plush purple rocking chair and several other items that wouldn’t fit into the condo. Rachel kept asking if the rocking chair could go with her to Aunt Johnston’s. Mom and Dad kept explaining why she could only take what fit in two suitcases and her backpack.

  It was fine. Aunt Johnston’s house had the porch swing.

  But they’d kept the coffee table all these years, and it, like Dad’s bald spot, was a reminder of the safety and comfort of her childhood. And of less comfortable childhood moments, but she grabbed hold of the good and jettisoned the rest.

  Mom enlarged the invite so she could see her name there, alongside those of her sister’s best friends from med school. “You don’t have to tell me it’s tacky for the grandmother to host the shower,” she said. “That’s why it’s so perfect that you got here in time. I knew you would stress over dealing with the back and forth emails and researching party favors and such. So I got to do it all, and put your name on it, which worked out great.”

  When she was little, they had a set of sandstone coasters with pictures of bears on them. A grizzly and a Kodiak and a black bear and a sun bear. A rack on the sofa table held the four of them when not in use, and for a while she cried if she couldn’t have the black bear. It had the friendliest pose. Then she learned to alternate her favorite every month, so even if Blythe carried her drink to the living room first, there was a good chance her favorite would still be available. The important thing was to always have a coaster under their drinks. And to their credit, her parents had kept the coffee table ring-free for decades now.

  She didn’t see the bear coasters. Likely they’d faded or cracked or lost the cork backings long ago. She didn’t see any coasters. She guessed it didn’t matter if Hannah’s smoothie left a sticky stain or two behind. Maybe Mom and Dad were ready to replace the coffee table. It had sharp corners. Her nephew would be safer if it was gone.

  The party decorations were green and orange, to match Blythe’s nursery. The menu featured omelets and three kinds of blintzes.

  “But I like planning parties.”

  Her mother paused her litany of event negotiations. “Well, sweetie. I’m sorry. I didn’t know that. You used to hate looking things up.”

  Since she
was in a room with two other responsible—if not always thoughtful—adults, she could close her eyes and sink back against the sofa for a minute. It hadn’t been replaced, but they’d reupholstered it since the days when she and Blythe woke Dad from his naps with a kiss to his bald spot. Given it some extra foam. Added coordinating throw pillows. It didn’t feel like the same spot where she’d curled up and watched countless episodes of Friends and ER.

  Hannah used Rachel’s thigh as a handhold as she pulled herself up to lie beside her. “Mama nap?”

  She kissed her curls. “I think it’s time for us to go meet Aunt Blythe and Uncle Jason for dinner.”

  “Rachel, we didn’t mean...”

  “It’s fine, Mom. I’m excited about the party.”

  “Well, of course you are. I knew you’d want a chance to celebrate our grandson.”

  She refused hear Mom stumbling over her last word. It did her no good to compare Hannah to her forthcoming nephew, like it had done her no good to compare herself to Blythe. Aunt Johnston had drummed that, at least, into her head. “Different people, different relationships. No matter how tempting, does you no good to keep score.” An image from that morning of Aunt Johnston waving them off, her face so like Dad’s except with profuse hair, was a quick mental snapshot guaranteed to calm her down.

  Still, petty and useless as it was, she said, “I am sad you didn’t tell me about it before we left. I’ve been knitting her a blanket, and I’d have tried to finish it in time.” It even had a lot of green in it, though she’d picked that because it was cute and gender-neutral, not because she’d heard from her sister about her favorite baby colors.

  Dad stacked the empty cups on a tray, wiping the condensation off the coffee table with his sleeve. “Want to get the door for Grandpa?” he asked Hannah, who rolled off Rachel and led the way to the kitchen. He never had been good at sitting in a tense room.

  “Well, Rachel, goodness. Your gift is the party.”

  “So do I write a check to Liz or to Angie?” She knew she was making it worse. Two full days of driving, a two-year-old’s favorite playlists on repeat, worry over Theo’s business, a sofa that wasn’t as welcoming as that of her childhood.