by Megan Walker
“Okay,” Felix says, looking appropriately concerned. “You want to talk about it? Can I get you something to drink?”
“Sure.”
Felix hesitates. “Not alcohol, though. We don’t have any of that.”
My brother doesn’t drink, not since his last stint in rehab, even though alcohol wasn’t the source of his addiction. Plus, he and Jenna have started going to the Mormon church lately (something my parents and Dana are not thrilled about, but it’s hardly their business) and I’m pretty sure Mormons don’t drink.
“Coffee?” I ask.
Felix cringes. “Yeah, we got rid of all of that. It’s a church thing.”
“Okay,” I say, though I’m surprised. Felix always enjoyed his gourmet coffee—they must be really into this church thing. “What do you have?”
“Um, milk and water,” Felix says apologetically. “Possibly some hot cocoa mix.”
He clearly hadn’t considered this when he asked if I wanted a drink. “I think I’ll pass,” I tell him.
“And Capri Suns!” he adds, like he’s just remembered this.
“That . . . actually sounds good.”
“Sweet,” he says. “I’ll get the whole box.”
And so it is that I’m sprawled out on my little brother’s couch, sipping a Strawberry Kiwi Capri Sun and telling him all about the pregnancy and the crabs outbreak and Will’s fight with Sean.
“Yikes,” Felix says. “That’s . . . are Sean and Will going to work it out?”
I appreciate that he’s starting there and not with the pregnancy, because I don’t know what to say about that. “I don’t know,” I say. “Will is mad because Sean used me and lied to him.”
Felix raises an eyebrow. “I’m trying to be sympathetic to Will here, but Jenna and I are friends with Alec.”
Felix makes a good point. Alec was a big enough jerk to them when Jenna’s original band was breaking up that Felix shoved him off the stage at the VMAs, and now Alec is practically family. Felix and Jenna still even keep those huge AJ marquee letters up on their bookshelf—decoration from the days when she and Alec lived together. And not only was Alec a total dick to them for a while back then, he and Jenna were pretending to be together when she started dating Felix to keep their couple-identity going for the good of the band, which wasn’t super fun for Felix to watch.
“That’s true,” I say. “And Alec kissed Jenna a lot more than Sean kissed me.”
“Sorry,” Felix says. “I don’t mean to compare. It sounds like Will is going through some stuff. Did you ever talk to him about your concerns about your sex life?”
Ugh. I forgot that I told him about that. I wobble a hand at him. “We talked about it. And I bought a sex painting. But I’m not sure it changed anything.”
“I don’t know what that means. And I’m not sure I want to.”
“Now you sound like me.”
He smiles. “Seriously, though, Gabs. That sounds like a lot to deal with. But you’ll get through it. You’re going to be okay.”
“Am I?” I can feel my eyes starting to burn, and I blink away the tears. “I’m pregnant, Felix, and I don’t want to be. And there’s going to be a little person who needs me to care about them and right now, I’m not sure that I ever will.”
“You’re going to love your kid,” Felix says. “It took Jenna four years to bond with Ty, and look at them now.”
I hadn’t thought about that, but it’s true. Jenna was a teen mom, and her parents raised their now-nine-year-old son for the first part of his life.
“There’s no way it’s going to take you that long,” he says. “Jenna had all kinds of other issues she needed to work out before she could feel like a mom. But it’s okay if you need a baby who you can hold and smile at and make eye contact with before you feel attached. You love your people, Gabby, and you’re going to love your kid.”
I squint at him as I finish one Capri Sun and start on another. Damn, these things are even better than I remember. “You think so?”
“Yes,” Felix says, then he hesitates. “We’re not telling everyone this, but Jenna and I just started trying to get pregnant ourselves.”
I groan. “Please tell me you’re not going through infertility.” I want to be able to talk to Anna-Marie about this stuff, and I know she said I can. But it feels wrong to do so when all I want is to throw myself a pity party. Or maybe even a pity parade.
His brow furrows. “What? No. I mean, I guess I don’t know for sure that we won’t, but Jenna just went off birth control.”
“That’s good. Apparently Anna-Marie and Josh have been trying for a while.”
Felix cringes. “Ouch. Yeah. I can see why that would cause problems. But no, we’re not having any issues at this point. We just felt like things had been calm for a while now, and we were ready.” He thinks about that. “By which I guess I mean that no one has left a band or gotten married or been stabbed in six months. So, yeah. That’s a long time of calm for us.” He smiles.
“You guys haven’t even been married a full year yet.”
Felix shrugs, still smiling. “It feels like a lot longer. And I mean that in the best of ways.”
I get what he means. It’s hard to remember that a year ago Felix was newly sober, when now he’s got a family and a nine-year-old he’s now officially adopted and a successful music career. Jenna and Ty are such a natural, intrinsic part of his life—and mine, by extension—that it feels like somehow they’ve always been there.
“Where are Jenna and Ty today, anyway?” I ask. I’d love to get her advice on all of this, though I definitely wouldn’t do so in front of my nephew.
Felix’s expression drops. “They were at her parents’ house for a bit, but they decided to stop by the hospital on the way home. Our wardrobe manager Allison has breast cancer, and she’s undergoing chemo right now.”
“Oh, wow, I’m sorry,” I say. I’ve never met Allison, but I’ve heard about her, and I know Jenna’s worked with her for years. Then I cringe. “God, you let me go on and on about my crap, and your friend has cancer. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, Gabs,” Felix says. “Just because someone else is going through something terrible doesn’t mean you don’t have the right to vent about your own stuff. I’ve vented at you plenty. It’s nice to be there for you for once.”
I make a dismissive “pffft” sound, because he’s there for me a lot. But I know he still feels bad about all the stress he put me through when he was on drugs, even though he doesn’t need to. I just want him to stay clean and alive and my brother.
I take another sip of my drink. “How is your sobriety?” I ask, because I know he’d rather talk about stuff like that than dance around it.
“Good,” Felix says. “My therapist is happy, because I’ve hit a lot of the benchmarks for stability. I have a job, financial security, a stable network of social support. In another six months I’m thinking of stepping down the maintenance drugs and seeing how it goes.”
That’s surprising; a lot of recovered addicts stay on the meds for years before they start tapering off. “Are you sure you’re ready?”
“No,” he says. “That’s why I’m going to give it six months and see. And if I start stepping down and it goes badly, I can always bump the dose back up.”
Sounds fair. And I trust him to make the best call for his well-being—something I definitely wouldn’t have thought a year ago. I settle back in the couch with a third Capri Sun. “I’m going to drink the whole box.”
“Feel free,” Felix says. “Take the box with you. We have more.”
“I’m sorry to whine at you.”
Felix shakes his head. “Don’t be. This is hard stuff.” He pauses. “Except the pubic lice. That’s hilarious.”
I stick out my tongue at him.
“Seriously, though,” he says. “Am I al
lowed to help you out yet? Because you know we can afford it. We could pay your medical bills, at least.”
“Well,” I say. “Will still doesn’t feel good about accepting charity when he’s not making an actual paycheck. But he did agree that you could buy our couch again. The one without the cushions.”
“You’re going to part with Cushionless Couch?” Felix asks, as shocked as he should be by this statement.
“You’d have to pay me for it, of course,” I say. “And then you’d have to keep it, so I can visit it.”
Felix laughs. “All right. I think I can handle that. But you’re going to have to take, like, five thousand dollars for it. Plus let me pay your medical bills.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. “You’re going to pay that much? For Cushionless Couch?”
He grins. “I’m going to require you to take that much if I’m going to have your ratty couch frame in my house forever. And Jenna will probably have some new cushions made for it, just so you’re warned.”
“All right,” I say. “I’ll run that by Will, but I think he’ll agree.” It still makes me a little sad to part with Cushionless Couch, but Will is right. Sacrifices have to be made.
Felix clears his throat. “Is Will going to be able to keep writing?”
I appreciate that he puts it that way, instead of asking when Will is going to get a real job. Felix may be a successful musician, but he gets that there are plenty of people who can’t make a living off their art right away. “I hope so,” I say. “But he insists that he needs to get a job.”
“That makes sense. I’m sorry things haven’t worked out with his writing yet.”
I close my eyes. “I just hate that I’m taking that away from him, you know?”
“Um,” Felix says. “I don’t think you’re taking it away from him. You didn’t choose to get pregnant. And you’re the one who’s made it possible for him to focus on his writing for the last several years.”
I can see logically that he’s right, but I still hate it. “I just want to be able to support him in his dreams.”
“Okay, sure,” Felix says. “But everyone goes through setbacks.”
“Sure,” I say. “But the last few years he’s already hit a lot of setbacks, with his first book not selling and the second one taking forever. I just—I want to be able to support Will’s dreams, because that’s something Sarah never did for him, you know? That’s something I can give him that he needs.”
Felix is quiet for a moment, studying me. “So you feel like you have to support his writing, or he’s not going to love you anymore.”
“That’s not what I said.” But something about that resonates deeply in my bones. “I want to support him because I love him.”
“Of course you do,” Felix says. “But you also feel like you need to support him in that way, because you don’t recognize all the other things you bring to the relationship.”
I make an indistinct grumbling sound, and shove the Capri Sun straw in my mouth. These things taste amazing, but even a whole box of delicious sugar drinks doesn’t make up for the fact that apparently I now also have issues with needing Will to keep writing for my own selfish reasons, on top of everything else.
“Will loves you,” Felix says. “It’ll be okay, even if he has to give up writing for a while.”
And maybe he’s right about that, but to me it still feels like the end of the world.
Twenty
Gabby
I get home late and am surprised to find that Will isn’t there. His laptop is on the coffee table and there’s dishes being drip-drip-dripped on in the sink, so I figure he probably went over to Ben’s like he sometimes does in the evenings when I’m not home. I decide this is definitely a Fong’s night and order in. I’m sitting on the couch eating Moo Goo Gai Pancakes straight from the Styrofoam container, when Will walks in our front door, carrying a plastic bag.
And wearing a bright orange Home Depot apron.
It takes me a moment to adjust to this sight.
I blink at him. “Hey. How was your day?”
Will stands there looking like he wants to melt through the floor. “I went to Home Depot to get some parts for the sink.” He holds up the bag, which I can see now has the Home Depot logo on it, and sets it on the kitchen counter.
“And you also picked up a stylish apron?”
“And I applied for a job,” Will says. “Because they were hiring. And apparently they were desperate, because they processed my information and said I could start today, if I wanted.”
Oh my god. Will got a job. At Home Depot?
“Don’t you have to like, know things to work at Home Depot?”
Will gives me a look. “Have you ever been to Home Depot?”
I remember the time Felix and I went there trying to figure out how to brace a cello case open so that Ty could use it as a bed without getting himself locked inside—again. “Good point,” I say. “Are you . . . happy about this?”
Will rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I’m thrilled to work at Home Depot.”
I give him a sympathetic look which only seems to frustrate him more. “Are you sure that was the best decision?”
“I needed a job. What do you want from me?”
His sharp tone both makes my stomach twist and my hackles rise. “I want you not to be miserable!” I tell him, louder than I mean to. I take a breath, trying to calm myself. The last thing he needs after getting a job he doesn’t want at a hardware store—Will! At a hardware store!—is to be yelled at by his girlfriend. “I get that you feel you need a job, but maybe that’s not the best one.”
“It’s a paycheck,” Will says, also straining for calm, and I’m guessing he feels bad about snapping at me, too. “I need to be able to take care of my family.”
I purse my lips to hold in a sigh. “Is this about what Sean said? Because he was out of line.”
“Maybe,” Will says. “But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t right.”
I’ve lost my appetite, even for Moo Goo Gai Pancakes. Will is clearly miserable, and I can’t help but feel like I’m a huge part of that. Like this thing that has gone wrong between us is only made worse by the fact that I’m pregnant—and weirdly still able to eat whatever I want, though I don’t expect that will last forever—and maybe he’s regretting the decisions we’ve made.
Maybe he’s regretting a lot of things.
I set the Styrofoam container down on the coffee table and turn around on the couch so I’m facing him more fully. “I’m so sorry, Will.”
Will shrugs. “It’s fine,” he says. But clearly it isn’t.
I try my best to smile. “I mean, yay, a paycheck, right? Yay, you got a job today.” My efforts to sound enthusiastic don’t go any better than his, and he sighs.
“Yay,” he says flatly.
There’s got to be something I can say to make this better. “Well,” I try, “one advantage is, you look really cute in that apron.”
Will sighs. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“I mean it!” I tell him. “I bet it would look really good with nothing on underneath.” I waggle my eyebrows, but he’s not looking at me.
“Yeah, well. You’re welcome to borrow it.”
That stings, though I try not to let it show. “No, I mean you! It’s kind of sexy.” The apron itself is not, and neither is the idea of Will working an entry-level retail job instead of writing his novel. But the fact that he’s willing to do that for us, that he cares enough about our lives together that he’s willing to make the sacrifice . . .
That is sexy as hell.
Will looks down at the apron and then shakes his head. “If you really think this color is sexy, I kind of judge you,” he says, still not looking at me.
I have to blink away a sudden burning at the back of my eyes. I turn back towards the coffee table and close up th
e container. I’m not finishing these pancakes, and I really just want to be far away from this conversation. “I think I’m going to bed,” I say. “I’m getting tired.”
Will collapses on the couch like he has no intentions of joining me. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Good call.”
And I head off to bed, alone, unsure of what I could possibly say or do to make things better between us again.
Twenty-one
Gabby
Mama Mags, it turns out, is a big fan of my pamphlets. I’m not sure if she likes the initiative I took in bringing them in, or if she’s just really desperate for anything to stem the tide of crabs making their way through the faire. But either way, she wants me to spend some time every day going around the faire making sure every worker has received one—“regardless of their age or your opinion of their sexual proclivities,” she’d told me firmly.
At which point I handed her a pamphlet.
There’d been a long, silent moment in which I thought maybe I’d crossed a line and was about to handed my walking papers (walking medieval scroll?). But then Mama Mags gave me a wry smile and approving nod, then left the infirmary.
So, my job still safe for the time being, I’ve spent the last half hour handing out pamphlets—starting with the workers at the petting zoo and Storybook Castle—and am heading back to meet up with Josh and Anna-Marie for my lunch break, when I see Delia making her way out of the jousting arena and headed to the Prancing Pig Pub.
She sees me and smiles and says something, but her words are drowned out by the sudden roar of the crowd from the arena—cheers and people randomly yelling “huzzah!” for some reason. It’s louder than usual, and I remember why—there are jousting and combat shows every day, but Saturdays and Sundays at noon are when they do the big charity tournaments, with celebrities playing some of the royal roles. I don’t remember who is there today, but next week it’ll be Anna-Marie whose hand is being won.