The Girl He Loves

by Carmen, Roya

  “Such a burden for you,” I say, my words sharp. “What kind of underwear was she wearing?”

  He averts his eyes. “I don’t know… something pink, I think. Like I said, I barely remember.”

  Enough about that night. You know all there is to know, Mischa. He’s not going to give you more.

  “She called me the next day,” he goes on. “She wanted to get together, but I shot her down. I told her I loved you, and that it was just sex, and I never wanted to talk to her again.”

  “Harsh.”

  “It was. I was just so mad at her.”

  “Mad at her? It takes two to tango, Brian.”

  “Yeah, well you don’t know her. She’s a seductress. There was just something about her. I get the feeling that she’s one of those women who likes to sink her claws in and get what she wants.”

  I get that feeling too. And I do know her. Better than you can imagine.

  “What happened next?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me. “When did you find out she was pregnant?”

  “That’s the thing, Mischa… I didn’t know for ten years.”

  “What? How can that be?”

  “She hid it from me. She never intended on telling me.”

  “So how did you eventually find out?” I ask, eager. I can’t ask the questions swiftly enough, can’t get the answers quickly enough.

  “I ran into her. Remember when I won those tickets to the Cubs game, and I took the boys?”

  I nod. “Yes, I remember… Tristan was so excited.”

  He grins. “Yes, Trevor not so much… I think he read a comic book the whole time.”

  My smile fades when I ask him what happened.

  “Hard to believe… in a crowd of about thirty thousand people, I saw her at the concession stand, getting some hot dogs. We were sitting near each other. She acted like she’s seen a ghost, and so did I. I introduced her to the boys, and she just froze when I asked her about the girl standing next to her.”

  I’m speechless as I listen intently to his story.

  30

  “She was there with a man, her boyfriend or husband, I figured.”

  “Was he tall, handsome and light-haired?” I ask.

  Brian cocks a brow, taken aback. He studies me for a long beat.

  “I’ve been doing a little research,” I confess. “I know about Ava’s parents.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Anyway… yes, Joel… she introduced us.”

  “I see.”

  “I said hello to Ava… she was so small and cute. I assumed she was about seven or eight. and when I asked her how old she was, I was shocked.” He stares down at the heap of clothes. “I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She had my eyes, my features, my hairline.”

  “Yes… I know,” I say. “The widow’s peak.”

  He nods slowly, still not looking at me. “I wanted to tell you, but I wasn’t sure how you’d react… with your…” His words trail off.

  “With my issues,” I finish his sentence. “You thought I couldn’t deal because I’m crazy, right?”

  He finally ventures a look at me. “No, that’s not what I meant—”

  “I know. We both know… I am crazy. I’ve been obsessed with all of them ever since I found that photo,” I confess. “I even went to Renee’s store. That little black leather skirt you liked… I bought it at her shop.”

  Brian cocks a brow, a little surprised, but not completely taken aback — he knows me too well, he knows how I get. “I get it. You wanted to learn more about them, about this girl, about the woman I betrayed you with.”

  “I wanted to understand.”

  “I’m so sorry. I thought if I ever told you, it would destroy us, Mischa. And I couldn’t take that. Tell me we’re okay.”

  “I…” I’m at a loss for words. I honestly don’t know if we’re okay. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over this, if I’ll ever be able to handle this situation. Visions of Renee and Brian making love keep clouding my brain, and Joel is always there, at the back of my mind too. “I don’t know… Brian,” I admit. “I really don’t know.”

  His face falls and his eyes darken. I wish I could tell him that I forgive him and everything will be okay. But I just can’t. Not right now, anyway.

  “What happened after?” I ask. I want to know every single detail. How did he come to be so obsessed with this illegitimate daughter? Was Renee aware that he knew?

  “When Ava told me she was ten, I was stunned and quickly did the math. I looked up at Renee and she looked terrified, flustered. She said they had to get back to their seats. I asked Ava when her birthday was, and with the most adorable grin, she said, ‘April 7th. You can get me a birthday present if you want.’”

  I can’t help but smile.

  Joel and I laughed, but Renee was still completely flustered. The next minute, they were gone, and I was left there, wondering what the hell had just happened. Had I imagined it all? Was I going crazy? What could this mean for us? What should I do?”

  “What did you do?” I ask, eager to know.

  He blows out a breath. “I tracked Renee down. Turns out she was living right here in Wicker Park too… just a short drive away. I couldn’t believe it.”

  “I wouldn’t have either.”

  He goes on with a heavy heart. “I found her at her store and confronted her. She said she could never know for sure, but Ava could be either mine or Joel’s. But I mean… she looks exactly like me.”

  “She does.” She has Brian’s thick dark hair. Those eyes are not bedroom brown like Joel’s, they’re green and intoxicating like Brian’s. That chin dimple is all Brian.

  “I told Renee I knew she was mine, and she told me she didn’t want me in her life. And that’s when I started looking at her Facebook. I wanted to see my daughter, I wanted to watch her grow up, turn into a young woman. I didn’t think I should tell you because she’s not really part of my life, or yours. Save for a little internet stalking…”

  I nod quietly. What he’s saying completely makes sense, and not only because I love him. I probably would have reacted the same way, if I had found myself in a similar situation.

  “Ava doesn’t know about you?”

  “I don’t think so,” he says. “I would be shocked if she did.”

  “What about Joel?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Does Joel know his daughter is not really his? Does he know his beautiful wife cheated on him years ago? Does he know what she’s really like?

  And if not, should he find out?

  Should I be the one to tell him?

  Brian closes the distance between us when he reaches for my hand and takes it in his. I can’t look up at him. Instead, I stare at the diamond on my finger, the symbol of our union.

  “It’s always been you, Mischa,” he says. “It was just one drunken night. I never loved her. You’re the one I love. It’s always been you.”

  It’s always been you.

  Those were the exact words he said to me the night we were engaged.

  31

  I was about three months pregnant, not showing yet. It was Christmas eve and we were celebrating at Brian’s mom’s house. His sister, Daniella and big brothers, Marcus and Christian were there too. Daniella and Marcus were flying solo, and Christian, or Chris as we all call him, was with this bottle blonde with huge tits. She wasn’t in the picture too long — I forget her name now.

  Everyone was drinking and getting wasted, save for myself of course. My red dress was bursting at the seams following a big Italian dinner with all the fixings. Or perhaps it was my growing belly. Brian had been acting a little strange all night, but then again, so was everyone. We’d just told them we were expecting the week before. Unlike my own family, Brian’s mother took it surprisingly well.

  My gaze was fixed on the beautiful Christmas tree, a Balsam Fir, decorated with colorful, meaningful ornaments, some very old, some handmade by Brian and his siblings
. There was so much love in that tree, and it’s still full of life today. Now there are ornaments made by Trevor and Tristan and their cousins. I thought of my mother’s fake white Christmas tree with the perfectly coordinated store-bought ornaments; blue, pink and silver. Yes, it was pretty, but it had no heart, no soul.

  The Lombardi’s Christmas tree stood tall in the middle of a sea of gifts, and I wondered which ones were mine. I was particularly fascinated with the huge one at the back, and wondered who would have the pleasure of tearing it open.

  The plan was to go to midnight mass. Until then, we were playing board games. Brian and I opted out of Scrabble and instead, sat on the sofa, hand in hand. He kissed my cheek sweetly, full of excitement. “I’ve got an early Christmas gift for you.”

  Daniella and Gina flipped their heads around, all smiles. Something was up.

  “Really?” I said, surprised and extremely curious.

  He stood and headed slowly to the tree. He shuffled his way to the back and with much effort, struggled to pull out the huge gift, the biggest one of them all, the one I’d been eyeing.

  He plopped it right in front of me, and everyone was staring at us, the Scrabble game temporarily put on hold.

  “We’re not opening gifts until tomorrow morning,” I pointed out. “Why are you giving me this now?”

  He smiles. “This one is something a little special.”

  I wondered what it could possibly be. Something big, that was for sure. I was at a loss as I tore the wrapping off. Everyone was watching eagerly as I pulled the flaps of the brown box with all my might, only to find another wrapped present. I smiled up at him, amused. It was another box, and in that box was another wrapped gift. And so it went on, until I had opened a total of six boxes. Finally in the small tiny one, I expected jewelry but was surprised to see a small scroll, wrapped with a red ribbon.

  Dear sweetest Mischa,

  I’m not much of a poet and I could never quite adequately express my love for you, but this famous quote says it all.

  “Love her, love her, love her! If she favours you, love her. If she wounds you, love her. If she tears your heart to pieces – and as it gets older and stronger, it will tear deeper – love her, love her, love her!”

  I smiled at the words on the small scrap of paper in my hand. I ventured a look up at him. His huge grin was so full of happiness, it was contagious.

  The quote was from one of my most loved books, Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. It wasn’t a favorite of Brian’s but he knew I loved it.

  For a minute, I wondered what this meant, and I clued in pretty quickly. This was a scavenger hunt. I had no clue what treasure I would find, but it didn’t surprise me at all. Brian’s always had a way of making things fun — it’s one of the many qualities I love about him. I often tend to be too serious, and he’s always brought out the child in me. I grinned widely. “Great Expectations,” I cheered. “I know where you keep it.”

  I sprinted to the den and Brian, Gina and Daniella tagged along like eager puppies. Bookcases lined the wall, and an old pink velour antique loveseat dominated the space. Family photos were everywhere, and an antique desk housed a computer and printer. I trailed my finger along the rows of books on the bookshelves; lots of cooking books, James Patterson, Dean Koontz and old Harlequin paperbacks. “Interesting,” I said playfully and shot Gina an impish grin. She laughed.

  I finally found the classic novels section. There was an old copy of Great Expectations, and I was indeed full of great expectations as I feverishly flipped through it.

  I was beyond thrilled when I found what I was looking for — another note.

  You are as sweet as pie.

  What shall it be today?

  Moist, tasty and made with love.

  Pumpkin, Coconut Cream or Blueberry?

  I smiled so hard, it hurt. Those were all my favorite pies. In fact we’d shared a slice of blueberry pie on our first date. I mulled over the note, and within seconds I knew where I was heading.

  I sprinted to the kitchen, and pulled open the refrigerator door. I skimmed through the contents, but there were no pies. No pies on the counter either or in the huge bread box. I wracked my brain, and a thought quickly came to me. I knew exactly where Gina kept all her baking supplies.

  Again, everyone nipped at my heels as I pulled open the drawer and rummaged through all her supplies, and there were tons. “I know… it’s a mess,” Gina said. I searched through a hodgepodge of stuff and thought I would never find what I was looking for; flours of every variety, sugar, baking powder, cake mixes, birthday supplies, sprinkles.

  And finally, right under a box of table salt, I discovered another note. My pulse raced as I read it eagerly.

  This thing called love, I just can't handle it

  This thing called love, I must get round to it

  I ain't ready

  Crazy little thing called love

  I smiled. This was one of my favorite songs. I’ve never been a huge Queen fan, but always loved that song. “You’re going to make me run around all over this house, aren’t you?”

  His grin was impish. “That’s the plan.”

  We all headed to the basement where the family rec room was, a throwback to the seventies and eighties. Brian’s late father had an old turntable and an impressive collection of vinyl LPs. Brian and I had made out on the old flower print velvet couch quite a few times, and often listened to classic rock. His dad had raised him on the stuff, which I’m sure was the reason Brian grew to love music so much. In his younger days, Mr. Lombardi had been in a rock band too. Brian and I loved the Eagles, Steve Miller Band, the Rolling Stones and The Police.

  Thankfully, Brian’s dad was as compulsive as I am when it came to his records — they were organized alphabetically, and Gina hadn’t touched them in years.

  “Oh my, God. There are about ten Queen records here,” I pointed out. “This is going to take me forever.”

  Brian laughed. “What can I say…I wanted to make you work.”

  I sighed “Well, I better find my gift here.” I pulled out a colorful Andy Warhol-like album, and checked the back. The song wasn’t there.

  Gina and Daniella were both grinning like idiots, enjoying my distress a little too much.

  I proceeded to flip through multiple albums, all of which had very artistic covers. Freddy Mercury’s face teased me over and over again.

  Finally, I fell upon a black and white cover of the band, this one not as creative and wild as the others. The Game, it read. When I flipped to the back eagerly and finally found the song I was looking for, I squealed. Squealing is not very me, but I was just so excited.

  I eagerly fished the LP out the record sleeve. A small note fell out as I did, and my heart swelled. I wondered if my baby could feel my excitement; my beating heart, my increased pulse. Did he or she know something exciting was about to happen?

  I picked up the small folded note from the floor and eagerly unfolded it.

  It’s my favorite time of day…

  Bubbles, bubbles, bubbles.

  I laughed out loud. “Who came up with these?” I asked. “They’re not exactly challenging.”

  Brian smiled. “Okay, so I didn’t spend too much time on the riddles. It’s not fun when it’s too hard.”

  I didn’t waste a second and headed for the bathroom upstairs. I knew I’d find what I was looking for in the bathtub. Brian knows I love my baths. I can easily spend an hour in the bath; soaking and relaxing, listening to music, enjoying a body scrub or mask. And bubbles are always a must.

  Gina, Daniella and Brian were still at my heels, as giddy as I was. We were all like children on the hunt for chocolate eggs on Easter morning. My heart was pounding when I pulled at the shower curtain. I didn’t see anything off the bat — the bathtub was a mess. I scrounged through all the bottles of shampoo, conditioner, face wash, and body wash. A bright orange bottle assaulted my eyes as another pink fuchsia bottle called out to me. This bath was a far cry from
mine, which was always spotless, bottles arranged meticulously, soothing beiges and whites with tasteful logos. Crazy as I am, I won’t buy a shampoo if it’s packaged in an esthetically unpleasing loud color.

  Daniella laughed. “Yeah, I’m kind of high maintenance.”

  I was still sifting through all her crap. “I can see that.”

  After gleaning through all her personal bath products, I was confused, left to wonder where the next clue might possibly lie.

  Gina smiled wide, her grin impish. “There’s also a bath in my bedroom.”

  I threw my arms up in the air. “Well, let’s go.”

  She smiled and we all followed her to her bathroom.

  This washroom was more to my liking; clean and organized like mine. Although the bright pink and blue bottles were still an eye-sore. I wasted no time in peeking behind them and all around, until I spotted a tiny box in the corner; very pretty, porcelain with gold accents, an old vintage shoe at the top. When I opened it, I finally found a note. I was beyond excited when I read it.

  Plaid, stripes, plain black and even polka dots.

  We’re often found inside shoes.

  And you won’t find holes here,

  Because they give Mischa the blues.

  I laughed so hard. Brian knew me well, even back then. As soon as I spot a hole on the heel of one of his socks, I make him throw them out because I can’t stand it. Holes in socks make me so tense. It’s one of my many silly quirks.

  Everyone followed as I quickly put on my winter boots and jacket and scurried outside, over to Brian’s room, up in the garage apartment. I ran to his dresser. I slid the top drawer open and it pained me to see such a mess. I had the sudden intense desire to organize his socks. I made a mental note to ask if I could later. I was sure he wouldn’t have a problem with it. I eagerly dug through the mess of socks, searching for that elusive note. I wondered how long this little scavenger hunt would go on for. Were we going to do this all day? I was having fun either way.