by R. S. Medina
I don't know what to get, but when I called and broke the news to Mom that Blair lost the baby, Mom gave me a list of things, like pads and Tylenol, that I needed to make sure Blair would have during this time. Mom was so supportive, offering to come up and help in any way she could, but Blair wanted to be alone, so I told Mom not to come. Blair needs time to grieve, to process. And whatever she needs, I'll give to her. So here I am, staring at this stupid ass pink and purple packaging, trying to figure out what the difference is between wings and no wings and shit like that.
I feel helpless.
I know that if Blair were here, she would know exactly what to get. But I don't want her to have to worry about it. I dropped her off at the house, and when she finally cried herself to sleep, I wrote her a note that I ran to the store and would be right back if she woke up before I got back.
I've never seen Blair this heartbroken. It was as if every hope and dream she had were ripped right away from her. I mean, I'm sad, but not like Blair. Blair is devastated. She sort of shut down. She blames herself, even though the doctor told her there was nothing that she did to cause the miscarriage. She wonders what she could have done differently, overanalyzing everything she could have possibly done. Because that's what Blair does – she overthinks.
I wasn't mentally prepared for what it would feel like to lose something before it was even real. Without realizing it, I had started making plans. I started dreaming about what it would be like, having a tiny baby to come home to. I started fantasizing about what kind of dad I would be. I would coach little league and play catch in the yard, and do all that dad shit. And then suddenly, all those plans and fantasies are just gone. Nothing. Poof. Just nothing.
Before I can overthink it, I start sweeping packs of pads into my cart. Fuck it. I'll just get some of everything, and if it's not the right thing, Blair can return it, or it'll get used eventually, right?
I might look like a fucking psycho, buying all these damn pads, but I don't give a fuck right now. All I can think about is getting home to Blair before she wakes up and starts sobbing again. She needs me. I didn't realize how invested she was in this pregnancy. How important it was to her. It changed her from the start, as soon as she saw those two pink lines on the pregnancy test.
When I start putting my purchases on the conveyer belt at the checkout to pay for them, the store clerk raises a thin eyebrow at me, but after looking at my face, she must see something that causes her to hesitate from saying anything to me about it. I glare at her, daring her to make a joke. She just lowers her gaze and keeps scanning my products and bagging everything.
As an afterthought, I grab one of Blair's favorite candy bars from the display at the checkout— she loves Reese's cups. Maybe it will help cheer her up that I thought to grab her favorite candy.
Present
Olivia is buckled into her pink car seat that takes up most of the back seat of my little car. I refuse to buy a bigger car. Although I know I probably need one, I refuse to get a mom-mobile. I am desperately trying to hang on to things that are anti-motherhood. Just because I'm a mom does not mean I have to sacrifice everything. I will keep some semblance of who I am other than just a mom. I hate when people get sucked into being a mom and forget who they are. I am so much more than just a mom. I'm a woman, an individual with hopes and dreams that didn't just go away because I produced an offspring. I don't want to lose myself, and I feel like I've given so much up already, that I refuse to give up my car and lose that battle as well. Plus, my Dodge Dart, Big Blue, has character.
Olivia is playing with one of her toys, and I hear her making her baby babbles. It's not quite sentences yet, mostly just gurgles and cooing, but it's getting closer and closer to something resembling communication. The only word she doesn't refuse to say right now is "Momma." And while it melts my heart, it can get frustrating to hear "Momma, Momma, Momma," 900 times in an hour. Everything is Momma to her.
I seriously love being a mom, though. I am so glad I finally have my rainbow baby, my sunshine after the storm. Olivia is my reason for living. I feel like I was meant to be a mom. I was meant to be Olivia's mom. She's my world. Even at the most frustrating moments, Olivia still has no idea just how much she means to me. And I'm sure every parent feels that way, but after everything we went through to make sure we got her here, I'm grateful and love her with a fierceness that can't be rivaled.
I pull into the grocery store parking lot and find a place to park. I'm frustrated that I can't find something closer to the front of the store—I guess I'll walk.
As soon as the car is in park and turned off, Olivia starts getting antsy to be unbuckled from her car seat, so I hurry to undo the straps and pull her from the car seat. Her chubby little legs get to kicking with excitement as she is lifted from the car. I smile at her, and I'm rewarded with the brightest smile back.
"Ready to go for a ride, Livy?" I coo, as I strap her into a grocery cart that someone had left in the parking lot. She smiles, and I see little teeth coming in and mostly gums. Her smile is so infectious. I finish buckling her into the grocery basket and head to the entrance of the store as I try to find the scrap piece of paper I wrote my grocery list on.
"Blair?" His voice is deep and familiar. I look around, trying to figure out where the voice came from. It takes me a minute to recognize him, but time hasn't changed him much. He's still tall, almost a foot taller than me. And now he has a beard. But he has the same dark hair and warm dark brown eyes.
"Tristan? What are you doing in town?" I say. I'm a little shocked. I thought he moved away for work or traveled a lot. I had heard different things through small town gossip. I feel my face light up as I can't hold back the smile that emerges. Before he can answer, I add, "It's so good to see you!"
"I'm back in town for a while. You have a baby now?" He's looking at Olivia who is smiling her precious little smile showing her gums and a few teeth. She's never met a stranger.
"Yeah. This is my daughter, Olivia," I say, gesturing toward Livy in the grocery cart seat. "Say 'hi,' Olivia," I coo, waving Olivia's tiny arm at Tristan, making Olivia laugh. She opens and closes her tiny fist, her version of a wave. We've been working on it, and I'm having a little bit of a proud mommy moment.
"That's so crazy! How old is she?"
"She'll be one-year-old in June," I say, my pride obvious. "She's getting so big." I pretend to sob, clutching at my heart. It's not completely fake, either. I'm not sure where my tiny baby went. She's the best part of my life, and she's growing so fast. I'm not ready. I'm sure on her birthday the tears will be one hundred percent genuine when I turn into a blubbering mess.
"What have you been up to?" I ask, trying to check him out discreetly. He looks like he's been doing well. He's filled out and less scrawny than he was in high school. I feel a nervous flutter in my belly as I look at him, remembering how much I used to care about him.
"Mostly working. I just moved back. What about you?" The way he's looking at me reminds me of old times. His eyes are warm and affectionate underneath thick dark eyelashes and eyebrows— it has always made me melt. No one has ever looked at me with such tenderness.
When I was in high school, just a look from him could give me butterflies so bad I could barely function. He used to wait for me after class, and when I would see him, my knees would get weak, and my stomach would do a little flip. I swear my heart was trying to jump out of my chest to be with him where it belonged.
"Surviving," I say. I don't want to say much more, and life hasn't been easy lately. I had a teacher once who told my class that no one wants to hear anything other than "okay" as an answer, because no one cares to hear you complain, and if they do, it's because they want to hear gossip. I've always taken that to heart. I never tell anyone much more than "okay" now.
"I feel you," he nods. He rubs his beard as he looks at me.
I slowly start pushing Olivia and the cart toward the entrance. Tristan falls into step with me, his hands in his pockets. I look at hi
m, and I'm not sure what to say. I feel speechless. What do you say to someone you haven't seen in years?
I can't think of anything interesting or witty to say. My brain is sluggish from shock, but it's good to see him. We were close in high school until we broke up and went our separate ways. Even though we didn't leave things on good terms in the past, he's a sight for sore eyes. I never wished him anything but the best.
"You look great. I love the beard," I say, which is weird because I hate beards. I think they're usually unclean, unkempt, and gross, but on him, it's rugged and manly. It suits him. He rubs his hand over the thick hair on his face as if it's a reflex. It makes me want to reach out and touch it. I wonder what it would feel like under my fingertips.
"Yeah, me too." He grins at me. Smart ass. I roll my eyes.
We enter the store together, greeted by a chilly burst from the air conditioning. It feels like hitting a brick wall of cold air compared to the intense summer heat outside.
I'm waiting for him to break away and do his own shopping, but instead, he continues walking with me, following me as I start making my way to the produce section of the store.
"You look great," he says appreciatively, his eyes skimming over my body, instantly making me feel self-conscience of the baby weight I haven't lost. "Puberty was kind to you... not that you weren't always cute," he adds with a wink.
I feel my face involuntarily blush with heat as I look at the ground and anywhere else, hesitant to make eye contact with him. I've never been one to take compliments. It's easier to believe the bad than to believe the good. And isn't it just polite to say someone looks great after having a baby, even if that's not the truth? I'm skeptical.
"I could say the same to you," I say, biting my lip nervously. I can't make eye contact with him. Tristan just smirks. I focus on Olivia attempting to grab all the fruits and vegetables within her reach. I make sure not to roll the cart too close to anything Olivia could snatch from the produce piles or a nearby shelf. She's a quick one—I have to be quicker. She's teething, which is making her more feisty than ever, but she's surprisingly good now that we're out in public, and for that I am thankful.
"What are you here for?" I ask after some awkward silence on my part. I'm nervous, so I'm focusing on my grocery list written in chicken scratch, wishing that I had taken the time to write it out legibly. I'm trying to read my list and focus on anything but Tristan. Why am I so awkward? Why can't I be more interesting? I'm kicking myself for not being better at small talk. In fact, I hate small talk. It's such a waste of time.
"Billy and I are grilling out tonight," he responds. I remember Billy from high school. He and Billy have been friends ever since I can remember, but Billy and I have never been that close. We have exchanged an occasional "Hey, how are you" now and then. He's a flirt in the worst way. I call those type of guys "fuck boys." They're only good for sending you unsolicited dick pictures and wanting to get into your panties. I honestly can't believe they're still hanging out after all these years. I guess time doesn't change that much after all.
I groan. I'm at the grocery store and I'm starving, but I'm trying to (unsuccessfully) stick to a diet so I can lose some of this baby weight I'm carrying around. I'm kind of worried that I'll be a chubby bunny forever and I'll never feel attractive again.
"That sounds delicious. I'm so jealous," I turn to tell him with a longing look for backyard grilling on my face.
"I've gotten pretty good at grilling," he grins. "Hey, sorry, but I've got to go. Billy's waiting on me, and I'm supposed to grab the steaks. I hope we'll see each other or talk later."
I'm not going to lie, I'm a little disappointed that he's already leaving. But to be honest, I'm not sure what I would even say if we continued to walk together through the store. It's been years. I don't even know him anymore.
"Yeah. Good seeing you." I say, feeling a little dejected.
Unexpectedly, he embraces me, which causes me to stiffen, but after a moment, I try not to be awkward, so I wrap my arm around him in a robotic hug. I try to ignore the fact that I still fit right in his arms like I did when I was fifteen. My head fits perfectly on his chest, right under his chin like I was made to fit in his arms. He smells so good which is instantly a turn on. He doesn't smell like he used to, but he still smells good. I wonder what cologne he uses now. Shit, I wonder what cologne he used then? I remember that cologne and could raise my hand if I smelled it again. If I could find it, I would spray it on everything in my life to smell like him. I wrap both arms around him.
"Blair?"
"Yeah?" I sigh. He pulls away. I ache from the loss of his warm body, and that makes me want to curl back up in his arms and stay there forever. I'd do just about anything to keep that ache from coming back. I act like I've been deprived of human contact, and I mentally berate myself for being so needy.
"Let's grab a drink together soon. We'll catch up." It's not a question or a request.
"Um," I hesitate, looking down. I want to agree, but part of me doesn't. Tristan broke my heart in high school, and even though that was years and years ago, I remember it like it was yesterday—and now I'm married. I automatically feel guilty for briefly considering to meet him for a drink. Before I can agree or decline he waves and walks off like I was going to say yes anyway, and he's gone.
And I'm left standing in the produce aisle in a whirlwind of emotions.
Excited because I saw him. Aching because I missed his arms and his hugs and how safe I always felt. Guilty because I shouldn't feel those things. I have a fucking husband who I should still feel that way about. Crazy because who feels these things at the same time? What the hell is wrong with me?
Tristan was my first love. Do you ever stop caring about your first love? That's what I will chalk it up to. First love. And my first kiss. He will always have a special place in my heart.
I grab all the items on my grocery list, and can't stop thinking about Tristan. Olivia has been cooperative this shopping trip, and for that I am thankful. And as I'm checking out, I hear my phone notification go off.
Tristan Woods wants to follow me on Instagram and Snapchat.
I approve both requests with a smile.
A second later, another notification pops up. I have a Snapchat message.
Tristan: You should stop being so pretty.
I smile a big, goofy grin. I can't help it.
It's been a long time since someone's told me I was pretty.
Present
The first thing I noticed was her perfect, perky ass. She's not as skinny as she used to be, but she has filled out in all the right places. She's curvy and looks more beautiful than I remember.
When I saw her, I had to gulp in a breath of air.
One.
Two.
Three.
I breathe out.
She still makes my heart pound and my stomach tilt in the most unmanly way possible. I haven't seen her in nearly ten years—a fucking decade—and still, she has that effect on me.
When I called out to her, and she turned around, the look of recognition and the smile she gave me made my heart stop. How could I have forgotten how beautiful she is? And those eyes. Those blue eyes are everything.
I'm a little surprised to see her pushing a baby in her grocery buggy, but I guess I shouldn't be. Everyone our age from high school seems to be popping out fuck trophies these days.
Her daughter is beautiful and looks just like Blair. The only difference is that her daughter has blonde curly hair to Blair's silky straight brown hair. I miss being able to put my hands in Blair's hair. The daughter must get the blonde and curls from the father. I wonder if Blair and the father are together.
After some small talk, and following her while she was trying to grocery shop, I had to pull myself away from her. But leaving without touching her, even if it was just a hug seemed plain wrong. Without asking, I pulled her into a hug, like it was the most natural thing in the world. At first, she hesitated, but then I feel her hug me
back.
I felt my dick twitch in my boxers, and I had to step away from her.
Billy is waiting on me at my house, angry that I forgot the steaks last night when I was at the store grocery shopping, but fuck him. It's not like he's been pitching in for groceries. I need to hurry back with the steaks so Billy can start marinating them, but I didn't want to leave her. I have to see her again. Before I made myself leave, I told her we should have drinks, but I saw her hesitating. Before she could turn me down, I turned around and left. And I already can't wait to see her again.
I rush to the meat section and pick up the steaks, checking out in record speed. When I get to my truck, I pull out my phone and search for Blair on social media sites. I find her and request to add her. I head home with the steaks, and when I open the front door, I see Billy in the kitchen, already with a cold beer cracked open. He might as well live here since he's here all the time. He hands me one, and I pop the top off and take a swig. I guess we are starting early today.
"How was the store?" Billy asks while he starts pulling out stuff to marinate the steaks.
"Busy. Sorry it took so long," I say, leaning against the counter, watching him work. "Guess who I ran into?"
"Who?" he asks, not bothering to measure anything out. He just eyes it, and he always gets it perfect every time. I've learned not to second guess him. He kicks ass when it comes to cooking.
"Blair Cook," I say. "Well, now she's Blair Christian on her social media, so I guess she got married," I add.
Billy pauses and then resumes his work. "God, how was she? She was fuckin' hot in high school. I never got a chance with her," he says, wistfully.
I take another swig of my beer, trying to let his comment slide. "Dude, if you think she was hot then, you should see her now," I tell him.
"I would have killed to get with her," Billy says, rummaging through my sparse selection of seasonings. He finds one and sprinkles it on the steaks. "She was fine as fuck," he adds, shaking his head.