by Jewel E. Ann
Swarley nods because I’ve made him part human over the past few months and I’m pretty sure I saw him roll his eyes at me too. Guess I’d better start getting used to sassiness and eye rolling … read that on a parenting blog too.
Note to self. Find more positive bloggers that paint the picture of parenthood with rainbows, fairies, and pixie dust.
“Sydney?”
I turn. “Hey, Dane!”
He bends down to let his dogs off their leashes. “Gosh, I didn’t think you’d be back. How was Paris?”
Which part? The view of the ceiling from the couch or the drain from the top of the toilet?
“Great!” Extremely sugarcoated … maybe teetering on an outright lie.
“So how long are you staying?” He rests his hands on his hips.
Dane is adorable. I’m sure grown men don’t like to be called adorable; hell, I didn’t like it when Lautner said it to me, but Dane is just that. Tall, dark, and admittedly handsome with a boyish grin that makes me want to take him home, bake him cookies, and pour him a tall glass of milk.
“I’m not sure. Trevor and Elizabeth just moved to San Diego and I’m staying at their house until it sells or until I find something else.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Yet, they left Swarley?”
Turning my gaze to look for the wild pooch, I shake my head. “Their condo association doesn’t allow large pets. They’ve been looking for a new home for him, but for now I have him.”
“You two have come a long way since the first day you showed up at my office.”
Clasping my hands behind my back, I look down and kick at the dirt. “Yeah, you’re right. As of lately, I’ve considered taking him myself. But until I know where I’m going to end up, offering it would be a little premature if not irresponsible.”
“Grad school with a dog. You’d have to find some place to live that allows pets.”
My faces wrinkles as I peek up at him. “I’m not going to grad school, at least not for a while. Something’s kind of come up.”
“Oh?” Dane’s hands shift from his hips to crossing over his chest as he widens his stance.
I blow out a long breath, scrubbing my hands over my face. My fingers trace my eyebrows as I meet his eyes again. “I’m … pregnant.”
Dane’s eye are going to pop out of his head and the dogs will be chasing them if he opens them any wider. “I’m sorr—or congrat—or—”
I smile because his adorableness doubles when he gets all nervous and starts stuttering.
“It’s congratulations now … ‘I’m sorry’ was last month.”
He nods in slow motion. “So you came back for Lautner?”
“No … well, yes, but that backfired on me. He’s … moved on.”
“Moved on? Are you serious? From … you?”
I shrug, bobbing my head up and down.
“Well … he’s a fuc—a freaking idiot.”
As much pain as this conversation brings me, I still manage to let a giggle escape with an accompanying smile.
“You’re right. He is a fucafreaking idiot.”
Dane grins.
“Especially because he’s with Claire.”
His eyes go wide again. “Dr. Brown?”
I nod. “Dr. Fucafreaking Brown.”
Dane mouths WOW!
“Exactly.”
“So what did he say about the baby? Are you staying in Palo Alto so you don’t have to shuffle a child back and forth long distance?”
Jerking my head back, I squint my eyes. “What? No … I mean he doesn’t …”
Telling Lautner and considering the possibility that we would raise our child in a shared custody situation never crossed my mind. Now that Dane has mentioned it, I don’t like the idea one bit.
“I didn’t tell him.”
His mouth falls open. “You didn’t tell him? He doesn’t even know you’re pregnant?”
Digging my teeth into my lip, I shake my head.
“Sydney…” he scratches the top of his head “…it’s none of my business, but he deserves to know.”
I hate that he’s right. This fear I have is paralyzing me and making it impossible to think rationally.
“Dane, I know what he’ll do. He’ll say he wants to be with me, but I’ll never know if it’s really about me or the baby. Two months ago I would never have questioned it. I felt like he loved me more than anything or anyone. But when I saw Claire and it had only been a month … everything changed. I can’t trust his feelings for me anymore.”
Dane shrugs. “Then don’t tell him you’re pregnant … at least not right away. See if he chooses you, just you. If he does, then you’ll know it’s not about the baby.”
“And if he doesn’t?” The words cut through my chest.
He sighs. “If he doesn’t, then you won’t marry the wrong guy for the right reasons.”
*
September 3rd, 2010
I’ve spent the past two days thinking about what Dane said. The night I showed up at Lautner’s and Claire answered the door I hit rock bottom. I felt rejected by him without even seeing him. The idea of being rejected face to face is something so far beyond imaginable I can’t begin to conceive of it. However, I have to do it. Everyone I love and count on for support has given me the critical eye for my decision to not tell Lautner. Telling him, no matter the outcome, will take away the constant guilt I feel around everyone.
My dad called when he was an hour away and that was about an hour ago. I sit on the porch, knee rapidly bouncing up and down, eyes glued to the drive. A familiar grey Jeep Cherokee turns in the driveway and I leap to my feet.
“Dad!” I yell, flying down the stairs as he gets out.
“Hey, baby girl.” He hugs me and I sense the emotion in his weak voice as I fight back the tears.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I whisper in his ear.
“Me too.” Releasing me, we both smile. “Let’s get your stuff unpacked … or I’ll do it. You probably shouldn’t be lifting anything too heavy.” His eyes drift to my belly that is still flat.
I roll my eyes. “Maybe in another three or four months, but for now I’m fine. Besides, you’re the one who just had surgery on his heart. I feel guilty that I asked you to load up my stuff by yourself and drive it out here to me.”
He waves a dismissive hand in the air. “Nah … I’m fine. Good as new.” He opens the back and we both grab a load to haul in.
By the time we get everything inside and unpacked it’s late.
“I think I’m going to head to bed. We’ll talk more in the morning,” he suggests.
I hug him. “Sure, I’m tired too. Love, you.”
“You too, sweetie.”
*
September 4th, 2010
We both take Swarley for a walk. My dad is supposed to get some form of low-impact exercise everyday. After breakfast we sit out on the deck and, having exhausted all small talk earlier this morning, the looming topic is breached.
“So this guy …”
“Lautner,” I correct him.
Dad nods. “Lautner … has he stepped up and taken responsibility yet?”
My hand rubs my nonexistent belly. “I haven’t told him—”
“You what—” My dad’s voice elevates.
I hold up my hand. “Let me finish.”
He relaxes back into his chair, lips in a firm line.
“I haven’t told him, because I needed to figure out what to do and say that would make it so he doesn’t take me back as his pity project. Just because my dreams have been shattered like mom’s were, doesn’t mean I should settle for someone who doesn’t love me.”
Dad’s eyebrows squish together, lips tuned into a frown, and he’s moving his head from side to side. “Whoa! Wait a minute. Why would you say that?”
“Say what?”
“That your mom’s dreams were shattered. Where did you ever get that impression?”
I swallow, feeling a growing lump in
my throat. “I heard her …”
My dad leans forward resting his elbows on his knees. “You heard her what?”
It’s been over a decade and I was young, but I still hear her voice, her anger, her aguish.
“You and mom were fighting. It was late and Avery was asleep, but I wasn’t. I sat at the top of the stairs; you were both in the kitchen.”
My dad’s shoulders slump, head bowed like he knows what I’m going to say, like he remembers.
“You were arguing about money. She said you should have chosen a different profession if you expected her to stay home barefoot and pregnant. You told her she spent too much money on herself … me … and Avery.” My voice breaks as a few tears come.
“Sydney, don’t—” The tight look of anguish on his face is nearly as painful as the memories.
I draw in a breath and look out at the pool. “Honeymoon baby.” I laugh, wiping away the tears and shaking my head. “I suppose in your line of work it was better to say that I was a honeymoon baby than an out-of-wedlock baby.”
“Please, Sydney don’t—”
I hold up my hand. “I was too young to fully understand. It took me years to put it all together. She said you knocked her up and stole her future, that you made her dependent on you.” More tears come fast and furious. “You said—” I choke on the words, bottom lip quivering. “You said she was acting like a whore before you saved her from damnation.” A sob escapes. “Then I heard something shatter and I ran back to my room.”
His hand reaches for me, but I shake my head and pull away. “Do you have any idea how I felt as the significance of that fight came to light … one word at a time?”
My dad’s eyes are red and filled with tears and regret.
“It was a goddamn punch in the gut when I learned what ‘knocked up’ meant, and ‘whore,’ and ‘damnation!’”
His jaw tenses. I know I’ve offended him with my language, but I don’t care.
“Sydney, I’m so sorry—” he cries.
Running my hands through my hair, I sigh with a shaky breath then wipe my face. “Don’t, I’m not mad anymore. I never wanted you to know I knew, but now things are different. I’m so sick of everyone not understanding me and why I’ve been so driven to make something of myself. It wasn’t just the cancer, it was everything. I hated Mom for blaming you, and I hated you for blaming her. Then later I realized I was most upset with both of you for settling for something less than amazing.” I find my dad’s gaze again. “I never wanted to be dependent on anyone. I never wanted to sacrifice my self-worth and dreams. I never wanted to settle.”
He reaches for my hand again; this time I let him take it. “What you heard that night was a culmination of emotions that had been building for years. When things don’t go the way we think they should, it’s easier to find a scapegoat than it is to look in the mirror. I wish I would have known that you’ve been dealing with this all these years. You’ve been trying to put together a puzzle that you don’t have all the pieces to.”
“What do you mean?” I tilt my head to the side.
“It’s hard to explain and there are just some things—”
“Tell me! Jeez, I’m an adult, I can handle it … the truth please.”
He sighs. “Both your mom and I had some personal issues we were dealing with when we met. Maybe that was part of the initial attraction. I was crazy about her and she was a temptation for me.” He diverts his eyes as if he’s embarrassed to admit he was physically attracted to my mom. “You were conceived because I felt like taking precautions was somehow more sinful since it was planned.” His face contorts into a grimace. “Then when we found out your mom was pregnant, I wanted to get married right away so it could appear that you were a honeymoon baby. Your mom wanted to …”
Head down, his eyes look up to mine and the pain in them is palpable. He’s not speaking, yet I hear his plea begging me to understand so he doesn’t have to say the words. The realization gives me chills and my heart sinks.
Knocked up. Saved from damnation.
“She wanted an abortion.”
He squeezes my hand tighter and answers with a single nod.
“Was I her first?”
He shakes his head.
Whore.
My hands splay over my stomach. Could I abort my baby?
“Time changes people, Sydney.” His dark eyes capture mine. “We all say things we don’t mean. We all do things that we regret. I know what you heard, but the reason we fought with such intensity was because we were in love. That, I know in my heart for sure. We loved each other and we loved you girls. Calling your mom a whore is something I will always regret, and knowing you heard me say it … well, it guts me. What you don’t understand is she was my first, but I wasn’t hers. When she was seventeen she got pregnant and had an abortion. I hated that she wasn’t the ‘pure’ virgin I imagined finding, but our hearts don’t always agree with our minds.”
He smiles and looks down.
“I wish you would have been eavesdropping on the conversation we had after she received her cancer diagnosis. The one where she broke down and cried in my arms for hours, eaten alive with guilt. She wanted more time with us—more movies, more bike rides, more camping in the back yard and roasting marshmallows on the grill. The list of regrets was so long and painful to hear, but she never said she regretted having you and your sister, and she never regretted being a mom instead of an architect.”
I’m a flood of emotions. The searing honesty I see as his eyes find mine lifts the weight of guilt I’ve been suffering under for years.
His hand moves to my face and I lean into it as he wipes my tears. “That, my sweet girl, is the conversation you should have taken to heart and set your goals and dreams on.”
We embrace and I feel two sets of arms around me, his and hers. I will read the letter my mom left me with a new set of eyes, and starting today, I will reclaim my future, not hers.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
September 6th, 2010
I drop my dad off at the airport and drive straight to Lautner’s. It’s Sunday so there’s a chance he might be home. Preparing to see him with Claire when I knock on the door has been difficult, but I have to do this. It’s the only way I can move forward. I owe it to our baby and I owe it to him.
I don’t see his 4Runner, but the lot is large and unusually crowded, so it’s possible it’s here somewhere.
Once again I feel nauseous climbing the stairs to his apartment, but this time it’s all nerves. With a deep breath, I knock on the door.
No answer.
I knock again.
No answer.
“Can I help you?”
I turn and my eyes home in on the rose tattoo I’ve seen before. “Uh … I’m just here to see Lautner.”
Rose stops on the bottom step so she’s looking down on me. “He’s at the hospital.”
I nod. “I’ll go there then.”
“They won’t let you in unless you’re family.”
I squint my eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“His mom, duh.”
My wrinkled face of confusion remains.
Rose rolls her eyes. “His mom is having surgery today. The cancer came back, but now it’s spread. Chemo, radiation … all that good stuff. Anyway, he’s been a wreck. I rarely see him. Claire said between his residency and his mom he’s barely hanging on. She’s been with him night and day. Doing his laundry, grocery shopping, and checking in on his mom when she gets a chance. I don’t know what he’d do without her right now.”
My face has relaxed. I have no expression, and the only thing I feel is shock. It’s the numbing balance between feeling his pain and my own.
“Do you want me to tell him you stopped by?”
I look at her, back at his door, then down at my hand resting on my stomach. “No … no need.”
My body is on autopilot since my mind is mush. That’s the only explanation for how it is I’m back home and on the couch.
I don’t remember leaving his apartment building or driving home. There no longer is an obvious solution to any of this. How do I mosey back into his life right now? If he’s hanging by a thread, one that is being held together by Claire, how can I break that? What will it do to him?
I’m hurt, angry, and confused. I need some advice because I can’t trust my instincts if I don’t have any.
CHAPTER TWENTY
March 10th, 2011
“Push! Sam, you can do this.” Avery squeezes my hand and encourages me.
The pain is insane and opting out of the epidural was an astronomically huge mistake. Too late now.
“I can see the head. You’re doing great, Sydney.” Dr. Wiggins’ voice, while calm, is irritating as hell.
She’s been “seeing the head” for the past forty minutes. I’m drenched with sweat and exhausted. Maybe I’ll just stay pregnant forever. This baby obviously doesn’t want to come out.
“I’m too tired…” I breathe “…it’s not working. There’s not enough room.”
Dr. Wiggins laughs. “Your baby is fine and you’re fine. This is a marathon, Sydney, not a sprint.”
Fucking marathon. Does she have any idea how much I hate running?
“No, no, no!” I yell, feeling my belly tighten and the pain sinking its ugly claws into me as another contraction builds with unrelenting force.
“Now! Push with everything you have, Sydney,” Dr. Wiggins instructs.
The burning fire is so intense. It feels like I’m being ripped apart.
At the end of the contraction, I thrash my head from side to side and moan.
“Give me your hand, Sydney.” Dr. Wiggins guides my hand between my legs. “Feel that?”
I nod and swallow. It’s warm and slick, but it’s not me.
“That’s your baby. Push it out, Sydney. It’s time to meet your baby.”
Another contraction begins. With my fingers still on my baby’s head, I push with everything I have.
“Aaahhh!” I cry in agony as Dr. Wiggins tells me to stop pushing.
“Oh, Sam!” Avery has tears running down her cheeks. “The head is out. It’s your baby. Oh my God.”