She cleared her throat and shook her head. “Anyway, he gave me this whole speech about banging as many chicks as possible, which I found completely appalling. I told him that I loved you, and he said that you’d be ashamed to see me pretending to be a girl.”
My heart broke for the boy I thought she’d been and the woman she’d become. “I’m not ashamed, Christa. I’m confused and incredibly angry, but I’m not ashamed. For you or for me. Neither of us asked for this.”
“I know. But he went on and on about what a small town we lived in, how I’d be begging for trouble, and I needed to just be a man. I repeated his words to myself over and over, for weeks. Eat pussy, be a man. Don’t get your ass kicked. Be a man. Be a man, Brett.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” The story rang true, based on my interactions with Brad, but it wasn’t something Brett had ever shared with me. It didn’t tell me that the person peering at me through the screen was my once-dead spouse.
“I just want you to understand that I tried. How much I loved you, and that I wanted to be the best man I could for you.”
∞ ♡ ∞
For the next week, Christa and I talked every night after Ethan went to bed. I wasn’t ready to break the news to him yet. One day, probably soon, I’d have to tell my son that his father was alive. And I no longer had any doubts that the person on the other end of the phone was my Brett. Not after everything we shared.
We talked about the time our sophomore year he beat up one of the other guys in the locker room for implying that I was easy.
That memory made me laugh: I’d long forgotten how pissed I was when I found out, how I railed at Brett for defending my honor, and how I went and socked that stupid Aaron Porter in the face when I heard what he did.
The principal suspended me, of course, when I wouldn’t tell him why I did it. Brett and I spent the next three days at the new movie theater in Hartford, watching R-rated movies my mom would never let me see. Even today, as a grown woman, she disapproved of me watching movies with swearing, sex, or violence. She’d have had a heart attack if she’d known Brett and I went to see Pulp Fiction and Exit to Eden together—instead of being at school. Sex, drugs, violence, BDSM, and truancy all in one go. What a great week for us.
We talked about how he only understood freshman biology when I explained it to him, how I’d never have passed freshman year English without him explaining what the hell Dickens was talking about. Reading was great, sure, but the title of Great Expectations really had me expecting an interesting book, not something that put me to sleep when I tried to read it. Or listened to the tapes I found at a second-hand bookstore. We relived our first kiss, the first time we had sex on my sixteenth birthday.
She not only remembered everything I brought up, she reminded me of things I hadn’t thought about in years.
“I still can’t believe your dad gave you that creepy locket for your birthday.” Christa laughed. “What did he say? ‘By wearing this necklace, you promise to save your virtue until you’re married. I’ll hold the key until your wedding night, and then I’ll give it to your husband.’”
I shuddered at the memory. “If only he’d realized that his words were the push I needed to lose my virginity in the boys’ bathroom at the skating rink while all our friends watched Clara Chen skate the routine that almost got her into the Olympics. He was standing less than a hundred feet away.”
“Maybe he’d forgotten how fast teenage boys could have sex if they had the chance.”
That made me chuckle. “What’s even creepier is that he gave you the key the night before we got married.”
“That was so bizarre,” Christa said. “At the time, I figured it was the most awkward conversation anyone could ever have with another adult.”
We both paused for a minute, me drinking a glass of wine, Christa going to refill her water glass. The conversation moved easily between us, but I still wasn’t sure what to do next. It might be time to give Teddy’s therapist friend a call.
Christa sat down and cleared her throat. “Do you remember when we were seniors, when we ditched school and drove to Massachusetts?”
I closed my eyes for a minute, searching for the day she referred to. It didn’t take long. We’d spent days dreading the trip.
Brett had driven in silence, white knuckles gripping the steering wheel. I peered intently out the passenger window, twisting my fingers in my lap. For the first time, I understood how death row prisoners might feel being led to the electric chair. I’d focused on minute details through the window, biting my lip, to avoid a conversation I didn’t want to have. I didn’t have the energy to carry on a conversation, and I didn’t want to think about where we were going, what we were about to do.
Welcome to Massachusetts, the sign read. Thousands of people drove by it every day, if not more. How many of them felt the same way we did?
Brett focused on the road, the dotted white lines disappearing one at a time beneath the front of the car. What if I grabbed the wheel, swerved the car into oncoming traffic? That might solve our problems, but I could never hurt Brett like that. This wasn’t his fault. Not entirely.
He pulled into the parking lot, shifted into park. I opened the door and slid off the seat like butter melting before he could reach for the ignition key.
“You don’t have to come in with me.” I didn’t stick around to hear his reply.
Behind me, one car door slammed, then the other. His footsteps pounded on the pavement behind me, but I was way ahead of him. Clouds filled the sky, throwing a bleak pallor over the entire outing. Fitting.
I didn’t pause or look around until I was safely inside the building, the door shut behind me, and only then, enough to find the front desk. Despite the thousand-pound weights attached to each foot, I approached, feeling the eyes of the others in the waiting room. They judged me, just as my parents would judge me if they knew. But my father would also lock me away in a room forever, and I couldn’t have that. Worse, I couldn’t stand hurting my mother, making her feel like she failed as a parent, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. My mistake wasn’t her failure.
When I reached the desk, the front door closed behind me. Brett. Of course, he wouldn’t stay in the car. The woman behind the desk possessed twinkling blue eyes and a gray bun that seemed more fitting to Mrs. Claus than anyone found here.
“Hi,” the receptionist had said. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here for an abortion,” I whispered, biting my lip. A coppery taste filled my mouth.
The word ricocheted around the room. I flinched, having never spoken it aloud before, not even when they talked about coming here. Abortion was a sin. So was suicide, and if I told my parents about any of this, they’d kill me and Brett. I didn’t want to end my life before it ever started. Having a child wasn’t an option for us, and I couldn’t face adoption if it meant telling my parents what we did.
I’d known in my heart that I had no other choice, unless I wanted to run away to Florida, to beg Aunt Mary Anne to take me in. She hated my dad, always had, so I might have an ally in Ma’s sister. But I couldn’t risk her telling my mother. So, this was it. I knew it.
Still, I hated myself for what I was about to do.
“Okay, dear. Do you have an appointment?”
I shook my head.
“It could be a bit of a wait. Just give me a name, and we’ll be with you as soon as we can. Would you also like to talk to someone about birth control before you leave?”
I nodded vigorously. Until the woman spoke, I’d thought these places only did abortion. If I’d known we could get birth control, Brett would’ve driven me here months ago. We wouldn’t be here today.
Too late for that now.
A hand fell on my shoulder, and I started out of nervousness. As soon as I realized who stood behind me, I relaxed. Brett, of course. The receptionist eyed us through bulletproof glass.
“Is everything okay? Sh
ould I call security?”
“It’s fine. I’m just jumpy today.”
The woman clucked her tongue. “Everything will be okay, dear. Just fill out these forms, and someone will be with you shortly.”
A few others scattered around the stark waiting room, sitting in uncomfortable, hard-backed chairs. A guy I recognized from the football games against Hartford High sat alone, holding The Catcher in the Rye open near the middle. His eyes didn’t move. He hadn’t turned a page since they entered. A purse sat on the empty seat beside him. A woman about my mom’s age sat near the door in cheap, well-worn clothing.
Brett followed me to two seats in the corner. His mouth tightened the way it did when he wanted to say something but didn’t know what. He was extra fidgety, but silent. I appreciated that. I didn’t really want his help, but he knew I couldn’t do it alone. With nothing else to do but wait, my eyes traced the pamphlets sitting on the table beside them: Birth control, herpes, HIV, adoption. Adoption, HIV, herpes, birth control.
Silently, Brett took the forms from me and started filling them out.
I put one hand on his knee. “Do you have to put my real name?” I mouthed the words, afraid of making a sound.
He shrugged. Then he scribbled a note on his hand. We’re paying cash. I nodded, and he returned to the forms without responding.
Name: Tori Spelling
Address: 301 Cobblestone Way, Bedrock
Phone Number: 860-867-5309
Brett nudged me. “You need a real phone number. What if they have to reach us?”
“They can’t call my house!”
He pointed to the form. “Look. They’ll use a fake name if they have to call to talk to you. It’s okay. I’ll put my number and tell them to ask for Brett.”
“Are you going to keep speaking to me after this? I thought…” Even in a whisper, my voice trembled.
Brett put his arms around me. My body relaxed against him, seeking his warmth. That was how we got into this mess in the first place, but I didn’t pull away. My stomach churned.
“Shh. Everything is going to be okay,” he said.
“But, don’t most couples break up because of this kind of thing?”
“I love you. You’re my best friend. Nothing’s going to split us up.”
When the nurse beckoned, I insisted on going in alone. Behind me, Brett sat, staring at his hands, avoiding making eye contact with the linebacker who’d yet to turn a single page in his book.
Less than fifteen minutes later I was back, feeling like a million bucks. Brett looked surprised to see me but shot to his feet instantly.
In a hushed tone, he asked, “Is everything okay?”
“I’m not pregnant!” I wouldn’t have believed it, but speaking those words to him made me feel a thousand times better than when I spotted the blood in my underwear.
My words echoed around the room, and I flushed, clapping my hands over my mouth. Grinning, Brett gave me a chaste kiss, and we hurried outside.
“Right after I went in there, I started my period,” I said. “I’m so sorry. It’s been six weeks and I’m always so regular and…”
“Shh.” He kissed my forehead, smoothing back my hair. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you’re okay and we’re going to get through this.”
“That’s not all that matters.”
“I know. We need to make sure this doesn’t happen again. Do you want to maybe… wait? Not have sex again?”
I wondered if this was the first time any sixteen-year-old boy spoke those words, and the thought made me want to burst out laughing. But he seemed so sweet, so earnest, that I hugged him instead. In my right hand, I carried a bag given to me by the nurse. Now, I waved it around.
“Nope! They gave me the Pill. We should wait a couple of weeks, just in case, but then we’re good. I just need to find a place to hide them from my parents.”
He wrapped his arms around me, cradling my head against his shoulder. “I love you.” He’d said it a million times, but something felt different now. As if we shared a deeper connection now.
“I love you, too. Let’s go home,” I’d said.
After we finished the story, I remained silent, wondering why Christa would choose that particular memory over all the others. It hadn’t been a happy day for either of us. On the other hand, I’d never told another soul, and I suspected she hadn’t, either. The only people who knew we’d been there were the nurse and the couple from Hartford High—and they certainly weren’t sharing.
“I’ve thought about that day a lot over the last eighteen years,” Christa said, swallowing. “Even though you turned out not to be pregnant, I still felt like I missed out. Like I’d never get my chance to have a child.” Tears brimmed in her eyes, tugging at my heartstrings.
I looked down, trying to stop the sympathy tears that hit me. After a moment, I regained my composure and cleared my throat. “You want to meet Ethan.”
“Please, Jess.” Her voice trembled. “He’s the only child I’ll ever have. I’ve been giving you time to get used to this, and you can have more, but I really need to know that someday, I’ll get to talk to my son, to hug him. Be part of his life, even if it’s a small part.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have walked out on him.” The words were cold, and I knew it. I felt bad, but at the same time, I didn’t. She couldn’t expect me to get over this huge lie in just a couple of weeks, even after everything we’d been through. It took time to rebuild trust, to decide whether you’re even willing to reopen your life to someone.
At the end of the day, if she pushed things, I wouldn’t have a choice. In court, I probably didn’t have any basis for denying her access to our child. But if this Christa was the same Brett I knew, she wouldn’t push. She’d let me come to the right decision on my own.
“That’s not fair,” she said. “I didn’t know you were pregnant.”
“Would you have stayed if you did?”
I could see her wanting to give the easy answer, to say that she absolutely would have stayed if she’d known. Brett was always a terrible liar, a total open book. If Christa lied to me now, I’d never give her another chance. Maybe she saw it on my face, because she let out a long breath before responding.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Probably not. I needed to figure myself out. But I might have come back.”
“I understand,” I said. “But Ethan and I need to figure a few things out, too. I’m still not sure I trust you. He may not want to meet you. But I’ll talk to him.”
“Thanks, Jess. That means everything.”
Chapter 15
Three days later, I pulled up at the front of Ethan’s school before lunch and signed him out for the rest of the day. The receptionist watched me shift from one foot to the other, tapping my fingers on the desk.
“Family emergency?”
That’s what I wrote on the sign-out sheet.
“Yes,” I said.
“Want to talk about it?” Her tone was practiced, a little too sympathetic. I didn’t doubt that if I told her about what was happening, half the teachers in the school would hear about it before lunchtime.
“No.”
Ethan rounded the corner and skidded to a halt. “Mom? What’s wrong? Is it Grandma?”
Aware of the receptionist’s eyes and love of gossip, I put one hand on his back and steered Ethan toward the front door. “Grandma’s fine. We’ll talk after lunch.”
How do you tell your child his father hasn’t really been dead his whole life, just kidding, he chose to vanish into thin air? My bedside manner was pretty good, but I didn’t have any idea what to say in this situation, how to answer his questions.
On the phone, Teddy’s therapist friend had suggested it might be easier for me to tell Ethan on my own before bringing him in. As we sat in the parking lot of a fast-food restaurant, sipping milkshakes, I dearly wished I’d taken him to the psychologist’s office first.
“Honey, there’s something we need to talk about,” I began, setting my milkshake in the drink holder and turning to face him.
“I knew it! Grandma’s sick, isn’t she?” The accusation in his eyes broke my heart. Any attempts to soften the blow might just make things worse.
“No, honey. Grandma’s fine. Honestly, I haven’t spoken to her since I picked you up from her house after my trip. She’s so busy these days.”
“Do you have cancer?”
“No one’s sick, Ethan. That’s actually the thing.” I took a deep breath. “Remember how I told you that your father died on 9/11?”
He nodded, suspicion still etched into every feature. “That’s why I get an afternoon off school and a milkshake? Because my dad’s been dead for a long time? I’m going to miss practice now.”
“No, honey. We’re taking the day off because when I was in Quebec last week, I discovered that your father’s alive. He never got on the plane that day.”
His mouth fell open. I could almost see the wheels turning inside his head as he tried, and failed, to process this information. “What?”
These next few minutes were important. I needed to choose my words carefully. Saying the wrong thing could alienate Ethan, not only from Christa, but from me. Ethan was a few months away from becoming a legal adult, and I didn’t want him to start his adulthood full of distrust and anger.
“He was afraid to fly, so he left the airport. Security was different back then—way different. People without tickets used to be allowed to go to the gate to say good-bye to their families or pick people up. He gave his boarding pass to someone else, and the flight crew never realized he wasn’t the one in his seat. The records say he checked in for the flight, which he did. And that someone used his boarding pass, which they did. No one knew it wasn’t your father.”
“Then why didn’t he come home? Why didn’t he call you and tell you he wasn’t getting on the plane?”
“Your father was very confused that day. He had a lot going on inside him, and he wasn’t happy with the life he and I built. When he left the airport, I think he intended to come home later. But then the plane crashed into the World Trade Center, and suddenly, the whole world thought he was dead.”
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