She was making her choice, her own right choice. If Julian didn’t feel the same way, well, then they’d have a problem. But she would explain it all to him, and hope that he would see it as clearly as she did now.
Time to be real.
THIRTY-ONE
She meant to tell Julian right away, she really did. But when she got to his house, he kissed her so sweetly and he was all excited about Hera things, and she didn’t want to burden the day. Instead she let him talk, about how Izzy had finalized dates for their summer tour schedule and how he was overflowing with songs, and she felt her resolve strengthen. Next summer she wanted to be dragging her friends to those shows, not changing diapers on a screaming baby. She wanted Julian to be out there captivating new audiences, not sterilizing bottles. That was the truth of it all—maybe selfish, but real. And Audrey could hear it in Julian’s voice, too, the excitement (almost mania) brewing over vans and new amps and the idea of touring, how much that was the future he wanted.
Has he realized it yet? she wondered, watching him eat leftover pizza in his kitchen while she played with her new-old camera, feeling her way around the buttons and dials, trying to learn the intricacies of it the way she knew every groove and click of her DSLR. She lifted it and snapped a shot of him waving his hands wildly. Has he figured out what he wants—what he doesn’t want? Because it was almost painfully clear to Audrey now. He was in love with her, but he was in love with music, too. And he’d do anything for Audrey, she was pretty sure of that, but she didn’t want him to do anything for her. She wanted him to choose for himself.
Maybe it didn’t matter. Because she’d tell him what she wanted and that would be it. And for the first time in weeks, she felt certain.
She left his house and headed home, the letter tucked back in her pocket. She had to apologize to her mom, fix the best thing she had in her life. The first thing she did when she walked into the house was go upstairs to her mom’s office. She lifted her hand to the door, ready to knock, so ready to say I’m sorry and Please don’t be mad at me, but she pulled back at the last second when she heard the heavy sigh coming from inside the room.
She was ready to try again at dinner, but Adam talked the whole way through so that the silence from before didn’t have a chance to return and Audrey couldn’t get a word in.
Sunday morning she waited until she smelled coffee brewing and followed the aroma down to the kitchen, where she stood next to Laura for a moment before finally saying it. “I’m . . . sorry,” she said slowly. “About the other night. What I said . . . you know. I’m really sorry.”
She waited then, waited for her mom to turn and smile, take her in her arms and wrap her up the way Audrey loved. Of course you’re sorry, she’d say. I forgive you. It’s forgotten. Do you want pancakes for breakfast?
But her mom did none of that. She only nodded, watching the steam rising from the percolator. “It’s fine,” she said, but the stiffness of her voice said that wasn’t true. “Could you take the trash out?”
Audrey opened her mouth to say it again, say it better somehow—but what was the point? I can’t make her forgive me.
I hurt her.
When all she’s doing is trying to do her best for me. All she’s ever done is try her best for me, and what do I do?
Audrey licked her dry lips and opened the cabinet, taking out what she knew was her mom’s favorite mug and setting it down between them. “Okay,” she said quietly.
THIRTY-TWO
On Monday evening Audrey volunteered to go get dinner, a hopeful gesture of apology, which neither her mom nor Adam seemed to care about. But still.
Audrey intended to head downtown to one of their usual take-out places to pick up the Indian food her mom loved or maybe some soul food from the tiny place by Adam’s office.
But instead she ended up at Julian’s workplace with her hands in tight fists and her heart beating this steady, certain rhythm.
He hadn’t called her at all yesterday, or texted. He had been quiet all day at school, too: hadn’t hung out on the steps before class or visited Audrey at her locker between periods, and when she’d looked for him at lunch, she’d found him in the library sitting by a window with his headphones clamped over his ears and a distant look on his face that didn’t leave even when she’d kissed him.
It’s a bad day, she thought now. A couple of bad days. Everybody has them. It doesn’t mean anything.
But still, she was kicking herself for not telling him about her decision that day. When she’d asked him what was up, he’d said, “Nothing,” in that way that meant everything and then cleared his throat and said, “Dr. Morris wants me to apply to some different summer music programs at colleges. Said she’d write me a letter of recommendation.”
“That’s awesome!” Audrey had said. “I’m so proud of you, J.”
And he’d nodded but didn’t say anything else, and now Audrey was wondering exactly what he’d been thinking at that moment. Had he realized?
She thought so.
So now she was at the restaurant. It was maybe half full, and the low hum of people eating and chatting filled the space with warmth. A girl in a crisp black shirt with braids in a giant bun approached Audrey with a menu in her hands and a rictus smile on her face. “Table for one?”
“What?” Audrey pulled at the sleeves of her sweater, eyes scanning around. “No. Thank you. Sorry. I’m—”
“Hey.” The girl looked at Audrey again. “Don’t I know you?”
“I don’t think so,” Audrey said. “I’m looking for Julian. Is he around?”
“That’s it!” She nodded firmly. “You’re Julian’s girlfriend. Audrey, right? I’m Courtney. Weird that we haven’t met before, right?”
Not that weird, Audrey wanted to say, and could we skip the small talk? But she squashed down the urge and dipped her chin. “Yeah,” she said instead. “Weird. So—”
Courtney cut her off, bobbing her head again. “I’ll go find him for you. You can sit, if you want. Back in a sec!”
Audrey didn’t sit—her restless feet wouldn’t let her. She watched the diners instead, constructing elaborate life stories for them in her head: The black stiletto-wearing woman was in witness protection, hiding from her drug lord ex-husband. And the middle-aged couple sharing the chocolate soufflé was in the throes of a torrid affair—just not with each other. What about the silver-fox hot guy sitting at the bar?
Her name being called across the restaurant pulled her back from her daydream, and then Julian was standing in front of her looking concerned. “ . . . something wrong?” he was saying as Audrey tuned in again. He cupped her face in his hands, smoothing his fingers over her flushed cheeks. “You look weird. Are you sick? Is it . . .” He looked pointedly at her stomach. “Audrey?”
Audrey swallowed hard. “I’m not sick. There’s no emergency. I—I need to talk to you.”
“Okay,” Julian said, raising his eyebrows. “Right now?”
“Can’t you get Pete to let you off early?”
“Now?” Julian repeated, and gestured to the tables that needed busing and the swinging doors of the kitchen. “I’m working. You know, that thing people have to do to make money. I can’t just leave.”
“Well, don’t you get a break? I’ll wait. It’s important.” She took a step toward him, attempting a smile. “Please?”
Julian glanced over his shoulder nervously and then rapped his knuckles on the order pad in his other hand. “Okay,” he said. “Look, I get my break in ten minutes. All right?”
In the back Audrey sat on a crate and tried to organize her thoughts into something Julian would understand. It was hard to think of the right words to put in the right order, to make sure she was saying exactly what she wanted to. How did she tell the father of her maybe-child, the boy she unabashedly claimed as her True Love, that she didn’t want It anymore?
The back door opened and Julian skipped the two steps to ground level, landing heavily. He pushed up his shirtsleev
es, and Audrey shivered. How was he not freezing? She felt her blood turning to ice even as she looked at him. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Sorry,” she said, rubbing her palms together. “I should have waited. I think I’m losing it.”
“That’s all right,” Julian said with a crazy smile. “I think I’m losing it, too.” He sat opposite her, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I know you want to say something, but am I allowed to speak, too?”
“You’re speaking now,” Audrey said.
“I mean, speak,” Julian said, like that made things any clearer. “I have to . . . I know I was acting weird at school. I don’t want to freak you out; it’s— I keep getting these thoughts popping up in my head. At the most random times they’ll come—I’ll be clearing tables in there, or doing a problem on the board in algebra, and then they hit me.”
Oh, Audrey realized. Here it is.
She pulled her coat tighter around her. “What thoughts?”
Julian barely paused, cracking his knuckles. “Like, say we did . . . have the baby. What would we do if there was something wrong with the baby? If it got sick? We’d have to get insurance, probably,” he said, and his eyes focused on Audrey. “Then I think things like, well, maybe I’ll get a job that comes with benefits. But realistically I wouldn’t be able to do that right away, so if there were an emergency we’d be screwed. And what if we start fighting over shit like who changed the most diapers today or because you’re mad that I say I’m tired and you were up with the baby five times in the night while I was asleep . . . I don’t know, Audrey. It’s thinking about college and what if you get into RISD or some other awesome school, but we can’t afford it because we have to pay for kid shit?” He wiped a hand over his face roughly. “It’s all this stuff that I sometimes think doesn’t mean anything, but really, it means everything. Or maybe it means nothing! What does anything matter when there’s a baby of ours in all this?”
“I don’t understand,” Audrey said, the truth for once. She reached over, touched his knee. “What are you saying?”
“I’m not sure. It’s more than not having money.” Julian stood and began pacing. “It’s not having a sense of security. Or any idea what being a parent means. And now people are talking to me about college, these summer programs, and the band is doing so well right now—and I feel like I’m going to be letting people down if I don’t take all these opportunities I’m being given, but I want to do what’s right for us. You, too. And—this is going to sound shitty, but what am I going to tell Izzy and the others? What about Dr. Morris? I’m . . . I need you to talk me down. Okay?”
Audrey wet her lips. Shit.
Say it. Say it.
“Actually, this is what I wanted to talk to you about.” She focused on him and pulled up every last ounce of nerve she had. “I can’t do it.”
“You can’t talk me down?” Julian stopped pacing. “Well, can you try? ’Cause I think I’ll lose my mind if you don’t.”
Audrey blinked and shook her head, catching her wind-whipped hair and holding it out of her face. “No,” she said. “I can’t do it. I can’t—” She sighed, knowing that she was maybe about to ruin everything. “I can’t have this baby.”
“What?”
A long, stretched-out moment of silence followed her declaration. Julian stood as still as a statue.
“I know,” Audrey said. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“I thought—” Julian’s face twisted in confusion. He made a noise that was either a laugh or a groan, Audrey couldn’t tell, and then he looked right at her. “I guess I assumed you wanted to keep it.”
“I couldn’t make up my mind,” Audrey said. “One way or another. But I’ve been thinking—” She looked down, twisting her fingers together. “The other day, before I came over to your house, I read the letter. That my birth mom sent me? Remember? Her name is Amanda.” She paused, picturing the neat script and everything those words had contained. “She has two kids now, boys, and a husband, and a dog. Poppy. Cute, right?” She stopped, reaching out to wrap her hands around his. “I love you, Julian.”
“Audrey,” Julian started, but she shook her head.
“Wait, please.” She inhaled and tried again. “I love you, you know that. You love me. I know that. In my perfect future we stay together, and we stay happy.” She watched Julian carefully, the way his dark eyes—mirrors of hers, always—skipped from looking at his feet, to the sky, to her, to the ground again. “And when we’re grown-ups, maybe we’ll go places. See the world together, and I’ll take pictures of you in front of all the monuments like the tourists we’ll be.” She laughed then, pushing her thumbs into Julian’s palms. “Do you see it?”
Julian’s answer came softly. “Yeah.”
“We’ll live somewhere where the leaves go red in the fall and have kids who ride their bikes until dusk. We’ll both have jobs we like—well, that we can stand, at least—and we’ll do anything to keep our kids happy and safe and—” She snatched her hands out of Julian’s so she could scrub at her stinging eyes. “Fuck.”
She heard footsteps and felt the weight of Julian sitting next to her, pulling her into him so that her head fell onto his shoulder. “I can see that, too,” Julian said, and his voice sent vibrations through Audrey’s body. “All of it.”
Of course he did. Because he was Julian, and he had all this goodness in him and that was why Audrey had fallen in love with him in the first place and, God, she didn’t deserve him. “‘I want’ doesn’t get,” Audrey said, quiet. “My mom always used to say that to me when I was little and freaking out over a Barbie or roller skates. I don’t think I ever understood it until right now.
“I want so much: to be with you, to be young and stupid, to feel like myself again. . . .” She wanted to be Jen and María, dancing wild at parties and so excited for their futures, or Olivia, falling in love, taking on something new. “I want you to go and be a musician and eat ramen and live in a shitty apartment and do all the amazing things you ever wanted. I don’t know if I’ll even get into art school, but I want to try. I want to make my mom proud. And my birth mom. I wish this hadn’t happened. So we could carry on like things were and I could stop worrying whether it’s more selfish for me to keep a baby that I maybe want but know I can’t give the best to, or to not keep it so I can have the life I thought I—we—would.”
They sat in silence for a long minute, leaning into each other like they had so many times before. They didn’t even have to move themselves; their bodies fell into place like puzzle pieces.
But then Julian lifted his shoulder, prompting Audrey to sit up properly, and turned to face her straight on. “I don’t care about the music,” he said, searching her face with those deep, dark eyes. “I only care about you.”
“Don’t say that. It’s not true at all.” Audrey laughed thickly. “And don’t you dare try to tell me it is.”
“I just want to do what’s right.”
“For who? Right how?”
Julian’s hands clutched at the air. “God, I just don’t want to be an asshole who only thinks about himself. And I don’t want to make a decision we’ll regret in a couple of years.”
“What will we regret more? Chasing what we actually want to do, going to California or wherever, or bringing another human being into the world without being one hundred percent sure of what we’re doing?”
Julian sucked in a deep breath, loud enough for Audrey to hear. “Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. All that stuff I said, it doesn’t mean I can’t do this for you.”
“For me?” Audrey said. “J, if we were going to do it, shouldn’t it be with me, not for me? Shouldn’t it be for yourself, too?” Audrey wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “It’s not just that I don’t want to. It’s that—”
“You can’t,” Julian finished for her. He took a deep breath. “We can’t.”
“Reading the letter from Amanda—” She halted abruptly. “Wow. It’s wei
rd to say her name like that. But yeah, reading it and thinking of what she experienced when it was her turn in this situation . . .” Audrey shook her head. “She was different from me. I know she wanted me, I know it, but more than that she wanted what was best for me. So she did it. And I want to do that, too. I want to choose what’s best for me, and having a baby right now isn’t it.”
Julian bit his lip, looking almost ashamed. “I wanted to believe this would work out,” he said. “Y’know, I thought, ‘Maybe if we both want this and we have a plan, we could do it.’ I felt like . . . that’s what I was supposed to do. Step up and do the right thing. Be a man and all that. And yeah, I want kids, too. Someday. It was weird, thinking about having one now, but I thought . . . fuck, I don’t know what I thought.” Julian’s hollow laugh sent pinpricks along Audrey’s spine. She hadn’t missed how quickly he’d slipped into the past tense. See how well she knew him? She’d known what he wanted before he’d even had a clue. “But let’s be real, what was I talking about? That we could have a baby and carry on with our lives like normal, like it’s so fucking easy? Like, sure, I can be a father now, no sweat! I’m so stupid.”
“If you’re stupid, then so am I,” Audrey said, pulling her coat sleeves over her numb hands. “We were talking about names. Names. Because that’s the important part, right?”
Julian laughed, harder, and more real this time. “Right! Forget knowing how to change a diaper or what to do when the kid won’t eat. As long as we give it a cool name, who cares?”
“Or forget the diaper stuff,” Audrey said, cracking a smile herself. “How about the fact that giving birth hurts and that sometimes afterward they have to sew your vagina back together. What about that, huh?”
Julian looked absolutely horrified at that, and now Audrey was the one laughing. “See?” she said between giggles. “We know nothing!”
“They sew you up?” he repeated, eyes wide. “That sounds like torture, not helpful medical intervention. Literally sew you up? Jesus, my balls hurt just talking about it!”
You Don’t Know Me but I Know You Page 17