by Brinda Berry
The salt and earthy flavor gives me something to concentrate on besides Dane. It melts across my tongue.
“Butterfly?” His soft voice interrupts my enjoyment of the lifesaving cracker.
“Yeah?” I pop the second cracker into my mouth and fight back a cry over his use of the nickname.
“Are you up here because of me?”
My hand shakes while bringing the teacup to my lips, so I end up with both hands cradling it. “That’s feeling a little self-important, don’t you think?”
“I can’t turn back the clock and erase it. If I could, I would. Sleeping together was a huge mistake. Me saying we could have sex and be friends? Bigger mistake. Biggest mistake of my life.”
The nausea recedes and a real feeling of anger replaces it. “Gee. Are you sure? The biggest?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m feeling a little slow this morning. Bigger mistake than trading off that baseball card that ended up on eBay for twenty-thousand dollars?”
“Don’t make fun.”
“What about driving Jaycee’s new car into the pasture that night our freshman year of college and getting stuck?”
“Josie,” he warns.
“Or perhaps your greatest mistake is not marrying Phoebe when you told me you thought she was the one.”
“Stop right there.” He gets up and paces across the room to stand in front of the windows. “I know you have a right to be angry because it’s my fault. All my fault. But I want to go back to having you as my best friend. I need it. I need you. There’s something I need to say and you’ll understand why we can’t work.”
I swallow my snippety attitude. “Oh?” If he says he’s in love with someone else, I’m going to projectile vomit for sure.
“It’s not you or you and me together. It’s just me that’s the problem.”
“What are you talking about?”
His shoulders grow rigid, and he doesn’t turn around. “I don’t ever want to get married or have a family. Ever. And you deserve more than waiting around for me. I’ve never had a relationship that lasted more than a month. I know what you want out of life. A husband, kids, the whole nine yards. You get stuck with me, and it’s not going to happen.”
“You’re sure you won’t ever want anything more?”
“Not me. I’m one-hundred percent positive about this. I’m happy with the way things are and I don’t want the same things as you. I can’t care for any woman more than I care for you, but it’s not enough. You deserve more.”
I’m still staring at the back of his head when I fight back the tears. “Ok. Thanks for confiding in me.”
“So you understand?” Dane turns back to me and tucks both hands into his jeans. A wry corner of his mouth jacks up and his eyes plead with me. “We’re cool?”
“Dane.” I take one more sip of tea and breathe through my nostrils. “I’m pregnant.”
Chapter Five
The Past
Josie, fifteen-years-old
It’s the summer, when I’m supposed to have fun and hang out with my friends. But I feel like an oddball, as if my guy friends sense I got my period for the first time.
Mom calls me a late bloomer. I wish I’d never bloomed.
My brother Leo is proving to be a giant pain-in-the-ass jerk, because he keeps asking if I feel okay. I'm not some different species now. On the other hand, bleeding once a month is the grossest, most hateful curse of womankind.
It’s a rainy afternoon (soundtrack to my life) and Leo, Dane, Aidan, Gunner, and I have spent all afternoon playing video games. A torrential downpour outside keeps us indoors instead of swimming.
This doesn’t bother me in the least. I’d rather be lounging inside with the guys.
I sit on Leo’s bed beside Aiden. Dane lounges on the floor to my left, his long legs sprawled in front of him.
“Are you going to call Carrie?” Aiden asks.
My head jerks toward him. Carrie?
“Carrie who?” I mumble and focus on the game, shooting three rounds of ammo into the zombie blocking me in the alley.
“Carrie Miller,” Aiden mumbles, his duh-laced tone indicating I should know this. Did I miss something?
Why would I call Carrie Miller?
Just as I am going to say this aloud, Dane answers Aiden. “I don’t know.” He uses his whole body to aim the controller as he shoots several zombies on the television screen. A couple of bullets obliterate his character. Dane gives several grunts as if he is actually in the game.
“Why would you call Carrie?” My thumbs hurt as I pound the button. Slam-slam-slam as I shoot my way through a line of zombies.
When he doesn’t respond for a full minute, I kick his leg softly with my foot.
“He’s gonna ask her to meet for laser tag next Friday,” Aidan answers, even though I want Dane to give me the answer. He and I talk about everything. There are no secrets between best friends.
A strange feeling trickles through me. My chest tightens. “She’s an airhead. Really. Carrie?”
An onscreen zombie grabs me by the hair. How’d that deader get so close? Normally this would not happen. I’m distracted. “She’s like one of these zombie dudes—needs a brain.”
“I don’t think he's interested in her brains,” Gunner mutters from his position on a beanbag across the room.
“So you’re hoping to hook up with her and that’s it?” A lot of kids at school say they’re having sex, but I'm not sure which ones are actually doing much. Maybe they all are, but I suspect they’re lying.
The thought of Dane falling in love with Carrie forms a hard knot in my stomach. Does he really want somebody like her?
“You know there’s more to life than copping a feel with somebody who’s just using you for your football jacket.” My petty words strain as they leave my mouth. Where’d that come from?
I am so not the kind of person who undermines my buddy’s confidence, but he needs to know about her. I have to protect him.
Aidan chuckles under his breath.
I glare at him. “What's so funny about that?”
He ignores my question and continues to focus on the screen. Boys. So immature. Did they think about anything but boobs? “Don’t be a peckerhead,” I say.
A game zombie grabs me and sinks sharp teeth into my neck, causing a stream of spurting blood to cover those around me. It reminds me of my stupid period and that horrible device called a tampon.
My character’s life force dwindles to nothing. Now, I’m a deader. I toss my controller on the bed.
I’m done.
Maybe it’s too much time with these guys. I walk to my room with my head up, but my eyes prick with irritated tears when I picture Dane calling Carrie.
Leo’s bedroom is across the hall from mine and my legs feel jelly-like as I close the door softly and dive onto my bed.
The imaginary scene of Dane and Carrie kissing burns on my brain. Real zombies should invade my room and take care of me, eating my brain to ensure I didn’t have to conjure it up anymore. Ugh.
There’s a soft knock at my door. It has to be Leo. I’m sure he knows something is wrong or I wouldn't leave mid-game.
“Josie,” Dane calls through the door. “Can I come in?”
I jolt up in the bed. This is worse than Leo coming after me. “What do you want? I’m busy.”
“With what?”
I heave a sigh and stand. Taking a deep breath, I go to the door and crack it open only a sliver, showing only my face. “I don't feel like playing video games anymore. I just wanna read.”
This will certainly end the conversation. I never see Dane with a book.
“What are you reading?” Dane places his palm against the door and gives an easy push.
I don’t want him to know that I have no intention of reading. There’s no way I can keep my brain on the words on a page. “I might reread one of my Harry Potter books,” I lie. I immediately regret saying that because now I feel like a ki
d.
“That’s cool.” He strolls across the room and drops onto the edge of my bed and lies back, totally comfortable in my room. He’s spent many hours in here in the past. But usually Leo’s in here too. I’ve also been alone with him a time or two if he needed help studying for a test.
“Did you get mad about Carrie?” Dane links his fingers behind his head and gazes at the ceiling.
My heart bangs louder and makes it hard to think. I sit on the bed beside him and lie back to study the ceiling. Dane likes somebody. My heart trembles in fear. Does a girlfriend mean he and I won’t hang out?
Does it mean there’ll be more secrets? Or will he only whisper them to her…
Does he think she’s pretty? Will Carrie steal him away?
My mind screeches to a halt. It’s not like he’s my boyfriend.
“Course not,” I answer his earlier question. “I’m not mad. Why would I be?”
“You left right after that conversation.”
Say something. Say anything. My hands grow sweaty. Do I tell him that I like him like that. What if he laughs? Or worse…what if he decides we can’t be friends because it would be too weird.
My brain screams abort-abort-abort. If he liked me, he’d let me know.
I take a deep breath and then exhale slowly. “No, not mad. I’m a little confused. What do you really even know about her?”
I turn my head to look at his profile. I’m not the only one who’s off-kilter this summer. Guys don't have periods, but he’s different. Quieter.
He’s silent for several beats. “She’s sweet.”
I cock an eyebrow without commenting.
Dane is obviously dissatisfied with my expression. “Has she done something that I need to know about? Come on, Butterfly. I trust you. You tell me something bad about her, I won’t ask her to laser tag. I know you want me to have a nice girlfriend. So what’s so bad about Carrie?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and let my foot rock back and forth hitting the edge of the bed. Tap tap tap. My throat is suddenly so tight. I don’t want him to hear it in my voice. Why am I being such a big baby about this? Diversion. I need a big diversion.
“Why do you call me Butterfly?” I ask.
“Huh?” The startled tone lets me know it’s the last thing he thought I would ask.
“Why Butterfly? Why not some other nickname?”
“Don't know.”
I roll to my side and face him, an arm extended underneath my cheek as a pillow. There’s a good two feet between us, but I can see that I’ve disconcerted him. “Why Butterfly?” I persist.
“I asked you about Carrie first.” Dane’s very still, and strangely, unable to meet my eyes.
“Forget it. You come in here demanding answers and then I ask you one question and you blow me off.”
He’s the only one who calls me this. Is it because I started wearing make-up this year? It’s only a little blush, lipgloss, and mascara, but I think it makes me look pretty. If this is why, I want to hear him say it. I want to know that he sees me as more than just one of the guys.
“It’s kinda stupid…It’s just that butterflies go from flower to flower and they pollinate. The only reason why we have more color in the world is because of…butterflies. You make people smile.”
People. Not him specifically, but everybody.
“Fine. Thanks. Carrie is okay. But she’s mean to other girls. You know that girl Debbie, Mr. Harvey’s daughter? The one in special ed? Carrie makes fun of her all the time in phys ed. It’s really mean.”
Dane nods. “Wow. I’ve never seen her act like that. Thanks. Really. I may ask somebody else to go instead.”
“Yeah. Whatever.” I frown and pretend to study my fingernails. “I think I’ll paint my nails now.” A giant lump in my throat prevents me from saying more.
“You’re the best, Butterfly.” Even though we are the same age, he ruffles my hair as if I’m a kid. Then, he’s gone.
Sometimes I really hate him.
And sometimes, I don’t.
Chapter Six
Head On
Dane
My heart races hard enough to explode from my chest. I want to press my hands against it to contain the havoc.
She’s pregnant.
Some words hit like bullets, embedding into a person’s core. Changing the landscape of how you look at things. Expanding the possibilities of who you might become.
A few words from her and I’m a different man. I have to be.
Josie’s calm expression contradicts what she must feel.
“How?” The question slips from my mouth.
She tilts her head. “It wasn’t immaculate conception, as you know well since you were there.”
There’s that sarcasm, slipping from her lips as easily as it does any other day. Keeping it real and light in spite of the two-ton seriousness of the topic. If she were any other girl I’ve slept with in the past, I’d ask if she were sure it’s mine. Because I always use protection. Always.
But I understand that those fail sometimes. The thing is, it’s like being hit by an asteroid since I was inside my sweet Josie once.
I’ve messed up her life. All my fears of taking Josie’s chances of having a normal future rush into my head.
I have limited and unsavory knowledge of the genes I’d pass on to a kid. But Josie doesn’t know this. No one but me and my folks know the magnitude.
I’ve got to tell her. She came from normal parents. Good people. Loving people. My own genetic history is like a skeleton I’ve managed to keep hidden, until now.
My skeleton pokes a knobby finger into my gut.
Pregnant? My throat tightens. Josie is going to have my child. The girl I’ve vowed to protect from the unsavory shit of the world because she deserves everything.
She widens her eyes and raises her brows. “Say something.”
Her voice is strong and sure. How can she be so calm when I’ve changed her world and she’s changed mine? She stares down into her tea like she’s reading a fortune in that damned cup.
“That’s why you’re here,” I say.
These are the wrong words. Stupid, empty words. A statement of the obvious when I don’t have coherent thoughts.
She wants me to say more, but my mind can’t string together the right words.
Josie squirms uncomfortably in her seat. Her lips tipped at the right corner in self-mockery. “Yes, it’s why I’m here. I shelved a Kama Sutra book in the children’s section, so I thought I needed a day off.”
The room isn’t large, a combination family room with a kitchen tucked into the corner, but Josie’s expression, a barrier between us. I sit at the table, needing to be near her. Light streams through the east window and glistens across her dark hair as she dips her head to stare into the teacup again. The air is still and silent. Yes. This is the right place to sort this out and decide what comes next.
“When did you find out?” I lean forward on my elbows and study her face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Not long ago. I went to the doctor to be sure.”
I’m suddenly hurt at being left out. “I should’ve been there with you. Why didn’t you call me the minute you found out?”
She shrugs. “I’m a big girl. The doctor visit was fine.”
What I really need is to fall to my knees and ask her forgiveness. Beg and plead for her understanding.
She shakes her head and rises from the table. “I know you feel responsible. But it’s okay. I mean, I’m a little nervous about the whole idea of shoving something the size of a bowling ball through a peephole. But women have been doing this since—”
“Butterfly. I’m going to take care of you. You and the…” The word ‘baby’ sticks somewhere between the back of my tongue and my lips.
“Our baby,” she says.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
This pisses me off. “Of course, I do. What kind of dirt bag do you think I am? It’
s what I want.”
She dips her chin and lifts her eyes to mine. “Josie,” she mimics. “I don’t want a family or a wife. Kids or a dog. Ever.”
We stare at each other for an eternity. My words. How can I explain? How can I make this right? I just want to go back to the old relationship where we make each other laugh and smile and all is right with the world.
“I never said that about a dog,” I tease to awkwardly break the silence.
“I warn you that my sense of humor is fleeting and volatile. Only I get to make the jokes right now. Okay? Your bachelorhood is safe. I came up here because I’m thinking about selling the store. Just last week, my old roommate Ashton contacted me about taking a technical writing job with her company in New York. She made me an offer and I turned it down, but I bet I could tell her I changed my mind. I’ve always wanted to live in New York.”
“Stop it,” I roar like a hurt animal and she stares at me with her mouth open. I don’t know which to address first, the bachelor jab or selling the store or moving away from me. Leaving me. My heartbeat thumps in my ears and my throat. She’s my Josie. Mine. I need to calm down and make her understand how we are in this together.
“I’m sorry I yelled. You surprised me. But what I said before, I didn’t know about…” I wave a hand toward her body. “It changes everything.”
“Hm…it doesn’t change how you feel.” Her tight voice makes me want to draw her into my arms, but her expression tells me she won’t like that. She scoots away from me and gets to her feet with the tea cup in hand. “Wow,” she says in a quick change of topic. “This tea is going to save me. I’m sorry to say I’m one of those putrid pregnancies. All shiny from the sheen of nausea, topped off with an evergreen tinge. The doctor suggested wheat crackers and ginger tea, the promised anecdote. It worked.”
“You have morning sickness?”
“This is what I’m saying.” She rinses her cup and places it beside the sink.
I eye the distance between us. “Come sit with me.”
Giving me a wary look, she returns to her seat to my right. “I came up here to be alone. I appreciate that you think you need to support me, but…”