The Good Twin's Baby

by Vivien Vale

  “Stephanie still thinks about crap from years ago, when we first got together. I was in Phoenix, doing contract work…”

  “Like me.”

  “Well, I was in Phoenix, so not exactly. Also I was doing surveying—a gig working for this little lady’s ole dad.”

  Stephanie smiles wistfully.

  “It was immediate,” Stephanie says, “and amazing, and we realized we were in love, like, right away. But my father…I was confused, and he started acting like a dick. Kinda like your fertility guy there, June.”

  “You weren’t that bad, Steph…”

  “Oh, yes, I was. But we got through it. This shit can be frantic and confusing…but that doesn’t mean you should run away.”

  Diane nods in agreement.

  “What are you doing here in Queens? Get your shit-kicking, bad country-and-western-self back into the city straightaway, young lady. Your handsome, wealthy fertility man awaits.”

  “I don’t know if he is waiting.”

  The two share another knowing look.

  “We suggest you hesitate before fleeing back to the Cornhusker State.”

  After Stephanie’s last word of advice, I hug my two new friends adieu so they can check in and catch their flight.

  Wandering the terminal, I try to consider the advice I was given and to see things from a different perspective.

  But I’m in a freaking airport, and it seems like I might be here for a reason.

  The giant frigging screen in front of me might also be there for a reason. The displayed list of scheduled departures looks like it’s nothing but nonstop flights to Omaha or to Lincoln.

  Just a short, connecting flight from either of those followed by a short bus ride and I’ll be…back.

  Home, I suppose.

  It’ll be nice to be back—to see the farm, if nothing else.

  I’m no airport navigation expert, but I’m like a darn robot the way I chose the next flight to Lincoln, and find a ticket kiosk…

  There’s no way he’s waiting for me like they said he is. It’s just not the way things work—not with him, anyway.

  Okay, back to automatic mode to buy the tickets, and check in, and…

  And if he’s not waiting, what sense is there to even consider going back to Manhattan?

  Unless, instead of waiting, he’ll come find me here or something. That thought almost makes me laugh out loud in the security line—that’s some Nora Ephron stuff right there.

  That’s not real life.

  When I slip out of my business pumps and dump them in a plastic tray, I know that there’s no going back.

  And it’s not like he’s going to go through security—you have to be a passenger for that.

  Things get tight once I get through security. Looking at a big, overhead clock.

  Holy freaking crap, I’ve only got ten minutes.

  Okay, don’t panic. Gate D6. Just stay calm while you freaking run.

  “This is the final boarding call for passenger June Johnson on flight…”

  Oh, for crying out loud, are they really paging me using my name and…

  Gate D6 is all the way down there?

  “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuuck!”

  I’ll admit it feels good to yell while I run.

  The ticket checker guy or whatever waves me right in when I get to the gate. I keep frigging running down the jetway, not daring to stop until I’m safely on board.

  It’s not until I’m stumbling down the plane’s aisle that I fully register I’m still carrying my shoes in my hand with my boarding pass crumpled up next to them.

  I got seat D6. That’s strange…I guess.

  Wait, is this first class? I don’t think I paid—

  “Great fares on this flight. Don’t you agree, Ms. Johnson?”

  Even with those scrapes and bruises on his face, Carter’s smile is so…

  “Hold on. What on Earth…”

  The plane starting its move away from the gate interrupts me.

  “We’re starting to taxi, June.” Carter pats the seat next to his. “You are in D6, right?”

  Chapter 35

  Carter

  The yelling and screaming I’d been expecting doesn’t come.

  Instead, there’s deadly silence. The kind of silence that forebodes no fucking good.

  I take a deep breath.

  Before I speak, I glance out of the plane’s small window. Below us are tiny dots of lights scattered over the landscape.

  I imagine the people in these houses sitting down to dinner—families, single people, older couples, all different kinds of folks live in the dwelling below us.

  “June,” I start and take her hand.

  She doesn’t pull away, and I breathe a little easier.

  If she was really mad, she would have pulled her hand away.

  That’s how I rationalized it. Although by now, there’s a kind of weird, anxious drone in my own head, making it difficult to think and speak clearly.

  What I really wanted to do is just hold her and kiss her.

  Somehow, though, I don’t think she’d appreciate me doing that. Words. She’s looking for words.

  I sigh.

  Of course she deserves an explanation. And she deserves to be told how I feel.

  “June,” I start again and feel a growing lump in the back of my throat.

  Why is this so fucking hard? I’m a cold, hard businessman—a man who takes no nonsense from fucking anyone—and here, I’m struggling to string one fucking sentence together.

  What’s wrong with simply telling her I’m sorry and that she was right and I was wrong?

  I fucked up. I got stuck in the past. Seeing Chantal and Lawrence left me feeling like a complete loser, and I forgot what was important to me: her.

  Or words to that effect.

  I know I’ve got to get across that I was a complete ass and totally fucking wrong.

  It’s not easy admitting to making a mistake, particularly if you’re fucking perfect like me. Mistakes and Carter Abraham just don’t go together.

  Okay, maybe I made a mistake once or twice in my life, but heck, generally, I’m pretty fucking prefect.

  “Yes?” Her voice is soft, and her eyes are studying me closely. It feels as if she’s examining me through a microscope, noticing every minute detail.

  Those eyes, I swear they can melt the coldest of hearts.

  “I was an idiot.” Best to start right at the heart of the matter.

  “An idiot?” she repeats with raised eyebrows.

  “A complete fool, a dickhead, a jerk—call it what you will, June. I know all of this has been my fault.” I wave my arm around in an all-encompassing gesture.

  “You don’t say.”

  Fuck, she’s not making it easy for me. If I thought she was just going to forgive me, I thought wrong.

  Almost involuntarily, I lean back in my seat and roll my eyes skyward, as if looking for the right words to use.

  Some people are masters at using words to their advantage. Up until a few minutes ago, I thought I was one such person. Turns out I’m a complete failure at finding the right words.

  Somehow, nothing I say comes out the right way. June remains unconvinced and whatever I say sounds fucking awful, even to my own ears.

  “Look, June, Chantal was the first woman I ever fucked. She took my virginity. And of course, she fell pregnant from that one time. Instead of talking to me about what happened, working out what we could do, she got an abortion. Just like that. I mean she got rid of this life that started to grow inside of her. And she went on some drug bender. To make matters worse, Lawrence hooked up with her and went on the same bender.”

  Here I had to pause.

  Fuck, how I hate this.

  This was worse than the time the old man called me into his study because of some minor misdemeanor I was alleged to have committed.

  He would usher me in without saying anything. Instead of telling me where to sit, he would po
int at the tall high-backed black leather chair normally reserved for him.

  As I sit there cowering in fear, he’d pace up and down in front of the desk. In his right hand would be a short riding crop. Every ten steps he would whip his own hand.

  It was so nerve-wracking, worrying about what was about to happen and how much he knew, I’d blurt out my crime every time.

  The results always varied. Depending on his mood, he would either praise me for being honest, or I would receive ten smacks with the whip. Five on each hand, because I dared to defy him by not instantly confessing my wrongdoings.

  No child of mine will ever be subjected to such a cruel and absurd upbringing.

  “I know all that already, remember?” She raises an eyebrow.

  “It makes no sense to you I know, June. And no, if you’re going to ask, I’m not in love with Chantal, I never was. I think…because I was quite young I couldn’t understand what she did or why she did it.

  “I felt totally powerless. It was awful how my opinion just didn’t matter. I don’t know if she didn’t think to discuss it with me, or if she felt I wasn’t entitled to have an opinion about the pregnancy. But it really hurt that I only found out after the fact. And what was worse was Lawrence taking up with her.”

  For the first time since I started to talk, I look at June.

  Her eyes are brimming with tears.

  Oh, god, dear June.

  “And now?”

  Even though the question is disjointed, I understand what she wants to know.

  “When I saw Lawrence with Chantal, I think those old wounds just opened up. And when they said she was pregnant, I felt even more betrayed. I mean, why would she keep his baby but not mine?”

  June squeezes my hand.

  “I know my reaction was—and is—totally silly. I guess at first it felt like a kick in the vitals. It kind of reinforced her first message —you’re not good enough.”

  “Oh, Carter.” June is now openly crying.

  This girl is too fucking soft-hearted for her own good.

  “I know,” I hold up my hand. “I know it’s silly. And I know I’m fucking fantastic,” I grin.

  She slaps me on the shoulder and wipes her face with the back of her hand.

  “Hey, you got to say it the way you see it.”

  Now she’s laughing, and her laughter is fucking music to my ears.

  “Anyway, these last few hours have been a hard lesson for me…and I can tell you I’ve really grown up. I pushed all those insecurities to one side. The time has come for me to bury those old feelings. And it’s time for me to grab onto something that is incredibly fucking precious to me.”

  I lean forward and kiss her gently on the mouth.

  “You’ve taught me so much over these last few weeks. I love you, June, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me.”

  She says nothing to that, staying silent for what seems like forever.

  “Of course I’ll have you,” she whispers finally, and now all I can do is kiss her—a little harder this time.

  “Where are we going anyway? I just asked for the same ticket you got.”

  June doesn’t meet my gaze. Her eyes are downcast.

  “I don’t think you’ll like it, but I’m going home.”

  My brow furrows a little. “Home, to Nebraska?”

  As I wait for her answer, I rummage around my brain for useless facts I might know about this place she calls home.

  “I think Fred Astaire was born in Nebraska, wasn’t he?”

  There. I knew I’d come up with something.

  June laughs at me.

  “Could be, I don’t know. It’s the only place I could go,” she adds, as if she needed to explain herself.

  “You know what, babe?” I cup her cheek with my hand. “I’ll be happy wherever you’re happy. You know that saying ‘Home is where the heart is’? Well, my happiness is where my heart is, and my heart is with you.”

  There’s a minute glint in her eyes. She bites her bottom lip—something she only does when she’s got mischief on her mind.

  I glance around the cabin.

  “Say, future Mrs. Abraham,” I lean right into her—she’s giggling already. “Since it’s going to take a little while to get to Nebraska, why don’t we retire to the toilet?”

  Her eyes widen in mock shock. “And why would we do that?”

  As she asks the question, her index finger trails an invisible line down my chest.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I whisper into her ear and bite her ear lobe. “Something to do with a little help cleaning up my face, making sure I’ve sustained no further injuries…and then, of course, I should check to…” I pause so I can place a few subtle, smoldering kisses on her neck, “make sure you’re okay.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she mutters and puts her arms around my neck.

  Chapter 36

  June

  “Holy cow! This is the bathroom?”

  Like anyone else who’s flown on a commercial airline, I have an idea what a first-class cabin looks like. Even when flying economy, they make you trek down the aisle, past the luxurious, generously-sized, and oh-so-comfortable-looking seats on the way to your cramped, crowded section of the plane.

  However, even after seeing my share of first class cabins, and even after getting to sit in a first-class seat myself for this flight, I never would’ve guessed that the freaking bathrooms would be any different than the uncomfortable little lavatories you find on the rest of the plane.

  Stepping into the bathroom just in front of Carter, the last thing I expected to see was marble flooring and a vase full of long stemmed roses on the counter.

  Behind me, Carter laughs at my astonishment.

  “Welcome to first-class, June.”

  “Ohhhhh, first-class.”

  Sarcasm suits me pretty darn well sometimes.

  Like, for example, hurtling through the freaking sky at hundreds of miles an hour over the continental United States in the most luxurious space that dares call itself a restroom.

  I always thought that the name restroom was a bit too gentle and euphemism-y.

  The restrooms down at the old coffee shop or at Bill’s Diesel don’t look especially restful—at least, not to me.

  But this first-class restroom facility? This is a place of rest.

  A place of relaxation.

  “Oh, come on June, don’t act like you haven’t been terribly impressed since you walked into the first-class cabin.”

  The way he says this, with just a slight edge and silliness and the willingness to maybe take some of these trappings of big city luxury to task…well, I’ll just say it to him right out in the open.

  “The most honest thing I can tell you is that this restroom is the first time I’ve been impressed with this first-class cabin.”

  Okay, so maybe I’m not ready to say it out loud quite yet, but maybe I’m ready to demonstrate the sentiment in other ways.

  “Are you impressed with the restroom…”

  “Yes!”

  “I was about to ask if you were impressed with me.”

  Carter crosses his arms in front of his chest. He gives me a half-joking, half-serious look, with a little dash of silliness that’s turning out to be a pretty good look on him.

  So far so good…but I was still unsure.

  “Hmm. I’m not sure yet.”

  “Not sure?” Uncrossing his arms, Carter takes a couple steps towards me with a wide-eyed look that is a bit hard to get a handle on.

  It’d be easy for me to say it’s a bit of the ol’ wide-eyed excitement, maybe even a bit of naïve enthusiasm—although you’d think that was supposed to be my thing.

  But, as Carter draws closer, there just seems to be something more to it—even if that something more is just that-the feeling of there being something more—yet you’re not sure what.

  I’m not sure what, but whatever it is, it’s making me feel exceedingly hot in eve
ry sense of the word…along with other senses, which probably haven’t been invented yet.

  He’s leaning towards me, leaning in slowly, then even more slowly, and with no dash of silliness or mystery or anything else besides…

  “Just pure frigging heat,” I whisper just before our lips meet softly yet with desperation.

  We stay like that, the heat rising, the want growing, mounting until I’m afraid we might be in violation of some sort of safety code. That thought just goes perfectly with the entire restroom.

  “Okay, I’ll say it,” I remark after that fun bit of shaking ends, “I am officially impressed.”

  “June, I know. You already yelled ‘holy cow!’ Don’t you remember?”

  There’s no chance for me to respond, as we press our lips softly together again, then less softly, and then what I would describe—if asked to furnish a description—a kiss that tries to devour itself, with both of us fighting to take in as much of each other as possible.

  Carter thought he was so clever with his hackneyed lean-down maneuver. It’s making me hot beyond the limits of what I could ever understand—but that is A-freaking-okay with me.

  Hot beyond comprehension is a nice start, after all.

  But it ain’t enough to keep me from turning that burner up a bit more by rising up to the balls of my feet, mashing my lips mercilessly into that beautifully bruised and battered face of his.

  We must be traveling through another air pocket or something, because a ripple of strong vibrations rattles the whole world around us.

  As we turn up the heat on each other, we’re well past giving a hoot about a tiny bit of turbulence.

  When Carter clasps his palms on both sides of me just below my breasts, setting his fingers down lightly before digging in as I loll my head back with pleasure, no amount of cabin shaking and shimmying is going to stop this sweltering sky-high soiree.

  It’s like I’m being shifted by some supernatural force as Carter digs his hands in harder and moves me over to the…

  Toilet?

  No…further. To a soft, purple chair next to the toilet.

  That’s better.

  It’s nice and comfy when I sit down, but boy, is he being, um, adamant today.