Afterwards

by Nia Forrester

  She smiled and stepped aside to let him in. “How are you, Chris?” she asked, squeezing his shoulder.

  “I’m good,” he said, looking over her shoulder and into the living room.

  Robyn was sitting cross-legged on the sofa wearing a long t-shirt and a head-scarf, already prepared for bed. When she saw him her eyes widened slightly and she sat upright.

  “Chris,” she said.

  Carolyn shut the door behind him and slipped away, going into the kitchen.

  “Hi,” Robyn returned, her eyes questioning.

  She stood and he went toward her, until they were almost touching. Her eyes as she looked up at him were liquid, soft, hopeful. Robyn swallowed.

  “When we talked earlier,” he began. “And you told me how you felt, about me not telling you sooner about my trip?”

  Robyn gave a barely perceptible nod.

  “There was something I forgot to say,” Chris continued.

  “What was that?” Robyn asked, her voice almost inaudible.

  Chris put a hand at the side of her face, his thumb sliding across her mouth.

  “I forgot to say, ‘I’m sorry’.”

  Robyn blinked rapidly and pursed her lips. Chris leaned in and kissed her and Robyn’s hands came up, cupping his face as she kissed him back.

  22

  Her excuses for saying nothing were wearing thin.

  Now, she was just dragging it out. It had been days since Dr. Shayk gave her the news and every single moment she kept it from Chris had begun to feel like deception, but he was leaving soon, and had been so perfect lately, doing everything to make up for not telling her about Paris in the first place. Tonight, Save the Music was having a small and very exclusive benefit at the Gramercy Tavern and she was going as Chris’ date. Tonight—the first night they were going out publicly like a couple among all their friends—she found herself unable to justify carrying around this information any longer. Tonight, she was going to have to tell him.

  Robyn looked at the Hervé Léger gown spread across her bed.

  Strapless with a straight neckline, it was an attention-getting vivid blue with a pattern that created the impression of bandages wrapped about the body. She’d tried it on about a million times, so Robyn knew it fit her perfectly, complementing her toffee-toned complexion and making her waist look tiny. The very idea of a dress that cost over two-thousand dollars was something she wouldn’t normally entertain (mostly because she couldn’t afford to entertain it) but when Chris had his stylist call her a few days earlier, she’d gone along to Neiman Marcus, pretending to herself that it was only out of curiosity.

  For the first hour, the stylist, Philip Mark, and his assistant had humored her, browsing through the lower-end pieces in the four-hundred to one-thousand dollar range. But she was a girl, after all, and gradually, Robyn allowed herself to be seduced by the Stella McCartney and Lanvin pieces, slowly losing her squeamishness about cost. Chris told her it was his treat, but she’d had no intention of letting him pay for her dress. That was until she saw this dress, had tried it on, and realized that she hadn’t the willpower to leave it in the store for some other woman to claim.

  Agonizing over the two-thousand dollar price tag, she’d excused herself from the style team and called Chris in his office.

  So I found a dress, I think, she told him right away.

  Only silence greeted her from the other end.

  Chris, are you there?

  Yeah. I’m just trying to figure out why you’re calling me, he said finally. I knew you were going to buy a dress. So it’s not exactly breaking news that you found one. And I’m in a meeting, so . . .

  Robyn rolled her eyes. This was how he got when she interrupted him at work—befuddled as he tried to switch gears, and irritable. But if that was the case, she always wondered, why the heck did he even answer the calls?

  It’s a two-thousand dollar dress, Christopher.

  More silence.

  If I get it, I’d have to pay you back. I couldn’t pay you all at once probably, but . . .

  Finally a response—a deep and exasperated sigh, and finally he spoke. Goodbye, Robyn.

  No, Chris, I’m serious. I can’t possibly . . .

  He hung up on her.

  Robyn looked at the phone in disbelief and momentary outrage, then turned to face the style team again. They were looking at her curiously, so she smiled and went to tell them that she would take the dress. And the moment she said the words, it was as though some background magic was worked out, some invisible sleight of hand, and they were able to walk out of the store with it, Philip Mark exchanging only a few secret words with a manager, but not before he also took custody of shoes and a clutch as well.

  She sat on the edge of the bed now, looking at this amazing garment, knowing that a night that was supposed to be a turning point for her and Chris would become . . . she didn’t know what.

  “Robyn.”

  She looked up at her mother who was standing at the bedroom door, smiling a gentle smile.

  “You’re going to be stunning, honey. Why don’t you go ahead and get dressed? It’s almost seven. Didn’t you say Chris would be here around eight?”

  Robyn nodded but didn’t move from her position on the bed, so her mother came toward her. Robyn reached out and hugged her about her waist, pressing her face into her stomach the way she had when she was a little girl. Feeling her mother’s hand in her hair, Robyn struggled not to succumb to tears once again.

  “Honey, it’s not a perfect situation, but just think, not too long ago we were mourning that you might never . . .”

  “I know,” Robyn croaked.

  But standing between her and happiness about this pregnancy was one thing, the potential reaction of one person. And his reaction meant more to her than anything right now. It might be impossible to be happy about this if he was angry.

  “You can only tell the truth, Robyn. Tell him everything and . . . let the chips fall where they may.”

  Where they might fall was a place where Chris would look at her and wonder whether she was an opportunist. He gave her things all the time and she never refused them; she delighted in them, she was giddy with them. Maybe he would believe that she had become attached to that feeling and saw a chance to get even more.

  “Get up, Robyn,” her mother said, her voice firmer. “That’s what we do, right? No matter what’s facing us, we get up.”

  Robyn looked up and offered her mother a smile. “Yes,” she said. “That’s what we do.”

  Sometimes she forgot. This was where she got her spine of steel—her mother, the woman who scarcely ever raised her voice and almost never got angry, but whose quiet dignity Robyn only hoped one day to emulate. Tonight, when she delivered the news to Chris, it might get messy and she would have to call on all her reserves to channel Carolyn Crandall’s composure. For a hot second she’d considered delaying the sharing of the news until some other time, just so they could enjoy the evening but she couldn’t make herself go through with that. But there would be precious few ‘other times’ before he went to Paris, and she owed him honesty. At a bare minimum, she owed Chris that.

  Standing, she gave her mother one last hug and went in to take a shower.

  Taking more care than usual with her appearance as she dressed, Robyn smiled as she stepped into the dress. It felt the way it looked—luxurious. Stepping into her stilettos, she heard voices downstairs, her mother’s and Chris’ deeper tenor. Her heartbeat sped up a little and she took a deep breath, exhaling audibly. Checking her make-up in the mirror once more just to make sure she hadn’t gone overboard, Robyn started for the stairs.

  She almost expected Chris to be waiting at the bottom, like a scene out of some corny chick flick but he was nowhere in sight, even when she got downstairs. Instead, her mother was standing at the open front door.

  “He went to get his phone from the car,” she explained. “Said he was expecting a call . . .” She shrugged.

  Robyn s
hook her head and smiled. “Of course, he would try to squeeze the last little bit of work out of the day.” She kissed her mother on the cheek. “Don’t wait up.”

  “Oh gosh, Robyn, why would I be stupid enough to do that?”

  “Mom . . .” Robyn shot her a warning look. “I doubt it’s going to be that kind of night given the news I have.”

  Looking outside, Robyn saw that Chris had started back up the driveway toward the house and hurried out to meet him.

  It was almost, but not quite dark, and the night was sultry, causing her to wish immediately for the cool interior of the Maybach parked at the curb. As he drew closer, Chris stopped mid-step and took her in. The smile that transformed his face was so unrestrained, so uncharacteristic of him that Robyn, too stopped in her tracks. For what seemed like long moments, they simply stared at each other, until Chris extended a hand. Walking toward him, Robyn took it and held it tight, expecting that he would lead her straightaway to the car, but instead, Chris pulled her closer to him and leaned down.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, his lips pressed against her ear.

  During the drive, neither of them spoke much. The music in the car that surrounded them was soothing and mournful, violin, music that was surprisingly, very much like music she had come to associate with him. Before, it would have been hip-hop; but now Robyn realized that she hadn’t ever heard Chris listen to hip-hop just for enjoyment.

  “Who is this?” she asked, breaking their silence.

  “Noel Pointer,” he said.

  “I don’t think I’ve heard of him.” And when Chris said nothing: “He’s good.”

  Even then, Chris said nothing. He was quiet tonight, which would make it even more difficult when she had to break the news. Sometimes he was playful, funny, and teased her, but that happened mostly when they’d just had sex, or were about to. The rest of the time he was so serious, taciturn almost. From the outside, she could see why so many people at the office were afraid of him, but she had never been. Why was that?

  Turning to glance at him, Robyn took in his strong profile, and the almost furrowed brows, that even in their relaxed state seemed to be frowning or in extreme concentration. Without trying to restrain herself, she reached out and touched his jaw. Chris glanced at her, his eyes in the almost complete darkness of the car, questioning.

  “I didn’t say it before, but you look amazing too,” she said.

  And he did. Wearing a black evening suit with dark blue shirt underneath, one button open at the neck, he smelled wonderful as well. If not for what she had to tell him, she would have undoubtedly planned to go back to his house with him. And there they would undress each other in the dark of his immense room; lips and tongues touching, hands searching, bodies straining to get ever closer. Tonight, if not for what she had to tell him, she would make love to him. But as things stood, Robyn knew that may not happen. Not tonight and maybe never again.

  ___________________

  Across the restaurant, Robyn watched as Chris leaned into Riley and said something into her ear, which caused her to grasp his arm and laugh out loud and for a long time. Riley was dressed in a lace gown with cap sleeves that had a deep V-shaped neckline that plunged almost to her stomach. Only a woman with her fawn-like physique could pull off a neckline like that without looking trashy. She was effortlessly elegant, graceful in movement and always gracious in manner. It was easy to see why her husband loved her; Riley was one of those rare individuals one would have to work very hard to dislike.

  “It’s a regular little love affair between those two,” someone said from next to her, and Robyn turned to face Tracy. “Go figure, right?”

  Robyn smiled. “Yeah. Go figure.”

  And Tracy must have heard something in her voice because she touched her arm. “I was kidding about that. What I mean is, they’re such unlikely allies. Such good friends.”

  Robyn smiled. “Oh, I know. It’s just . . .”

  “Yeah, I know. Drives Shawn crazy, too, I can tell you that,” Tracy laughed. “I guess you’re going to have to learn to suck it up as well since you and Chris are . . . together now?”

  Robyn turned and gave Tracy her full attention. Tracy, too, looked exquisite, in a gown with a diamond-pattern fabric that hung on her like falling water.

  “I don’t know what we are,” Robyn said, biting her lower lip, trying to control yet another wave of emotion.

  Tracy looked at her closely. “Are you okay?”

  Considering for a moment whether to give the socially-appropriate response, Robyn instead opted for another route—raw honesty.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head.

  Tracy leaned in. “What’s the matter?”

  “Something too heavy to discuss in the middle of a fancy party,” Robyn said. “But it should be enough to say that, no, I’m not okay.”

  “Robyn, you’d be surprised the things I’ve done in the middle of a fancy party,” Tracy said. Then she took her hand. “Come.”

  Tracy led her to a quieter corner of the room and pulled out two chairs so they both could sit. The private event area in Gramercy Tavern had been almost completely cleared out for the benefit so all that remained was the subtle lighting from the sconces, ecru walls and dark wooden beams on the ceiling. Only a smattering of chairs had been placed on the perimeter of the room, along with small tables suitable only for drinks and hors d’ouevres.

  Hardly anyone else had bothered to sit. There had been chamber music earlier and brief speeches thanking everyone for coming out and supporting the Save the Music program. Chris had impatiently waved away an offer by Bill Stafford to come up and talk about his own contribution and why he’d made it, and then the party dragged on. Robyn was ready to leave almost immediately after they arrived.

  “So tell me what’s happening,” Tracy said. “Is Chris being an asshole to you?”

  “No,” she shook her head. “He’s been perfect.”

  Tracy looked surprised, and interested. “Really.”

  “Yes, really,” Robyn nodded emphatically, insulted on Chris’ behalf.

  “Huh,” Tracy said, shaking her head. She looked across the room once again where Chris and Riley were still in conversation, but had been joined by Brendan.

  “People think they know him but they don’t.”

  Tracy studied her for a moment then leaned back in her chair, arms folded. “Oh. My. God. You’ve gone and done it now, Miss Robyn.”

  “What?”

  “Are you . . . in love with Chris Scaife?”

  Robyn shifted in her seat, not able to meet Tracy’s gaze. Tracy reached out and grabbed both her hands, squeezing them.

  “Well if you are, you better stop.”

  At that, tears rose to Robyn’s eyes and she bit in her lower lip, stopping it from shaking before it began.

  “Robyn,” Tracy said. “I was kidding. I was just . . .” She stopped and leaned back once again. “God, it’s too late, isn’t it?”

  For a moment they both sat there, neither of them knowing what to say, taking in the weight of the moment.

  “Wow,” Tracy said finally, looking in Chris’ direction again. She seemed to be thinking of something reassuring to say, and eventually thought of it. “But look, being in love with a completely inappropriate man is not the end of the world. I mean, look where it got me.”

  At that, Robyn was able to laugh a genuine laugh—her first of the evening. “Tracy, only you would have considered Brendan inappropriate. You have no idea how asinine that sounds.”

  Tracy shrugged. “I do now, believe me.” She gazed in her husband’s direction, a tiny, secret smile playing about her lips.

  What would it be like, Robyn wondered, to be able to openly look at your man like that? To know that he would, if he met your gaze, look at you in exactly the same way?

  “I’m okay with how I feel about Chris,” Robyn said, deciding to take a chance. “That’s not what the problem is. We’re . . . just starting to figure each out
and I’m good with where we are. But now . . .”

  “Now?”

  Robyn licked her lips and took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

  Tracy put a hand up to cover her mouth.

  “I know,” Robyn said. “That was pretty much my reaction as well.”

  “Robyn, how could you let . . ?”

  “I didn’t know,” Robyn said hastily, “that I could . . . I thought . . .”

  Tracy looked confused. “You didn’t think you could what?”

  “Get pregnant,” Robyn said.

  “What made you think that?”

  “Curtis and I had been trying. Before we split up. Before . . . everything. And then when he got Natalie pregnant, I just thought that . . .”

  Tracy held Robyn’s hands. “Is that why you weren’t . . .” She put a hand to her mouth again. “Robyn. Is that why you forgave him so easily? Because you thought that it was completely your fault?”

  Robyn sighed. “We’d been trying for over a year. It was something he really, really wanted—for us to start a family. And I couldn’t give him that. You don’t understand, it was the first thing in my life I had ever failed at, Tracy. The first thing that I couldn’t conquer on sheer determination alone. I felt like nothing . . . less than a woman. And so when . . .”

  “When some other woman got pregnant for him, you thought he what? Deserved to have that?”

  Yes, that was what she thought. If she couldn’t give her husband a baby, it was no wonder that he might find someone else who could. And she almost hadn’t blamed him for it. If the failure for them to get pregnant was her fault—and it had to be, because Natalie was pregnant—it was fitting that he should find someone else.

  Robyn would always remember those few weeks after her discovery of Curtis’ infidelity and the paternity of Natalie’s baby as the most painful of her life. The loss was not just of her marriage and her friendship with a man she had a bond with from the age of fourteen, but it felt like the loss of her womanhood. She could be an exemplary lawyer, daughter, friend, maybe even wife on some level, but she could never be a mother.

  And if she couldn’t be a mother, how could she even be a good wife to a man desperately who wanted children of his own?