I gave him another scoop of ice cream. The other bowls seemed lop-sided. After deciding everyone needed 2 scoops of ice cream, Marge and I carried the bowls to the table.
When the men returned, everyone took their seats. Everyone except Braxton, that is. He paced the floor to my immediate right, like a nervous cat.
“What is wrong with you?” I asked. “You’ve been a wreck all night. Sit down and eat your ice cream before it melts.”
“I’ve got something I need to say.”
I poked a forkful of tiramisu into my mouth. “Say it after you eat.”
“If I wait, I’ll puke.”
“Did the lasagna upset your stomach?”
“No, it’s—”
I looked him over. “What then?”
“Jesus H. Christ!” Hap snarled. “Let the man speak.”
“Hap Rourke!” Marge snapped. “Of all times.”
“Well, he’s doing his best,” Hap retorted. “And she’s trying to shove goddamned ice cream down his throat.”
“Take a drink of wine,” Pratt offered. “Alcohol always calms my nerves.”
Braxton gulped his wine. Holding the empty glass, he stroked his beard with the web of his free hand.
He set the glass down at the end of the table. “The day I woke up from being sick, I realized something. I knew I didn’t want to die living my life in the manner I’d been living it. I wanted—I needed—to make some changes.”
He glanced at each of us.
“Work had lost its importance,” he continued. “Living alone no longer had its appeal. There was someone I’d developed feelings for, but I’d disappointed her so greatly that I wondered if she’d forgive me. I took a chance and apologized, later asking if she’d consider being my lover. She—”
I alternated glances between Marge, Hap, and Pratt. “That’s not exactly how it happened.”
Hap’s jaw tensed. “Let. The. Man. Speak.”
Braxton grabbed his stomach. “I’m going to throw up.”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Hap barked, jumping from his seat. He rushed to Braxton’s side. He draped his arm over Braxton’s shoulder. “Suck it up, Son.”
Braxton swallowed heavily. He swallowed again. After wiping his brow, he drew a long breath.
Hap released him.
Braxton stepped to my side. “My life’s better than it was, but I still see it as an incomplete mess. The only thing that will make it complete is if you’ll commit to take the rest of this journey with me.” He looked me in the eyes. “Anna, I don’t know what I’m going to do with the rest of my life, but whatever I do, I want to do it with you.”
“I love you,” I said.
“Anna, will you take this journey with me?” He reached for my hand. “As my wife?”
I was speechless. His words took me by complete surprise. I thought he was giving some wordy drunken speech. I wasn’t expecting a proposal, at all.
I swallowed heavily.
My mind was screaming yes, but I couldn’t formulate a response.
Hap cleared his throat. “Ring, Dipshit! Give her the goddamned ring.”
“Hap Rourke!” Marge barked.
Braxton reached into his pocket and presented a gorgeous diamond ring. “Will you?” he asked. “Marry me?”
“Yes,” I said pridefully. “I will.”
My journey to find the man of my dreams wasn’t simple. I didn’t want simple. Settling for simple made me cry when I was a teen. Simple prevented me from marrying early in life. Simple got me a divorce.
Peeling away Braxton’s layers took time, effort, and courage. What was beneath, however, was well worth the effort.
One by one, they gave congratulations and ogled the ring. It seemed everyone knew about the event except for me.
As we ate our melted ice cream and tiramisu, I took a moment and looked around. With Hap’s shouting, Braxton nearly barfing, and my inability to understand what was happening, the proposal was an absolute shit show.
When I searched my mind for the events that got me there, I realized the journey was a shit show, too. Nevertheless, given the opportunity, I wouldn’t change a thing.
Life was never perfect. If anyone knew that, it was the five of us.
A family of five.
By choice.
“Anna Rourke, line one,” Karen said over the intercom. “Anna Rourke, you have an international call on line one.”
On my way to lock the front doors and call it another successful day, I turned toward my office. The 60-second trek took 5 minutes.
Winded, I answered the phone. “Anna Rourke.”
“Mrs. Rourke, this is Karl Koser in Madrid. I purchased the Enzo Ferrari last week. Sorry to call so late on a Saturday, but I’d like to speak to you regarding shipping. Have you a moment?”
He’d purchased a Ferrari for $2,300,000. I’d take whatever time I needed to satisfy him. I gave a nod although I knew he couldn’t see it. “Sure.”
“Is it possible to have a container devoted to the vehicle?” he asked. “The thought of shipping it alongside others makes me cringe.”
“It was my understanding you were arranging the shipping,” I replied. “Is that not the—”
“The thought of a one-owner Enzo being scratched or scuffed sickens me,” he said. “My efforts to have the vehicle shipped in a satisfactory fashion have failed. I need your people to take every step possible to assure that it arrives at my port in the same condition that it leaves Los Angeles.”
I fidgeted in my seat. “I can have my technicians personally load it, secure it, and then cover it with a lambswool blanket. The containers we use are fitted with weatherproof seals. It will arrive unscathed.”
“The cost?” he asked.
“All I ask is for your return business,” I replied.
“Anna, you’re a class act.”
I fanned my face with the latest copy of Automobile. “Thank you.”
“Make the arrangements, if you will.”
“I will,” I said.
“I hate to ask, but the car isn’t out in the rain, is it?”’
“Heavens no,” I replied. “For one, it hasn’t rained in five months. Secondly, my facility’s vehicles are kept indoors at all times. Yours is in the detail shop.”
“What a relief.”
“I’ll email you photographs as we reach the milestones.”
“Thank you.”
“The pleasure’s mine,” I said.
“I look forward to seeing those emails.”
“They’ll be coming forthwith,” I said. “We’ll talk again, soon.”
An exotic dealership in Los Angeles was nothing like one in Oklahoma. $200,000 Lamborghinis were seen as high-end supercars in Oklahoma. In Los Angeles, they weren’t of interest to the city’s wealthy.
My customers wanted cars they couldn’t find elsewhere. Special colors, bespoke interiors, one-off collector cars, and special edition hyper cars were my specialty.
Instead of $200,000 a month in revenue at a high margin, I was doing $10,000,000 a month at a low margin. A good percentage of my customers were celebrities who followed me on Instagram.
“Mrs. Rourke?” Karen asked over my phone’s intercom. “I’m sorry, but I have a Miss Germanotta here to see you. The front door was unlocked.”
Regardless of the time of day, I hated to turn away anyone.
“Send her in,” I said.
I stood, tugged the wrinkles from my dress, and looked at my reflection in the glass. Whoever she was, she’d have to accept me in other than presentable condition.
A platinum blonde peeked through my office door. “Mrs. Rourke?”
She was wearing a wide-brimmed black hat, a white shawl, and cat eye sunglasses. She looked like money and had a New York accent.
“Call me Anna,” I said.
She removed her glasses.
Oh. My God.
Upon realizing who she was, my heart thrashed against my ribs. Incapable of processing what
was happening, I gripped the edge of my desk to keep myself from falling.
The room began to spin. Everything went black, but only for a second.
“Are you okay?” she asked, rushing to my side.
“I—” I fanned my face with my hand. “I need some air.”
She removed her hat and fanned me with it. “How far along are you?”
“I’m scheduled to be induced next week.” I rubbed the sides of my massive stomach with my palms. “On Monday.”
She took a step back and looked me over. Her gaze fell to the floor between us. “Uhhm. Your water just broke.”
“Oh My God,” I gasped. “I’m so sorry.”
“What—” She swallowed heavily. “—What do you want me to do?”
“These two are my first,” I said. “I’m a little lost.”
“Two?” she asked.
“We’re having twins.” I waddled to the guest chair and grabbed my purse. I handed her my phone. “If you don’t mind, call ‘HUBBY.’ I’m sorry, I’m a little scatterbrained right now.”
She scrolled through my contacts and made the call. “Hi. No. She’s right here, though. No. It’s Stefani Germanotta. Remember, we met a few—yeah. Lady Gaga. No. Her water broke. Okay. I don’t know. UCLA Health, in Westwood? Sure. A dark gray G-Wagon. Okay. I don’t know. Ten minutes? We’ll see you there.”
She handed me the phone. “Here, he wants to talk to you.” She reached for my free hand. “C’mon, I’m driving you to the hospital.”
I gasped. “You’re what?!”
“He asked me if I’d drive you there.” She tugged against my hand. “By the time an ambulance gets here, it’ll be too late. We can be there in five minutes.”
I lifted the phone to my ear. “Hi,” I said. “My water broke, and I feel like I’m going to puke. I love you.”
“Keep your knees together,” he said. “I mean it. If I miss this, there’s going to be hell to pay.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it, Anna.”
“Knees together,” I said. “Got it.”
“I’ll see you there. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I hung up my phone and dropped it in my purse. I was ridiculously excited about giving birth, but at the moment, my only living idol was leading me to my car by the hand. It didn’t make sense. I needed a few answers.
“Can I ask why you’re here?”
“Chrissy Teigen sent me,” she replied, leading me through the lobby. “She told me you sold her and John a new AMG G-Wagon. I need a new one, so I thought I’d come by and see what you had.”
“You changed my life,” I said, waddling along at her side. “You inspired me to wait for the right man.”
“I don’t…I don’t know what to say,” she stammered. “Thank you.”
I didn’t know her, and I’d only been in her presence for a few minutes, but I could tell she was genuine. Knowing that about her was reassuring.
She opened the door and helped me into the seat. “You look…uncomfortable.”
“It feels weird,” I said, lightly touching my stomach. “There’s lots of pressure.”
She rushed to her side of the SUV and got in.
With my legs spread as wide as I could get them and my belly between my thighs, I tried to extract the seatbelt to buckle it. No matter where I reached, either my tits or my belly was in my way.
After my third failed attempt, she helped me get it fastened. My failure to complete the task on my own reminded me of the day I met Braxton, and the issues I had with the seatbelt in his car in the diner’s parking lot.
The ride to the hospital was horrific. Surprised that I made it without going into labor, I commented on her poor driving skills as she screeched to a stop at the entrance.
Braxton snatched the door open. “Are you okay?”
I was sprawled out in the seat like a beached Manatee. “I feel like a toad.”
He helped me from the car. “You’re gorgeous.”
“You’re a liar.”
He peered beyond me, toward the other side of the car. “Thank you.”
“You helped me once,” she said. “Now, I’ve helped you.”
“It’d mean the world to her if you could stay,” he said. “She idolizes you.”
“Hell-o.” I gave him a look. “I’m standing right here.”
“Sure,” she muttered. “I can stay for a little while.”
Excited that Lady Gaga was joining us, but more excited to meet my new babies, I waddled toward the birthing center’s entrance with Lady Gaga on my left, and Braxton on my right.
Thirty minutes later, the excitement had been replaced with anger and disappointment.
Giving birth—or attempting to give birth—was a nightmare. There was nothing easy about it. If everyone knew how mind-numbingly difficult it was to push a child out of their twat, nobody would be having unprotected sex.
I gazed mindlessly at the television on the far wall. I was exhausted. I was drenched in sweat. My legs were numb. I felt like I’d pissed myself. Enough was enough.
I was on the cusp of throwing in the towel.
“I really need you to push this time,” Braxton said. “Come on, Baby.”
“I have been pushing,” I complained. “It’s hard.”
“You don’t want them to cut you, Anna. Believe me, I’ve been cut, and it’s not fun. You’ll be embarrassed every time you wear your bikini.”
He was right. I didn’t want to be cut. The unsightly scar would haunt me in my dreams.
I let out a long sigh. “Okay.”
“We’ll try one more time,” the doctor warned. “After this, we may have to do the cesarean.”
I shifted my gaze from the television to Braxton. “Give me your hand,” I said. “We can do this.”
Braxton gripped my right hand in his. I scanned the room. There were two nurses, a doctor, and Hap, all waiting for me to perform.
I looked at Hap. “Grab my other hand, Dad.”
“You’ve got it, Kiddo,” he replied.
With my only father on one side and my only lover on the other, I waited. In a moment, the doctor made the announcement.
“Here we go,” he said. “One, two, three. PUSH!”
I pushed with every ounce of my being, screaming like a mental patient the entire time.
The room fell silent. My vision blurred. Everything went black. There was no pain, only an odd sensation that my nearly numb lower region was dissolving. Then, it ended. I felt slight relief, but in a very odd sense. I craned my neck to see of something happened, but my eyes couldn’t come into focus.
A baby’s crying filled the room.
My eyes welled with tears.
Our first born was an adorable little boy. We’d already decided to name him Brandon, after Braxton’s brother. We’d chosen several girl’s names but hadn’t been able to make up our minds. I said when the time came, we’d see which name we felt fit her the best.
A few minutes later, our little girl was born.
“Any ideas on names?” Braxton asked, cradling her in his arms.
Beyond him, Hap held little Brandon. His face glowed with a golden tan from his daily runs along the beach with Braxton. His eyes, glistening with admiration, were fixed on his first grandson.
I met Braxton’s gaze. “Ally,” I said. “After Ally Campano, in the movie.”
Braxton grinned. “I should have known.”
After everyone was checked out and cleaned up, Brandon was nestled in the valley between my right arm and my breast. Ally rested in the same place on my left side. I gave each of them an admiring look. My journey was only beginning. Our family was growing.
I felt as if I were dreaming.
I’d just given birth to two healthy twins. My husband stood proudly on one side of me, and my father-in-law stood beaming with pride on the other. All of our prayers, in their entirety, had been answered.
“Alright,” I said. “Send them in.”
Pratt and Marge came through the door. Upon seeing the babies, their faces lit up with joy. Behind them was Lady Gaga, the woman who gave me the courage to take the journey.
I glanced at my newborn babies, and then at each of the people who surrounded me. High on the wall behind Hap, the news played silently on the television. On the screen was the weather forecast.
No rain for the next 7 days. Only sunshine.
The corners of my mouth curled into a grin. My mother was right. We were beginning our sixth month of a drought.
And I was living a dream.
Also by Scott Hildreth
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The Man I Hate Page 27