Olivia’s parents frowned and sadly put away their chips, as Mason led the women towards the door. Emory quickened her pace, her anger mounting, and separated herself slightly from Mason and Kathleen. When they reached the door, Steven blew through it. “Noah Daniel Mason is here!”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mason hugged his brother tightly, and Emory kissed him on the cheek, joking whether the baby had more or less hair than Steven did. Steven then hugged his mother and embraced Olivia’s parents. He informed everyone that the labor was relatively painless, but long, and Olivia was doing great. Mason suggested the new grandparents visit Olivia and the baby first, which everyone agreed made sense, allowing him an opportunity to talk privately with Emory and ease the tension between them, before seeing his nephew for the first time.
Steven led his mother and Olivia’s parents out of the room, and Mason and Emory took a seat in the chairs, alone in the waiting room, in silence. Emory folded her arms and stared straight ahead, looking at the rows and rows of empty chairs. It’s the same thing as in college. Maybe I was wrong, and he hasn’t changed. Why did I even come?
Mason hung his head, staring at the carpet, excitement for his brother and nephew overshadowed by despair and embarrassment for Emory and his mother. What the hell just happened? “I need peace, Em,” Mason said.
“And I need honesty and support. You could stick up for me in front of your mother, you know? That would be something new and different.”
“It was just so awkward, with Olivia’s parents in here and . . . .”
“Tell me about it. How do you think I felt?”
Mason ran his fingers through his hair. “Let’s talk about the first thing you said. Honesty. I can give you that.”
She turned to face him. “Then why didn’t you tell me about the Seattle offer?”
“The only offer that mattered to me was yours -- that you would give me another chance. I knew as soon as I saw you at Gus’ Bar that I was staying in Charlotte -- contract or not.”
Emory paused for a moment, considering his words, wondering if she’d heard them right. She replayed what he said in her mind, the stubborn guy who wouldn’t compromise six years ago now willing to give up his football career just for a chance to be with her again. “Mason, I would never expect you to do that. You love football. I could never be responsible for you losing that.”
“I know, that’s why I didn’t tell you,” he said, smiling slightly. “Understand? You would’ve made me go. And the Seattle offer came in less than one week after we ran into each other. There was no way I was going to ask you to move across the country for me, especially so soon.”
Emory closed her eyes, again letting his words sink in. This was a different man than the one who left her in the college weight room. Mason was making her a priority. Still, she didn’t like being left out of important decisions and was fed up with his secrets -- the shoulder, the prenup, and the contract -- even though she was keeping her own. But she could understand his logic; he was acting out of fear. So am I. She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Are you keeping anything else from me? Now is the time to come clean. I won’t tolerate anymore lies from you.”
“No. You know everything now.”
“Don’t lie to me anymore.” Mason nodded his head. “OK, now let’s talk about your mother.” She flashed a wry smile.
Mason sighed. “I don’t know what to do about that.”
“First of all, if we are going to work, you need to support me. You need to tell your mother about us -- where we are, where we’re going. You can’t let her talk to me the way she just did -- the way you let her in college, too.”
“I didn’t want to create a scene.”
“It was your mother creating a scene -- at my expense. I mean, I waited for over a minute for you to say something to her, to stick up for me. You never did. So, I handled things myself.”
He wiped a tear from her cheek, kissing her nose and forehead. Mason loved his mother but knew it was time to put her in her place. He just wasn’t sure how to do it. “I won’t allow her to talk to you that way again. I promise.”
Olivia’s parents and Kathleen returned to the waiting room and saw Mason and Emory holding each other, Mason wiping another tear falling down her face. Emory quickly tried to compose herself, as Mason looked up at Olivia’s parents and his mother. “We’re both just so happy about the baby!”
* * *
Mason lightly knocked on the door to Olivia’s room, and Emory pushed it open slightly, peeking inside, holding a bag in her hand. Steven sat on the bed next to Olivia with baby Noah in her arms. Steven rose from the bed, and Emory hugged him tightly. He shook Mason’s hand, thanking them both for flying in on such short notice. Emory put down her things, crept over to the bed, and kissed Olivia on the cheek, Olivia pulling back the blanket, so Emory could get a good look at Noah. Mason came up behind her, placing his arms on Emory’s shoulders.
Emory glanced up at Mason. “He’s beautiful!”
“Don’t confuse my nephew,” Mason replied, squeezing her shoulders. “Shouldn’t we say he’s handsome?”
Emory elbowed him and ran her finger across Noah’s cheek. “How did everything go, Olivia?”
Olivia recounted her labor and delivery, which unexpectedly came a month early. Her water broke while resting in bed next to Steven, sound asleep with his mouth open. She nudged him several times to wake up, a dreadful snore coming from his nose, but to no avail, and then yelled and shook him violently. He jumped from his sleep, rolling towards her, coming dangerously close to landing in a sea of amniotic fluid on the sheets. After the laughter in the room died down, Olivia then discussed, in great detail, the dilation of her cervix and size of her placenta, Mason cringing and pleading that Steven make her stop.
“We heard there were some fireworks in the waiting room,” Steven said.
“It was embarrassing more than anything,” Mason said, then turned to Emory. “We’re working through it.”
“What is this all about?” Olivia asked.
“Nothing,” Mason said to her, hoping to change the subject. “When do you get to go home?”
Steven wasn’t about to let it go. “I wish I had been there,” he said, sighing. “Olivia’s dad said it was tremendous. Really great. Really helped them pass the time.”
“Glad we could help,” Mason said.
Steven turned to Emory. “If Olivia’s dad was telling me right, some of the things you said to my mom, wow!”
“What did you say, girl?” Olivia asked.
“Nothing very nice,” Emory said, smiling, “but everything was true. I don’t want to re-live it now and spoil this happy time.”
“Exactly,” Mason agreed, handing Emory her bag and trying again to change the subject.
“I brought you a little something, Olivia,” Emory said.
Olivia’s eyes lit up. Emory waited until Steven took Noah, then handed her the bag. Olivia peeked inside and took out a package, quickly tearing it open like a child on Christmas morning. “Steven, look at this,” she said excitedly, holding a leather bound album. Steven handed Noah to Mason, as Olivia turned page after page of her maternity photos, her hand over her mouth, stunned. Mason couldn’t recall ever holding a baby before, worried he somehow might fumble him with one false move, and decided it was best to take a seat in a nearby chair to brace himself and protect his nephew.
Steven and Olivia flipped through the album. “Emory, these are incredible,” Steven said. “You are truly an artist.”
“It helps to have a beautiful subject.” Emory looked over at Mason sitting in the chair, not realizing he had been holding Noah. Her chest swelled, feeling she could faint, and grabbed the bed railing for support.
“Em, are you OK?” Mason asked.
Olivia looked up from the album. “Are you feeling weak?” Steven reached for a small carton of apple juice near the bed.
“Oh, I’m fine,” Emory said, trying to pull herself together.
Olivia nodded. “It does something to a girl to see her man holding a baby.” Emory grabbed the trash can, raced for the door, and vomited. Olivia began to clap excitedly. “She’s pregnant! This is so exciting!”
“No, she’s not.” Mason handed Noah to his brother and went out to the hallway, finding Emory kneeling on the floor over the trash can. Mason bent down beside her and held her hair back. “Em, baby, what’s going on?”
“Must have eaten something bad on the plane.”
Mason rubbed her back, as a nurse approached with a towel and water. “Let’s go to the hotel. It’s been a long day.” He helped her to her feet.
“No, you stay. Be with your family. I’ll be fine by myself.”
“I’ve actually had enough family time today. We’ll come back tomorrow before flying out. I have something else I need to take care of, too.”
* * *
In the hurry to get to Texas, Mason had left Charlotte without booking a hotel. He wanted Emory to rest as soon as possible, so he settled for a cheap hotel next to the hospital. The first thing Emory did was take a shower in the room, hoping that would calm and refresh her, but instead it left her shivering on the bed, her hair wet from the shower. Mason sat behind her, rubbing her hair with a towel, occasionally feeding her small sips of chicken noodle soup he had delivered to the room.
“You don’t need to dry my hair. It’s fine.”
“I’m sorry about this shitty hotel. I can’t believe there’s no blow dryer.”
“The hotel is fine,” she said, taking the towel and rubbing her own hair.
“Maybe you have a fever?” Mason rose from the bed and rummaged through their bags. “I must have some aspirin in here somewhere.”
She watched Mason’s mad search, opening every zipper of their bags and rifling through their toiletry items. He’s so good. I’m a fucking liar. Her stomach began to churn, knowing no medicine could cure what ailed her, and she doubled over.
“Jesus, not again!” Mason left the bags and rushed to her side, rubbing her back. “Maybe the soup was a bad idea?”
Emory took a few deep breaths and slowly rose her head. “No, I’m OK. I’m not going to get sick again.”
Mason picked her up and moved her to the top of the bed, wrapping the covers around her, all the way up to her neck. “Try to go to sleep. I bet you’ll feel better in the morning.” Emory nodded but knew there’d be no sleep tonight, only nightmares, and she didn’t want to expose him to that again. “I’ll join you,” he said. “Just let me do one thing first.” Mason got his phone and leaned back next to Emory, allowing her to see the text he was sending his mother. Date tom. am., just me and you. Meet in the hospital chapel at 9. Housekeeper busy. Love, Mason
He turned out the light and draped his arms around Emory, closing his eyes and releasing a deep breath. He thought about the day, waking up in Charlotte, fighting with Emory and his mother and Eric, adding a new member to his family, Emory getting sick, and now trying to unwind in a barebones Texas hotel room. But more than all of that, what stuck out most, surprisingly enough, was something Olivia had said -- that Emory was pregnant. At the time Olivia said it, he thought it was obnoxious, like most of the things coming out of her mouth, but now the words warmed his heart. Of course, he knew she wasn’t carrying his child and quickly dismissed the faint notion that another man, or Eric, got her pregnant. Impossible. But he thought about her one day pregnant, hopefully soon, after they got married, though none of that was going to happen until Alexis was out of his life, so he needed his brother to hurry up with the divorce. He glanced at her sweet face on the pillow, shrouded in the darkness, relieved he had no more secrets and anxious to begin the life he should have had. He nuzzled his head into her hair and drifted off to sleep.
Emory remained awake, her eyes wide open, listening to Mason breathe softly, peacefully, beside her. His warm body provided some comfort to her body, but she couldn’t escape her mind, memories seeped into her veins, leaving her to surrender to the sadness of her past. She saw Wesley’s face, rushing into the weight room and picking her up from the floor. She saw him cooking for her, completing at least half of her homework, and reminding her to shower. What saved her -- the only thing that ever saved her -- was dancing. First position.
Their dance showcase was in less than a month, and she and Wesley practiced long hours to be ready. After a particularly grueling rehearsal, they returned to her room with Mexican food. Emory’s appetite had suffered with the break-up, losing weight she couldn’t afford to lose. Wesley hoped some guacamole dip would help, but instead, after a few chips, she rushed into her bathroom and threw up. She reached under her sink for a towel, saw amongst the clutter an unopened box of tampons. When did I buy these? It wasn’t unusual for her to have short, light periods, but she couldn’t remember her last one. She counted the days in her head and grabbed her birth control packet off the counter, checking to make sure she hadn’t missed a pill. And she hadn’t. She counted and checked again to make sure, reaching the same results, then sunk to the floor, sick to her stomach, holding the tampon box.
Wesley peered his head through the bathroom door. “Everything OK?”
Emory looked up, white as a ghost and with tears in her eyes. “I think I’m pregnant.”
After picking his jaw up off the floor, Wesley took her to a doctor, who confirmed she was pregnant. He stayed in the examination room, as she shivered on the cold, steel table, covered only by a paper sheet, staring at the white ceiling in disbelief. My dance career is finished before it ever began. The doctor turned out the lights and patted her knee. “Let’s see how far along you are.” As Wesley ran his hand over her forehead, the doctor placed cold gel on her belly, then the ultrasound probe, a loud swoosh filling the room. “That’s the heartbeat,” the doctor said.
Emory closed her eyes. I wish Mason was here.
“It seems you’re already about twelve weeks along.” He pushed a few buttons on the machine. “I’ll print you a picture.” He removed the probe and gave her some tissues to wipe herself, then handed a black and white picture to Emory.
“She’s on the pill. Never missed one,” Wesley said. “How could this happen?”
Emory slowly leaned her head down on the table and stared at the clock, looking at each hand move, all so very slowly. Three months already. Due in early Fall, when Mason’s starting his first NFL season. Wesley touched her arm, Emory not realizing the doctor had been talking to her. “Sorry, what?” she looked up, confused.
“Wesley was asking how this could’ve happened on the pill. A lot of new fathers ask me that, actually,” the doctor said, smiling at Wesley, who bit his tongue. “It’s not foolproof. Have you taken anything that could counteract it?”
“Like what?”
“Like antibiotics?”
Emory placed her hand on her forehead. “Over New Year’s, I was sick, and the school doctor gave me something.”
“New Year’s,” the doctor said, stroking his chin. “That fits with the timeline.”
Emory leaned up on her elbows. “But I know I’ve had a period since then.” She looked at Wesley for confirmation, but he had no clue. Mason would know.
“Sometimes women have their period the first few months of pregnancy.” The doctor patted her foot. “It’s not uncommon. Or perhaps you simply mistook spotting for your period. That’s very common as well.”
Emory looked back at the clock, convinced she’d entered some parallel universe. Pregnant, young, alone.
“You are still early enough in the pregnancy that you have options. We do have a counselor on staff who can assist you. If you are going to continue the pregnancy, you need to gain some weight and take prenatal vitamins.” The doctor handed some pills to Wesley.
“Can I still dance?” Emory asked softly.
“I don’t see why not, but everything in moderation. Don’t overdo it.”
On their way out of the office, Emory swore Wesley to secrecy, but she needed mo
re than that. She needed a plan.
Mason had been asleep for hours. It was well past midnight. He flopped his heavy arm across her flat stomach, stirring her from her past. She knew she needed another plan.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Wesley needed a jolt before his morning class began. It was his least favorite class of the week -- a group of twelve year old boys who’d rather be playing video games, but whose parents made them attend, either to lose weight or improve their footwork for some “real sport.” In fact, Wesley was certain one of the boys was attending his class for some sort of punishment. None of them wanted to be there for the hour, and Wesley didn’t either. He typically got a charge out of teaching his classes, but only because his students reflected his own enthusiasm. This class gave back aggravation and hatred. It annoyed Wesley, but he never turned a paying student away. He needed to pay the rent.
An hour before the class, Wesley rolled out of bed and walked to a coffee shop down the street, hoping some caffeine would energize him. He ordered a cappuccino and bran muffin. He dropped some sugar and cream into his cup and took a seat at a table near the counter. He picked at his muffin, waiting for the cappuccino to cool. He looked around at other customers in the shop -- a man in a suit racing off to an executive-level job, a woman in scrubs grabbing a black coffee before heading into surgery, a young father with kids on their way to soccer. Wesley wondered about his own place in the shop: a single, gay man living with his college friend and teaching dance below their simple apartment. How long can this last? Have I done the right thing with my life? He took a sip of his coffee and stared into the cup, taking comfort in the belief his relationship with his family was on a better track and that he had made the best choices he could, as life came at him. Then something really did come at him.
Tomás walked into the shop, well-dressed as usual, even at this early morning hour. He noticed Wesley immediately, wearing clothes he knew Wesley had slept in. Wesley looked up briefly from his cup, and saw Tomás, then adverted his eyes back to the cup, pretending not to see him. Tomás himself didn’t know what to do: he couldn’t turn around and leave, which would be too obvious, but he had to walk past Wesley to get to the counter and didn’t know what to say. Tomás noticed a newspaper carousel by the door and pretended to read the day’s headlines while formulating a plan.
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