by Vivien Vale
“Well, honestly, bro, maybe she thought this was the perfect time to jump ship and was interested in taking a little test-drive first. Not like I can knock her up any more than she already is.”
Lawrence laughs at his own repugnance. He’s not even trying to get himself up off the ground.
This is so not the time for your bullshit, Lawrence.
Okay, so now I’m freaking swearing inside my head. I’m keeping them to myself…for now. For crying out loud—I knew he was an ass, but I’m becoming painfully aware of just how much of an ass he really is.
“Is that right? Maybe you didn’t really mistake us at first. Maybe you really wanted to see which of us twins is the better fuck before walking down the aisle.”
Alright, I’ve had just about enough of this.
No need to hold back now, Junebug. Get him.
“You think I fucking wanted this?! No, I wanted you!”
His eyes go wide at my outburst. It’s not like me to cuss, especially like this, but with the intense jumble of emotions running through me right now I can’t stop myself from shouting.
“But you were too busy to be here, isn’t that right? You were too busy to see our baby, your baby, for the first time. For all you wax poetic about wanting to be a good dad and a good support system, you’re off to a shitty fucking start!”
My chest is burning with anger, the rage starting to boil over at this point. Does he really think for one gosh-darn moment that I wanted his brother? Is his head stuck that far up his ass that he’s not seeing how much that accusation hurts me?
“And besides,” I continue, “I wouldn’t have mistaken Lawrence for you if I wasn’t so stressed out of my mind about you not being here. You know, like you promised you would be.”
“That’s—”
“So, if there’s anyone to blame for me supposedly jumping ship, it’s you!”
With a furious fling, I toss the ultrasound image at him, letting it flutter in the air in front of his face.
The first ever image of the very fruit of our love-making, the child he so desperately wanted, yet he couldn’t even make the time to be here with me.
Sure, it may look like nothing other than a black and white blob on a piece of photo paper, but it’s still our child.
After what he’s been through, I thought he would at least understand the significance, the weight, and the meaning of this moment.
“You know what?” I look him right in the eyes, feeling the warm prickling of coming tears. My voice is shaky, but I don’t care. “I thought we were something special, that we had something special. But this, this proves the real, ugly truth.
“It was never anything more than a contract to you. If it meant anything more than that, you’d have been here, come hell or high water. Instead, you made it possible for Lawrence to swoop in and act like the ass-hat he is. You and him? You’re exactly the same. You’re both assholes.”
Not looking back, I just turn to walk away.
“I’m done, Carter!” I yell, just to make certain things are crystal-freaking-clear.
I’m not looking in his direction anymore. I’m looking straight ahead, although I really have no idea where the heck I’m going to go next.
Without much thought I turn a corner, out of Carter and his asshole twin brother’s lives. I just walk away from this terrible phase in my life, when two women step out.in front of me. I have no idea where they’ve come from.
I watch as they head for a car, arm in arm, looking so happy.
“Excuse me!” I holler at them and take off in their direction.
The two ladies look at me blankly. Both are very visibly pregnant, but they both look overjoyed.
That’s how I should’ve been today.
That’s how we should’ve been today.
Instead, I’m left reeling from this sudden, horrible turn everything has taken.
There’s no joy. There’s only betrayal.
And utter emptiness.
“How can we help you?” One of the women asks.
“Could I grab a ride with you? Please?” I’m doing more talking than thinking, but right now, all I want is to get out of here.
“Sure, but we’re heading to the airport.”
The airport.
Yeah, I think it’s high time I went back home.
“That’s just fine with me.”
I hear a noise behind me. I glance back. It’s him.
Carter’s eyes are on me as I walk to their car. I can feel his gaze upon me.
But right now, I don’t give a damn. He made his bed, he can lie in it.
I have a baby to take care of, and I’ll be damned if I can’t do it alone.
Carter
Things around me are spinning out of fucking control.
Nothing is in focus. It’s like I’m looking at the world through an out-of-focus camera lens.
My left foot kicks at a rock on the ground, and I watch it scatter across the parking lot.
It doesn’t make me feel any fucking better—but what did I expect from kicking a tiny fucking rock?
Maybe if I could lift a boulder and throw it like Hercules high up into the sky and watch it crash back down onto Earth, I might feel a little better.
Okay, maybe not.
There’s so much anger in me right now. I need to do something. For a second, I stop in front of a car and look at it.
Is this random vehicle a worthy opponent? I doubt it.
Metal is too soft for someone as angry as me.
Instead, I stride over to the edge of the building.
Once I reached the outer wall, where there’s a sign with a large red arrow pointing toward the hospital entrance, I stop.
My eyes zero in on the wall.
I take a massive swing.
I don’t aim for the fucking sign. No, I aim for the goddamn motherfucking wall.
And I fucking connect.
Yet I feel nothing.
Millions of fucking dynamite sticks are exploding in me. Just fucking tons, kilotons of explosive, uncontrollable emotion is raging through every fiber of my goddamn being.
My vision is fucking red, and I have nowhere to direct any of this shit.
How could I have been so fucking stupid?
Without thinking, my fist punches right into that fucking wall again. Blood is now trickling down my knuckles, but at the moment, I’m not inclined to give one goddamn fuck about that shit.
My gaze zeros in on the decent-sized crack I’ve made in the wall’s white surface.
It’s just still not e-fucking-nough.
There is no outlet for me. Nothing.
I’ve been the biggest fucking dick on the planet.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The realization that I’ve lost June hits me harder than I can hit the wall.
And I’ve got no one to blame but myself. I’ve been a fucking idiot.
From my meeting with Lawrence in that sleazy bar to the ultrasound appointment, I should have seen it coming.
It was obvious. What’s wrong with me? I’m just like my father…and Lawrence.
Maybe I can just blame this on bad genes?
What a weak fucking way to deal with the whole fucking situation.
June’s gone.
The best thing that’s happened to me in a long time—probably fucking ever—and I let it slip through my fingers, like sand just running through my hand. The only thing is, I won’t be able to pick her up again.
I’ve totally fucked up.
I mean, she’s gone. Packed her bag and handed back the key type of gone—if I’d have given her a key.
Fucking fool.
“Hey, dickhead,” a familiar voice calls. “There’s still plenty of pussy to get, you know. I mean…”
He doesn’t get any further. Like a raging mad bull, I throw myself at the bastard and grab him by the lapels of his shirt.
Then I spin him around and slam him into the wall.
Unfortunately, he’s prepar
ed.
Instead of his head hitting the wall, he brings his chin to his chest and pushes against me. At the same time, his right leg hooks around my left and unbalances me.
I fall.
Clearly, I’m not at my best. Any other day, I would’ve been on top of Lawrence already. But now, I’m approaching the ground at rapid fucking speed.
Smack!
I slam onto the pavement.
The fall knocks the wind right out of me. For a few seconds, I can’t even breathe. It feels as if a metal vice has gripped my lungs and is squeezing every last bit of air out of me.
Naturally, Lawrence uses this moment to his advantage.
Before I know what’s happening, his right fist connects with my face. Luckily, I wise up to his next move when I see the flesh of his fist from the corner of my right eye.
Unable to counter the attack, I pursue the only option I can see. I turn my head quickly at the last minute.
Instead of connecting with most of my face, his next punch only makes contact with the side of my head before his fist slams hard into the ground.
Now he’s unbalanced, and I’ve got my breath back.
I bring my knees up under me and roll.
“What the fuck do you want, Lawrence?” I yell, scrambling back to my feet.
Lawrence lunges for my legs, misses, and lands splat on his face.
This gives me enough time to take a deep breath and prepare for the next onslaught. It comes all too quick.
While I’m busy breathing and trying to gather myself, I spot my brother inching toward me on his hands and knees, but I notice too fucking late, and he’s already close enough to jab his fist right into my gut.
Again, I’m winded, and my body folds in half like a Swiss Army knife.
“I want what you’ve got,” he pants, his arms lunging wildly for me.
As I avoid one of his punches, another one connects with my mouth. It splits my lip open, and I can taste blood.
“What the fuck?” I say, spitting it out.
“You always get everything. You got Chantal when I’d been trying to get into her pants months before you even met her.”
His rage is still fucking building.
“Fuck, man,” I put my hands up in defense.
Lawrence just punches wildly at me. Occasionally, one of them connects, usually with my face—a couple times with my eyes, right and left.
“And then you end up with this gorgeous chick, the one who’s just fucking perfect, the one dad loves.” On this last word, I turn my face a little too far to the right to look at him, and wham, his fist collides forcefully with my cheek.
There’s a crack. I think he might have broken my cheekbone.
“And, you know what’s worse, you prick?” Lawrence has halted punching me. “You’re being a total prick. Instead of chasing after her, admitting your mistake, and begging her to take you back, you’re acting like you’re all of five years old.
“Man, look at yourself. You’re beating the crap out of me, and why? Because you’re so fucking busy trying not to be me. News flash, asshole: you’re exactly like me.”
All I can do is stare at him. I’m not even feeling any pain in my fucking face—it’s all in his words.
“I take it back. You’re nothing like me. If you were, you wouldn’t be here beating the shit out of me, you’d be chasing after June, doing absolutely fucking everything to get her back.”
Fuck it, I don’t care what else Lawrence has to say. I run, breaking into a sprint to my car. How fucking stupid, am I? And why was it Lawrence who had to tell me?
Fuck.
Of course I should have been chasing after her. It pains me to admit this, but my brother is one hundred percent right.
When I get to my car, I fumble with my keys. Finally, I unlock the door and jump in, getting ready to fucking floor it.
I’m easing out of the goddamn parking spot impatiently when the passenger door opens and Lawrence jumps in.
“Who said you could come?” I growl, stepping on the accelerator.
“I did,” he replies, and I can see his smug grin when I glance sideways at him. “I mean, how else are you going to have any fucking chance of getting this girl back?”
Fucking arrogant prick.
I chuckle.
“Remember in eighth grade?”
I shake my head.
Is he kidding? Eighth grade is a lifetime ago.
“You already had the girls eating out the palm of your hand, and I was left to pick up the crumbs.”
Silence.
For some reason, I wasn’t sure what to say to this.
“And you know what was worse?”
Again, I shake my head.
“You had no fucking idea how easy it was for you to pick up a girl and how hard it was for me.”
“If I didn’t know you better—” I start, but he interrupts me.
“Don’t go down Fifth Avenue man, you’ll be there all fucking day getting to the airport. If you want to catch this girl, you better take the fast route.”
I’m torn. Should I trust Lawrence, or is he trying to lead me astray? Is this some weird plot on his part to throw me off?
“Come on, man, you’ve got to go east down 57th and then straight onto the bridge.” He takes a breath. “I thought this wasn’t about us, but about getting June back.”
He’s hit the fucking nail on the head.
And so, without giving it another thought, I make a fast, manic, rubber-burning left turn onto 57th.
Some impatient dick blows his horn at me, and I show him the finger.
I’m on a fucking mission.
June
“Seriously, Diane? You’re taking the bridge at this hour? Are you nuts?”
“Ah, calm your tits. The upper level won’t be too crowded.”
Diane swings the minivan with fervor onto the ramp of whatever freaking bridge this is on the way to the airport. With the entire backseat to myself, I stretch out my limbs into a strangely contorted yet absurdly comfortable position, watching the forest of skyscrapers fade into the distance behind us.
Not too long ago, when I drove my blue pickup east down the rural route for maybe the last time, the Greater Wheatfield Area was looking even more barren than usual.
Even on the warm Midwestern afternoon, with welcoming sunshine beaming luminously onto all the Greatest of Plains, I had what seemed like the entire world to myself for endless miles all the way out to the state route. Even then, I saw only one or two other vehicles—a grain truck here, a fellow pickup truck there—until I finally made it out onto the interstate: Route 80.
Route 80—after that drive, it was burned into my consciousness for eternity and beyond.
Just thousands and thousands of the endless miles of Route 80.
Hours upon hours, days upon freaking days of Route-freaking-80.
And, no matter how long I drove and how infinitely the highway kept stretching in front of me, it just kept getting more and more fucking crowded all the fucking way across the fucking country.
All the way until the George Washington Bridge, the final gateway into New York City, where I sat in traffic for two gosh-darn-hours.
We’re breezing right along on this particular bridge, though.
“Excuse me, this isn’t the George Washington Bridge, is it?” I ask from my little nest in the back.
“No, sweetheart, that goes in the other direction—across the Hudson,” answers Diane, glancing briefly in the rearview before giving a moderately long and a more-than-moderately loving look at her wife, Stephanie, in the passenger seat.
“Can you imagine if we were driving across the GW right now, Steph? Now that would be b—”
“Diane, watch out!” My yelped warning jolts Diane into slamming on the brakes with the indescribable force that only a protective mother can provide.
Thanks to my yell and Diane’s quick brake, we managed to avoid slamming into the sea of stopped traffic in front of us.
“Hey, nice work, Diane!” Stephanie shouts angrily. “You do realize that there are three pregnant women in the car, right?”
“I’m aware of that, Steph. I’m one of them, remember? And I can see.” Without taking her eyes off the road again, Diane points back in the direction of my belly bump. “Looking good, June…from what I can remember.”
Gazing lovingly straight down, I treat my belly to a couple gentle pats.
“Thanks. I think so, too.”
Stephanie turns around for a moment to smile at me warmly.
“And thank you for saving us from my wife’s recklessness.”
“Hey, I hit the brakes on time!” protests Diane. “But, seriously, thanks for saving our lives, sweetheart.”
“Anytime.” My hand is just resting on my belly now, and a bitter sweet little smile doesn’t leave my face.
“Bittersweet smile,” I catch myself saying quietly—and Stephanie catches it, too.
“What was that?” she asks, turning around. “Is that a song or something?”
“We don’t keep up with that modern pop music.” Diane’s almost shouting as she comments, but her eyes are fixed securely on the windshield as the traffic inches forward.
“Speak for yourself, Diannnne.” Stephanie draws out the last syllable in her wife’s name mockingly. It seems like an inside joke, something between them that’s not for me to understand, but it makes me laugh a little, anyway. “What are you, a hundred years old? Cause that’s what you sound like.”
The traffic starts easing up in fits and starts, and the cluster of goliath towers and claustrophobic concrete canyons grows even further behind us in the distance.
“You can’t hold on to your youth forever,” jokes Diane. I notice that both my hands are resting on my bump at this point.
“Like I said, speak for yourself.” Stephanie’s voice is now soft and sweet. As the traffic clears up entirely, Stephanie leans over to give Diane a small peck on the cheek.
Diane’s face is still set squarely on the road—as I imagine it might be until the end of time at this point—but I can see her cheeks stir slightly in what I can tell is a subtle yet ecstatic smile.
We’re not even in the middle of the span yet, and another impenetrable wall of traffic emerges ahead of us. Diane eases on the brakes and we roll to a stop so gentle that I hardly feel it.