The line grows deathly quiet and I know that this is it. This is the deciding factor. I’ve placed the ball firmly in Levi’s court. What he does with it now is entirely up to him.
“You need to figure out what your priorities are,” I tell him softly, not even trying to hide the thick sadness filling every cell in my body until it bleeds over, filling every word.
He still hasn’t responded, but I know he hasn’t hung up. I imagine him sitting there, just as I am, too stunned for words. If it was just me, I might reconsider my approach, but my priorities have shifted and it’s about time that Levi’s did, too. The sooner, the better.
***
Levi isn’t speaking to me. All calls have stopped. He no longer checks in at night or in the morning. I miss it. I miss him. I didn’t think I could get any lonelier when he left me that day in my apartment, but now I know that couldn’t be further from the truth. The truth is, it’s so much worse than I imagined.
All the books mention post-partum depression. What about during-pregnancy depression? Why doesn’t anyone ever mention that?
Other than the hours I force myself to go to work or make a doctor’s appointment, I stay locked inside my apartment. On the weekends, I don’t even bother getting out of bed. Everyone at work is looking at me like I might break any second. I don’t have the energy to tell them I won’t.
My doctor is worried about me. Apparently, I’m losing weight instead of gaining it, but I lie and tell her it’s because I’ve been eating healthier and exercising. I’m not sure she buys it.
My mom is growing suspicious, too. She won’t text me anymore, choosing to call my landline instead of the cell phone, and I answer every time. She says it’s a red flag. I’m not getting out of the house enough. My lackluster responses aren’t helping either. So, she’s planning a trip to town to see for herself that I’m doing okay.
Normally, I’d be thrilled to have her, but I’m not really looking forward to the company this time. The outside world could burn to the ground and it wouldn’t bother me a bit. I like my bed, I like my space, and I like the quiet. I just want to be left alone.
Today is one of those rare days that I have to venture out. I’m not exactly happy about it, because I know what to expect.
I sit on the paper-covered table, trying not to move around too much so it won’t crinkle. The doctor sits in front of me on her rolling stool, studying my chart with a critical eye.
“You’ve lost a few more pounds,” she says with a crease in her tawny brow. “Vista, is there anything going on that you’d like to talk to me about? Perhaps something to do with why you’ve come alone the last few visits?”
Of course, she would notice Levi’s absence. Maintaining my focus, I tell her with a falsely chipper voice, “Nope, everything is going really well. Like I told you before, I’m eating a lot of fruits and vegetables now, and I’m trying to stay away from carbs and sweets.”
“That might have explained it the last two visits, but it should have evened out by now,” she scolds. “You should be gaining weight, not losing it. How much are you exercising?”
“Not a lot. Just a little here and there. Nothing strenuous.”
Her worried expression deepens and she sets her clipboard down on the counter and rolls closer with a concerned look in her eyes. “Vista, I’m not good with beating around the bush, so I’m going to be very blunt with you and I want you to answer me honestly. Can you do that?”
“Um…sure. Okay.”
Her intense golden brown eyes hold mine. “Do you have an eating disorder?”
My eyes shoot open wide, shocked that she would think that of me. “What? No! I would never starve my baby.”
She doesn’t look convinced. Sitting up straight, she retreats a foot, giving me the space I desperately need and saving herself from a foot in the face. How dare she?
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you are. Many women struggle with it during pregnancy. It’s difficult to see your body changing, and often, women can feel as if they don’t know their body anymore, like they are losing control.”
“I don’t feel that way. I don’t have an eating disorder,” I insist, now worried what she might do if she really thinks this to be true. Would she hospitalize me? “Look.” I lick my lips, knowing I have to level with her before this goes any further. “I…Levi and I aren’t together right now and I guess…I guess I’ve just been feeling a little out of sorts.”
“So you’re depressed.”
“Yeah, maybe. I guess so.” I know so, but for some reason, I feel this deep sense of shame in admitting it. Like I’m defective or grossly abnormal. I worry that she might think I’m a bad mother because I’m not taking care of myself the way I know I should be.
“That’s a perfectly normal response to what you’re going through,” she assures me, her expression softening in a way that reminds me of my mother. “I can arrange for you to talk to someone if you’d like.”
“No.” I shake my head adamantly. “That’s not something I want or need to get into.”
I can tell that she doesn’t approve, but she presses on. “Well, there aren’t many medications I can give you, so here’s my advice. Talk to someone, regularly, and make sure you get out of the house often. Go to the park, take walks, and enjoy the scenery. You’d be surprised what a healthy dose of nature can do for the mood. And, for the sake of that little one, you need to start eating more, even if you don’t feel like it. I can’t stress that enough.”
She’s right. I know she is. I take the doctor’s advice and schedule my follow-up appointment, telling myself that I have to do better. I can’t allow my emotions to rule me. It’s as I’m walking through the waiting room on my way out that I catch the images on the wall mounted television.
The sound has been muted, but I don’t need it. There, on the screen, is a video clip of Levi leaving a night club with his model ex-girlfriend the media attempted to tie to him only weeks ago. A wave of nausea rolls through me and I glance around at the few women in the room. They’re busy reading magazines or fiddling with their cell phones.
Thank God. No one knows the heartache I’m feeling right now. Ducking my head, I rush out of there, desperate to go home and lock myself away.
30
I’ve been trying to call Vista for a week, but she won’t pick up the damn phone. I know why she’s not answering—she saw the news. She saw me with Calista.
The media are a bunch of savage dickheads with nothing better to do than to try and tear people down. Now it’s more bullshit and more fires I have to put out. They saw her and me together and assumed we were an item.
That couldn’t be further from the truth.
Calista and I are…well, I wouldn’t call us friends exactly. More like two ships passing in the night. We’d hook up whenever we happened to be in the same city at the same time. It wasn’t anything more than that, and we were both cool with it. But all that’s over now.
So even though we’re not friends, we’re also not enemies.
I was doing an appearance at Boulevard3 when I ran into her. We shared a couple drinks and talked a bit, caught up. We ended up getting pretty deep. I confided in her about Vista and the baby, and she told me that I was fucking up a good thing. I informed her that Vista was the one who told me not to come back, and she quickly reminded me that she also said not to leave. I’ll never figure women out. They say one thing and mean another. In the long run, though, she helped me open my eyes to what an asshole I’ve been, and now I think I can finally see where Vista is coming from.
She was testing me, and I failed. Miserably.
I was pissed off at her for shutting me down. No one, aside from my father, has ever told me to get my head out of my ass and be a man. Which, I guess, is why I took it so wrong. Vista reminded me of my father, harping in my ear, and I resented her for it.
When I left, I had convinced myself that I was doing what was best for her and the baby. With me out of the picture, they coul
d be normal. But that’s not the case. They’re no safer from the media than I am. If anything, they’re even more vulnerable. At least I can outrun it. All it takes is hopping on a plane.
I’ve been telling her and myself that I’m working my way back to her, all I need to do is tie up some loose ends, make good on my commitments so I can come home. But the truth is, that’s not what I’ve been doing at all.
Talking with Calista has opened my eyes wide. She made me see that what I’ve really been doing is running. All this time, I’ve been the dickhole who’s ruining Vista’s life.
Even my father, bastard that he is, had enough of a moral compass to stick around and raise me.
I send one more call through, begging Vista in my mind to pick up the damn phone. Now that my blinders are off, it feels as if the distance is eating me alive. Every second that passes, it’s as if I can literally feel myself losing her.
I can’t fucking lose her.
Vista is the only real thing I’ve ever had in my life. She’s the only person who’s ever taken the time to really get to know me and accepted me for who I am, warts and all, something my own parents couldn’t manage to do.
With her, I have a family, and I refuse to let it go without a fight.
“Three minute warning.”
I glance up at the stagehand or whatever he is and nod. I’m doing another fucking interview. This one is for Jimmy Kimmel. It used to be that I would blow a gasket, I was so excited to do shit like this. This time, nothing. It’s like I’m on autopilot. None of this registers. I’m just going through the motions, blindly following instructions as they’re dished out.
It’s Kimmel for crissake! I should be a nervous wreck, and instead, I’m thinking about ditching out and jumping on the first plane back to Ohio. Vista is taking up every thought in my head. I just need her to pick up the phone so I can explain. I need her to know that I choose her. I need her to know that I love her and I haven’t given up on us.
“Mr. Black,” the stagehand hisses as if this isn’t the first time he’s called my name, “you’re on.”
Standing, I straighten my suit jacket and follow up to the edge of the curtains. He waves me forward and I walk out onto the stage following the general intro music and screaming fans. Kimmel stands and shakes my hand, and then I sit in the chair closest to his desk.
“How are you?” he asks as the audience winds down.
As soon as I tell him I’m good, the audience roars louder than before. He chuckles. I chuckle. Then we get on with the interview.
“I think the ladies here tonight are a little excited to see you, Levi.”
They roar again and I grin at them, playing up the part of the sexy bad boy they crave so much.
“Does this ever get old for you?’
“Nah, how could it? Isn’t it every man’s fantasy to have so many beautiful women love him?” They scream again, catcalling me. We go back and forth a few more times, riling up the audience, before Kimmel digs in.
“You’ve been making headlines lately,” he informs me as he leads the conversation into deeper waters. “Is it true you’re going to be a father?”
I nod hesitantly but no less proud. “Yeah, yeah. A little less than two months to go.”
“That’s wonderful. Congratulations.” I thank him accordingly, already sensing where the line of questioning is headed—the same place it always does. “Now we all know the tabloids have a propensity for stretching the truth. So why don’t we clear something up tonight.” I nod for him to go ahead. I’m ready. Leaning into one arm, he tilts his head and says, “Some people are claiming you’re dating your sister. In fact, they’re claiming your sister is actually the mother of your child. Is there any truth to that?”
I am so fucking glad that David and Lara’s divorce was finalized yesterday. Now I can speak with total truth and without having to dance around definitions. “No, that’s not true.” And then I toss in for good measure, “Vista and I were never related.”
“But isn’t it true that your parents are married, making her your stepsister?”
“For a time, yes, but that’s no longer the case. And being stepsiblings doesn’t actually make us related. We were never connected by blood, and we weren’t raised together, so we never looked at each other like that.”
“So what do you look at each other like?”
“Just a man and a woman.”
“Are you in love?”
For this, I look directly into the camera, hoping that she’s watching this, and say, “One hundred percent, yes.”
“I’m sure that comes as a disappointment for all the women out there to know you’re off the market,” Kimmel grins widely.
“I’m sure,” I reply with a tight smile of my own. Frankly, I don’t give a shit about other women. There’s only one that I care about.
“You said you’re expecting in a couple months?” I nod. “I’m sure you keep a tight schedule now that you’re in the off-season. What does Vista think of all this traveling? Is she enjoying the sights?”
I shift in my seat. “She’s at home, actually. Running a business takes a lot of time and commitment, so we thought it best for her to stay back.”
Kimmel’s brows shoot up. “Sounds interesting. What kind of business?”
“Physical therapy.”
A knowing smile spreads across his face. “You just came back from some time off following an injury that sidelined you for a couple months. Does her profession have anything to do with how you two got together?”
“I’m going to have to plead the fifth, Jimmy.” I laugh, sparking everyone else’s laughter. It’s better to keep them on their toes, smiling along, so they don’t turn this into some kind of witch hunt. As long as they feel connected in some way, everything will run smoothly.
“We have to take a break, but before we go, is there anything you’d like to say to Vista in case she’s watching tonight?”
I suck in a large breath, gathering my thoughts quickly. Finding the right camera, I stare into it as if she’s right there, looking back at me. I picture her tear-stained face the last time I saw her and tell her, “You were right, princess. It’s you and me. So don’t lock that door just yet. Make sure you leave a light on.”
As messages go, mine is pretty cryptic, but with a little thought, I hope if she’s watching she gets it.
After a few more minutes of shooting the shit, I leave Kimmel’s stage and climb into the back of the limo, giving my assistant instructions to take me straight back to the hotel and to book me on the first flight out. I’m not staying in L.A. another second. It’s time to go get my girl.
***
I step off the plane and stretch my limbs before I head off to baggage claim. It’s past midnight. I’m not sure how many hours I’ve been in the air, but it’s enough that I’m tired, sore, and grouchy. It feels so damn good to be back on solid ground. It feels even better knowing that Vista is less than an hour’s drive away.
Urgency grabs hold of me as I meander through the terminal and locate a cab. I was so focused on getting back, I didn’t bother setting up any travel plans. It’s probably better this way anyway. I don’t have to answer to anyone.
The streets are fairly clear of traffic at this time of night, and I don’t have to tell the driver to hurry. He has a natural lead foot and nothing is in his way, so I sit back and pull out my phone. I’m sure she’s asleep by now, and I don’t want to disturb her, but there’s a little part of me that’s too impatient to hear Vista’s voice to wait.
“I’m sorry. The person you are calling isn’t answering their phone. Please leave a message and they will get back to you as soon as possible.”
Sick of hearing that generic, robotic message, I jamb my finger on the “end” icon and tuck the phone back in my pocket. Staring out the window, I watch the city lights zip past, counting down the minutes until we arrive.
When we finally do, I toss a chunk of cash at the driver, throw my bag over my shoulder, a
nd leap out. When I burst through the lobby door, Manny, the security officer I hired to watch over Vista, pops up from his reclined position.
Startled, he shouts after me. “Hey! You have to check in first!” I jerk my head to the side so he can see my face, but I don’t stop for a second.
“It’s okay, Manny. It’s me, Levi!”
“Oh, hey, Mr. Black!” he greets as I rip open the door to the stairwell. If he says anything else after that, I don’t hear it.
I take the stairs two at a time. The elevator probably would have been faster, but right now stopping for anything feels like a death sentence. I have to keep moving. Standing still for any length of time is an impossibility.
When I reach her floor, I barrel through the door and pound down the lengthy corridor until I reach hers. She’s probably asleep by now, but I’m prepared to wake up the whole damn building if I have to.
Banging my fist on the solid wood, I wait, huffing as I struggle to drag oxygen back into my lungs. She doesn’t answer right away, and I imagine all types of scenarios. Did she look through the peephole, see it was me, and decide to let me stand out here and rot? Is she hurt? Is she even here?
I check the number on the door. 236. Definitely the right apartment. I pound on it again, more demanding this time. Then I pick up faint movement on the other side.
When the door opens, I release a relieved breath. There she is, her hair a ratted mess on top of her head, dressed in nothing but a long black t-shirt that strains over her swollen belly. Goddamn, she’s even more beautiful than I remember.
“Levi, what the hell are you doing here?” she asks, her voice raspy from sleep.
Definitely woke her up. My gaze tracks over her once more, and then I get annoyed. “Do you always open the door to strangers in the middle of the night? What if I was some crazy axe murderer?”
She rolls her eyes in that huffy way of hers that drives me crazy and gets me hard all at once. “I have a peephole,” she informs me, pointing to it. “And for the record, even though I saw that it was you, I almost called the cops anyway. Why the hell are you pounding on my door this late at night? Are you trying to get me evicted?”
S.O.B. Page 21