"And so, in love," Michael says but looks at me.
"I hoped you like them."
"I do," I say and reach to kiss her cheek. I get up to refill my wine, but Michael intervenes, and top's off my glass. I look up and catch his eyes. "Thank you."
"Mom, what are you going to do about your car?"
"I can pick you up tomorrow for work, Jill," Michael says.
"Oh, Mom doesn't work on Fridays," Monica informs him, and there's a bit of disappointment in his eyes.
"I don't know if they'll total it. But I need to get a rental by tomorrow."
"I can take you wherever you need to go," Michael says.
"I'm sure you could. But I wouldn't want to intervene with your plans." He only smiles at me. I want to ask more about Paris, but that will only involve Michael. So, I bring up another topic. "Your old piano teacher was at the wedding. Did you notice her?" Michael has no idea how beautifully Monica plays the piano.
"Mrs. Reese? No, I didn't see her." My eyes slide to Michael as I take another sip of wine.
"She didn't know who Michael was. Sorry," I say looking at Michael. "Not used to you being in the room." Bam! Take that.
"I'd love to hear you play, sweetheart," he says. "I've listened to a few of your recitals on Facebook. You're very talented."
"Thanks, Daddy."
Daddy? How long have they been corresponding?
Through the rest of the evening, the conversation is surprisingly comfortable, and Michael is fulling engaged. He doesn't seem to be at a loss on any topic and appears genuinely interested. He's…happy. Involved and it's…weird. I don't know what I'm feeling or how to feel.
I decide I'm ready to go and tell Monica and Jordan thank you for dinner and that everything was beautiful. Michael does the same. We kiss our daughter goodbye and leave for Michael's car. He’s all smiles when we get into the car, and I give a polite smile his way. Then, I feign a fuss with the seatbelt. That only backfires when he comes to my rescue and buckles my belt. "That was wonderful. Wasn't it?" he says inches from my face.
"Yes…I suppose it was." I try desperately to ignore him, but he remains with us face-to-face. I have no other than to say, "Michael, what are you doing?"
"Gazing into the most gorgeous eyes I've ever seen." Again, I'm speechless and search for another tactic. "I need to get home."
"Which home? Mine or yours?"
"Mine."
"Then I'll stay with you."
"No, you won't."
"Then you stay with me." Before I can say no, his lips are on mine. I don't move and let him kiss me. I don't know what has come over me. But I must make it stop.
"Please, Michael. Stop." But that only makes his kiss more intense. For a second, I'm back in high school, feeling that lightheadedness and heaviness in my chest. Without a thought, my hands are in his hair, and I hear that moan from deep down inside him I heard when we first kissed on his couch.
"Come home with me, Jill," he says without leaving my lips.
"Michael, I can't." I'm losing air, and my lungs are about to crash.
"Please. I love you, Jill."
Why is he doing this? But better yet, why am I letting him affect me this way? "If I do…will you promise to stop this?"
"Maybe I'll stop pressuring you, but I'll never stop loving you. Just come home with me. And let's just see what happens. If it all goes bad, I promise to take you home. Please?"
The kissing hasn't stopped, and the conversation is spoken on our lips. I can't reason for a second with his lips all over me. "Yes. Fine."
"Thank you," he says and gives a few more reassuring kisses before starting the car and leaving. I hope Monica and Jordan weren't watching. But then I remember the dark tint on his windows.
He holds my hand tightly in his and drives with the other, glancing over every so often with lovesick eyes. He hasn't said a word and lifts to kiss my hand repeatedly and rubs his face. The rain is still beating on the windows, and the sound of the wipers screeching across the window is the only indication that this is not a dream. I should stop this. I need to stop this. But somehow, I feel breaking this silence would almost be like purposely destroying art. Something is building and driving this moment. It's scary, exciting, and beautiful. Or is that Michael when I look at him?
He pulls into a drive that must be his and doesn't even bother with the garage. He races over, pulling me out of the car. He doesn't yet set me down—just carries me to the door. We are soaked, and as he fumbles with the lock, we kiss like it's our last day to be alive.
The door opens, and he carries us through, kicking the door shut with his foot. Setting me to my feet, I grope with the buttons of his shirt as he lifts my hair and kisses my neck. My dress is pulled over my head, and then I'm grabbed firmly in his arms. Neither of us wants to break this moment and fumble with the belt of his pants. He picks me up and carries me to his bedroom. Once there, I must stop. But once he starts sucking on my nipples and squeezing my breasts, I can't.
Somehow, he has removed his pants, and I'm too drunk on lust to have even noticed as he pulls my panties down off my legs. Within seconds, he's on me, and I feel his swollen erection that I couldn't see in the dark. "I love you, Jill. I love you, Jill," he says over and over. Like he's still trying to convince me. I can't stop it. I'm too far in and feel him enter me.
"Ah, Michael," I cry out. I say it without thought. I say it with pain and anger and…love. But it can't be love.
"Come first, Jill. Please, come for me," he begs, almost demands. "I've missed you so much." He's crying. He thrusts into me hard, and he's…crying. "I'm so sorry for everything. I need you, Jill. I need you to forgive me. Please." His chest heaves with each thrust and each sob. It's the strangest thing and yet the most erotic.
I'm about to come and force myself to say the word. "I…forgive you, Michael."
"Ah, yes," he breathes into my ear. His hot breath runs down into my being. I come and strangle out his name.
"Michael." He knows I'm coming. He knows the sound I make and the way I move. He knows because he taught me.
He loses himself and comes hard like it was our first time again. He rides his orgasm out slow as he kisses me tenderly. "That's not the way I had it planned, but I'm not sorry," he says as we both come up for air and slowly come down. And when we do…where do we go from here?
Then
Positive! NO! It couldn't be. We only had unprotected sex one time—the first time we had sex. My first time having sex. And I got pregnant? I couldn't believe this was happening.
Once I told Tammy that I still hadn't started my period yet and hadn't started my birth control, that's when it hit me—us. Our eyes both widen, and we ran to the drug store.
My hand trembled as I stood with the stick in my hand, staring down at the plus sign. Tammy was talking, but I couldn't hear her. I was in such shock. What were my parents going to say? What would Scott say? What would Michael say?
"Jill? Jill, talk to me. What are you going to do?"
"Ah…Oh, God. I can't believe this. I never even got a chance to use the birth control pills. How could I have been so stupid for this to happen?"
Tammy braced my shoulders, forcing me to look at her. "Jill, it takes two to make a baby. Why didn't Michael use a condom the first time?"
"He was out…and things were happening so fast." Everything was crashing down. I no longer looked at our first sexual encounter as a romantic, heat of the moment, epic love, world-changing, heart-stopping happenstance. It was world-changing alright, but in an entirely different direction.
"Are you going to tell your mom?"
"Should I tell Michael first?" I was looking at Tammy for answers.
"How do you think he'll take it?"
"I don't know. He's never even said he loves me. He loves sex but has never said the actual words to me. Even after I told him I loved him."
I walked over to the bed and threw myself down. "Oh, God, what's my father going to say. No one knows I'm see
ing Michael. That makes things worse. And, he's ten years older than me."
"Well, at least his has a good job. Already has his master's degree. He'll be able to support you and the baby."
"He doesn't even like marriage. He's made some derogatory remarks about it." I rolled over and covered my head with the pillow. "Tammy, what am I going to do?" I cried.
She rubbed my back with loving caresses as I cried into the pillow. How I wished I could go turn back time. Stop everything and make Michael wait. But would he have waited for me?
"I think you should tell Michael first. It's his baby too, and then you both can decide together. You made this baby together; you'll solve it together."
The more she said baby and ours and together, my heart softened a bit and the other side of reality flittered inside me. Michael and I had made a baby. We were going to be parents. And this would be something that would forever connect us. Would this make him love me? Would he be able to say the words? I still loved him, and even with this tragedy, I think it made me love him even more.
"You're right. I'll tell him tonight," I said and sat up. She wiped my tears, and that was the first time Tammy kissed my cheek. We hugged, and even if I wouldn't have Michael, I would always have Tammy.
I was sitting on the couch, biting my nails and waiting on Michael to come home from work. Everything felt different than it had been when I'd be waiting in the past. One minute I'd be scared and feared how this would all go when I told him. The next minute, I'd be elated with happy thoughts of Michael and I becoming a family. Our own little family and I would feel a smile begin to form on my lips. I started to picture baby stuff lying around—toys, bottles, blankets, and diapers. I saw Michael on the floor, cooing baby talk to our child. Would he want a boy or a girl? I had already formed a happy-ever-after story in my heart, but it was going to depend on Michael. And that was my first mistake.
He came through the door, and the look on my face stopped him in his tracks. I saw the fear in his eyes like he already knew. But he couldn't have. Only Tammy knew, and she wouldn't tell a soul.
"What's wrong, Jill? Have we been found out?"
That's what his look was for—fear that we've been seen together. But I didn't like that look either. Maybe if he looked as if he was glad—we didn't have to hide it anymore. But it wasn't. And what I had to say wasn't going to make it any better.
"I'm…pregnant, Michael."
He didn't move from the door. It was still opened, and I feared he'd run out and never come back. "What!"
"I took a pregnancy test this morning. It's positive."
He shut the door—finally, thank God, and covered his face. "Fuck!" That is what he said. Fuck. Not, ‘We'll make it work. It'll be okay. I'm going to take responsibly for our baby.' Nope. Just fuck.
I began to cry harder, and he never came to comfort me. I needed him, and he never came. "Michael, what are we going to do?" I needed him to answer. I needed him to hold me.
"I thought you said you'd go to Planned Parenthood."
"I did. That's where I got the birth control. We got pregnant the first time."
"Oh no. Not we. You got pregnant. You should have been prepared." He was preaching at me as if it was all my fault. Was it? Did I seduce him? No more than he seduced me with his kiss and mixed signals. Which turned out to be signals that he did want me. "You said you'd go to Planned Parenthood. I took that as you'd get an abortion if you got pregnant. After that, I took on the responsibility of using condoms until you got on the pill."
"But, Michael?"
"Don't but Michael me. Have the abortion, and I'll pay for it. That's me still being responsible."
The anger in me rose, and I stood from the couch and began screaming. "You're the responsible one? You're an adult. Twenty-seven years old, Michael. I'm only seventeen."
"What the hell does that mean? It's all my fault? You're nothing but fucken prick tease. Flaunting your sweet ass around me like candy. What the hell did you think I'd do?"
How'd dare he. But he was right. I did flaunt myself. I did want him to notice me. This was when it all began, and Michael instilled doubt in my head. "Stop it. I loved you. I still love you, Michael." I was crying and screaming my love for him. But his never came for me.
"Jill, sex isn't love. It's just fucking and having a good time. Don't confuse it." I feel to my knees, waiting for him to pick me up and apologize. I'd be waiting for a long time.
He stomped past me, and I heard the bedroom door slam. Even though I knew all of this was not good, I was relieved he didn't storm out and drive away. But it was his place, and it meant I was to leave.
I slowly got up and looked at the apartment door, then his bedroom door. Two doors, two choices. Either door I chose would alter my life forever, and I picked the wrong door.
I walked to his bedroom door and cracked it open. He was laying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Part of me felt sorry for ruining his day. Because I used to be his reason for the bright smile on his face. But it wasn't exactly like I was having a grand time. And I would spend the next few years convincing myself that I could make him happy again and my happiness would sit on the shelf.
I waited for him to tell me to come in. I expected for him to look at me and hold out his hand and I'd come to lay on his chest. He did turn his head and gave me a glance. We stared into each other's eyes and saw an entirely different person. What had happened to us in the last month? We used to be glued to each other. We used to laugh and sing and kiss each other. Would we ever get it back? Or did it end here?
"Michael?" I whispered. He turned his head away, and I knew what it meant. There were no more mixed signals. He didn't want his baby or me. It was clear. I was on my own, and before I walked away and shut his door, I said, "I'm at least going to ask my mom." I needed to hear him say one thing, just one thing before I left.
"About the abortion? Jill, don't tell her. It will just disrupt everyone. It only needs to concern us." For once, he had included himself.
"Maybe she'll think I should give the baby up for adoption."
"But then she'll still know. You say you love me, right?"
This gave me hope when he asked. "Yes, Michael, I do."
"Then don't tell no one. I could get in so much trouble with you only being seventeen. I could lose my job. My career would be over."
Guilt is a powerful motivator, and he was right. Either way, he was going to need his job. Especially if I had the baby. "Well, I'm going to tell her. I have a choice too. She won't want me to have an abortion. Our family doesn't believe in it."
"What about you? You'll be eighteen soon, and you can make your own choice. This is going to affect you too, Jill."
We were having a real conversation now; discussing it out. "Why can't we keep the baby—raise it together? You have a good job."
"Jill, I didn't work hard just so I could have a good job. I want a career—a future. I never saw or planned marriage or kids in it. If you tell your parents and keep the baby, I'm going to have to marry you."
My heart stopped. He was giving us options. He was considering marriage—and me and our baby. Sure, even though he said, ‘have to marry,' we could get back to us again. It would be the same. He would see that. I would make him the best wife ever. And I would be a great mother—mother to his child.
"I'm going to tell her," I said and left his apartment.
There I stood at the justice of the peace, holding Michael's hands and looking into his eyes. His left eye was black from where Scott had punched him. All the pandemonium of the last few weeks would be worth it once they pronounced us husband and wife and I'd be Jill Danforth. Dad told me how ashamed he was and that I should leave town and come back after I gave the baby up. Mom cried for hours, saying how she wanted so much more for me—not to end up like her. Was she not happy with us—Dad, Scott and me? Scott and Michael were no longer friends. And the only people at my courthouse wedding were Tammy and Ryan as I stood in my best dress—not white or even a
wedding. Mom said it wouldn't be proper since I was pregnant. We had all took the day off school, and Michael took a half day from work. After, he was to drop me off at the apartment and head back to work. How romantic.
We were officially man and wife, no rings. Michael said it was just a piece of paper and rings were not necessary. But I still wanted one. When the lady said, "You may kiss the bride,” Michael gave a quick peck on my lips, and I was left with my eyes closed, thinking there would be more. I was wrong. Tammy hugged me, and we left the courthouse, and that was it. I was married…and I was Michaels wife. Somehow, I thought it would feel differently.
He dropped me off at his apartment—our apartment and went back to work. Tammy stayed and helped me unpack my stuff. I didn't have much to add that would dress it up. Because let's face it. I was a teenager, and my décor were posters, shoes, and purses. And even that, I didn't have much. But I was determined to make Michael a good wife—and I was going to have his baby. Maybe someday, he'd love us.
Nighttime came, and Michael still wasn't home. Tammy left hours ago, thinking we'd want to be alone. Huh. The dinner I prepared, chicken cacciatore, was now cold and the candles were burned out. I couldn't drink the wine and drown my sorrows because I was pregnant. I cried and went to bed—alone.
I was awakened by a loud crash and Michael hollering. "Honey, I'm home." His words slurred and he was yelling at something he fell over. I sat up in bed, waiting for him to come into the bedroom. Finally, he appeared, and he reeked of smoke and alcohol. "Ah, there she is. My little wife." His eyes were half-closed, half-opened.
"Where have you been?" My voice had anger, but I kept it low. He was struggling to get his clothes off, and I got up to help. He fell, and we both went to the floor.
Love, Michael: A second chance romance Page 14