by Liz Fenton
The divorce hadn’t just been hard on Jessie, but on the twins too. Madison had always been an overachiever—reading more books than required and reluctant to stay home from school even when she had the flu—but she started refusing to do her homework and turning in incomplete tests in class. Her grades had dropped steadily, and Jessie had tried to get her to open up about it. “Talk to me,” Jessie would plead. “Tell me what’s going on in your head.”
“Trust me, Mom. You do not want to know,” Madison would yell before slamming her bedroom door—the poster of a spiky-haired Drake Bell from Madison’s favorite Disney show staring her in the face. But Jessie did want to know—no matter how ugly her daughter’s thoughts were. She’d knock lightly, waiting for Madison to answer, wishing she could make everything better, but knowing she was responsible.
And Morgan—their sweet little girl who wanted to help every stray animal she came across and was constantly setting up lemonade stands or offering to pull a neighbor’s weeds so she could make money to donate to charity—had become sullen since Grant’s departure. She didn’t argue with Jessie the way Madison did. In fact, she didn’t say much of anything, and that silence was almost worse. Morgan would come out of her room at night and see Jessie standing in the hallway between their two rooms, and simply shake her head at her mom. Sometimes Jessie wondered if she knew the truth, if she was silently scolding her for what she’d done to their family.
Jessie was petrified that the twins’ initial response to their parents’ breakup would become even more serious. They were already so mad at her and Grant. Every time she thought of the possibility of them knowing that she had been the one to shatter their family into shards of what it had been, a shiver ran through her.
She’d gone to Claire for advice. “How do you do it? I feel like the guilt is going to kill me.” Jessie had just dropped the girls off at Grant’s and they’d exited the car without saying good-bye, ignoring Jessie when she called out that she loved them.
“You’re asking me?” Claire chuckled. “You know how much I struggle to say no to Emily.”
Jessie pondered how to respond. Emily was bitter and treated Claire like a doormat and Jessie feared the twins could do the same to her. She hoped Claire hadn’t noticed that she’d kept the girls away from Emily recently, coming up with excuses for why she couldn’t go over to Claire’s. She knew it was ridiculous, that Emily wouldn’t corrupt them, but she was desperate to hold on to the frayed connection she still had with her daughters.
“You’re doing your best,” Jessie said gently. “But if you could do it all over again, what would you change?”
“Everything!” Claire said, and they erupted in laughter.
Jessie had finally called Grant late one night and begged him to move back in just for their daughters. He’d only released a long sigh, his silence speaking volumes. She knew it was a desperately bad idea—that even if he had come back home, his anger toward Jessie would have slowly infected them all. But she would’ve done anything to help her twins become the carefree children they had been just months before. After she’d hung up with Grant, she’d walked into the nursery and stared at Lucas fast asleep with his thumb in his mouth, and she’d thought, I wish I could go back and fix this mess, but then I’d lose you. And how could I live without you?
When she found out she was pregnant with Lucas, it was a steamy afternoon, rain uncharacteristically pooling in the streets in Redondo Beach. After missing her period, then throwing up for the second morning in a row, her breasts tender, her body exhausted, she knew.
But still, she had dragged herself into Rite-Aid, purchased four different tests, then frantically peed on stick after stick in a Starbucks bathroom after downing two venti green teas. She’d said a prayer with each new test she opened, that the line would fade from pink back to white, from yes to no. She knew in her gut that if she was pregnant, it was most likely Peter’s. She and Grant had sex a few weeks after she’d slept with Peter, when she’d stayed true to the promise she’d made to herself to be a better wife. One night after she’d talked to Grant about his stress at work, he’d grabbed her and started kissing her in a way he hadn’t in a very long time, and her chest had tightened. Had that been all he’d needed? For her to listen? But still, she knew the baby couldn’t be his. Because once she’d missed her period and started feeling those symptoms she remembered all too well from the twins, she’d frantically done the math and figured out her night with Peter had occurred smack in the middle of her ovulation—and that he must have pulled out just a second too late. At the time, Jessie had been sure their lack of protection wouldn’t matter. Her lazy ovaries had made it difficult to get pregnant with the twins, and that had been ten years ago.
When she’d finally broken down and confessed the truth about Lucas’ paternity to Claire, several months into her pregnancy, her first question had been if she’d told Peter. Jessie nodded.
She’d asked him to meet at a diner in Venice Beach, where she was confident they wouldn’t run into anyone they knew. She’d slid into the booth, the frayed vinyl seat scratching her bare leg as her skirt rode up underneath her. She pulled at the hem and ordered a cup of herbal tea and waited. She hadn’t seen Peter since that night, when he drove her home from the hotel, the silence in the car making Jessie’s internal dialogue about how she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life louder. She had fantasized for months about what it would feel like to be with Peter, but she’d never thought through to this part—to the after. She could have never understood the intense desire she’d feel to turn back the clock to make a different choice earlier that night. How she’d leaned away from him in the passenger seat and clung to the handle of the car door like it was an escape hatch, ready to eject herself at the first opportunity. At a stoplight, she’d even contemplated peeling off her heels and running the last half mile home. When he’d finally pulled up in front of her house, she looked up at her bedroom window and whispered, even though it would have been impossible for Grant to hear, that it couldn’t happen again, that she was going to fix her marriage and he should too.
She knew it would be nearly impossible to avoid Peter forever, but Jessie attempted to with an intensity that bordered on obsessive. She deleted his number from her phone. She started arriving extremely early or annoyingly late to the drop-off and pickup at school, waving quickly to all the other moms as she herded the twins in and out of the car with such urgency they would often ask why she was in such a hurry—wasn’t she just going home or to run errands? She changed dry cleaners and started going to a different Starbucks. But then she woke up one morning with that familiar tingle in her stomach that she instantly recognized, and she realized she could no longer avoid Peter and what they had done.
Peter wore a smug smile as he walked toward Jessie—he had most likely interpreted her cryptic call as an invitation to pick up where they’d left off. He leaned into the booth to hug her and she stiffened.
“Okay. So I’m guessing you didn’t ask me here because you missed me?” Peter slid in across from her.
“I’m pregnant.” The words tumbled from her mouth and it took only seconds for Peter’s expression to change, going from shock to disbelief to anger, his lip finally snarling into a frown.
“It’s mine?”
“Yes, and before you ask, I’m sure you’re the father.”
“So we’ll take care of it then.”
“This is not an errand we have to run or a household project, Peter. This is a baby. You’re a father. How could you even say that?” Jessie’s hand moved to her abdomen and she tried to conjure the man who’d made her feel so desirable that she started blowing out her hair each morning and buying designer workout clothes she couldn’t afford, who’d looked at her when she spoke and listened to every word that came out of her mouth like it meant something. Where was he? Probably in the same place her flirtatious, lululemon-wearing alter ego was, deeply buried. And truthfully, even though she could never walk away from h
er own child—she’d known that from the moment she stared at the pink line on the white plastic stick—she was not that surprised by his reaction. She knew he was scared. She was too.
“I’m not an idiot, Jessie. I know we’re talking about a baby. But you already have two daughters and I have a son. It would never work to have this child too.”
Jessie didn’t say anything and watched Peter as he realized that she’d already made up her mind. She was having this child.
“You can’t be serious. Do you think Cathy and Grant are going to welcome this bundle of joy with open arms?” He shook his head. “We’ll both lose everything.”
“That’s not his or her fault.” Jessie looked down at her stomach.
Peter was silent for several minutes. Finally he spoke. “If you’re really moving forward with this, then I’m sorry, but you’ll be on your own. I need you to understand that.”
Jessie studied Peter’s face, hoping to see a glimmer of sadness, a flicker of angst, any sign he felt bad for turning his back on this child. But there was nothing. “I understand perfectly,” Jessie answered. I understand that you are a total asshole.
After he stormed out of the restaurant, the waitress offered Jessie a sympathetic smile and she’d nodded, feeling a mixture of disgust and relief. She played with an unopened sugar packet, squeezing it between her fingers, feeling the hard granules press against the paper, and thought about her decision to tell Peter. She’d placed a hand over her still flat belly and knew she’d done it for the baby. She couldn’t keep this secret from its biological father. If one day her child ever did find out the truth, at least she would be able to say she had told him. That he’d had a choice. Because she would have this baby, despite the complications he or she would bring to all of their lives. She could never let her unborn child pay the price for her mistake.
Jessie had waited three more weeks, the longest of her life, and finally, when she was nearly ten weeks along, she’d pasted a smile on her face and announced to Grant that he was going to be a father one more time, shrugging her shoulders when he asked her how it had happened. They hadn’t been careful in years. She deflected with a joke about her lazy ovary deciding to get a work ethic, hoping he wouldn’t question her further. And of course he didn’t. His face had lit up and he grabbed her, pulling her in tight and kissing her hard, whispering that he was hoping for a boy. He’d always wanted one. And as Jessie nodded, the tears began to fall. Grant mistook them for joy, and they stood there while the night turned from dusk to dark, just holding one another so tightly that Jessie had let herself believe that it might all turn out okay.
“Hey.” Jessie felt someone nudging her gently and opened her bleary eyes to find Grant staring back at her. “You fell asleep in here last night again,” he said as he gently took Lucas out of her arms and set him in his crib before offering his hand to help pull her out of the chair.
“Thanks.” She shuffled into the kitchen and started the coffeemaker, the aroma from the grounds filling the air. Even after Grant left, even when it had been so hard to get out of bed, she’d always loved the mornings—the way the sun rose so optimistically in the east filled Jessie with slices of hope that kept her going. “What are you up to today?”
“I’ve got to meet with the contractor on that place up in the hills, and then I’m going to look at a property in Palos Verdes. Apparently the owner is bored and wants a new kitchen.”
Jessie took a deep breath. He hadn’t been home before eight in weeks. She understood that his working allowed her to stay home, but she also missed him. And she couldn’t let them fall back into old patterns, couldn’t allow him to slip away from her again. This time, she had to be part of a solution.
“I understand. But sometimes I wish there was more time for you and me. I miss you. I miss us,” Jessie said, and grabbed a mug, hesitating for a second as she realized it was one that Morgan had hand painted for her fortieth birthday. She ran her hand over the numbers four and zero, still bright and new, not yet faded and peeling after ten years of being put in the dishwasher. She made a decision to hand wash it from now on.
Grant wrapped his arm around her shoulder and guided her toward him. “You know I can’t turn down work, Jess,” he said, frowning. They had always agreed that Jessie would stay home after having the girls, so she’d happily walked away from her job as a kindergarten teacher to care for them. But even though Grant earned a nice income, it could be inconsistent, and the cost of living in Los Angeles was high, propelling Grant to accept every job that came his way, even if it meant he was absent for back-to-school nights and soccer practices.
“I would never ask you to. But I feel so disconnected from you sometimes.” Jessie bit her lip and tried not to cry, the words so true, not only in this moment but for the last ten years, when she’d watched Grant live his life from afar, grabbing tidbits from the girls here and there to keep tabs on him as best she could. “I’m just asking you, when you’re here, to be here,” she said, taking a sip of coffee. “And maybe change a diaper once in a while.” She smiled to show she was mostly joking at the last part.
Grant laughed. “Well, don’t get all crazy now,” he said as he tightened his grip around her. “But I hear you, Jess. I know it’s been hard on you, and on us. I’ll try to do better.”
“Thank you.” Jessie let out a deep breath, then planted a kiss on his lips. “Are you sure you have to go right this minute? The kids are still asleep.” Grant’s eyes had widened as she’d grabbed his belt buckle and kissed him deeply. He’d pulled back a few seconds later, asking her if she could have sex so soon after the baby. She’d giggled. “There are other things we can do,” she’d said as she pulled him into the bathroom and shut the door.
• • •
“So? How was it?” Claire suppressed a laugh as Jessie recounted her conversation with Grant as they sipped their coffee drinks a few hours later, Jessie absentmindedly rocking Lucas’ car seat, his tiny hand balled into a fist as he slept.
“Like riding a bike!” Jessie laughed. “And it made me realize how stupid I was for not making more of an effort last time,” she said, and tried to push down the image of Janet’s face flashing through her mind: the way her hair’s soft layers framed her face perfectly, her hazel eyes sparkling when Jessie met her for the first time at Lucas’ soccer game, Grant standing sheepishly behind her as Jessie tried desperately to act like she didn’t care that he’d brought her. Or that Madison and Morgan seemed to like her. There was still a part of Jessie that felt like she was stealing Grant from her now.
“What? What is that look for?” Claire admonished.
“I was thinking of Janet.”
“While you were giving Grant a blow job?”
“No!” Jessie exclaimed. “Just now. I just think Grant seems really happy with her. Maybe more than he ever was with me.”
“Well, she doesn’t exist in this world. At least not in yours and Grant’s.”
“For now.” Jessie took a long sip of her latte, the hot liquid burning her tongue.
“Are you ready to talk about your game plan?” Claire inquired carefully as she poured a packet of raw sugar into her coffee. She’d tried broaching the subject more than once already, but each time she brought it up, Jessie had shushed her, telling her she wanted a little more time to enjoy being with Grant and the kids—as a family. But Claire had continued to push because she felt Jessie owed it to her to change her life for the better, especially if she expected Claire to do the work on her own. Jessie had been the driving force in the three of them returning here, and Claire wanted to help her make the right choices this time. She’d already been brainstorming better ways Jessie could tell Grant the truth, ways that might soften how he might react. Claire would even help explain it to Grant if Jessie wanted her there.
Lucas made a gurgling noise and Jessie smiled at him, pushing his pacifier back into his mouth and watching as he drifted to sleep again. “I’ve decided what I’m going to do.” Jessie le
aned forward, her hands cupped around her mug, her eyes focused on Claire’s. “I’m not telling him this time.”
Claire responded before she meant to. “Really?”
“What do you mean, really?” Jessie fired back. “What did you think I was going to say? That I’d tell him all over again? And have the same outcome? What would be the point of coming back here?”
“I don’t know, Jess.” Claire wasn’t sure what she had expected, or what she’d do if she were in Jessie’s shoes.
“The only thing I know for certain is that telling the truth doesn’t always serve the right purpose. Maybe some secrets aren’t meant to be revealed.”
Claire sipped her coffee, mulling over Jessie’s declaration, thinking about the times in her own life when she’d held secrets close in the best interest of others. “Okay, I hear you. And I get that you want to keep your family together, but I just have to ask, do you really believe it will turn out better if you lie to him?”
“I have no idea,” Jessie said with a sigh. “But I’ve thought about this a lot. And not telling him is the only option if I want a different outcome. I just can’t take the risk he’ll leave us again,” Jessie said as she lightly touched the little blue sock on Lucas’ foot. “Now that I have him back, I’m terrified to lose him.”
Claire nodded. To hold the truth inside probably was the only way to guarantee the marriage stayed together. And there was a likeness in Peter’s and Grant’s appearances—both had dark brown hair and green eyes. Without any reason to doubt her, Claire was sure Grant would always believe Lucas was his. The last time around, she’d thought keeping the lie inside during Jessie’s pregnancy had been difficult, remembering the relief she felt once Grant knew the truth. She’d been heartbroken for Jessie, but there was a sliver of her that had also exhaled. Now Claire would have to lock the secret away permanently.