I barely get the question out of my mouth before he starts throwing his crayons into his crayon box and packing up his papers.
“Uh, how fast can you get here?” I ask into the phone, laughing at the genuine excitement from my boy. “I’ll be lucky if I can get him to sit still until you do.”
“I’m on my way then. He can hit the supermarket with me to get groceries while we’re at it,” she says, a smile on her voice.
***
She walks in and it’s like the whole world stops for her, just for a moment, and I’m the only one who notices.
“Is he ready?” Stella asks leaning over the counter looking for Britt.
“He’s in the office waiting for you and I set his seat in the entryway,” I say, reaching for her. I can’t stop my hands from touching her face and I pull her to me as she leans further across the marble slab, kissing her quickly and whispering in her ear, “I missed you this morning after you left.”
She smells like lilac perfume and my Old Spice body wash. It’s an interesting combination, one I could get used to everyday for the rest of my life.
“I missed you, too, but I got lots done around the house now that I’m out of my funk. Thank you for that, and the cannoli. Sweets always help.” She brushes another kiss across my lips as the café doors swing open and Britt comes barreling into the coffeehouse and straight out toward the front door. “That’s my cue. See you in a few hours.”
I leave one more quick kiss on her lips before she turns to catch up with Britt.
“You’re staring, lover boy,” Greg says behind me.
“It’s kind of hard not to. My whole life just walked out the door.”
“I’ve never seen you like this over a girl. A woman,” he exclaims. “Shit. Stella is a woman. I have never in my life seen you so won over by a woman, Brian.” He’s leaning against the back counter between the grinders and other machines, arms across his chest and watching my every move.
“I told her last night I love her.”
“You did what? Man, you move fast. Weren’t you the one who was all ‘Oh no I can’t tell her how I feel because she just got divorced’?” he says, mocking me.
“Yeah, that was me. It kind of slipped out. We were talking about her ex-husband and what wouldn’t have happened between us if he hadn’t left her,” I admit. “I could never have just been friends with Stella. She was my entire world when we were kids, and now? I can’t deny I am completely in love with her as an adult. I just can’t.”
I step away from the counter, away from Greg and any ridiculous confrontation he’s going to attempt to have with me.
“I get it. I completely understand, Bri.”
My feet stop and I turn my head to look at him quizzically.
“I’m falling for Caryn. It’s hard to stop it when it starts, it’s hard to wonder how much it could hurt if she doesn’t feel the same. That girl, though — Stella — she loves you as much as you love her. I don’t care how new her single status is. That chick is one hundred percent yours,” he says quietly in the lull of café goers. “I want that.”
It’s an even more quiet admission, and not something I think he’s ever wanted before.
“If you want it, you need to work for it,” I tell him with a wink before pushing through the swinging doors to the kitchen.
Stella
Chapter Twenty
It’s been nineteen days since the unprotected “it” happened.
We haven’t fully panicked yet, but anytime Brian and I have been near each other since that night and the idea of being intimate has come up, we’ve made sure there are condoms somewhere close by. The glove compartment of his Tahoe. My purse. His office at the coffeehouse. The woodshop behind his house. My nightstand. My bathroom. His bathroom.
Holy shit, I haven’t had this much sex in years.
And since we’ve been careful every time since that night, if there’s a chance I’m pregnant we can basically pinpoint when it happened. But it hasn’t stopped me from using every Internet search engine and pregnancy website to research what might be happening with my body. In case I’m pregnant. Because I’m aware it could have happened. My animalistic attraction to Brian could have triggered an egg to jump ship early and — BAM! — pregnant.
Maybe.
More than likely not, but I seem to attract the unexpected.
Two more days for my period to show up before we hole ourselves up in my bathroom or his and I pee the scariest pee of my life.
***
“The salad forks do not go in the same slot as the dinner forks, Steph.” I yell it. I yell it loudly. And then I burst into tears.
It’s been twenty-two days and nothing. And Brian and I haven’t had a minute to discuss the implications of this thing not showing up. It’s probably late because of stress, stress from thinking about the possibility of my uterus incubating a little person.
“Crying? Over forks?” Steph walks into the kitchen as I wipe my eyes again, trying to stop the tears. I feel like all I do is cry — first because of Keith’s infidelity and then because of Brian’s everything and now this. It’s hard to stop the tears because of the “what ifs” clouding my brain. It’s a Saturday night and normally I’m drinking like a lush. I’m not tonight. “Have a glass of wine and I’ll fix the damn forks, you weirdo.”
“I’m not drinking tonight,” I say, realizing I didn’t want to say it out loud a second too late.
“That’s hilarious. You not drinking on a Saturday night is unheard of. The only thing that would stop you from drinking is if you were pregnant.” The color drains from Steph’s face on the word “pregnant.” “Oh. ... Oh my God, Stella.”
“I don’t know. I’m due, like, now. Yesterday, today or tomorrow. Dates have been hit or miss since I went off the pill.” I glance at my sister and she has a questioning look on her face. I never told her I went off my birth control. I look down at my hands, still holding the forks I’ve taken out of the drawer she had put them into when helping me with dishes earlier, and take a deep breath.
I start. “So, things weren’t good with Keith long before they weren’t good.”
“How long before?” Steph asks taking the bundle of silverware from my hands and sorting it back into the drawer.
“He left, what, seven or so months ago? So the good stopped happening more than a year and a half ago,” I say with a sigh. These are things I could have opened up to my sister about long before now, but I figured the last thing she would want to hear about was my sex life or lack thereof. “My birth control refills ran out and I just didn’t bother to get a new prescription because nothing was happening. I figured there was no reason to take it if I didn’t need to since there was literally nothing but sleep happening in this house.”
“So why the freaking out? If it’s been that long since you’ve had sex, freaking out over your period should be null and void if nothing has happened to make it late. No point in getting anxious when there’s no reason to, right,” she says, putting the last few forks away, like the matter is cut and dry — I wasn’t having sex with my husband so I can’t possibly be having sex now. It’s like she’s forgotten I could maybe be having sex with someone else, but she doesn’t seem invested in this conversation enough to figure that out.
She’s aloof and it’s weird.
Something is up with her that I’ll have to figure out later, once I get through this whole “could be pregnant” concern.
I respond by biting my lip. I shift my eyes. She’s got that questioning look on her face again as she closes the silverware drawer and then she sucks in a breath. Bingo.
“Brian?” she squeals, whipping around to face me. It’s high-pitched and hurts my ears, so I back away from her a little more. We really need to have a conversation about how to use our inside voices. “I didn’t know you guys had, you know, done anything. When did that start? Are you guys dating? Is this, ooh, is this your first real relationship ever?”
“Stephanie, I w
as married. No it’s not my first real relationship.” I try to say it with conviction, but the grin breaks out on my face without warning. “It’s my first relationship I get to start as an adult. So it’s kind of the same thing.”
“But ...” she prods before I have a chance to tell her more. She’s kind of nosey. I love her for it even if she is scatterbrained lately.
“But we got ahead of ourselves the first time and now we’re kind of,” deep breath, “in the waiting game.”
For the next couple of hours Stephanie drinks while I talk. I talk incessantly about Brian, what he’s like now that we’re both grown up, how amazing Britton is, how not shocked our mom was when I showed up with the two of them in tow one evening to visit and how Dad just kind of acted like Brian was the son he’d never had.
In all the years Keith and I were together, Dad kept him at a safe distance and didn’t exactly express any sort of trust in him. I guess now I know why and it’s a relief to see how my father is with Brian and Britt — like they belong with us.
Everything has come so easy with them, though, and it’s a little surreal.
“It’s like we were meant to find one another again, with a little push from him. Did you know he and Greg specifically moved here to open the café because Brian was hoping I was still living here?”
“It sounds a little like a fairytale, Stell. Or like he’s a really cute stalker. Either way, better hold on tight to him.”
“I never wanted to let him go in the first place. The first school year after he moved was the hardest one I’d ever had, and that’s saying a lot considering I hadn’t even hit puberty and acne and peer pressure yet.”
“So, what’s keeping you from taking that test today?” Steph asks, pouring the last drops of wine from the bottle into her glass. “I mean, if you were technically due yesterday you’re already late so if you are a test should light up like a light bulb.”
What is keeping me from doing it now? I really don’t have a good answer, other than if it is positive, I really want Brian with me so we can know together. Something in me doesn’t want to tell him if I’m pregnant; I want him to find out at the same time I do.
The explanation is simple enough and Steph understands my reasons, at least she says she does, though her eyes speak a different story.
“I want to be here for you, too,” she says finally, quietly tapping her index finger on the top of the empty wine bottle.
Getting up from my seat at the counter, I walk over and give my sister a hug. Not just a hug, an embrace. I wrap her up in the warmth of my arms and try to take away the forlornness that’s fallen like a curtain across her features.
“I want you to be here, too,” I tell her as I reach for my cell phone and send Brian a text asking him if he’s free to come over when they close tonight. Reading from my phone, I say, “We’re cleaning up now, so I can be there as soon as I pack Britt up. Pizza? My treat.”
“And cookies. Whatever he has leftover in the case. I need chocolate if you’re peeing on a stick,” Steph says as she pops the cork on another bottle of wine and I tap out the message verbatim to Brian.
***
Forty-five long minutes later, Brian and Britt walk in with a bag full of cookies and two large pizza boxes.
“Breakfast,” Brian says as I eye the boxes. “Don’t tell me you don’t like pizza for breakfast? We can’t date if you don’t like it. Sorry, babe.”
“Whatever. Give those to me,” I say taking the pizzas and setting them on the counter next to the plates. Leaning into his muscular frame, I plant a kiss on Brian’s lips. “I invented pizza for breakfast.”
Steph helps Britt load a slice on his plate, then grabs two for herself and the bag of cookies before ushering him into the dining room to eat. It’s shortly before seven at night, so a little late for dinner, but everyone needs to eat and I’m grateful for Steph taking time to be with Britt.
Once they’ve cleared the room, Brian touches my face, massaging his thumbs into the crease in my furrowed brow.
“She wants to be here when I test. She’s my baby sister. I can’t tell her no,” I say in a whispered tone, my eyes closing as I revel in the way his fingers ease the tension from my face and I feel the muscles in my shoulders finally start to relax as well. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous.”
“Whatever the outcome, we’ll be fine. We’ll work through it together. I’m not going anywhere Stella,” he says softly, gripping my neck with his fingers and palms as his thumbs draw lazy circles over my cheekbones. “Are you ready to do this?”
My eyes still closed, I nod. The words won’t come.
I’m scared to death of two pink lines.
Part of me is even more afraid of it being only one.
Brian
Chapter Twenty-One
We snuck upstairs through an old servant’s entrance I didn’t even know existed in Stella’s house. I can only imagine the fun Britt could have playing hide and seek here if he knew about the hidden stairwell.
I’m trying to ignore my nerves, the butterflies in my stomach fluttering about, while I wait for the bathroom door to open again. The loosely made plan on the way upstairs was she would pee on it, not look, come in the hall, and then when that few minutes passed we’d look together.
She’s been in there a long time.
It feels like a long time.
What if she looked without me? The thought crosses my mind just as the door opens and she turns to lean on the doorframe, a mask of unease on her face again.
We stand there, across the hall from one another, as we wait.
A few minutes pass and she says, “Are you ready?”
“As much as I can be,” and I step toward her.
Like cowards, we peek around the corner. The test, as harmless as it is, is lying on the counter. I don’t know if we’re waiting for it to jump up and dance and sing a song telling us we’re having a baby or not, but it doesn’t do any of that. They apparently haven’t created animated pregnancy tests yet. They should. It would take the fear of waiting out of the equation.
Stella grabs my arm, linking hers through it, and we shuffle into the bathroom so we can peer down at the very unanimated piece of plastic. And we just stare.
Mostly in disbelief, I think, and I don’t want to be the first to speak. I don’t want her to know my feelings. I don’t want her to think I’m not happy about the result.
I am happy. But ... perplexed.
She’s still looking at it when I lift my head to see her eyebrows pull together and the tension gather above her nose, so I do the only thing I know I can do that will hopefully make everything okay again — I pull her into my arms, kissing the top of her head as her arms come around me and hold on for dear life.
“Why does that hurt?” she asks.
“I don’t know, Stell. But let’s go have a glass of wine and think about it tomorrow.”
***
I grab a couple slices of lukewarm pizza from the boxes in the kitchen and watch Stella as she pours us each a glass of wine. Hers is just slightly below the rim.
She takes a large swallow from the glass and tops it off.
That’s the kind of thing a woman does when she didn’t get something she wanted really badly. I’ve seen my mom do it after an argument with my brother when Tommy has proven her wrong — usually a result of some asinine discussion like the color of a shirt he wore for picture day in junior high.
But this is different. This isn’t Stella not getting something she wanted really badly; this result is something she had prepared for and expected. The outcome, though, was the exact opposite of what she wanted.
I don’t know how to fix this hurt. I don’t know if I can fix it.
“Greg’s handling the house alone tomorrow. I was thinking if Steph or your parents didn’t mind, maybe Britt could stay with them and we could go out for lunch, maybe do some early Christmas shopping.”
I need to think about something other than what jus
t happened. Plans are already kind of set for Thanksgiving, so getting ready for Christmas is the next step. I know Britton wants Legos and a bike, so I’ve got to be sure I shop without him in order to keep them hidden and those opportunities are few and far between. Or, rather, they were before the Barbieri family came back into my life.
“Yeah, let’s do that. I don’t have anything going on tomorrow. I kind of figured I’d do the sweats and cold pizza and movie thing, but lunch out and shopping sounds like fun,” Stella says, her voice tinged with sorrow for a moment before she clears her throat. “Were you thinking of going into Rochester or somewhere local?”
“Doesn’t matter as long as I’m with you,” I say, as I grab the plates and walk past her to the doorway leading to the dining room. I stop and turn around to look at her as she wipes a tear away. “Is this too much?”
“What?” she looks at me, a stunned expression on her face. “Is what too much?”
“Me? Britt? What we’re doing?” I ask, motioning to the expanse between us.
I don’t know where the questions come from, but I feel like I’ve let her down somehow. I don’t want to be the reason she cries.
The sunshine in her smile breaks through the grey storm clouds in her eyes, and I want to be content. I want to be, but I’m so afraid we’re moving too fast and she’s going to push me away.
Her smile draws me back into the kitchen. Stepping away from the door I set the plates down and reach for her. I watch as more tears spill and run in rivulets down her cheeks.
“I don’t—”she gasps and stops to collect herself. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I don’t know why I’m not happy. I don’t know why I’m crying.”
She clutches my shirt and I pull her into me and let her hang on.
“You’re not too much. You’re perfect and everything you say is perfect, Brian,” she says looking up at me, trying to catch her breath as tears slip from the corners of her eyes once more. “And I’m so afraid you’re going to see how not perfect I am and you’ll regret coming back.”
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