One Chance

by Best, Victoria J.

  Though I’d had my suspicions, my father had never come out to me. It was a bit of a shock, but not one that knocked me off my seat. Yes, this was big, and though I thought he may be gay, I hadn’t known for sure. The surprise that briefly filled me was replaced with relief. The news explained so much; why he never dated openly before, why I never knew anything about his relationships. This felt like a new beginning for the two of us, a new chance to be honest and open. I was an adult and we had to start talking about the hard things.

  I gripped his hand again across the table. “I’m so happy for you, Dad. Really. I’m so glad you’ve found someone.”

  “You aren’t surprised?” he asked with a wry smile.

  I shrugged. “Not really. I know we never talked about it, but I always knew.”

  He laughed for real now. “I’ve always heard people say their families knew when they were gay, but I was sure you would be more surprised than this.”

  “I’m more surprised it took you twenty-five years to tell me,” I said honestly.

  Dad sighed heavily. “I’ve decided, with the help of Patrick and my therapist, that being honest with you is important. I’ve been treating you like a child, when you aren’t one any longer. As much as it pains me to say that, it’s true.”

  One question nagged at me, and now that my father made his revelation, it began to become clearer. “What about Mom?” I asked.

  A pained expression crossed his face. “I loved your mother, Nic, more than anyone. You have to understand that when we met, I was confused, afraid of what everyone would say or do if they knew. Your mother helped me to be who I was but also gave me a life to hide behind. I’ll forever be grateful to her because she gave me you and she gave me a family when my own didn’t want me anymore.”

  “She knew?” This news rocked me more than anything.

  He nodded. “She did. From the beginning. It was the seventies. Everyone was freer back then, in the city. With the drugs and the clubs”—he threw his hands up—“but I still couldn’t come out. Not the way I can now. So, your mother offered to help me, we got married, we lived as husband and wife, but we had an open marriage. She was my best friend,” he said with a sniff, tears glistening in his eyes.

  “Is that the reason why . . .” I couldn’t say the words, couldn’t articulate what I was thinking.

  Dad shook his head vehemently, standing up from his side of the booth to slide in next to me. “No. That’s not why she ended her life, Nicolette. She wasn’t unhappy with our arrangement. Your mother was mentally ill, she always had been, since she was a child. Therapy wasn’t something you did when we were young. Her family ignored her issues, and I’m ashamed to say that I did as well. She loved you. You were her special person, but she couldn’t get better because she never knew how. I feel like I failed the both of you by not making her get help sooner. I worked too much, I was too focused on my own demons and—” My father choked on a silent sob.

  It was my turn to comfort him, and I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close. We were probably making a scene in the restaurant, but I didn’t care. My father was finally opening up to me. I was finally getting the closure I needed and so was he.

  “It’s not your fault, Dad. It’s not anyone’s fault, not even Mom’s. I used to think that if I had only come home sooner from cheer practice, or hadn’t gone at all, I would have been able to stop her. I now know that nothing could have stopped her. If she hadn’t taken her life that night, she would have done it another night. I know it’s not fair, either, but we can’t go back in time. We can only change our futures.”

  He nodded, pulling away from me and wiping his eyes. “Look at me,” he said with a laugh.

  I joined in on his laughter. I felt lighter after our talk, more liberated of the demons that had plagued me than I had been in a long time. Dad scooted back to his side of the booth and we composed ourselves.

  “I’m glad we were able to talk,” I said with a smile.

  Dad nodded. “Me, too. I should have done it sooner. I wasted too much time.”

  I shook my head. “No, it was the right time.”

  “I hope you’re doing okay, baby girl,” Dad said.

  I nodded. “I am. Better now than I’ve ever been.” It was the truth, because with my dad’s new revelations and my recent therapy sessions, my mental health was back on track.

  “Good. Because I don’t want to ignore any issues that you may be having like I did with your mother.”

  “You never did. Getting me in to see Dr. Harper when I was a teenager was the best thing you could have done.”

  We looked at each other a minute, silence surrounding us in a way that was comfortable and not awkward. After that we finished eating, lightening up the conversation to work, my dad’s new beau, and my social life. When lunch was over, I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders and I left the restaurant feeling like I could move forward with my life.

  It meant I was finally ready to be honest with Henry and stop hiding from my past. I couldn’t protect us from each other, but we could help each other heal.

  It meant I was ready to give in and be with him.

  * * *

  I knocked on Henry’s apartment door Sunday afternoon, balancing the box of donuts in one arm and my large bag in the other. The door swung in before I’d even put my hand back down. Henry stood in the doorway, his dark hair wet and hanging over one eye, the scruff on his face thicker than when I had seen him last week. He was wearing a black t-shirt, light-colored jeans. He was bare foot.

  I wanted to lean into him and tell him everything that I’d learned about my family, about myself. Tell him that I had been stupid to try to protect him from me and me from him and wasting time on worries that I should have shared with him.

  But for now, I just decided to enter the apartment.

  “Hey, what did you bring?” he asked as he took the large box from my arm.

  I shook my arm out when he relieved me of it, setting my bag down on the floor. “Donuts. I had a craving and I haven’t had them in a while. I may have bought too many.”

  Henry carried the box to the kitchen, setting it on the counter. We both looked down into the box and snickered simultaneously.

  “A whole dozen?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

  I shrugged. “There were so many good flavors that I couldn’t choose. So, I got one of each.”

  He laughed again, scooping four donuts out and putting them on a paper towel. “We’ll start with these and see how it goes.”

  “I think I’m just hungry because I did a hard workout this morning,” I said by way of an excuse.

  “Sure, we’ll go with that.”

  I slapped his arm. “Donuts are good.”

  He threw up his hands in surrender. “No one is disputing that fact.”

  He gathered our donuts and went into the living room. I grabbed my purse from the foyer and followed. Henry set the donuts on the coffee table before plopping onto the couch. I sat down next to him, shedding my coat and draping it over the back of the couch.

  “What should we get started on?” I asked, pulling a notebook out of my purse, pen poised to take notes.

  “My mother’s assistant sent over a guest list and possible donors. We have to draft an invitation and write up the info for the pamphlets, contact the company to print the invites and pamphlets with the information and determine the décor,” he said, ticking off a list.

  I scribbled that into the notebook. “I may have a designer to use for that last part,” I said, thinking of my dad’s partner Patrick.

  “Really? That would help so much. Can you contact them for me this week to get a quote? I know a graphic designer who might be able to help us with the pamphlets and invites.”

  I nodded, jotting notes as he spoke. “What’s the budget?”

  “Two hundred grand,” he said.

  I frowned. I had never planned a charity event before, but not only were we working with a short time
line of only six months, but the budget seemed awfully low for New York City standards. I wondered, not for the first time, why Beatrice was letting Henry work on the gala and not her party planner.

  “Okay, we can work with that,” I said with a definitive nod.

  “Really? Because your face says something else,” Henry said with a nervous chuckle.

  I shook my head. “No, I was thinking . . . but no, we’re fine. I think between the two of us and our connections in the city as well as your mother’s connections, we can make it work.”

  For the next forty minutes we planned, took notes and ate donuts. By the time we were done, I was stuffed and needed a nap. I leaned back against the couch, my hand on my stuffed belly, and closed my eyes.

  “We at half a dozen donuts between us,” Henry said with disgust.

  “Ugh, don’t remind me. I don’t think I’ll be able to eat another donut for a few months,” I said as I rubbed my stomach.

  “I doubt that.”

  I peeked at him from the corner of my eye. He was smirking at me. “You’re probably right. I can’t ever say no to donuts.”

  Henry laughed and I sat up, putting away my notebook. He picked up the used paper towels and the remains of our donuts, tossing everything in the trash. He walked back over to where I sat on the couch, standing over me for a moment, his eyes roaming my body. The energy in the room had suddenly changed from silly camaraderie to something else. The sexual tension in the room, buzzing between us, became a living breathing being, waiting to pounce. I wanted Henry, that was clear, and he wanted me. The connection between us was electric. But I wanted to come clean about everything before we took it to the next level. Before we got swept up and then I was too afraid to say anything.

  “Henry, I—”

  He cut me off by reaching for my hands and pulling me up to meet him, my body crashing into his as he wrapped his arms around my waist to steady me.

  “Can we not talk for a bit?” he asked, his intense green eyes meeting mine.

  I nodded. There was so much I had to say to him before I lost my nerve, but I didn’t want to break the moment. Without warning, he leaned down, taking my mouth in his, his tongue pushing between the seam of my lips, searching for mine. I kissed him back, tangling our tongues, my arms snaking around his neck to pull him closer. This was what I had been missing for over a month.

  This was what I wanted.

  How could I have convinced myself otherwise?

  There was no strangeness between us. The time we’d spent apart, with me fighting our attraction, slipped away. There was only Henry and me, swirling together, holding onto one another, taking from each other, but also giving so much back.

  When he pulled away from the kiss, I was disoriented, confused. I tried to reengage him, but he stopped, his emerald eyes serious again as they searched mine.

  “Are you sure, Nic? Are you sure this time?” There was trepidation in his voice.

  I nodded, not hesitating to even give it a moment’s thought. Nothing felt right without Henry, and nothing felt wrong with him. Everything I had ever been searching for, waiting for, was right here in this room.

  “Yes,” I said.

  That one word was enough to give him everything he needed to hear. He scooped me into his arms, carrying me back to his room and gently tossed me onto his bed. We wasted no time because we had done enough of that already. We undressed ourselves as swiftly as we could, tossing our clothes to the side without caring where they landed. We came back together on top of the bed, not even bothering to pull back the comforter. His lips smashed into mine, our limbs tangling together, our bodies pressed against one another. I couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t kiss him deeply enough, and when he slid inside of me, I finally felt whole—as if a part of me had been missing all this time.

  Though we came together quickly, he took it slow once we were joined. Flipping me to my back and rocking into me gently, rhythmically. My body reacted to his as it had with no other. I was alight with unseen flames, my limbs liquid with desire as the orgasm built. He stoked it further, grinding his pelvis into mine, stroking my clit, as I reached the peak. I tumbled, the climax hitting me quickly, taking my breath away while I opened my mouth on a silent scream. Henry thrust harder, faster, my body pulsing around him with my release. He gripped my hips, driving into me as another orgasm built from the first.

  We climbed together, his movements faster, filling me more as he grew thicker the closer he got to climaxing. We came together, me crying out loudly as he growled against my neck.

  Afterwards, we didn’t move for a while. Henry collapsed on top of me, kissing my neck as I traced lazy circles on his back. Eventually we drifted off, his body wrapped around mine. For the first time in a long time, I felt truly sated, free of anxiety and fear for the future.

  If only I had known that was all about to change.

  Chapter 30

  Nicolette

  “I don’t understand,” I said to the doctor, shaking my head with disbelief. “I went to see the doctor for a headache. Just a headache.”

  “Ms. Fowler, everyone presents symptoms in a different way. Our tests don’t have false positives.” The doctor looked at me, her eyes filled with concern. “Is there someone you would like me to call?”

  I shook my head slowly. “No, no. I’m fine. I’ll get an Uber.” I hopped off the exam table, pulling the gown closed in the front as I wandered to the window that overlooked the busy streets below. “I’m fine,” I mumbled again.

  “If you change your mind, let one of the nurses know. I’ll need to see you back here again for a follow up in about four weeks.” The doctor rested her hand gently on my shoulder, and I jumped.

  “Okay. Sure. I’ll schedule it out front.”

  She nodded and began to walk to the door.

  I spun abruptly, suddenly thinking of something else to ask. “I just don’t understand how this could happen. How can I be pregnant? I was, I am, on the pill.”

  The doctor shrugged. “No form of birth control is one-hundred-percent effective, Nicolette.”

  “Okay. Thank you,” I muttered as the doctor exited the room.

  Two days before I’d gone to see my family doctor, who had been concerned about the headaches and decided to run some tests. This morning, I got a call that I needed to see my gynecologist, and that he was sending the test results over to her office. He wouldn’t give me any more information. I didn’t find out the test results until I was in a gown on her table. Until she asked me if I would like an ultrasound to determine the date of conception.

  Conception?

  Eight weeks. That’s how far along I was. The headaches were a pregnancy symptom. Apparently, some women had intense headaches from the hormonal changes instead of morning sickness. There was only one person who could be the father of this baby. We had conceived this baby just before he’d left.

  How was I going to tell Henry that we were having a baby when we had just barely gotten to know one another? How was I going to tell him that not only was he supposed to maintain his sobriety, start a new job, a new relationship, but also that he was going to be a father? This would set him back.

  He was just getting his life back together and I was going to destroy it.

  In a daze, I pulled my leggings, sweater, and boots on, shrugged into my coat, and slung my bag over my shoulder. I robotically made another appointment to see my doctor in six weeks, gathered their pamphlets and other paraphernalia for expectant mothers, and headed back out into the cold sunlight. For about thirty minutes, I wandered the city, my mind racing in a way it never had before. I was going to have to tell someone. Probably Liza, but she and Jackson wouldn’t be back from Italy for another two days.

  Until then, I had to avoid everyone because I couldn’t tell Henry yet.

  I couldn’t ruin what we’d just started by dropping this bomb on him.

  By the time I reached my apartment, I was exhausted. Exhausted of thinking and exhausted of th
e emotions that swirled through me at light speed. On some level, the most basic level, I was happy—glowing, even—at the thought of having Henry’s baby. I placed my hand on my lower abdomen, a small smile touching my lips as I tossed my coat and bag onto the table in the foyer. I wanted this baby. I’d always wanted to be a mother. Despite the shock, the question of having the baby was never one that had crossed my mind when I found out. Even if I had become pregnant from one of the many one-night stands of the past five years, I still would have kept the baby.

  My fear and trepidation were not for myself. I could take care of a baby—I would have the support of my father, my friends. I would be okay. But would Henry be okay when he found out that I was having his baby? Or would he spiral off the wagon when he’d just found his way onto it?

  I had to wait before I told him. Until I was sure he was secure in his new normal. Until I was sure he wouldn’t go back to drinking.

  But how long?

  Stripping down to my t-shirt and underwear, I slipped into bed, ready for a nap to relax my overworked brain. I would think more when I woke up. I would call my dad and Liza and work it out. But for now, I would sleep.

  * * *

  “I have something important to tell you. Are you alone?” I asked Liza the second she answered the phone.

  It had been two days before I could bring myself to call her. I wanted to make sure she was home safely, back in New York where she could come to me if she needed to or I could get to her if I needed her. The last two days, I’d holed up in my apartment like a hermit. Wednesday, I took a personal day, and yesterday and today I had worked from home under the guise of not wanting to spread germs around the office. I was afraid if I saw anyone, I would blurt out the news, tell the first person I saw because it was weighing so heavy on my heart that I couldn’t keep it in anymore.

  And I couldn’t do that before I told the other people in my life.

  “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Liza’s voice made me tear up—I had been doing that off and on the last two days.