I stop and turn, taking one last look back at him. “That, I’m sorry for most of all. I’m sorry that you love me, Kent.”
I get into my car, start the engine, and pull away, refusing to look into the rear view mirror for fear of catching a glimpse of him standing there on the sidewalk. That wasn’t how I wanted to tell him or for us to end. But if I’m honest with myself, was there really any other way for it to end besides badly?
I use the back of my sleeve to wipe away at the rapid flow of tears streaming down my face. It’s a relief to finally have it all out there. He’ll be sad for some time, but then he can move on. Me, though, I have no idea how I’m going to recover from this. I was a fool for trying to convince myself he wasn’t looking for marriage and kids. I convinced myself just so I could buy more time with him and look where it got me. Back to the full heartbreak I spent years trying to heal. My phone rings and shortly after it switches over, vibrating, indicating incoming texts. I ignore them all.
My eyes are heavy from tears and it’s a long trip back to Cherry Wood. I need something. What do I need? The glowing 7-11 sign ahead is a sign. I need coffee. The coffee will be the pick me up I need in order to make the long drive home.
It’s late, the place is practically empty. A bored man with a full beard stands behind the counter playing with his phone, leaning his back along the stacked up cartons of cigarettes. The only other people in the place are a little girl and her father.
Grabbing a green paper cup, I fill it almost to the top with French vanilla coffee. The little girl is at the Slurpee machine holding her cup, while her father pulls the lever filling it with cherry ice. “Daddy, save room for the blue. I want to mix it.” He follows the little girl’s orders and switches the cup over to the swirling blue ice continuing to load up her cup. Her dark ponytail is tied up in a big red bow and she’s wearing a floral party dress. She’s adorable. I reach for the sugar, adding a bit to my cup and stir.
The door opens and another man walks in wearing khakis and a white button shirt. He walks over to the Slurpee machine and frowns. “We just spent all day at a party loading her up with sugar and now you’re getting her a Slurpee? I thought you two were just coming in here to use the bathroom.”
“I was thirsty, Dad,” the little girl says to the man in the khaki’s.
He smiles at her and then looks up at the other man. “Darling, you spoil her. How are we supposed to set a good example when you give into everything?”
I’ve stirred my coffee approximately a hundred times at this point. I’m engrossed in this couple and their adorable little girl as this Slurpee saga unfolds in front of me.
The couple purchases the Slurpee for the beaming little girl, who obviously has both of her dads wrapped right around her little finger. She holds her red and blue-filled cup like a trophy, sipping from a thick clear straw, twirling around, her frilly dress spinning around her.
“Now she’s all hyped up. I’m putting you in charge of putting her to bed tonight,” The man in khakis grins. The other man rubs his forehead, surely rethinking his decision to give his young daughter a large cup of cold sugar way past her bedtime. I wait until they leave before I finally put a lid on my coffee and walk up to the counter to pay.
In the front seat of my car I blow mindlessly into my steaming vanilla brew. I’m pretty sure neither one of those men has a uterus, but they have a daughter. Adoption. Why do I always push the thought away from my mind? After the surgery I kept telling myself there wasn’t any other way. I was too wrapped up in self-pity to ever really open my eyes to other possibilities. But of course, adoption, I can be a mom. I can have children. The first glimmer of hope builds inside of me.
Staring blankly into the front window of the 7-11, I take small sips of the hot coffee. At least a half hour goes by, maybe more. I can’t get them out of my head, those three people getting a Slurpee in the middle of the night. Are they home already? Is the little girl bouncing off the walls, fighting them about putting on her pajamas? After she finally nods off, will her parents tip toe into her room and watch her sleep? Two parents, a child, and love. It wasn’t traditional, but it was a family.
My heart feels like it’s opening up, allowing dreams to enter back in. There’s a future again. But what about Kent? Is adoption something he would ever consider? Could I even ask him?
My phone vibrates on the seat next to me. Scrolling through, I see I have eight missed text messages. I open the first one, read, and keep going until I’ve read them all.
Kent: Please come back and talk to me.
Kent: I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know the right things to say. But I can try.
Kent: I love you.
Kent: I want to marry you. And have a family with you.
Kent: There are other options for us. Amazing options.
Kent: One day when we’re both ready we can look into adoption.
Kent: We can still have beautiful, perfect, incredible children.
Kent: SUPERMAN WAS ADOPTED.
I read the last text three times before tossing my phone on the passenger seat. The man behind the counter peers out the window at me. He’s probably debating on whether to call the cops or not. I don’t blame him. I’m parked outside his store ugly crying into my coffee like a deranged lunatic. I have to leave here. I don’t know where I’m going but I can’t stay in this parking lot any longer.
After an exhausting drive going in circles, wracking my brain, not sure where to go or what to do, I pass the 7-11 sign again. The sign is a sign. Why I went there and witnessed what I did tonight, seeing that little girl, that family, it was a sign.
It takes all my strength to climb the stairs. When I reach the door, he opens it before I even knock. His face is raw and worn, mirroring my own.
“Superman?” I ask in a whisper.
“Superman.” He confirms.
“Kent, they’ll be a lot of bumps in the road. This won’t be easy.”
“Nothing that leads to greatness ever is.”
Chapter Eight
Kent
If you’re quiet, you can hear the trumpets sound. The honeymooners have returned. Ashley and Patrick are radiant, tanned, and bearing gifts for all of us at they come gallivanting through the door for family dinner night.
“Where’s Robin?” Ashley asks, then plants a kiss on my cheek. She places a shiny black bag with a fancy silver logo in my hand.
“Robin won’t be joining us tonight. She had a commitment with work friends involving mandatory Margaritas,” I say. “Tomorrow she’ll be here.” Provided she only has one Margarita. She’s a bit of a lightweight in the drinking department.
“I’m dying to see her and we have so much good news to share with everyone.” Ashley pouts for two seconds then perks back up. “Open your gift.”
I reach into the bag and take out a box, the hinge squeaking as I open it. Two shiny gold objects sit against the black velvet backdrop. “Cufflinks!” I exclaim, trying to keep the ‘why the hell would you get me these’ look off my face.
“Yes, they’re from Italy. Aren’t they spectacular? I had no idea what to get you and then I asked Patrick if you had cufflinks and he told me you don’t. So, yay, now you do,” she says enthusiastically, bouncing away to hand out the rest of her gifts.
“Now I have cufflinks,” I say, looking over at Patrick.
“Now you have cufflinks,” he repeats with a chuckle. “She wanted to get you an engraved money clip, something you could use every day. I figured if she got you cufflinks you wouldn’t have to make excuses up for not using them.”
“I guess I owe you.” I drop the black bag containing my gift on a table in the hall. “Heard about the house. Congratulations. Living right across the street from Mom and Dad, that should be very ‘Everybody Loves Patrick.’” Patrick narrows his eyes in my direction. “I’ve been watching a lot of re-runs with Robin lately.” I laugh following him into the kitchen where my mother is modeling something called a pashmina. A
shley is showing her the correct way to wear it, demonstrating on the identical one she is wearing.
“The house was our wedding gift from Ashley’s mother.” Patrick supplies under his breath with a note of disdain. “I wasn’t too thrilled but I feel my hands are a little tied right now. The money stuff is hard. I’m anxious to be done with school and out working, providing for my wife and family,” he says with a grin, glancing over at Ashley, who is still blathering away with my mom.
I stick my hand out, grasping his in a firm shake. “Congrats. I had a feeling.”
“Thanks. Act surprised, she’s busting to tell everyone. I give her five more minutes before she spills.”
We take our seats at the table. Ashley bounces in her seat, waiting for everyone to get settled. “We have one more surprise to share with all of you,” she blurts out, whipping a little picture from her purse and holding it up. “Do you think he or she looks like Patrick or me?”
My mother screams, jumping from her seat to give Ashley a big hug. The rest of us follow suit. Congratulatory hugs are given all around. When we sit back down at the table, every small detail —from peeing on the stick to whispering her amazing news to Patrick on the dance floor at their wedding—is given.
“It was such a surprise,” Ashley says, hands extended in her full dramatic way.
“It wasn’t that big of a surprise.” Patrick raises his eyebrows. “Once the wedding started getting close, well, we knew what we were doing. We knew it could happen.”
“But, I didn’t tell him I was pregnant until after we were married. So, he didn’t marry me because of the baby,” Ashley states defensively. As if any one of us would have ever thought that. “It was just so much easier than I thought it was going to be. It was like we looked at each other and I got pregnant.”
“Yeah, looking, that’s how it happened.” Patrick laughs and Ashley turns pink, shooting him a look that warns him to hush up.
I laugh along with him, happy for them and this exciting news. I’m going to be an uncle. My mom is on her feet, dashing from the table and returning moments later with an album of our baby pictures. Ashley squeals as she looks through all the pictures. “Look at that cute little face and bald head. Oh, my God, Patrick, I hope he looks exactly like you.”
“Do you have any names picked out?” my mom asks.
“Well, Patrick Jr. for a boy and for girls, we like Amanda, Hannah, Emily, or maybe something cute like Lola.”
Emily. I stop chewing, placing my slice of pizza back down on my plate. It didn’t even strike me until right now. All of this hoopla and the big announcement, thank God Robin wasn’t here tonight. The details, the excitement, the big fuss being made, none of it bothers me, but I have a strong feeling it would have upset her. My family still doesn’t even know anything about Robin being sick, or about her surgery.
“Kent, don’t tell Robin. We want to tell her ourselves. We thought she was going to be here tonight, but you said she’s coming up tomorrow right?” Ashley asks. “I can tell her then.”
“Uhh,” This isn’t the right time to tell them. Not in the midst of all their joy, but I can’t have them springing this on Robin without them knowing all she’s been through. I’m not sure how she would react. Everything is still so fresh. She’s still so fragile. I really can’t push it off telling them very much longer.
“Is everything all right?” Patrick looks over, concerned, reading my face.
I have to tell them. With this big news, I can’t put it off any longer.
“I’m really sorry to do this tonight, but there is something I need to share with you guys. It’s about Robin.”
Robin
Two Margaritas and I slept until noon, nursed a headache until three, and didn’t arrive at Kent’s until almost six.
He answers the door dressed in jeans and fitted black T-shirt, all ready to head over to Twisted. I’m nowhere near ready. My clothes are packed up in the duffel bag slung over my shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m so late. I just need like fifteen minutes and I’ll be ready.”
“You just got here, relax and take your time. We don’t go on until nine. I’ll just be setting up with the guys. You can come later.”
“Are you sure?” I ask thankful for the offer, another hour or two parked on the couch would be heaven.
“I’m sure.” He pulls me in and my arms instantly wrap up around his neck. We share a kiss that borders on the fine line of starting something that we can’t finish but it breaks apart quickly. “Okay, no, that is a kiss that needs to be saved until later.” He shakes my hand in a business-like fashion. “Goodbye, Ms. Barnes, I will see you later this evening.”
I giggle, shaking his hand back. “Mr. Daniels, good seeing you again, I look forward to watching you perform later.”
I’m positive he opens his mouth to make a dirty remark, but refrains and walks out the door. With the extra few hours I’ve been given, I curl up on his couch and click the television on. One minute I’m watching Monica and Rachael arguing in the bathroom over the last condom and the next I’m blinking my eyes open to see Penny shooting a paintball at Sheldon’s spot.
It takes a few seconds to place where I am; then it washes over me. There’s a knocking sound and I’m not sure if it’s here or at one of the apartments next door. I rub the sleep from eyes and get up from the couch when I hear more knocking. Peering out Kent’s peephole, I see Ashley on the other side and open up the door.
“Hey, welcome back.” We hug in the doorway before stepping inside. “Where’s Patrick? Is he with you? Kent already left for the bar.”
“No, it’s just me. I wanted to come over and say hello. We never got a chance to really talk since you and Kent have been back together. Which, by the way, it’s about freaking time.”
I return the smile she gives me and we take a seat on Kent’s couch.
“So, wow, you’re married! Tell me what it’s like,” I ask, scooting back on the couch so I can twist and face her.
“It’s great,” Ashley replies in a very calm, subdued manner. Not quite what I expected. The Ashley I remember would be half way through her third story by now, gushing over every detail of her honeymoon/love fest.
“And the new house, that’s exciting.” I can’t believe I’m the one being more enthusiastic about things right now. Trying to pull conversation out of her, this is a switch.
“Robin, last night we had a family dinner and Kent talked to us,” Ashley says solemnly.
There goes my stomach, tying itself up in a row of knots. Shoot. He told them all. A heads up would have been nice. Even though I got here later than expected, Kent could have at least mentioned it before he left.
“Well, now you all know. I hope you don’t feel bad or anything. It was rough for a while but I’m in a much better place now. The doctors say I’m okay and Kent and I are figuring things out for our future.” I hold up my hands. That’s it. She knows. We addressed it. Time to move on. “So tell me a good story. I’m sure you have a million of them.”
“Have you talked to anyone since all of this happened?” Ashley asks, bringing the subject back on to me.
I hate this. I bite down on a nail, focusing in on a poster across the room. “Yeah, I talked to Kent about it.”
“Anyone besides Kent?” Ashley crosses her legs and rests her hands on her lap. This is not a social visit to catch up. She wants to talk about me and my being sick. No thank you.
“Yes, Ashley, my dad was there for me. Plus I talked with the doctors before the surgery. Everyone was very nice. I’m telling you I’m fine. You don’t need to worry,” I say quickly, looking over at the clock, clasping my hand over my mouth. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I have to get ready to leave for the bar before Kent goes on.” Hopefully this will motivate Ashley to leave. I’m happy to talk and catch up with her. Just not like this.
“I just wondered if you have someone to talk to, like a therapist or even another woman. Someone who fully understands everything you went
through. What you’re still going through.” Ashley doesn’t budge. She stays rooted on the couch, twisting the diamond ring on her finger.
I concentrate on her hands, watching the diamond spin in and out of site. My dad’s wife, Lynda, would come see me, although, we never talked about anything more than how I was feeling on a physical level. One of the oncologists I saw had suggested I talk with someone post-surgery. I never did. I wouldn’t have even known what to say. It was done. Nothing I could say would undo anything. I talk to my mom, but I’m not sure if that counts being she can’t talk back to me.
“I appreciate that you care, Ashley, really I do, but it’s behind me now. I’m okay.” I stand up, scanning the room for where I left my purse.
“How will you react when you find out people are pregnant?”
Really? I let out a noise of disgust, showing her what I think of her insinuating question. “I’ll be happy, of course. What do you think — I’ll be all pissed off or something?”
She shifts, uncrossing her legs and sits up straight. “No, but it might make you sad.”
A bubble rises up in my throat and I swallow. “No, it wouldn’t.” My voice lowers as I sit back down, bracing myself for what I have a feeling is coming next.”
Ashley rubs a small circle over her stomach. Glassy brown eyes give me a sympathetic look. “Patrick and I are having a baby. I’m pregnant,” she says.
Her words take a moment to settle in and I turn my head away from her, taking a deep breath, filling my lungs. The air feels trapped inside of me. I’m struggling, desperate to release the breath, but I can’t. My hand comes up to my chest, rubbing the pressure I feel building up. With the small amount of air I’m able to release I open my mouth to speak. “Congra . . . ” My voice breaks, unable to finish the word. Even though I bite down hard on my lip, I can still feel it quivering. With every fiber of my being I fight the tears that are on the verge of spilling from my eyes.
There’s a spot on Kent’s couch and I mash my thumb against it, trying to rub out the set-in stain. If I focus on that stain, I’ll be able to breathe normally and stop myself from crying. I’ll be able to say something, explain that these are happy tears, even though I’m realizing they’re not.
Panic (The Flaw Series) Page 8