by K. S. Adkins
“Three hours? What?”
Turning back to me he levels with me his no-bullshit look again “Three hours I held her in my lap while she cried over you.”
“Fuck, Rogue I —”
“Three goddamn hours I had to sit there knowin’ I can’t help her. You not only threw my woman under the fucking bus because you didn’t know the story, you put my woman at odds with her sister. You wanna see destroyed, partner? Go to my house and see for yourself. You did this. You broke her heart because you’re too fucking stubborn to listen. Between crying and chucking, ain’t shit I can do for her. That’s on you. I needed to tell you that and you needed to know it. Now you do.”
“She’s still sick?” I ask, looking for something.
“She’s got sick from the pizza you fed her,” he says, leaving. “It’s a shame you ain’t the one chucking it up.”
“Fuck, man, what do I do?” He looks at me, then at his phone, and starts running for his truck. Rogan Black does not fucking run ever, so I haul ass after him.
“Rogue!” I yell. “What’s going on man? Talk to me!”
“Don’t know,” he says, jumping in. “Something’s wrong, gotta go.”
Jumping in the passenger seat, he wants to throw me out, but he can’t because he needs to get home, plus I ain’t budging. Flooring it over to his place, my heart is racing and it’s racing with fear.
Silence …
Venessa and I stare at the stick with two distinctly pink lines in total silence. Eyes wide, hands in lap, barely breathing, and not sure what the hell to do, we just do what we’ve been doing, we look at it. Part of me expects it to do a trick or start talking, but no; it just sits there with my urine dripping off of it (I make a mental note to clean that up later). You’d think I’d be planning the kid’s future, picking out colors, and wondering if it’s a boy or a girl, but that wasn’t what happened. What did happen was I was in shock. Not the kind of shock that wears off and then joy sets in, no. I was in howthefuckdidthishappen and whatthefuckamigonnadonow kind of shock. In fact, I am really fucking terrified. While Venessa attempts to comfort me she isn’t even aware I’m not listening. I’m not listening because I went from full on panic to something else completely. Something I’ve never felt before.
Seconds.
It only took seconds and then it happened. My entire focus just … shifted. What once held importance no longer did. The unknown is my new reality. My newest challenge isn’t something that could be learned from a book. It is on the job training. The most important job ever took root inside of me. Motherhood is my new role, yet I've never even held a baby.
Touching my belly I notice it's no larger, it’s not distended. If you look at me you wouldn't know anything’s changed, when in fact everything has. I'm going to be a mom. Not a scientist, not a nurse, not a team member, a mom. In seconds I know, in those few precious seconds, this is going to be the greatest gift I've ever been given, and I have no intentions on squandering it.
Vaguely I hear the front door slam, and part of me relaxes because Rogan does that for you, he can get you to mellow out when shits in the red zone. Oddly enough, once the terror passes I am … at peace. You could say I even feel happiness. But when I look up I see Rogan and Jonas both trying to squeeze through the door at the same time, but finding themselves stuck instead, like out of a goddamn movie. Truth? Any other day this would have me peeing my pants. Today, though, I want Rogan here, and I want Jonas to go away.
“Rogue,” Venessa starts. “Let’s go to the kitchen, yeah? I really need to talk to you.” He nods, looking at Jonas, who isn’t looking anywhere but at me.
Rogan looks at me in that protective way he has, and I nod, telling him I’m okay. He looks at Jonas but he doesn’t notice, so reluctantly he leaves with Venessa. I sit there still silent, not knowing what to do, and obviously he doesn’t either. Hating the quiet, I’m just about to say something, anything, when I hear Rogan yell ‘What?!?’ so loudly I flinch, forcing me to go back to staring at the stick.
Jonas watches me stare at it but he doesn’t move; he doesn’t say a word. My nerves are starting to get the best of me, plus the confined space of this bathroom. Once again my stomach betrays me. Sliding off the seat I fall to my knees, lift the lid, and introduce my crackers to the toilet.
When the worst has passed, I stand up on shaky legs, take a step over to the sink, and rinse my mouth while that fucking stick continues to remind me it’s there.
“Princess?” he asks quietly, but I just don’t have it in me to look at him. I just fucking can’t.
“Rafe,” says Rogan, joining the party. “Time for you to go.”
“Go?” He says this with hurt and I can actually feel it through my entire body. I can feel his hurt. Like I don’t have enough of my own? Since I’m at my breaking point my eyes fill up, my nose starts to twitch, and here comes the spillover. Sobbing as quietly as possible, I try hiding my face, but I know they can both see and hear me.
“Yeah, man,” he says. “She needs her rest, you need to go.”
“Princess,” he whispers. “Are you sick?”
“Rafe,” he says, getting agitated. “Let’s go, now.”
“Is she sick?” he asks, panicked. “Macy, are you sick? What’s going on?”
“Enough,” Rogan growls. “You ain’t helping her. Move it, or I’ll move it for you.”
“Goddammit! Just tell me why she’s sick!” he yells, reaching for me. Turning me toward him he looks at my face and I see his worry, his panic for me. “Princess, what’s wrong? Why are you so sick?”
Looking up I decide to rip the band aid off and let him finish ripping my heart out, knowing he’ll walk away after I drop the bomb. He thinks I’m capable of mass murder so no doubt he probably thinks I got pregnant to trap him, too. So I tell him straight.
“I’m not sick, Rafe. I’m pregnant.”
In the short time I’ve known him, he’s been known to surprise me, but nothing could have surprised me like him falling to his knees, wrapping his arms around me, putting his head on my stomach and holding on to me like I matter. The biggest surprise of all is that right then, I just don’t have anything left to give back.
A daddy.
I’m going to be a daddy.
She’s pregnant with my baby, our baby. All I could do was hit the floor and worship her proper. Wrapping my arms around her I’m holding on for all I’m worth. Me, the guy who has shit to show for my thirty-two years on Earth created a life with the most perfect woman on Earth, my woman.
A family.
I’m going to have a family.
Putting my head against her stomach I listen for my kid to talk to me, to tell me he loves me, that I’m worth a shit. If I could promise him anything it’s that I’m going to love him and his momma with everything I got. I’ll make them both happy, we’ll do everything together. He’ll be smart like his momma, strong like me, with her temperament and my street smarts. Fuck me, I’m gonna be a daddy!
Feeling so fucking happy, it doesn’t register that Rogue is removing my hands, taking me from her. It also didn’t register that Macy is crying again, either. Venessa moves past us to hold onto Macy, but I lunge forward, wanting her back.
“Enough,” Rogue says to me, but I don’t understand why everyone is so upset. “You’ve done enough for one day. Time for you to go. If she wants to talk to you, she’ll call.”
“What?” Wanting to get back to Macy I try moving him out the way, but instead he grabs me, throwing me from the bathroom into the hallway. “The fuck, man!” I yell when he tosses me across the room. “Let me see Macy, let me see her! Get the hell out of my way, goddammit! Macy!”
He drags me further through the living room straight to the porch, then getting in my face, he gives me a reality check, and let me tell you when this happened it didn’t end well for me at all.
“Fuck you,” he says, more pissed than I’ve ever seen him. “The shit you said, don’t know if it’s forgivable. That�
�s her choice. If it were me, I’d tell you to get fucked. But I ain’t her so you’re just gonna have to get the fuck outta here and let her figure it out.” He pushes me toward the road but he isn’t finished.
“If I were her,” he growls, “you wouldn’t get forgiveness from me. That girl loves you. Fuck if I know why but, she does. Quit making this about you for a minute and be her. You took from her. You took her heart. You didn’t protect it, you shattered that shit. That heart? Was a gift. You treasure that shit, you don’t rip it apart first time shit don’t go right. You talk that shit out. You didn’t do that. You accused, you yelled, and you left. You fucking left. Remember when I left? You remember that? You learn anything from that? Right now, you got nothing. No girl, no kid, nothing. You want that back? You play it right; you treat her like the goddamn princess you call her. You get me?”
“I get you,” I whisper, staring at the front door wishing she’d come out screaming for me, but she doesn’t.
“Go home, partner,” he says. “Do some thinking.”
“She called me Rafe,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he says. “She did, but knowing her, she didn’t mean it.”
Head down, I start walking back home knowing full well this time, she did mean it, and as usual, the blame is all fucking mine.
Four days have passed and no one has heard from him. Tonight I have the banquet, which I really wanted to cancel, but couldn’t. Venessa has been amazing, not even caring I’m stealing her man’s time. Rogan has been my support system. Honest to god I’d crumble without him close. If I wasn’t envious of them before, I am now. If someone would have told me Rogan Black was a talker, I wouldn’t have believed them. He’s given me a lot to think about. In my spare time I’ve been doing a lot of thinking on my own, too.
I’ve had to ask myself if I had left one bad situation to enter another. Further, I had to wonder, what hurt worse? Fists or words? If I were being honest, my answer is words hurt the most. I’m numb at this point. What he said, how he reacted, how easily he’s led to think the worst of me hurts so much that I can’t even feel it anymore. He doesn’t deserve my forgiveness, he doesn’t deserve anything. How many times can you admit you have a problem verbalizing and continuously use it as an excuse to say cruel things? When you know you have a problem with your temper yet you use it to your advantage every chance you get? I’m not perfect, I know it. I have my own issues and I know that, too.
But I own my shit. He doesn’t. You can’t verbally beat me down and then drop to your knees when you think you’re excited about a baby and think all is forgiven. What happens when the baby pisses you off? Or the baby won’t sleep? Jonas and I don’t know each well, and from what I’ve seen, I don’t think getting to know any more about him is even necessary.
Here’s the problem with thinking. I know how I should feel, and that’s justifiably hurt. Yes, I’m numb, but when I dig down deep and see past the numb I feel it there. The pain, the love I feel that isn’t returned. The trust I gave him but he didn’t find me good enough to return. And yet with all this fucking thinking, I’m thinking that despite everything … I miss him. I shouldn’t miss him. But dammit, the hurt is the only fucking thing keeping me numb. Because not being numb anymore will destroy me; being numb is all I’ve got. So I push the love down and call on the last words he spoke to me instead, and that keeps the numbness fresh.
Today was my first doctor appointment, and Rogan took me. Sitting in the waiting room with other expectant mothers, most with partners, a few without, was really hard for me. The night Jonas left, I went to bed holding my stomach, wanting this baby with everything I’ve got, wanting a family with everything I’ve got. When I told him I was pregnant he was … happy.
The appointment was quick and though I knew the routine, I was slightly disappointed they didn’t send me home with charts and graphs to play with. They did give me vitamins, told me everything looked good and to come back next month. Driving back to the house we pass Jonas’ block and I give it a quick glance but when I saw a car behind his truck in the driveway I fight back the tears, forcing myself to remember he isn’t mine anymore. That could be anyone’s car, and really it isn’t my business. Nothing could stop me from thinking the worst — that it is another woman’s car, maybe even Chyna’s — and even in my hormonal state that brought out the mean in me.
These last four days have been long, and they’ve been difficult. Especially on Rogan, who I know is avoiding Jonas on my behalf, and that makes me feel like an asshole. Instead of pouting, I put on my big girl panties and decided to get on with things. One of those things, which I explained to Venessa and Rogan, was finding my own place. They both insist I stay, but I can’t, I won’t. I’m an adult, they need their privacy, and guess what? Life goes on.
When Ben offered to pick me up tonight for the banquet, I declined. Rogan and Venessa are dropping me off, heading to the club for a while, and picking me up after. After taking a nap - which prior to this, I never did - I showered, blew my hair, put on my makeup, and put on my evening gown, wishing it was Jonas taking me dancing and not a stuffy banquet for doctors and students. I allowed myself a few minutes of thinking about him before I tucked the pity party back in my pocket and put my heels on. Looking in the mirror, you can’t miss the pregnancy glow everyone talks about. Even with the dark circles under my eyes, I’m still glowing. Rubbing my belly I head downstairs, where they both compliment me endlessly and then drive me to my destination with zero fuss.
Making conversation I ask about any leads we have, but Rogan insists I shouldn’t worry, that when he knows, I’ll know. So I take a chance and ask about Jonas, but he just shakes his head. Having nothing else to say, I reapply my gloss and wait for this night to just be over so I can go back and sulk, alone.
Walking in to the hall I smile, shake hands, talk shop, and wait for Ben. When he spots me, he stops what he’s doing and approaches, looking very handsome in his tux. Kissing my cheek, taking my elbow, he leads me into the ballroom where we grab our seat card and head to our designated table.
At dinner, I kept it light with salad, bread, and a piece of baked chicken. During the speeches I try not to fall asleep, so I check my phone sending texts to Venessa asking about her night. From the sounds of it, she’s got the better end of the deal. She asked if I was ready yet but before I could respond my dinner staged a revolt and I ran from the ballroom to the bathroom in my four-inch heels. Throwing the stall open I let it ride; it took about fifteen minutes to rid myself of all of it. When I freshen up and walk out I see a very concerned Ben waiting for me.
“I brought your bag,” he says, handing it to me. “Is everything all right? You left right when our department was announced.”
“Thank you,” I say, reaching for my bag. “I’ve got a nasty bug is all. I’m sorry if I ruined your night.”
“Just being here with you looking beautiful as ever is enough for me,” he says taking my elbow. “And you do look beautiful, Macy.”
Smiling at him, my stomach lurches like the kid is pissed that I noticed another man the first place, and I run right back into the bathroom and give my kid and my stomach a talking to. Texting Venessa, I ask for a pick up. It’s official, I can’t do this shit. Chucking in public bathrooms is wretched. That decided, I text Ben, letting him know to go on without me. Not even looking for a response, I walk outside for some fresh air, reminding myself this is temporary. The pain, the loneliness, the nausea, all of it … is temporary.
When they pull up, Rogan opens my door but the entire way home, they both keep giving each other and me weird looks. Since ridding myself of dinner, I’m proud to say he only had to pull over once for me to purge what was left of it. After that, he floored it back with Venessa checking her phone and with me holding on for dear life. What was the fucking hurry? I’m not going to puke in his truck!
Slowing down, I notice we’re turning onto Jonas’ street, not going up the additional eight blocks to Rogan’s. I lean forward in my
seat but before I can say anything, Rogan puts the truck in park and they both turn to me.
“If there was ever a time you need to trust us,” he says, “it’s now.”
“He’s waiting for you, Macy,” she says. “If I thought, well, if we thought this was a bad idea, we’d shut it down but … We really think you need to go in there and hear what he has to say, yeah?”
Taking turns looking at Rogan, then Venessa, then back to Rogan, I don’t know what to say.
“Macy,” he says quietly, “I got your back but … you gotta go in there. Can you do that?”
“He wants me here?”
“Fuck yeah he does,” he says. “Thinking you need to see shit for yourself.”
Looking at Venessa I beg her with my eyes to give me the answer and as usual, she does.
“Trust me.” she says, smiling, so I nod then clutch my stomach, and oddly enough I don’t get sick.
Rogan puts the truck in drive and makes the final turn into Jonas’ driveway. Opening my door, I slide off my seat onto unsteady legs and just stare at the house like it’s going to eat me. Rogan approaches me, takes my hand, whispers “It’s all good, promise,” and walks me to the porch then knocks, all the while never knowing he was responsible for holding me up.
Rogan kicking me out didn’t go well. In fact, when I went home, I flipped the hell out. I raged, I screamed, I destroyed. As proof I’ve got four walls that show the evidence of my mood. Later that night, while I sat on my kitchen floor with beer bottles scattered all around me, I started typing her text messages I never sent. Wrote her letters I’d never mail, but made promises I intended to keep.