Nothing Matters (Family Matters Book 1)

by Key, Liana

  "Just as well you didn't," I smirked. I picked up a piece of Lego which was on his bed stand, it was a made into a little house with a garden and a wall around it. He went back into his bathroom and returned with another towel to dry his hair. "Do you still play with Lego?" I held up his creation.

  "Leave that alone," he snapped and he plucked it from my hand and took it across to his bookcase, sitting it next to the photo of his mother. "What do you want?" he asked impatiently and seeing me in his shirt added, "Why have you got my shirt on?" He went across the room to his walk-in closet.

  "Because I can't fit my clothes," I said. He emerged in some boxers and a towel around his neck and carrying his other towel.

  "What?" His tone was still hostile. I pulled up the 49ers shirt, pulled down the top of my leggings and revealed my belly. He stared, at my belly and then at me. I moved myself back into a sitting position, so I was leaning against his pillows. He came and sat on the bed.

  "Are you pregnant?" There was disbelief in his voice, like he was seeing it, saying it, but not comprehending it. I could only nod, telling myself I mustn't cry.

  "Who to?" he asked, as if he was absolutely clueless. I wondered how many boys he'd thought I'd ever slept with.

  "Flynn," I said, defensively, and like he needed an explanation, added, "he's been my only boyfriend."

  Cash shook his head. "Shit for a minute there I thought you were going to say Devon." It seemed he preferred it to be Flynn, than Devon. "Does he know?"

  I shook my head. "I'll tell him after exams. But Dad already told Dr Surridge. And I've never done anything with Devon I'll have you know." My last comment was purposely scathing.

  He looked relieved and asked, "Do you talk to Flynn?" I shook my head again. "Shit. How far along are you?"

  "Six months."

  "Shit." I'd never heard him swear so much. He removed the towel from his neck and tossed it onto the floor along with the one he was still holding, very unlike him. He slid along the bed and took me in his arms and hugged me. "Are you okay?" I nodded. "Really?"

  I nodded again. I had no choice but to be okay. The baby was going to come whether I wanted it to or not. That's what Dad had said. There was no time to be pondering good or bad, right or wrong, the baby was coming regardless. All we had to do was prepare for it. Dad's approach was practical and no-nonsense, he didn't allow any room for drama and emotion. That's what I told Cash. He laughed. "Dad's gonna be a grandad, it's probably freaking him out. And I'm gonna be an uncle." He seemed to be proud. I thought then maybe things might be all right, that I could cope with this. "That's gonna be so cool."

  "Really? You're not disappointed in me?

  "No," he said. "It's definitely unexpected, but you will be a great Mom."

  "Really? You think so?"

  "I know so," he said confidently and I felt so full of love for him. I took out my phone and showed him the scan. He smiled and made me send it to his phone. "Magdala, I want to be there when it's born," he said, studying the picture of my unborn baby. I gave him a quizzical look. "I'm going to be a doctor one day," he laughed, "it'll be good to get some early experience. Do you feel it?"

  "Yes it kicks," I said and I pulled my shirt up again and he reached his hand on it. There was no movement so he shifted himself to sit next to me, then placed his hand back on, moving it round, trying to feel. "It might be asleep," I offered.

  "Can you stay here awhile?" he asked. "I want to feel it."

  I told him I'd be back, that I needed to clean my teeth and wash my face. When I came back he'd folded over the sheet so I could sleep on one side, but be in my own blanket, and we talked and laughed and about half an hour later he was rewarded when the baby started to kick. And I stayed there all night. Cassian's attitude changed everything for me. I didn't need to be afraid, whatever happened, he'd have my back, but I knew it still wasn't going to make telling Flynn any easier.

  Exams have finished, it's the week before Christmas. I text Flynn: I need to talk to you. He texts back: why? Me: can I come over. He doesn't respond straight away, it takes him three minutes, by which time I am already in my car. His reply: yeah.

  I'm shaking as I ring the doorbell and I'm expecting him to answer, but it's his father, and I feel shame, keep my eyes down. He calls Flynn, who comes to the door, barely greets me, just raises his eyebrows, but seems to take note that I'm wearing Cassian's 49ers shirt, which almost reaches my knees. He leads me to his bedroom, body language clearly indicating that I'm an inconvenience. I wonder what he's been doing that I'm now interrupting. He sits on his computer chair, half swivels around, doesn't offer me a seat. I'm standing awkwardly in the centre of the room. There's an uneasy silence.

  "How have you been doing?" I finally say, my pre-rehearsed lines forgotten.

  "Is that what you wanted to talk about?" His voice is full of derision, condescension, cruelty. I've never heard that tone before, never guessed he could be so hurtful, so hating. I feel my chin quiver, and I want to turn and run, but I know I can't.

  "I'm pregnant," I say, the words like fire on my tongue, needing to be hastily spat out. He stares at me momentarily, then his eyes drop to my belly, to the oversized football shirt. He continues to stare, and his mouth opens, but no words come out.

  The silence is deafening. "Did you hear me?" I say, my voice louder, "I'm pregnant." I don't want to be here a moment longer than I have to be. I want him, I need him to say something, anything. He stands up, the chair swivels as he does. He stretches his arms overhead and rests them behind his neck, looks confused, perplexed.

  "What do you mean?" he finally says, "like you're saying, like you and me?" His arms drop to his sides. I nod. His eyes lower to my belly again. Without thinking I lift my shirt, revealing the rounded bump. I can see he's shocked.

  "Shit," he says, and steps closer to me. It looks like he wants to touch it, wants proof that all of this is real. I hold my shirt up a bit higher, give a nod, permission to touch. He leans forward, his hand soft on my belly, on our baby. "Fucking hell," he says, but his mouth is starting to curl up, the beginnings of a smile. "Like how long?" He's still touching, caressing now.

  "Nearly six months," I say and I drop my shirt. His hand pulls back, I can tell he's doing calculations, counting months.

  "When did you find out?"

  "Two weeks ago." My answer is brisk. I'm thinking, When the novelty is over, how is he going to feel? I don't want to get my hopes up, even though it looks like he's breaking into a grin.

  "Are you, are you...okay with it?" The question is probing, cautious.

  I shrug, my eyes look up, away from him. "What do you think?" I say, "Seventeen, pregnant. Alone. What do you think?" My voice turns sarcastic. And I immediately want to retract it, and I don't want to cry, but my eyes are watering, and I'm suddenly not in control. Not following the script.

  "Hey Magdala," he says, his hand on my shoulder, taking a step closer. He hesitantly pulls me towards him, I let him, our faces touch but I don't look up at him. "Hey," he whispers, "you're not alone now." And I realize that that's all I wanted to hear.

  FLYNN

  I hardly saw Magdala around school, even though our lockers were nearby, and we only had one science class together. She always sat in the front, never turned her head to look around, always scuttled in and out to make sure our paths never crossed. I figured she didn't want to see me, no longer had feelings for me, that I had been kidding myself that she had loved me once. She sat in the courtyard at lunchtimes, with the surfing crowd, mainly boys, always next to the same one, Jarryd, a senior. I knew she wasn't dating him, because he dated a senior with long, black hair. It gave me some comfort.

  Mom had stopped asking me about her, thank God. In the beginning she was like always hounding me about whether we were still friends, how was she settling into school. One time I snapped and said I didn't fucking know. She didn't ask after that.

  Sam came home for Thanksgiving, and said he was loving life up at Berkeley. The house
was quiet without him, and I missed not having him around. Emmalee on the other hand seemed to be thirteen going on sixteen, she seemed to thrive at junior high. No doubt she'd create a whole new set of issues for Mom and Dad to have to cope with.

  In the meantime I plodded on with life, knowing I'd missed my opportunity with Magdala, feeling like things had gone past a point of no return, that there would never be a chance of reuniting, accepting that a pre-summer romance was all it had been. I wondered if those three love making sessions were going to be my lot in life, if I'd have to reminisce on them, my glory days.

  The whole week of exams Mom and Dad started acted weird, asking me about my studies. I felt like they were suddenly on my tail and wanted details, proof of how much study I was doing. In a way it was hard growing up in Sam's shadow. He'd always been naturally bright, always been goal orientated, always knew he wanted to study engineering at Berkeley, which is what he was doing. Me, I didn't have a clue.

  And then, right after exams, right before Christmas break, out of the blue I got a text from Magdala. It read: I need to talk to you. I'd been down in the lounge with Dad, watching tv. I texted back: Why? But I shifted in the chair, sat forward, my heart pounding. After all these months, what could she possibly want. We only had a science class in common. Did she need information on it? Did she want to go over the exam? She texted back: Can I come over?

  Come over? Why did she need to come over. I looked at Dad, engrossed in the program, he glanced at me but didn't say anything. I got up and went to my room, wondering what to text back. Seconds, minutes went by. What the hell, I texted back: Yeah. I quickly picked up the clothes from my floor and made my bed, pulled on a long sleeve t-shirt. Did she want to reconcile I wondered, hoped, dreamed. It's hard to judge intent by text though. Maybe she wanted to have it out with me. But why, after all these months?

  I hear her car come up the drive, thinking that hasn't taken her long. Less than five minutes. It's just after eight thirty. I listen for the doorbell, then Dad calls my name. I wait a few seconds, then walk down the hall. Dad looks at me, doesn't seem surprised that it's Magdala. She's wearing a 49ers shirt, it's pretty big on her, so I guess it's her brother's. Her hair is loose on her shoulders, she's got some makeup on. She looks at me, I just raise my eyebrows, gesturing her to follow me to my room. I still don't know what to think. Have no idea what she wants. I try to act cool, aloof, go and sit at my desk, swivel in the chair, fold my arms and just look at her.

  She's standing in the middle of the room. She's so beautiful, but I glare at her with my stone face, my pissed off face, letting her know she's intruding, interrupting. As if it's not cool to just suddenly turn up on my doorstep. Especially after dumping me.

  "How have you been doing?" she asks, and it sounds like she's nervous.

  "Is that what you wanted to talk about?" I ask, pleased with my sarcasm, my sneer, my belittling of her. But I instantly regret it. It looks like she's about to cry. There's a trembling in her chin.

  "I'm pregnant," she says, and my mind takes a moment to comprehend. Pregnant? My eyes lower to her belly, to the football shirt she's wearing. I don't know what to say, I don't know what she means.

  "Did you hear me?" she says and now she sounds annoyed, irritated with me. "I'm pregnant." She's almost shouting. I stand up, stretch my arms up and place them behind my head, understanding slowly, finally, seeping in.

  "What do you mean?" I say, like I need official confirmation, "like you're saying, like you and me?" But we only had sex three fucking times, I'm thinking. She's nodding. My arms drop down. Oh fuck. My eyes are back on her belly. She lifts up her shirt. Her belly is huge. Well not huge, but for her, it's huge. Oh my God, I'm thinking, but I say, "Shit." I step closer, it's like I need to see that it's real. She lifts the shirt higher, I think she wants me to touch it. I reach out my hand. "Fucking hell," I say. I can't fucking believe it. I'm touching her belly, thinking, there's a baby in there. It seems insane and I feel myself start to smile. I'm not sure why, maybe out of fear, panic. "Like how long?" I ask, but I can do the math, have already done the math.

  "Nearly six months," she says and drops her shirt. I pull back my hand. A baby takes nine months, even I know that. The baby is due in March.

  "When did you find out?" I ask.

  "Two weeks ago," she says. She sounds annoyed, I'm not sure if it's at me or my question.

  "Are you, are you okay with it?" I say, wondering what my parents are going to say. I know though, they are going to fucking kill me. She looks up toward my ceiling, and it looks like she's going to cry again.

  "What do you think?" she snaps, "Seventeen, pregnant, alone? What do you think?" I want to take her in my arms, hug her, kiss her. But I'm scared she'll reject me, or hit me even. Oh man, why didn't I use a condom? Why didn't I even think about using a condom? Her eyes are watering.

  "Hey Magdala," I say and I step forward, put my hand on her shoulder, testing her reaction. She still doesn't look at me. Tears roll down her cheeks. I pull her towards me and her head rests on my shoulder. "Hey, you're not alone now," I whisper. And my arms go around her and she holds me back, and she starts to cry full on, sound and all, and I stroke the back of her hair, and say, "Hey, it'll be all right." Even though I have no idea if it will be.

  We stand there holding each other and when her sobs start to subside, she pulls away and wipes at her eyes, smudging her mascara in the process. I kind of chuckle, noticing the black line below her right eye and she sniffs and I try to wipe at it with my finger. She goes to my mirror, pulls a tissue from somewhere and dabs at her face. Then turns to me and says, "Sorry."

  I take her back and we sit on my bed. My mind is in overdrive, this overwhelming need to just hold her, but reality nagging in my brain. How are we going to afford a kid? What about school? Where will we live? Do I need to get a full time job? She takes her phone from her pocket, scrolls through it, then holds it in front of me. She's showing me a scan of our baby. I gasp in astonishment. I look at her, my eyes and mouth wide open, I take the phone off her, needing to hold it in my own hands.

  "Oh my God," I say. "Our baby?" I can make out its shape, it's head, its body. I break into a grin. She's grinning too. I can't stop staring at the picture. It's mind blowing. I'm going to be a father. It's scary, frightening, but there's this excitement in me, a terrifying excitement that I want this so much. I want Magdala to have my baby. I want it desperately. "It's amazing," I say and I turn to her and kiss her. "I love you so much," I say, not knowing where the words have come from, but knowing I mean them. Yet only twenty minutes ago I was cursing her.

  "Really?" she asks quietly. "Flynn, you don't..." And her voice just stops. Like she's remembering the way I've treated her these past months, my indifference to her, my neglect, my unkindness.

  "I'm sorry," I say. "But you know I thought you'd dumped me," I try to explain, "and I thought you had gotten together with..." Now I'm the one not finishing sentences, but I don't want to say his name.

  "I've never been with Devon," she says quietly, "he's just a friend. He's been friends with us forever." She looks at me, there's something in her eyes that scares me. Like I'm afraid she's going to tell me she doesn't need me, that she doesn't want me around the baby. "Flynn." She hesitates, then touches my face, her fingers sliding down my cheek. It's so intimate, that I fear I'm going to cry. I feel the moisture in my eyes. "Flynn, there's stuff you don't know about me," she whispers. "I don't want you to feel like you have to do this."

  Now I'm confused. Totally confused. "What do you mean? You don't want me to be involved?" It almost seems feels like I'm pleading for her not to even say it. She can't tell me she's having my baby and then dump me again. Can she?

  "No, no, no," she says and her hands are now holding the front of my t-shirt. "But Flynn, there's things you don't..." I lean forward and kiss her, cutting her off, our mouths locked, our bodies close. I gently pull away, not because I want to, but because I need her to know how I feel.

/>   "Magdala," I say, our faces only inches apart. "I didn't stop loving you. I thought about you every damn day..."

  "Flynn, I was raped." Her voice is clear and her eyes are focused on mine, unblinking. I'm confused again. What is she saying, that the baby isn't mine? I'm not getting it. "Why do you think I was at the hospital?" she continues, "why do you think I was seeing your Mom?" Suddenly, I get it. Raped. She was raped and Mom was her doctor? Mom never told me this? Why the fuck wouldn't Mom tell me this? I'm trying to figure out when this would've happened. I'm wondering if the scar is connected. I reach out to her neck. Her scar is covered with make up, but I know where it is, and there's the faintest change in skin texture where it trails down and my fingers trace its length. "This?" I ask gently and she nods.

  She tells me about that night in the carpark, how she was going to a basketball game, how she was raped in the back of a van, beaten and stabbed. I don't ask any questions, I figure she will tell me what she feels comfortable with me knowing, even though there are details I want to hear. Like what her attacker was like, how old he was, how badly he hurt her, who she was going to watch play basketball. But I just let her talk and then I thank her for telling me, for confiding in me. I kiss her forehead, and she nestles into the top of my chest. I just want to hold her, protect her, love her. I want her more than anything now. I want her and our baby. And nothing matters more than that.

  NATHAN

  I'm sitting on the back porch steps, throwing a tennis ball to Rocky, who appreciatively brings it back, time and again. I vary the angle of throw, the height and speed, trying to surprise him, trying to keep him interested. Mom comes out with the laundry basket, starts unpegging the clothes, throws them into the basket, then comes and sits by me, folding them up.

  I have no intention of telling her, but out of nowhere I blurt out, "Magdala's having a baby." And it immediately feels like a weight off my shoulders, even though I've only stewed on the news for less than twenty four hours.