by B. N. Toler
I couldn’t argue with him on that one. Max was never one to make anything easy. If he didn’t feel he was in complete control of a situation, he’d dig his heels in and make it as difficult as possible. Sometimes he did it simply by ignoring me; stonewalling. Grabbing Matt’s beer, I took a long swig before sliding it back to him. “I’ll give him a few days before I call him again.”
Matt shook his head. “He’s had enough time. You need to push harder.”
I’d thought about that, too. I had worried pestering and pushing Max would only make him resist more because he’d enjoy torturing me. Lawyering up and taking him to court had always been an option, but Max was wealthy. I had no doubt if I had tried taking him to court he’d assemble some legal dream team and annihilate me. I needed to think about that, but at that moment, I was beat. Walking around New York City in heels, plus over an hour on the metro, and Max refusing to sign the papers had siphoned the energy right out of me.
“You excited about your trip?” I asked, desperate to change the subject. Matt and his girlfriend Alice were leaving for a two-week tour of Europe. They’d been saving for the trip for years.
Matt bobbed his head a few times. “Ready for some time off from work, that’s for sure.” I frowned. Matt worked so hard and had a serious girlfriend, but still found the time and energy to help me with Pimberly.
“Can you guys pack Pim and me in your suitcase so we can go too?” I joked.
“I wish you guys were going. I’ll be worried about you two the entire time.”
“We’ll be fine Matt,” I assured him. “You deserve the best vacation. Do not worry about anything here at home.”
He grunted, his way of agreeing to disagree. I knew no matter what I said, there was no way he wouldn’t worry about us.
“I’ve got an early class tomorrow,” I yawned as I stretched, reaching my arms above my head. I was exhausted. “I’m gonna head to bed. Pim’s lunch for Ms. Patty’s is in the fridge and don’t forget tomorrow is show and tell.”
“She’s not even two,” Matt snickered. “What the hell is she going to take for show and tell?”
“Her giraffe, of course.” Pim slept with it every night and took it everywhere with her. “Ms. Patty just wants the kids to have fun. Show and tell is fun.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Matt muttered. “Ms. Patty’s a nice lady, Waverly, but I just think she’s got too many kids under her watch.”
“That’s how in-home daycare works, Matt. Besides, Pim loves her, and Ms. Patty watches those kids like a hawk.” And my biggest defense for Ms. Patty was the price; daycare centers were astronomical. And since my only income was from student loans, I had to save every dime I could.
“Anyway,” I added before he could argue. “I’m wiped. Night. Love you.” I waved as I exited the kitchen.
“Night,” he called. “And try not to worry, Waverly.” My eyes teared up, but he didn’t see because I had already walked in the hallway outside the kitchen. I hated that Max could still do this to me; could still hurt me. Seeing him that night, begging him to sign over rights to our daughter had been more emotionally trying than I had thought it would be. Though I fought like hell to stop it, it came anyway—the memory. The first one in a painful series. The beginning of one of the worst times in my life.
Everything looked perfect.
The entire apartment was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, a bottle of champagne sat on the counter beside the two Waterford crystal flutes Max’s boss had given us upon news of our marriage, and the decadent aroma from the lamb I’d prepared wafted in the air. The setting was perfect. My tummy grumbled in hunger as I checked the clock for the ten-thousandth time. I was starved, and he was an hour late. His new job was requiring him to stay later as he worked hard to impress his boss and peers.
So I understood his tardiness, and I would wait.
This was a special occasion.
When he finally arrived, I greeted him at the door wearing my red fitted dress that bared my shoulders. It was a favorite of his.
“Max,” I beamed as he slipped off his suit jacket, his gaze darting around the apartment.
“What’s all this?” he asked as I took his coat and hung it for him.
“This,” I preened as I took his hand and led him forward, “is for us.”
Cutting his eyes to me, he let them rove up and down my body, one side of his mouth quirking up. “And who’s that sexy dress for?” He knew exactly who I was wearing it for, but he enjoyed hearing me say it.
With a playful wink, I bit my lower lip. “The dress would be for us, but what’s underneath would most definitely be for you.”
Grabbing me, he yanked me to him and kissed me hard. Harder than I enjoyed, but I took it as passion; that his desire for me made him aggressive. And thinking of it that way made it romantic . . . At least, in my mind his urgency was sexy. He smelled like cigars and had the faintest taste of brandy on his tongue. He hadn’t come straight home from work, apparently. The thought bothered me, but I refused to let it spoil our evening. Tonight was a celebration, and I wouldn’t let anything get in the way of that. Pushing it aside, I met his kiss and embrace with equal gusto.
“I have to get the lamb,” I mumbled against his lips as his fingertips glided up my sides, making me squirm. I was ticklish and hated it, which made him love tickling me all the more.
When he released me, I rushed to the oven and popped it open.
“I’ll pour us a glass of champagne,” he volunteered.
“Just a little for me please,” I called out to him after I heard the cork pop.
After a few minutes, I had our plates prepared and set on the table. Max pulled my chair out for me as we sat, something he rarely ever did, before taking his seat.
“This looks excellent,” he noted as he rubbed his hands together.
I beamed a bright smile, a warmth spreading over me from his compliment. “Before we eat, I have a present for you,” I announced, my tone edged with nervousness.
“You didn’t knit me another scarf, did you?” he began. “I appreciate the thought, Waverly, but knitted scarves just aren’t my style.”
My face heated with embarrassment. Max was a wealthy man, and wealth was something I’d never had. Gift giving with him was a nightmare. His gifts for me were always extravagant and expensive. When I couldn’t afford to give him nicer gifts, I tried heartfelt ones; gifts with thought that involved time and effort. It took me two weeks to knit that damn scarf, and I was so proud of it. Of course, the moment he opened it, I could tell he hated it. The lame attempt he’d made to appear like he liked it could hardly be classified as an attempt at all.
“No,” I said, as I darted my gaze down at my plate, brushing away the hurt feelings. “I think you’ll really like this gift.” Handing him the small square box I’d wrapped in beautiful silver wrapping paper, I smiled.
Slowly, he untied the ribbon and unwrapped the box, giving me a wolfish grin as he popped the top off the box. When he looked inside, his grin fell, and his features went slack.
He was surprised. Smiling, I said, “Surprise, Daddy.”
Nothing.
He said nothing.
He didn’t smile.
He didn’t blink.
He didn’t move.
Okay, that didn’t go as planned, I thought to myself. Clearing my throat, I decided to clarify a few things. “That’s the first ultrasound photo. I’m about ten weeks. The baby is due in February.”
Tossing the box on the table, he grabbed his glass and chugged his champagne down. Standing, he took the champagne bottle and poured himself another glass before chugging that down too.
Every ounce of excitement and happiness I’d felt moments before had evaporated.
Max wasn’t happy.
He was pissed.
“I thought you’d be happy,” I managed after a beat.
He laughed haughtily. “About what? That the woman I’ve known for five seconds and married in front of an
Elvis impersonator is pregnant? Are you serious?”
My mouth dropped open, my heart feeling as if it had thunked to the floor next to my shoes. Our romance had been quick, a whirlwind really, but it had seemed like a fairytale to me. I thought he’d felt the same. Hadn’t he?
“I don’t understand,” I choked out. “I know it’s soon, but . . . we’re married. We conceived on our honeymoon. It’s kind of romantic if you think about it.”
Again, he laughed, the sound laced with disdain. He thought I was ridiculous.
I could barely form words and what words I managed to squeak out, Max wasn’t hearing. So I sat quietly, waiting. He obviously needed a few moments to process the news.
“I’ll make you an appointment with a clinic tomorrow,” he finally spoke, his gaze fixated on something to the side of me. “I’ll pay for everything. It’s still early so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Could someone knock you off your feet from simply using words? I’m positive if I hadn’t been sitting, I’d have crumbled to the ground. I was speechless. I was in shock.
“I have to get out of here,” Max muttered. At the door, he grabbed his suit jacket. “I’ll text you with the appointment information in the morning.” When the door shut, I sat frozen, my mind physically locking me in place.
He didn’t want our baby.
What in the hell was I going to do?
I’d tried so hard to work things out with him at the time. I’d obliterated my pride and dignity. I had tried so hard, but it never swayed him. Not even a little. He had rejected Pim and me, and never looked back. And now that I had finally moved past it all and had accepted he wouldn’t be a part of our lives, he refused to sign the papers. It didn’t make sense. The lack of control I had over it infuriated me, and when I couldn’t unleash my the rage I felt, my anger and hurt turned into tears. Every. Damn. Time.
As I climbed the stairs to my bedroom, I glanced at a few of the photos hanging on the wall of Matt and me as kids. In the world of siblings, my sibling won first prize. When things fell apart with Max and me, Matt took me in and helped raise Pim since the day she was born. He’d be such an excellent father one day, and for all intents and purposes, he’s one now to Pim. He’s the only father-figure she’s ever known. Matt shared in all the work, the sleepless nights, the diaper changes, the feedings, and so much more. I couldn’t even imagine Max changing a diaper. He’d probably need a hazmat suit before he’d even think about doing it.
Peeking in Pimberly’s room at the top of the stairs, I could see her through the crib railings from the doorway. Her little mouth was shaped into a pout and she was snoring faintly. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. It broke my heart she had a father that didn’t want her; that chose to miss out on this amazing little person because he was selfish. Because a baby and the work in raising one was too much for him; would cramp his style. I smiled a little, the hurt fading slightly, imagining his face if Pim spit up on one of his dress shirts or spilled juice on his fancy couch. I’m sure all his dates he brought home would love the fingerprints and smudges all over his glass and windows.
And that’s when it hit me—an epiphany. A wide grin spread across my tear dampened face as a plan began to formulate in my mind.
“Don’t worry, baby girl,” I whispered. “He’s going to sign those papers . . . one way or another.”
Closing her door, I headed to my room with my chin up. Matt was right. I’d have to push Max. And I knew just how to do it.
After Waverly left, I had two more drinks and an order of steak fries. I read through the paperwork, still lost as to what to do. Legal documents were not my forte, but I was smart enough to know what I was reading. Max signing these documents would abolish any rights or claim he had to his daughter. I wondered if Max had really thought this through when he said he’d sign them. I just couldn’t imagine doing it . . . Giving up my kid? I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night knowing my child was out in the world somewhere believing I didn’t want them. I could choose to sign or not sign the papers. Or, I could do nothing. That seemed to be the choice I was leaning toward—doing nothing. At least for now.
On the way back to Max’s apartment, I took the long way, hoping to find Pearl. Since the day we’d met, I’d always made it a point to find her and check in with her. I knew most of her usual spots, but sometimes she switched it up, or found a shelter to crash in for the night. I found her off Broadway leaned against the wall of a store. With her cardboard sign propped up beside her, she held her cup up as people passed by and called, “God bless you,” to each of them. No one put anything in her cup; hell, they didn’t even look at her.
As much as Pearl actually needed money, the cardboard sign sitting beside her didn’t ask for it.
Missing.
Black Cat With Yellow Eyes.
And under the writing, she’d drawn a picture of a black cat that looked like it’d been created by a kindergartener. From a distance, I watched her for a moment. I wanted to talk to her so badly like we usually did, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t me anymore . . . at least not physically. A feeling of powerlessness consumed me making me want to hit something. How was I supposed to do this? Was I supposed to give up all the people I loved and cared about? Just forget about them? How was I supposed to be Max Porter?
Walking up to her, I pulled the folded bills from my pocket, but as I started counting them out, intending to put a few in her cup, she shrieked, “Murderer!”
I stumbled back as she pushed herself slowly off the ground, continuing to yell, “You left him to die you animal!”
“I—”
“He saved your life!” she went on, jabbing my chest with her finger hard enough to make me step back. Her eyes were wide with rage and her body shook. She was talking about me. Or rather, talking about Max and how he left me for dead. All I’d wanted to do was give my friend some money, but I’d forgotten one huge thing—she’d watched me die. And not just watched me die but watched me save Max’s life and watched Max get up and leave me dying on the street without a second thought. She continued to yell at me, pushing me, tears streaming down her dirty face. People passing by swerved around us, glancing our way, but no one seemed to care enough to stop and listen to her.
“Pearl,” I said loudly, grabbing her wrist, stopping her from shoving me. “You don’t understand.”
“He’s on life support, you asshole!” she bellowed, slamming her fisted free hand against my chest. “The doctors say he probably won’t make it!” Then, so overcome with emotion, she fell into me, collapsing against me. I pulled her up and helped her to the wall where she slid down it until she was sitting on the sidewalk before she covered her face with her hands. I watched her for a moment, my eyes wide, my heart pounding.
I wasn’t dead.
I mean, I existed inside of Max’s body, but my body was still alive, albeit barely according to Pearl. How did this happen? As one thought connected to another, my knees buckled. I slid down the wall and sat next to Pearl as she moaned, her face still covered. If I was in Max’s body, did that mean that Max was trapped in my body? Could Max really be inside my body, comatose?
I wanted to try and explain to Pearl what had happened; tell her even though she was looking at Max—the man that left her friend for dead—that it was me, Liam. But how could I? How could I explain? The answer to that question was I couldn’t. Not without sounding insane, and given that she was a pretty mad hatter herself, it was impossible. No person in their right mind would believe me. Concluding that my presence, or rather the sight of Max was upsetting her, I decided it was best I leave. Before I stood, I shoved the folded bills in her cup and stood.
“I don’t want a damn dime from you,” she hissed, pulling the money from her cup and tossing it at me. A few of the bills flew away, but with some quick shuffling, I managed to get most of them.
With the cash balled up in my hand, I bent down to her and begged, “Please take it. You could get a hotel room tonight.”
>
“Get away from me,” she growled, turning her body sideways. “You killed Murry.”
My head dropped. She was mixing me up with Murry, the infamous missing black cat, now. I needed to get her some help, soon.
I let out a long defeated breath. Shoving the money wad in my pocket I rushed off, feeling ashamed for some reason. I know Pearl was mad at Max, not me, but having someone you respect and care for so much despise you felt like shit. Two of the first three people I’d seen as Max hated him. Waverly was definitely not his biggest fan. And now Pearl. I doubted Braxton was a big fan either. Would it be this way with everyone?
Pulling out Max’s iPhone I’d brought with me, I googled the nearest hospitals. Luckily, since I was in Max’s body, his thumbprint allowed me access to his phone. I called three hospitals and finally found where they’d taken me. I hailed a cab, no longer caring about trying to be conservative with the money I’d taken from Max’s drawer. Max was an asshole. His body was perfect and healthy while mine was most likely mangled, barely hanging on to life.
They’d taken me—or my body rather—to one of the lower-end hospitals. Makes sense. I was a homeless man without insurance. I was lucky I could even get medical attention. After speaking to the front desk and getting the room number where my body was, I trudged the halls slowly. I wanted to see what happened to me; what I looked like, but then again . . . I didn’t. How could I watch myself die from Max’s body? And what happened if I did die? There’s no way they could keep me on life support very long; my sister wouldn’t be able to afford it. How ironic was it that I was trapped in the body of the man whose life I’d saved and who left me for dead?
When I finally reached the room, I peeked through the small rectangular window on the door and stopped breathing as I felt the blood drain from my face.
I knew seeing my body in such a state would be difficult, but nothing could have prepared me for this. Tubes were coming in and out of me everywhere, and I was on a ventilator. Quietly opening the door, I walked in, staring at my still body, my heart pounding in my chest with disbelief.