If I Had You

by Violet Haze

  Turns out my father is still alive and my parents live in the same house. This news has relieved a lot of my worry, yet a little bit of new anger has bloomed at seeing them all over their local news due to a charity they started three years ago — one that assists with pregnant teens who need somewhere to live.

  The charity also provides support services so the mothers can keep their children.

  Rationally, I know this is a great thing, as their guilt and regret at the way they treated me may have resulted in them helping others out. But, on the other hand, it hurts they haven’t bothered to track down their own daughter and apologize.

  Yet, once I found all this out, this last month has been spent wondering whether they didn’t because of the way I told them to never talk to me again after they disinherited me.

  So, here Oliver and I sit outside their house in a rental car a day before Thanksgiving while I try to convince myself to get out of the car and walk to the door.

  “We can sit here forever, but they may wonder what the hell we’re doing.” He takes my hand in his and kisses the back with a smile as I laugh. “You’re not going in there alone.”

  “I know. You just don’t know my parents.”

  He clasps my hand tighter and smirks for an instant, then releases it to pull the key from the ignition. “I will when we get out of the car, walk to the door, knock on it, and then they answer.”

  “The maid will, actually.”

  “Darcy.” His lips twitch as he grabs the door handle and makes the decision for me. “The longer we wait, the more nervous you’ll be, so come on.”

  As he watches me, I take another deep breath and then after another minute in which I stare at the house with trepidation, finally nod while opening my door. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  We both get out, and he takes my hand as we walk up to the front steps, stopping in front of the wooden double doors with its fancy handles I remember. Oliver presses the doorbell with his left hand while gripping my hand in his with the other and tugs me closer to his side.

  My mother’s the one who opens the door in less than a minute, not the maid.

  And Oliver attempts to ease things without missing a beat. “Mrs. Bechel, I hope it’s all right we’ve just come here without calling first.”

  She inclines her head at his statement but doesn’t even look at him, her eyes glued to mine.

  The words I’ve thought about yelling at her the whole way here stick in my throat as she stares at me from the entryway, tears slowly starting to shimmer in her eyes.

  She glances back and forth between Oliver and me, saying nothing as her hands slowly come up to rest on top of each other over her heart. Then, she finally speaks in a soft voice so unlike the one she spoke to me in for years. “I’ve been waiting for you to get out of the car since your arrival. I feared you would leave and never look back if I came outside to greet you.”

  I wanted to, even cried to Oliver as he pulled into the driveway that we should just act like we were on the wrong street and turn around.

  As she takes a step closer to me in the tense silence hanging between us, I resist the urge to step back and finally manage to choke out, “You hurt me. The things you said and did after everything…I wasn’t sure I could forgive you.”

  “I haven’t forgiven myself, and neither has your father. We were wrong.” She takes another step and moves her hands to rest on my shoulders, a tear sliding down both her cheeks as she whispers, “We were worried more about what our friends would think than we considered what was best for you, and for that, we’re sorry. I know those words aren’t adequate enough, but—”

  “Mother.” I shake my head to stop her while my own eyes water, tug my hand from Oliver’s, and square my shoulders. “You’re right. ‘Sorry’ isn’t sufficient but thank you for the apology. We’ve all made mistakes and have learned from them. I think the best thing to do now is to move on, don’t you?”

  Her eyes round — probably shocked by how much I’ve grown up — as she swallows hard before saying, “Yes.”

  “Good, because we really want our son to have both sets of grandparents in his life.”

  What I’ve said takes a moment to settle in her head, but when it does, my mother embraces me with a gasp of delight as tears stream down both our faces now.

  Oliver watches with a beaming smile on his face, his hand resting on the small of back in support.

  When my father joins us on the porch not long after, he pulls both my mother and me into a hug with a sniffle of his own.

  I cry even harder when he apologizes, too.

  And even though I know we’ve got a long way to go to repair our fractured relationship considering it wasn’t all that strong in the first place, for the first time since leaving home, I’m positive everything’s going to be all right between us.

  16

  Darcy

  Five years later…

  “Are you certain about this, darling? Your father and I will postpone the trip, if necessary.” My mother blows her hair out of her face as she tapes up the last box of things and pushes it away from her. “If you’re not ready, there’s no shame in admitting it.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Her expression is skeptical and filled with concern, for good reason.

  Oliver’s unexpected death the day before our son was born eight months ago hit all of us hard. He was only thirty-one, young and healthy. He didn’t deserve to die and certainly not at the hand of a disgruntled and unstable ex-coworker who shot up the office in response to being let go for poor performance.

  I could barely breathe the moment I found out, let alone function after, unable to cope in my shock and devastation.

  My parents took care of everything and stayed on following the funeral to help out with the boys while I went to grief counseling. Their support from the moment we reconnected has meant everything to me.

  And while nothing is as it was, nor will it ever be again, I’ve finally found a rhythm these past few months that I can live with.

  So, after finding out my parents were going to pass on an eight-week European trip they planned a year ago because of me, I’ve made it clear they should go. Of course, they are worried no matter how much I try to reassure them, and since they leave tomorrow, this is my last chance to put my mother’s mind at ease.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say again with a smile this time. “I’ve got the boys to focus on and a job to search for. Oliver made sure we were taken care of, but it won’t last forever.”

  She frowns. “You only do what you can handle and nothing more for now. And if you need anything, call us. We will return on the first flight available.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Paula. Quit harassing the poor girl,” my father tosses in with a laugh as he enters the dining room and puts his arm around my shoulder with a wink. “If she says she’ll be fine, then leave her be and get ready so we’re not running behind in the morning.”

  He definitely eavesdropped on the conversation before walking in. I put my arm around his waist and lean my head on his shoulder with a sigh. “Thanks, Dad. I want you two to enjoy your trip and not worry about me so much. You’ll call every day anyway.”

  “Yes, we will, darling. Count on it,” my mother tosses in while glaring at my father until he winks at her too and she gives in with a laugh. “All right, all right, Gil. I’m going to pack.”

  “Excellent,” he retorts in his booming voice as she walks out. “Maybe, this time, we’ll get through security with more than an hour until our flight takes off.”

  It sounds like she says, “That’s pointless,” and I snicker at their banter even though I’m not sure while my father kisses my cheek before following right behind her.

  Then, I’m all alone at eight on a Friday night. The boys are asleep, although Landon has occasional nights where he’ll wake up a few times, and the chances of my parents coming back downstairs tonight are slim.

  Sure, they are all in the house, less than a min
ute away if I need them. Irrelevant, however, since that’s not the type of alone I’m talking about.

  With the exception of that one night, Oliver and I were together for over twelve years. Best friends, then lovers, and finally, parents. For a long time, we were all each other had. That slowly changed after we got married, both of us cultivating and maintaining friendships with others — he from work while I became friends with a few other mothers from play groups.

  Having a child really helped bring me out of my own shell and going out to dinner with Oliver’s co-workers who were married with children as well meant we were kept busy with one dinner party or get together, such as a birthday party, after another.

  And through all the spreading our wings and gaining new friends, we always made time for just us. Even if we did nothing more than hire a babysitter to go out to dinner and dance.

  Yes, he had been shocked I wanted to learn to dance, but we were as great at dancing as we had been in my dream once we got the hang of it. It brought us closer together even as we became more of our own selves and let go of the dependency we had on each other.

  So being alone? I haven’t been alone in a long time and don’t know what the hell to do. Do I need him to breathe? No. To live? No…but I never thought I’d have to live without him, either.

  I think of him when watching TV, eating at the kitchen table, and standing on the back porch watching Wyatt run around the yard. I miss him, and every bit of this house is a reminder of the fact he’s never coming back.

  At first, I thought about selling the house and finding somewhere else for us to live because the pain had been unbearable. Even had a couple interested buyers, but in the end, I couldn’t do it.

  For eight months, none of his things were touched except when cleaning the house. The mere idea of putting his things into boxes to store and perhaps get rid of one day had been too much to process or deal with.

  Today, though…today had been different. I woke up, saw his pants stacked on top of the dresser — where they had been for over half a year — and for once, hadn’t cried at the sight of them.

  Instead, I got out of the bed, walked over to the dresser, picked the stack up, and then angrily threw them one-by-one across the room. Then, I headed over to the closet and started grabbing his stuff to get it the hell out of there.

  By the time my mother came in to see what all the noise had been about, his things were all over the floor, and I sat among them sobbing my eyes out while clutching one of his shirts to my chest.

  I kept that shirt. The rest of his things are now in boxes, and before I wake in the morning, my father will have placed them all in the attic before leaving for the airport.

  Not because I want to get rid of him, but because they are Oliver’s and I don’t want a repeat of this morning. He’s in my heart, he’s half of our children, and he’s all over this house in my memories.

  There’s no forgetting him even as I attempt to move forward with my life.

  Tomorrow.

  I’ll definitely move forward tomorrow.

  As for tonight?

  I turn off the lights and head upstairs to our room, change into my tank and shorts before slipping my arms into the sleeves of the shirt that still smells like him, and climb into bed.

  One more night of pretending that he’s okay, and he’ll be home soon to wrap me in his arms as we sleep before I wake up and face life without him once more.

  Turns out handling two kids on my own is a lot harder than I thought it would be. My parents helping meant me being alone with both boys at the same time hasn’t happened, but I’m determined to do it because I have to.

  They’ve been gone a week, and I will not call them, no matter how overwhelmed I am.

  However, after two attempts to shop with Wyatt and Landon in tow — Wyatt threw fits in his seat when I wouldn’t get him something he wanted which prompted Landon to join in by crying in my ear from his perch on my hip — I give up and call the babysitter so I can get groceries in peace.

  And I’m standing in the bread aisle, about to head to the checkouts, when he asks from behind me, “Darcy?”

  I haven’t heard Zach’s voice since the hospital. Every now and then we saw each other in public, acknowledged it with a nod, and went our separate ways.

  Guess he doesn’t think we need to not speak anymore.

  Turning, I don’t even bother smiling, choosing to meet his uncertain expression with a blank one as I noticed he hasn’t physically changed one damn bit. “Zach.”

  Hesitancy disappearing, his words are warm and caring as he says, “I heard about Oliver. I’m sorry for your loss doesn’t seem adequate at this moment.”

  “It isn’t,” I assure him while sticking the loaf of bread in the front seat. “No need to say it, however. I’ve heard it enough to last me a lifetime.”

  He nods and it hurts to look at the affection in his eyes, so I focus on where my hands grip the cart, reminding myself of the day in the store with a moment like this all those years ago.

  In my peripheral vision, he steps closer and places his hand on top of mine on the cart in silence.

  “I’ve wanted to call every day to see how you were doing. I didn’t because hearing from me seemed like the last thing you would want.”

  I barely refrain from yanking away from his touch as his words cause the corner of my eyes to prickle with tears begging to get out. “Good decision. Standing here with you right now is hard enough.”

  His sharp intake of breath is impossible to miss, his hand leaving mine simultaneously as he clears his throat and steps back. “Sorry to bother you. I wanted nothing but to see how you were doing.”

  I feel like a bitch as he goes to walk away and stop him by reaching to grab his bare arm. “Zach—”

  Only whatever I was going to say sticks in my throat and dies at the heat in his glare. His hair, his eyes…and god, his entire face.

  His gaze is burning into mine, yet it’s my hand I jerk back as if his skin has scorched mine while my stomach rolls and my mouth goes dry.

  Why hadn’t I seen it before?

  And how the hell could I have been so blind?

  I can’t see my own face, but I know the color’s drained out of it, especially when he asks with concern, “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything.” My entire body grows cold, my hands beginning to shake, and right now I can’t do anything except get away from him until I can straighten out the thoughts in my head. “I’ve…I’ve gotta go. I’m sorry for being rude. I just…”

  Not even saying goodbye, I push the cart, holding my breath the whole time in hope he won’t come after me because if he does, I’m going to start bawling.

  Thankfully, he doesn’t, but I only make it to the car before breaking down, sick from the encounter and everything it might mean for me.

  No matter how great our life turned out or how much both Oliver and I grew together during our relationship, there’s one potentially huge mistake made I can no longer ignore.

  I never considered the fact pregnancy might have resulted from my little interlude with Zach. After all, he deliberately pulled out to avoid that specific outcome and pointed it out as a way to insult me.

  But I’m not naive and never have been. I should’ve questioned it because of the timing, yet didn’t. Hell, none of us did. Well, I don’t know about Oliver; if he ever had doubts, he never said a word to me.

  Wyatt, our now four-year-old son, had been born with strawberry blond hair. His newborn blue eyes changed to the green of mine later on while his hair has progressively lightened over the years.

  Early on, we both figured he took after me, and it really never entered my mind to consider another possibility because I was convinced he was Oliver’s child.

  Yet, one look at our eight-month-old, with his dark hair and dark eyes so like his father, and I’m afraid the truth is right here in front of my eyes as it has been all along.

  When Landon was five months old, my mother in
nocently pointed out how different the boys were from each other as she presented a photo of my grandfather when he was a child — and Wyatt does resemble him quite a bit.

  Because of that, I had put it out of my mind without another thought.

  Neither of my parents knows anything about the incidences with Zach, and it will be hard to explain to them if my suspicions are confirmed.

  However, after running into him at the store, the differences between Wyatt and Landon became too much to disregard any longer.

  I need to know for certain before saying something, so a few days after seeing Zach, I had a private DNA test performed on the children and myself to determine whether they are half or full siblings.

  And now, nearly three weeks later, the results have finally arrived.

  What do I want them to be?

  Staring down at the envelope clenched in my grasp, that’s the main question running through my mind since one of the answers will change me and my son’s lives forever.

  If he is Zach’s, I’ll have to tell him, and he’ll be in my life from that day forward in a way neither of us can run away from.

  Who knows how he’ll react. With our history, I’m afraid he’ll think I did it on purpose and having to deal with that raises my anxiety. Plus, the idea of having to see him, talk to him, and co-parent with him after all this time is enough to make me want to burn this envelope without even looking.

  But the urge passes in a second because even taking into account everything between the two of us, I’m not the type of woman to do such a thing and deny a father a relationship with his child.

  After taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I slide my finger under the flap and prepare to find out the results as I grab the paper from inside.

  Two seconds to unfold the paper and another ten to skim the most important information before the paper drifts to the floor at my sharp gasp.