by Stacey Grice
Andie arose from her seat on the couch and came over to sit next to me, bringing me into a tight hug. It was a real, warm, non-judgmental embrace. She was genuinely trying to comfort me and understood my grief and remorse. She had just heard me confess the worst mistake of my life, and in that horrible truth, she was showing me her unconditional love. I could do nothing but openly receive it, even though I didn’t deserve it.
Chapter 47
Andie
Part of me wanted him to stay. Part of me wanted him to bury himself into me and make me forget about all the exposed secrets, all the painful confessions, all the stress, but I also had a nagging feeling in my gut, demanding to be heard. I asked him to leave, to give me some time to process everything. He didn’t argue, just apologized again and gave me a hug before he left—a hug so tight, as if he wasn’t sure if he would ever get to hug me again.
Vaughn loved me—that much I knew for sure. I felt it in every touch, saw it in every look, and truly believed he would never intentionally hurt me. I just wasn’t quite sure whether I could trust him. Could I trust myself? I obviously didn’t know enough about this man I was professing my love for, yet we were about to be thrust into a situation that would surely bring us to the brink. We…if I allowed it to be a ‘we’.
My father had always told me life is all about choices.
I lay on the floor, staring up at my ceiling, and thought about that for a while.
To a certain degree, you can’t really control what happens to you in life. You can, however, control the choices you make about how to respond, and those choices make you who you are. They shape and mold your entire being. Vaughn made a choice that night, first to hand his brother the keys, and then to leave that man on the side of the road. Yes, he was young and scared, but the important thing to remember—what I couldn’t ignore—was that a man had died. Vaughn may not have been the one to directly deliver the blow that killed him, but he made a decision not to help him, not to save him. He’d killed him just as much as Matt had.
I didn’t know if I could ever get past that. I was a doctor—a surgeon. I saved people for a living; it was my purpose in this world. How could I willingly make the choice to be with someone who had done the exact opposite? Striking him with a car was an accident, but leaving him there to die was a choice.
This man, with his beautiful and tortured soul, was the father of my baby, and I didn’t even know if I could bring myself to tell him about our child.
The impossible choice, however difficult it was, was mine to make. I honestly felt in my heart that this situation was different. It was complicated. I was definitely choosing to carry this baby, knowing that he or she would never have a life but would potentially be able to offer life to so many others in need. I would also have to choose whether or not to involve Vaughn in that journey. This wasn’t a scenario where the father of the baby had a right to know and choose to participate and support his child. This baby would never be a child in need of normal support. Putting it like that sounded awful in my head, but the baby may only live for seconds or minutes, potentially not even surviving in utero to term. Did I really want to put Vaughn through that? He had already been through hell and back in more ways than one. Did I want to put myself through having to feel obligated to handle the pregnancy differently based on what someone else thought or felt along the way? It was horrifically selfish, but it all made sense in my brain.
I could choose to take the easy way out and not involve him at all. I could simply close this book, ending the story mid-chapter, and walk away. I could choose to leave behind the love of my life.
Choices were often difficult, and to say I was overwhelmed was an understatement. For reasons unbeknownst to me, I had a moment of idiocy and decided I should go see my mother, as if that wasn’t going to exacerbate the stress I was already feeling.
I didn’t call. I knew she would be home—she was always home.
Driving over to her house took only fifteen minutes and when I let myself in, I was greeted by the sound of some DIY home improvement show blaring on the living room television, and my mother was splayed out on the couch covered by a light throw blanket.
“For Pete’s sake, Andie! You startled me,” she admonished. “You could at least knock before you barge in.”
“Sorry, Mom.”
“You don’t live here anymore. You know that, right?”
“Yes, Mom. I know that,” I responded in an exasperated sigh.
“What are you doing here? Everything okay?” Her expression turned warmer.
“Yeah. I…well, no actually. Everything is so very NOT okay.”
She swung her legs around and lowered her feet to the floor, shuffling them side to side to find her flip-flops. In Florida, people wore flip-flops around the house instead of slippers the majority of the year. I was the same way at my house, couldn’t stand the feel of the cold hardwood floor under my bare feet.
“Come on then,” she instructed, gesturing for me to follow her into the kitchen. She hit the power button on the remote control, silencing the discussion about whether or not it would be aesthetically pleasing to tack shiplap onto a vaulted ceiling. “Let’s make ourselves some glasses of sweet tea.”
I meandered over to the pantry, looking for something to snack on but finding nothing that appealed to me. Then I remembered the most recent trip to the grocery store I had made for her. Moving to the fridge, I located the bag of radish chips and a container of pre-made guacamole to dip them into.
“Go ahead,” she scoffed. “You can have every last one of those radishes. They taste like dirt. Why’d you even buy me those, anyway? That wasn’t on my list.”
“I’m trying to expand your horizons, Mom. You need healthier snacks. Everything on your list is full of preservative chemical crap.”
“Yeah, well, we’re all going to die someday. Don’t you get bored being so healthy all the time?”
“Bored? No. I feel better.”
“Well, it’s not working,” she quipped, looking at me over the rim of her tea glass as the ice clanked around. I looked at her questioningly and she continued. “Sorry to say this so bluntly, but you look like you’ve put on a few pounds.”
There it was—the moment of truth. The blowsy shirt and cardigan I’d chosen to wear over leggings didn’t do quite enough to hide my little growing pooch, and she had noticed. There was an awkward pause followed by silence. When I brought my hesitant eyes back up to hers, she gave me a knowing glance and the slightest nod of her head.
“What’s going on, Andie?”
I didn’t answer, munching on my crisp slices of radish.
“What did you come here to talk to me about?”
“I’m…”
“You’re…?”
“Pregnant.”
Shock, doubt, and brief disappointment, followed by a flash of a minute grin. It wasn’t a smile, just the smallest of grins, the edge of one corner of her lips lifting up in happiness.
I watched the myriad of emotions travel through her, all showing in her facial expressions, and waited for her to verbalize a response, but nothing came. She slid her chair back, the sound of the legs scraping on the worn linoleum floor assaulting the quiet room, and she stood up. Her back turned to me as she walked to the sink and dumped the remainder of her tea into it, rinsing her glass and setting it down onto the countertop.
“How far along?”
Her words were clipped and faint, laced with a crestfallen undertone.
“I’m about thirteen weeks.”
The whooshing sound of an exhalation escaped her and she turned to face me again.
“Thank God. There’s still time to figure this out.”
Chapter 48
Andie
My initial reaction was to take offense. What did she mean, “figure this out”? I didn’t think I’d be able to withstand my own mother potentially telling me to terminate my pregnancy. She didn’t have to actually say the words for me to know exactly what sh
e was trying to say. She didn’t even know what was wrong yet and already her tone was dismissive, like I couldn’t dare consider being a mother.
Deep breaths, Andie. Don’t get defensive. Hear her out.
“You can’t possibly have this baby.”
Scratch that. Get defensive. Be offended.
“Not with your career. You’re not even married. Who even is this guy?”
She ranted as she paced the small space of the kitchen back and forth like a caged animal. It was ironic since she had in fact chosen to keep herself in a sort of proverbial cage every single day of her life. I sat, trying my best to breathe and listen, but words like “careless” and “disappointment” rang in my ears like knives piercing my eardrums.
“STOP!” I yelled, standing up from my chair in a rush. “I will not sit here and listen to you berate me any longer.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Now, Andie, you’ll watch your tone with—”
“No. I absolutely will not watch my tone,” I interrupted. “I’m your daughter, but I’m no longer your child. I’m a thirty-four-year-old successful woman, and I don’t need you talking to me like a little kid who just broke one of your precious crystal figurines.”
She stared at me and I felt her eyes penetrating my resolve.
Her arms crossed in front of her chest and she leaned against the counter with her lips pursed. “What is your problem, anyway?”
“I’m your daughter. I came over here to talk to you, share my news, get advice, and all you did was attack me right off the bat.” I could feel my emotions bubbling to the surface and was determined not to cry. “I’m not an irresponsible teenager who let some guy manipulate her and needs Mommy to bail her out of trouble. I’m an adult.”
“You can’t stand there and try to tell me you meant to do this.”
“I’m not going to tell you that,” I grumbled. “Because that would be a lie.”
“See?”
“But I’m also not going to call my pregnancy—my baby—a mistake.”
She rolled her eyes, leaving her place on the counter’s edge and walking right past me into her living room. Her voice was muffled since she was facing away from me, but I heard her loud and clear.
“So, you’re keeping it then?”
“I can’t believe you,” I shouted to her back. “I can’t believe you would even consider telling me to kill my baby. Are you serious?”
“You’ve worked too hard,” she replied, turning to face me, “come too far to let this ruin your career now.”
“Ruin my career?” She lifted her head as if to say, Yeah, you heard me. “Plenty of physicians have perfectly successful careers and also have families.”
“Surgeons? Trauma surgeons? Think long and hard, Andie—how many of your colleagues and mentors along the years have had healthy marriages and children and maintain the hours you work?”
I couldn’t think of any. Every single trauma surgeon I had ever worked with in any capacity was either stuck in an unhealthy marriage riddled with infidelity, resistant to legally end it because of how much money their partner would be entitled to take, or was already divorced, financial ramifications be damned. If separated, the children were never with physician parent. They were always with the ex-spouse because our profession was too demanding to allow time for a normal co-parenting situation. The realization was hard to swallow. My mother, a difficult woman to love at times, was standing before me being horrendously rude and unsupportive, but she was right. The woman was right, and it was devastating.
“That’s what I thought,” she quipped after a long pause of silence.
Slowly lowering myself to the couch, I bent to rest my face in my hands, rubbing my skin in frustration.
“Are you dating this guy or was this some one-night stand gone bad?”
“Jesus, Mother.”
“Don’t bring Jesus into this now—he definitely wasn’t part of this.”
“That’s not funny.”
“No. No it’s not.”
“His name is Vaughn,” I told her. “We’ve been dating for a few months now.”
“Does Vaughn have a last name?”
“Bennett. Vaughn Bennett. And I love him.”
She averted her eyes, casting them down at the floor, and let out an exasperated sigh.
“You love him.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes,” I answered with melancholy in my tone. “And he loves me, but…well, it’s complicated.”
“Love is always complicated. It makes people do foolish things and make irrational choices—permanent choices.” Her words trailed and her eyes were lost to the present moment, stuck in some trance of memory. “Love isn’t enough.”
I let the conversation still and quiet filled the space of the kitchen as she worked through something in her head. She suddenly cleared her throat and resumed speaking, still directing her words to the floor instead of to my face.
“Love leaves you wounded and bruised. There’s no magic remedy or cure, just an ugly remnant, a weak spot that’s tender and painful to the touch, reminding you at every graze what put it there in the first place.”
“Mom…?” I broke her out of her thoughts, concerned and sad that she felt that way. She was hurting, obviously in pain. Was this truly what she felt about my father?
Her head shook and she glanced up, surprised at herself. “What does this Vaughn think of all this?”
I hesitated and then answered her, ashamed. “He doesn’t know yet.”
She straightened up some, seemingly encouraged by that news. I thought her eyes might have even lit up a bit.
“Why is that?” she asked with a judgmental tone. “Why would you tell your mother before the father of the baby?”
I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the real reasons. She obviously already thought I was a complete failure, pissing away my opportunity at a prestigious career and charmed life. She would probably keel over and croak right there in front of me if I exposed his past.
“Is this your way of telling me you don’t want him involved?” she inquired, creating all sorts of scenarios in her head, I was sure. “What is your plan? You think since I don’t work, you can just drop the baby off at grandma’s house every day to babysit while you’re at the hospital?”
With that, I’d had enough.
“No, Mother,” I replied as I stood and headed for the front door. “I wouldn’t dream of putting you out like that. God forbid you offer to support and help your only child, especially since I don’t do anything to help you.”
“Andie, wait…”
“No, I get it. It’s not enough that I help financially support you. It means nothing that I contribute a huge chunk of money toward your bills and the upkeep of your home and yard since you can’t—or won’t work.”
“That’s not fair,” she challenged, holding one finger up.
“No it’s NOT fair!” I yelled. “You’re damn right about that.” I thought I could almost see her eyes begin to tear up, but I couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. “It’s not fair that I have to go grocery shopping for you every week because you won’t leave the damn house. It’s not fair that I have to worry about two homes, two lawns, and even an extra car that you haven’t driven in years.”
It was then that I saw a tear finally crest over and fall down her cheek. There was nothing more to say. I turned my back to her, turned the doorknob, and turned away from the only family I had left.
I was truly alone.
Chapter 49
Vaughn
“Well, hello there!” she joyfully called out from the other end of the phone call. “Is it my birthday or something?”
“Ha ha, very funny. I know it’s been way too long since I last called. Sorry about that.”
“It’s quite all right. I know you’re busy,” she excused somberly.
I should never have been too busy for Ms. Hattie. She was the only person who’d ever taken a chance on me, the only mother I’d
ever had.
“How’ve you been?” I asked, sounding lame in my head. I didn’t need to make small talk with her and didn’t really know why I was wasting time with it. We both knew I had a reason for calling.
“I’ve been fine, better than you even, or so I hear.”
That caught me off guard.
“I had to hear from your assistant that you had been in an accident on that stupid bike. I told you that thing was a death trap.”
Why didn’t Angela tell me this?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to bother you. I’m fine. Everything was fine.”
“I know…which is why I didn’t meddle and show up at the hospital to fuss over you,” she added. “Thankfully Angela knew how to get in touch with me.”
Ms. Hattie always was great at keeping in the know without being pushy or too present. She could teach the class on how to be the perfect parent, truly.
“Has something happened? Are you doing okay?”
“Yes…well, physically, yes. Otherwise, not so much. I was hoping you might give me a little advice, if you’re up to hearing about my woes, just like the good ol’ days.”
“Vaughn, I’m a widowed woman in her seventies, so this phone call is the most exciting part of my week—shoot, maybe even my whole month,” she joked, chuckling at herself. “Of course I want to hear whatever you’re going through. We’ll talk through it.”
Relief spread through me and I knew I had made the right decision in calling her.
“Thank you.”
“You sure you don’t want to just come over here? It would be nice to see your face.”
She was right. I hadn’t been over to see her in way too long, and it would be nice to see her face as well.
“Okay, sure. I’ll leave in a few minutes.”
As if she was standing at the window, waiting on my arrival, she came out of her front door the second I pulled up. She walked slowly but steadily until she reached me on the sidewalk.