Deciding Tomorrow

by Ericson, Renee

  “And they can’t stop the labor, right?” I ask.

  “No,” Tony informs us, “not since her water broke.”

  “Okay.” I lean into Brent.

  He hugs me close, his fingertips pressing into my left shoulder.

  “You guys are more than welcome to come back and wait with us,” Marcus offers, signaling toward the door. “The room is small, but we’re all hanging out in there.”

  “Thanks,” Brent says. He tilts his head down toward me. “What do you want to do?”

  I try to wrap my thoughts around everything, but it’s a lot to comprehend all at once. There’s nothing we can do but endure the hospital waiting game. Sitting in a small room, watching the minutes tick by, hoping everything is okay, counting down every second—I just can’t do that right now.

  I’m barely holding myself together, but I can do it just like I always do.

  “We’ll join you guys in a little bit,” I say. “I want to go to the cafeteria first.” I pause, contriving an excuse. “And get a cup of coffee.”

  “No rush,” Tony says. “It’s going to be a while anyhow.”

  “We’ll see you guys in a bit,” Marcus says, heading back toward the door. He hits the button, and it swings open. “I’ll let Cody and Shauna know you’re here.”

  “Thanks,” Brent and I say in unison.

  Then, we turn around and return to the elevator.

  Reaching the elevator bank, Brent presses the button to call for a car going down. I let go of his hand and stop next to the wide windows on the other side of the hall. I stare into the courtyard below. The few leaves on the trees appear so delicate and fragile as the wind teases them, begging them to let go. I wonder how long they can hold on.

  Brent joins me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “You okay?”

  “No”—my lip twitches—“not at all.”

  His warm breath floats across the back of my neck as he exhales. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” I reply softly, peering behind me into his comforting green eyes through my tear-pricking brown ones.

  The elevator dings, indicating the car has arrived. The doors open and reveal the empty space. We don’t move. Time hangs in the air, and our opportunity to take the elevator disappears. Lingering in the silence, I lick my lips, readying myself to deal with questions about my past.

  The issues expand within the invisible space.

  “We need to talk,” I say, cautious. “I-I’m so sorry. That back there…you didn’t deserve that.”

  His face hardens. He says nothing.

  An uncomfortable silence stretches into infinity with the tick of the clock hanging on the wall.

  “Come with me,” he says, pulling me in the opposite direction from the elevators and reception desk.

  We walk down the hall and make a few turns on an aimless journey. At the end of a wide hallway lined with patient rooms, Brent opens the door to a stairwell generally used in case of a fire. He leads us down a flight, stops at the top of the landing, and takes a seat before gesturing for me to sit next to him. I do as requested, staring at the concrete blocks on the wall.

  We sit together in mutual muteness, not moving, barely even breathing.

  “How much did you hear?” Brent finally asks, scarcely above a whisper.

  “Enough,” I reply, fidgeting with my fingertips. “Enough to know that Cody is an asshole. He shouldn’t have gone after you like that.”

  “I’m kind of surprised he didn’t hit me.”

  “He probably wanted to,” I mumble.

  “Yeah, maybe.” He drops his hands between his legs, situating his body to face mine. “But I’m not surprised he went after me. I kind of expected him to say something.”

  “You did?”

  “Sure I did. He’s not exactly known for keeping his thoughts to himself. I knew what I was getting myself into, especially since he’d already given you hell this week.”

  Of course Brent would expect it. He knows Cody, too, even if it has been years since they last saw one another. Some personality traits never die.

  “What he said though…” He palms my knee. “Some of those things I deserved, and he had every right to say them. I really did mess up, and I do regret leaving. I think about it daily. I know what I did when I left for Europe and how it looks.”

  “But you don’t deserve the blame for what…” I bite my lip, cringing. “For what happened in Florida.”

  “Maybe,” he huffs. “But Cody sure thinks so.” He runs his hand along my left shoulder and down my arm. “What did happen? It has something to do with this”—his fingers line the raised scar under the thin cotton fabric of my shirt—“doesn’t it?”

  I swallow. “It does.”

  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  “I don’t think I have a choice.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” he gently says, “but I wish you would.”

  “It’s not your fault.” I ball my hands. “I’ll tell you. It’s not a secret”—I bravely glimpse at his patient face—“not that I would keep any from you anyhow.”

  “Are you afraid to tell me?”

  “Petrified.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s ugly, and I’m not proud of myself at all.”

  “We all have a bit of ugly in our past.” He closes his lids. “I’m not immune to it either.”

  Brent captures my hands in his and hypnotically rubs the backs of them with his thumbs, making circles, as we sit with our own thoughts and each other. I concentrate on his movements as they pull me into a state of calm and comfort.

  “It wasn’t long after you left,” I whisper.

  He halts all movement. I peek at him from under my lashes, and he stares at me. Brent nods slightly as he drops his gaze back to my hands and continues the circular motion. The passage of each rounding of his thumbs pulls me back to my train of thought.

  “It was that summer after you went to Sweden,” I continue. “Cody was right. I was a mess, a really big one, but you knew that before you left. After you went overseas, I went home from school for summer break, and it kind of got worse for a while.” I try to search his face, but it’s still aimed at our joined hands. “Cody thought getting away would be good for me and help to get my life back together before going back to school. It made sense since everything at home, in that town, was just a memory of you. That’s why I stopped responding to your emails. I couldn’t…deal with the reminders anymore. Every time I opened one, it just hurt too much. I needed a change and a break. After I sent you that last email, letting you know we were taking a trip, I deleted the account right before Cody and I went down to Florida to visit his friend, Russ.” I pause, making eye contact.

  “I remember.” Intent on listening, Brent whispers, “Go on.”

  The words rise from within, wanting to get out. “When we got there, I had no intention of staying, but after being there for a week, I saw no reason to go back, and then Russ said I could stay with him.”

  “So, you did?”

  “Yes.” I bite my lip, feeling uncomfortable, as I remember the series of decisions leading to that terrifying moment. “I stayed there because it was easy. I couldn’t do school or anything anymore.”

  “And what did Cody say?”

  “He trusted Russ, so I did, too. Cody agreed that maybe taking some time off and being out of state might be a good thing.”

  Brent’s forearms tighten as he tries to hold in the anger growing inside of him. He didn’t know Russ well during high school. Russ and Cody were best friends, and they liked to party. Everyone in town knew their reputation. Russ was most noted for his laissez-faire attitude and that continued when he lived in Florida. But I didn’t care about any of that. I didn’t care about anything other than not remembering what had happened with Brent and my life, and Russ was happy to offer that escape. So, I took it.

  “I called your dad’s house when my emails stopped
going through to you,” Brent quietly states. “Did you know that?”

  “Yes, he told me.”

  “I wanted to talk to you. You changed your number. Did you tell him not to give it to me?”

  “No. He probably didn’t have it written down. I bet he didn’t even know which one it was on the caller ID. He never called me while I was there. I always called to check in on him. I’m surprised he even remembered to tell me that you had called. He wasn’t doing well then with his sobriety.”

  “I left my number, hoping—”

  “I never got it,” I tell him, saddened by his attempts to contact me. Pain slices my gut, knowing that far away, Brent was still searching for me, even after I’d pushed him away. “I’m so sorry, Brent. I never—”

  “I know,” Brent says, resolved and far too understanding. “Go on,” he encourages. “What happened next?”

  “So, I stayed with Russ for a few months—”

  His eyes grow wide. “Were you…” He trails off, unable to say the presumptuous words.

  Brent’s implications are obvious. Were Russ and I an item? The answer is no, but we were intimate. We were just two lost people, searching for more, who happened to be alongside one another.

  “Does it matter?” I ask, defeated in so many ways.

  Brent lets go of my hands and runs his through his hair.

  “Fuck!” he says under his breath. “Fuck. Damn it!”

  I wrap my arms around my waist, rejection taking hold, as I wait for Brent to…react further. He leans back and stares at me, every particle of his being projecting dejection.

  “It was a long time ago,” I sheepishly remind him. “And I told you, it was ugly.”

  Holding the bridge of his nose, Brent asks, “Did you love him?”

  “No, not at all.” My nails dig into my palms, pressing hard from the admission. “I can stop if you don’t want to hear the rest.”

  Collecting himself, Brent drops his hand into his lap. “No, go on. I want to know.”

  Opening and closing my hands, still resting at my middle, I forge on. “Russ got me a job at a restaurant where he was tending bar. It was near Christmas, and I was still…floundering—I guess that’s the best way to put it. Our coworkers—well, let’s just say, they all liked to have a good time, and it was easy to join in on that since I had zero fight in me.”

  “So,” he says in an accusatory tone, “you were drinking a lot?”

  “I wouldn’t say a lot but often.”

  “Even with your dad’s addiction issues?”

  I laugh, defeated. “I’m not perfect, Brent, not by a long shot. I’ve made a ton of mistakes in my life. There’s no doubt in my mind about that. I was destroyed and feeling alone. So, yeah, even with my dad, I put myself in an awful environment. I didn’t want to fight anymore. I didn’t want to cry anymore. I didn’t want to hurt anymore. I took the easy way—that’s all it was.”

  He rubs his forehead. “Fuck, Ruby.” He grunts. “Keep going.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, I want to hear it all.”

  “Okay.” I sharply exhale. “It was around Christmas, and Russ had a bunch of people over for a party. It wasn’t uncommon. People came over all the time. Now that I think back to it, I was practically living in a huge party house. Everyone was drinking a lot, and well…there were drugs, too.”

  “Were you doing them?”

  “No, not at all.”

  He closes off his green-gray eyes, relieved, as his chin lifts toward the ceiling.

  “And,” I continue, “that night, some people started to get out of hand. A fight broke out between two guys. I have no idea what it was even about. I was really drunk, and the next thing I knew, I was being pushed through the sliding glass door. I don’t really remember much after that.”

  “Your arm?”

  “Yeah. I lost a lot of blood, and I had to have surgery to repair an artery.”

  Brent blinks, his face hardens, stunned as the events register further. “You could have died.”

  “Yes, I could have, but I didn’t.” I squirm a little.

  “But you’re okay now?”

  “I am. I was in the hospital for a few days to recover. Russ called Cody when it happened, and he drove down the next day.”

  “What about your dad?”

  “He couldn’t come.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…you know why,” I say simply.

  Brent knows I’m implying that my father’s addiction was an issue.

  “Ruby…” Brent drags his hand across his face. He drops his hand, appearing to be lost in thought as if he’s waging some war within himself. His lips move, but no words escape. His expression fills with fear and guilt.

  “Brent, it’s not your fault. I was a mess. I looked for answers in the wrong places, and it came to bite me in the ass.”

  “But I should have been the answer,” he insists. “You should have been looking for me.”

  “You are the answer.” The tears erupt. “I just couldn’t see that then.” I rest my face in my hands, trying to stifle the sobs. “I pushed you away, and I fucked up. I just wanted…I just didn’t want to miss you anymore. I regret it all, but the mistakes are mine. I did them all.”

  Brent’s arms wrap around my bundled form. “I did them, too,” he soothingly whispers.

  I weep into his shoulder as the sentiments of the past seep into the present.

  “Your pain is mine,” he continues. “No matter when or how it happens, I hurt for you. I hurt with you.”

  He holds me until I calm down and pull myself together. I sit back, wiping away the tears.

  “What happened next?” he questions.

  I sniff. “Cody stayed in Florida for a while longer until I was discharged. He was so pissed at Russ and me. Cody and I got my stuff and started to drive back home to Illinois. It was time. On the way back, we stopped in Daytona for a car show that happened to be going on. That’s where Cody met Shauna and her family. So, I guess something good came from my idiocy.”

  Brent takes my hand back in his.

  “The last day of the show, we got a call from my Uncle Jas about my father’s car accident. Things were rough in general for some time, but between his accident and mine, I kind of had a wake-up call about my life. If there’s such a thing as rock bottom, I was definitely sitting there at that time. I went to Al-Anon meetings because of my father’s accident, and they ended up helping with everything. Cody assisted in getting me back in school, and he made sure I was set up back in Chicago before moving to Milwaukee. I still go to Al-Anon meetings every once in a while. Cody does, too. We’ve both come a long way.”

  “So, Cody was there for you?”

  “Yeah, he was, and he saw me at my worst. That’s why he acted the way he did, but I don’t like him blaming you. It’s not right.”

  “I understand why he does though. I think I would, too.” He purses his lips. “I wish I had been the one who was there for you.”

  “In some ways, I wish you were, too.”

  Brent scoots closer to me, our sides touching. “When I was talking to Cody in the garage, how much did you hear?”

  “Enough to know that Cody’s not exactly fond of you.”

  “No shit.” He shakes his head. “That’s an understatement.”

  “Maybe a little one.”

  Brent grips my fidgeting hands. “I’m not sure all that you heard him say, but he got a few things wrong when it comes to me.” Boring his steely green eyes straight into me, he continues, “I’m not here to throw money around or use you. This thing, between you and I, isn’t fleeting, and you’re not some novelty for me to rescue.” He adds pressure to my hand. “I’m here because I love you, and I need you in so many ways. I will not leave you when things get rough. Whatever is going on with you or what Cody thinks or what happened in Florida—none of those things will push me away.” He threads his fingers with mine. “I know how it looks on the outside and what ot
hers might think, but I hope you know me.” He lowers his voice as he says, “I feel like you’re the only person who has ever known me.”

  “I do know you,” I gently tell him. “And I realize how it looks, too. But I don’t care. I see the truth.”

  He squeezes my hand.

  “But Cody is right about me and my problems,” I unhappily admit. “I do come with a lot of them—well, maybe not problems, but I certainly have a lot of baggage.”

  “I don’t mind your baggage.” His sincerity is so prominent that I could never question the statement. “I’m happy to carry it for you wherever we travel.”

  “You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

  “Sometimes, but I’m serious.”

  “I know you are, Brent, and you’re the only one I want to help me carry it.”

  He leans his head against mine. “I wish you would let me unpack it, too.”

  “You already are.”

  Brent’s hand traces a strand of hair that has fallen out from behind my ear. He reaches its end and tucks it back in place. “Good. We’re going to be okay,” he states reassuringly.

  “I think so.”

  “We will.” He straightens, giving me all of his attention as his hands drift along the length of my arms. “What a day, huh?”

  “It’s kind of huge. Not really a typical Thanksgiving.”

  “No, it isn’t. Are you worried about Shauna and the baby?” he asks, apprehensive.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought so.”

  “I just want everything to be okay for them,” I quietly say, trying not to hint at the worst.

  “Me, too.”

  “I don’t…” I shake my head. “I can’t even…”

  He takes me in his arms, cradling the back of my head. “It’s okay. I understand. I can’t even either.”

  Just like that, Brent strips away my facade of strength because it’s not needed with him, and I let him carry us both.

  NINETEEN

  Since arriving at the hospital seven hours ago, we’ve had lunch, coffee, dinner, and made a few trips to the snack machine. Spending Thanksgiving within these sterile walls, watching time tick by, is not ideal, but I can’t convince myself to leave and go anywhere else.