Deciding Tomorrow

by Ericson, Renee

  “C’mon, son.” He lifts his arms, extending them outward, next to me. “Daddy will catch you.”

  My head drops to the space beside me where a small boy, a toddler, is rocking on his feet from side to side, shifting his weight. He’s nervous and unsure.

  “Mommy,” Brent gently says.

  My head snaps at his call, knowing the term is intended for me. He’s called me that many times before. It’s familiar and a part of me.

  “Tell him it will be okay.”

  Squatting down, my entire soul sinks into the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen. He’s handsome and perfect with hazel eyes, a strong chin, and topped with a chocolate head of hair. He is full of innocence and purity. He’s his father’s son in every way.

  “Daddy will catch you,” I console, holding his soft, chubby fingers. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “I’m scared,” his tiny voice tells me. “It’s scary.”

  Over my shoulder, I peek at Brent. He wears a proud expression as he watches me with our child.

  “There’s no reason to be frightened. Daddy loves you, and he will make sure you’re safe.” I kiss his cherubic cheek. “Mommy loves you, too.”

  I rise with his hand in mine. We walk to the dock’s edge, and he prepares to jump.

  “It’s okay.” Brent spreads his arms, ready to catch him. “You can do it.”

  The boy releases my hand, bounces in place twice, and then launches himself straight into his father’s waiting arms. His tiny legs cause a splash to erupt when they hit the water, spraying my feet. My eyes dart down to assess the moisture, but a protruding belly obstructs my view.

  “You did it!” Brent cheers, holding our little guy in his arms. “I knew you could.”

  I rest my hand on my stomach and watch the two most beautiful men in the world kiss each other’s cheeks.

  Brent loves that little boy. He loves our little boy.

  There’s a nudge at my side, an acute push, but it’s not too painful. My fingers instinctually cover the spot and try to massage away the ache, only to be bumped again from the inside.

  “Are you okay?” Brent asks, mildly concerned, as he approaches the dock.

  “Yeah.” I sit at the edge and plunge my feet into the tepid water. “She’s just kicking, that’s all.”

  Holding our son on his hip, Brent places a hand over mine where our daughter is tapping a message to the outside world against my skin.

  “She’s strong,” I say, observing the wonderment on Brent’s face. “And she doesn’t like to be ignored.”

  “She must be just like her mother.”

  “Or her father.”

  The boy kicks, splashing us both, and our family launches into a fit of giggles.

  This is my life.

  This is my love.

  ~~~*~~~

  My eyes flutter open to the hazy morning light within my apartment. It’s a pure dichotomy from the bright and vivid view in my dream. Given my past experiences with dreams, especially those having to do with Brent and children, I’m surprised at how peaceful I feel right now. There’s no tension or worry, just happiness. My subconscious is sending me messages of where to find everything I need.

  I’m listening.

  Rolling over, my arm searches for Brent against the warm sheets. He’s not here. My head whips around the apartment as I try not to panic, and I find Brent standing near the closet with his back facing me. He’s nude from the waist down, only wearing a sweater. I openly ogle his bare ass.

  “That’s a good look for you,” I call over to him and then clear the thick evening from my throat. “You should wear that more often.”

  Dropping his arms, phone in one hand, Brent joins me at the bed and sits on its edge. “Good morning, sleepy,” he says, skimming my bare spine with his fingertips. “You must have been tired.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Almost eleven.”

  I rub face. “Wow. You could have woken me up.”

  “Nah, you needed the sleep.”

  “How long have you been up?”

  “About fifteen minutes.”

  I play shove his shoulder. “And you were calling me sleepy?”

  “Maybe.” He kisses my cheek. “You want to go and get some breakfast?”

  “We can do that.”

  Pushing the comforter aside, I emerge from the bed and walk into the dressing room near the bathroom. I slip on a pair of panties and a bra, push my legs into a pair of tight-fitting jeans, and then search through the closet for a top.

  Brent slides his arms around my waist, and his hot breath tickles my ear. “Last night…” He kisses my neck. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  I turn within his arms and hook my hands behind his back. “That good, huh?”

  “It wasn’t bad.” He lifts his brows. “Was it good for you?”

  “Meh,” I sarcastically say. “It’ll do.”

  Nudging me to the side, he presses my body flush with the closet door. “Are you saying you didn’t like it? I’d be happy to go for round two right now and make sure we get it right.”

  “Oh, I liked it.” I nip at his stubbled jaw. “I might have liked it a lot.”

  “Just liked?”

  Reaching around, I grab his firm behind. “It was awesome, possibly incredible, mind-blowing, and spectacular.”

  “You might be going just a little overboard, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know. What if I’m not?”

  He leans in, tauntingly grazing my jaw with his teeth. “You know what they say about stroking a guy’s ego, don’t you?”

  “What’s that?”

  “You can never do it enough.”

  Resting the back of my head on the closet door, I hold Brent’s gaze. A playfulness is masking the sincerity of his feelings about our time spent together last night. There’s no doubt that he was moved as much as me.

  “I loved it, Brent,” I express, all teasing aside, “everything about it.”

  “Me, too. It was perfect.” He kisses the space behind my ear. “Finish getting dressed before I really go for round two. I’m hungry.”

  “Okay.” I lick my lower lip. “Maybe after breakfast?”

  “Are you trying to put me on your calendar?”

  “Is scheduling sex a no-no?”

  Dipping his head, Brent worships my neck with his lips and tongue. The small delicate crevices tingle from his devotion, and my pelvis instinctually presses forward.

  “You’re going to be the death of me,” he mumbles against my collarbone before stepping away. Brent drags his hand over his mouth and then rubs the back of his neck. “Get dressed, or we’re never going to get out of here.”

  Together, we complete the dressing process of our half-naked bodies, brush our teeth, and then put on our outerwear to prepare for the cold morning. Exiting the apartment, we make our way down the hall, descend the steps, and out the door.

  “I wanted to ask you something,” Brent says halfway down the block, his breath visible against the thin air.

  My stomach leaps at the noted formality in his tone. “What’s that?” I ask, skeptical.

  He takes my hand in his as we continue along the residential street. “I got a message from my mother this morning, and she’s going to be in town for business in a few days.”

  “Oh, that sounds nice. Are you planning on seeing her?”

  “Yes.” His lips tighten. “She wants to have dinner together…”

  “And?”

  “And I want you to come with me.”

  “Sure.” I swing our hands. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Thank you,” he says, his tone less strained.

  Together, we cross the street and turn the corner into a more commercial area, only a few blocks away from our destination.

  “Was that it?” I halt. “You just wanted to ask me to go to dinner with you and your mom?”

  “Yeah.” He nods his head at the simplicity. “That’s it
.”

  “Okay.”

  We continue toward the diner, hand in hand, while Brent remains quiet and focused straight ahead. Something is ruminating through his mind. I have a feeling it has to do with his mother. While Brent hasn’t mentioned any tension between them, other than the fact that she’s always working, I assume much of his distaste is associated with his parents’ divorce. It certainly affected him when it happened, and remnants of that hurt might still remain, which is understandable.

  No matter the reason, I’m happy to be there for him.

  TWENTY-NINE

  The cab drops Brent and me off at the downtown steakhouse where we agreed to meet his mother. It’s a well-known, high-end restaurant that has garnered a wonderful reputation with praising reviews from critics. I’ve never been here before.

  A valet opens the door to the noticeably calm establishment on this weekday evening. We check in with the host stand and drop off our coats. We are led into the dining room where his mother is already seated and waiting for us. As we approach our table, Brent’s mother stands to greet us with her dainty long arms stretched wide. Her jet-black hair is tucked to one side, framing her high cheekbones and piercing green eyes. I never realized how much Brent resembles her until now.

  “Hello, Mother,” Brent says, hugging her quickly. “It’s good to see you.”

  “You, too.” She steps back, holding his hands. “You’re as handsome as ever.”

  “I try.” Releasing a hand, he reaches back and pulls me to his side. “You remember Ruby?”

  “Of course I do.” She gives me a genuine smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “You too, Mrs.—”

  “Please, call me Angela.”

  “Angela.”

  Brent lets go of her hand. “Let’s sit down.”

  “Oh, yes,” she agrees.

  His mother takes one side of the booth situated along a partition, and Brent and I sit on the other side. We place our drink orders and then partake in small conversation about the weather and the city. Angela is kind, warm, and good-natured in every way. I’m confused as to why Brent had any apprehension about seeing her today. She has an easy way with dialogue, much like Brent. I’m immediately comfortable in her presence despite not having seen her in years. By the time our drinks arrive, any initial distress from Brent has dissipated.

  “So, how long are you here?” I casually ask Angela.

  “Just until tomorrow night,” she replies. “I flew in this morning and hope to close the deal tomorrow before lunchtime. It’s for a European client who has an office in Chicago. Their office likes to have all the terms settled before end of business day, their time.”

  “I hope it goes well.”

  An international client along with national travel is impressive. Her career sparks a bit of admiration.

  “Thank you. Me, too.”

  We order our meals, and Brent and his mother continue to get reacquainted after not seeing one another in almost six months. For the most part, I remain silent as they converse. I’m here to support Brent and just be here, like he would for me.

  Halfway through our entrees, Angela takes a sip of her wine and angles her posture in my direction. “So, Ruby,” she begins, “Brent mentioned on the phone that you’re back in school. How’s that going?”

  I finish chewing the morsel in my mouth. “It’s going well. I’m slated to graduate in the spring.”

  “What do you plan to do afterward?” She lifts her glass to her mouth, watching me.

  This is a topic I haven’t fully fleshed out, and it still requires some discussion with Brent.

  “I’m undecided as of right now,” I tell her.

  “Undecided about what?”

  “Whether or not I want to go into grad school right away or not.”

  “Have you submitted applications yet?”

  Is this an interrogation?

  Brent presses his fingers to the small of my back.

  “Yes, a few,” I reply. “I’m still waiting to hear back though. They can take some time, and some of the schools have an interview process.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Brent chimes in. “Interviews?”

  “Yeah.” I clear my throat and finger the napkin in my lap. “They usually happen a little later though.”

  “Well,” Angela says, “I think it’s wonderful. Education opens a multitude of opportunities.” Picking up her knife and fork, she cuts off a bite of food. “Brent, you should consider going back to school as well to get your degree. It’s not too late.”

  Brent stiffens beside me, closes his eyes, and breathes slowly through his nose. “I think I’m doing okay in my career right now.”

  “Yes, right now.” Angela takes a small bite and then continues, “But what if you were to get injured? Then, what?”

  “Then, I guess I would have enough free time to go back to school, but right now, I’m kind of busy.”

  Under the table, I cover his hand with mine, giving it a small squeeze. I finally understand some of the tension he’s been feeling about this dinner.

  His mother doesn’t approve of his decisions.

  I understand his mother’s desire for Brent to achieve, but she doesn’t seem to be overly supportive of something he’s doing so well in either. Made for the game, he’s practically a star in the league, and for some reason, she doesn’t see that.

  “It’s good to keep your options open,” Angela adds and then takes another bite. “You should look into getting back into the university where Ruby is.”

  “I think Ruby’s circumstances were a little different than mine, Mom. She just took a break. I had trouble with my grades.”

  “Yes, I remember.” She tightens her mouth and starts sawing hard at the steak on her plate. “Maybe another university then?”

  “Perhaps,” he concedes. “But not right now.”

  We continue to eat again in silence, a mild tension lingering. When our meals are complete and the plates are cleared, farewells are soon to follow since no one asks for the dessert menu.

  “When do you go back to L.A., Brent?” Angela questions.

  “Preseason team training begins in a few days.”

  “That’ll be good. I’m sure you can’t wait to get back to the sunshine and warmth. I forgot how cold this city is. I guess I haven’t been back in some time—at least not in the winter.”

  “It hasn’t been so bad,” he comments, his hand on my knee. “I barely noticed the weather. Been kind of busy.”

  “Oh, well, that’s good, dear,” she replies, oblivious to his double entendre. Angela flips her wrist, regarding the time on her watch. “I should get going. I have an early meeting.” She raises her hand, beckoning over our server for the check.

  I excuse myself to use the restroom, so I can freshen up before we leave. I also want to give them a moment to talk. Brent wanted me here with him for support, but he still should have a few moments alone with his mother as well. He hasn’t seen her in months.

  I check my hair in the mirror and adjust my dress. After counting to one hundred, I wash my hands. Enough time has passed, so I exit the restroom and weave through the restaurant back to where we are seated.

  At the partition, about to turn the corner, my feet slow. I overhear my name.

  Brent grumbles something indecipherable.

  “Her father is in prison,” Angela states in a somewhat hushed tone. “Did you know that?”

  “Yes, Mother,” Brent says, exasperated. “I’m fully aware that her dad is in prison and why. I went with her to see him on Christmas.”

  “So, that’s why you didn’t spend the holiday with your father?”

  “Why should you care? It doesn’t make any difference to you. You barely even noticed that I didn’t spend Thanksgiving with you. Don’t pretend to all of a sudden care where I spend the holidays.”

  “Brent,” she consoles, “I love you. You’re my son. Of course I care. I just want the best for you.”

&nb
sp; “Well, it’s easy to see that you don’t think Ruby is it.”

  “She’s a nice girl.” Angela pauses. “Pretty, too. I can see why you like her, and I know you two have a history, but she seems to come with a lot of baggage.”

  Silence stretches with neither one of them adding to the conversation. These accusations about me, while hurtful, are true. The way people see me is never surprising, but it’s still upsetting, especially coming from the mother of the man I love, but family is a delicate balance, no different than mine.

  Uncomfortable eavesdropping, I step forward to rejoin them.

  “I don’t mean it like that, Brent,” Angela says.

  I stop, still out of view.

  She continues, “Really, I don’t, but with everything she comes from I just wonder—”

  “What do you wonder, Mother?”

  “It just feels a little too convenient—you two after all these years, almost out of the blue. You don’t even live in the same city, yet here you are.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “The girl is a student and a waitress and barely makes any money—”

  “So?” he objects. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Well…” Her voice lowers. “She isn’t pregnant, is she?”

  My heart stills, and a lump completely clogs my throat. I wait for him to reply.

  Brent says nothing.

  Why would she even ask that?

  “She is, isn’t she?” she pushes.

  “Mom,” Brent scolds, “stop.”

  “I knew it. This is just like Christina.”

  Who the fuck is Christina?

  Angela lets out a frustrated sigh. “Just another girl who’s nothing but trouble with a baby. When are you going to learn?”

  “You have got it completely wrong. This is nothing like that. You don’t know Ruby like I do.”

  “Oh, she’s a nice girl, Brent, and so is Christina. But don’t you see what’s going on? They’re just using you. You put yourself in these bad situations with these women, and they will take advantage of you. Are you ready to play father again?”

  I. Can’t. Breathe.

  “Stop, right now,” Brent snarls. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You need to see when people are just after one thing. The girl has a criminal for a father and hardly makes a dime. She doesn’t have the best track record for staying in school. Who even knows if she’ll graduate at all? Nothing good can come of this.”