Deciding Tomorrow

by Ericson, Renee

  “That’s it.”

  The sound of silverware against porcelain clinks into the air.

  “I’m just looking out for you,” she says in a panic. “I just don’t want you to go through that again.”

  Go through what again? What the hell?

  “I’m leaving,” he says, suppressing his rage. “It was a pleasure, Mother.”

  Brent rises from his seat. Holding my ground, my gaze meets his over the partition. His eyes widen, realizing my presence.

  He drops his chin, focusing on this mother. “I love her,” he says evenly. “I hope one day you can see that’s all it is…and nothing else.”

  Angela’s dark head of hair pops into view as she stands face-to-face with her son. “I hate fighting with you like this.”

  Brent sneaks a peek in my direction, and I round the corner to join them, but I keep my distance.

  “We’re leaving,” Brent announces, scarcely covering his anger. “I will call you later, Mother.”

  “Very well.” She runs her hand down the length of his arm. “I love you, and I hope to see you again soon.”

  “Yeah, me, too,” he says. It’s clear that he doesn’t mean it.

  “Thank you for dinner,” I say, confused. I’m on the verge of tears. I have no idea what is going on, but I will be polite and cordial in a public place. I will play my part. “It was good to see you.”

  “You, too.” She glances at my midline. “Take care.”

  “I will.”

  I turn and head directly to the host stand with Brent fast on my heels.

  “Ruby,” he calls after me, “hold on.”

  I pull my coat-claim ticket from my purse and hand it over to the hostess’s waiting hand. I grab a tissue from the stand and dab the threatening tears at my bottom lids.

  “Ruby,” Brent says gently, placing his hand on my shoulder.

  I shrug him off. “Please don’t touch me right now.”

  “Okay,” he replies, defeated.

  We gather our coats and quickly exit the restaurant. Brent hails a cab and opens the door. I get in, scooting all the way to the other side and away from him. I feel like I’m sitting next to a stranger. A person I don’t even know exists within the skin of the man next to me. The hurtful things his mother said sting, but I will get over those. It’s not the first time I’ve heard them.

  However, Brent…and what his mother implied about him…

  I have no idea what’s going on.

  The car proceeds north toward my address under the sea of city lights.

  “How much did you hear?” Brent asks, cautious.

  “Why do you want to know? So, you can figure out your lies?”

  “No.”

  His hand covers mine, and I yank it away.

  “So, I know what questions to answer.”

  A warm tear trails down my cheek. “Who’s Christina?”

  THIRTY

  The buildings and streetlights pass in a blur as the silence in the cab interior thickens. I angle my body away from Brent, facing the door, and rest my head on the cool glass surface at a total loss.

  Secrets—I’m finding the man next to me has many. For two months, we have shared our lives and our love, and he’s been keeping things, important things, from me.

  “You’d better start talking,” I remind him.

  “Can you take us to the pier instead?” Brent asks, leaning forward and addressing the driver.

  “No problem,” the driver says, pulling into another lane.

  “I’m not in the mood, Brent,” I mumble. “The lake isn’t going to fix this.”

  “No, it isn’t.” His voice is dangerously quiet. “I am. I’m going to fix this.”

  My form crumbles, and my lids shut. I’m so torn. My confusion is anchored by the betrayal of my heart. The car travels through the tourist section of the city, down Michigan Avenue, and veers east toward the lake. It stops in front of the Navy Pier entrance, lit up against the black night. The water is indistinguishable, swallowed by the darkness.

  Brent pays the driver and opens his door. I stay in place with no desire to move.

  “I just want to go home,” I say, my body heavy. “I know what you’re doing.”

  “How can you possibly want to go home with me right now? You won’t even look at me.”

  I lift my eyes to his.

  “Or even let me touch you.” He steps outside, and the wind tussles his dark hair. “C’mon, I owe you some answers.”

  Gathering my aching heart, I slide along the bench seat and emerge into the night. Brent closes the door, the cab takes off, and we meander side by side down the walkway toward the end of the long platform. Hands tucked into our pockets, we are wordless.

  Passing the gardens, Brent steps in front of me, freezing our progression. “You know I love you, right?” he asks tentatively, hands at his sides. “You don’t doubt that, do you?”

  “My heart hurts, Brent. Between your mom and your secrets, I don’t know what to think.”

  “Ignore my mother. I don’t care about what she said or her opinions.”

  He steps toward me, and I stiffen, not welcoming him in my space.

  “Her issues are with me, not you,” he says.

  I close my fists, tension abounding. “Who is Christina?”

  “That’s a longer story.” He inclines his head toward the rotating Ferris wheel. “Take a ride with me?”

  “You have got to be joking.”

  “I’m kind of not. I want to talk to you, and I don’t want you to walk away from me. You won’t be able to in there.”

  “Brent, I’m not in the mood for games. You need to start talking because my mind is going crazy, and you need to fucking set it straight.” The anger enters my cheeks, hardening my face. “You need to tell me that you don’t have a family somewhere and that you’re not hiding some secret double life. All I have right now is some girl named Christina”—my rage-filled eyes moisten—“and you with a kid.”

  He doesn’t reply.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” I shout.

  “The baby wasn’t mine,” he enunciates.

  “What baby?”

  “Christina’s.” He rubs his hand across his face. “She wasn’t mine.”

  “Then, what in the hell was your mother talking about?”

  He faces out over the midnight water leading into the city twinkling at the shoreline. Time stretches on. The wind howls across the bare bushes.

  “When I went to Sweden,” he says with glassy vision, “I fucked up. I was so lost without you. You didn’t want me. Do you know how that feels? To not be wanted? To be pushed away and shut out?”

  My stomach falls hard and fast. “Of course I do.”

  “Well, that’s what you did to me.” Inhaling sharply, he lifts his face to the dark heavens. “You all did.”

  I wait, unsure what to say. He’s right. I pushed him away. His family tore apart, and so did his life, our life.

  I wait…and wait for more.

  There’s more.

  “Between you, school, my parents, the baby…our baby…I…soccer wasn’t the answer, Ruby. Sweden wasn’t the answer.” Defeat overcomes him. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but your arms didn’t want me anymore. No one’s did, so I went into anyone’s that would have me.”

  “Christina?”

  “Yes, and others.” Brent shakes his head. “It was different over there, being an American and an athlete. It was easy.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Seconds pass.

  And then, it clicks.

  “Are you telling me you were screwing all of Scandinavia while you were there?” I ask in denial. “Is that what you’re telling me right now?”

  He grunts. “I don’t know. Fuck!” He lifts his hand to his brow. “Not all of Scandinavia.”

  “But not just this Christina girl, right?”

  “No.”

  My body squirms at the thought of him with anothe
r woman—not just one but many.

  How many? I don’t know. I don’t even want to know.

  “I can’t hear this, Brent. I don’t want to hear about you screwing other people.”

  “Why not? I had to hear about you fucking Russ!”

  My chest pushes in and out, moving the air quickly. A crazed fury is building.

  I turn on my heel and walk away. Brent grabs my arm and twists me around only a few steps down the pier.

  “Don’t touch me!” I jerk out of his grasp. In a lower tone, I stress, “Do not touch me.”

  Brent raises his hands in surrender, taking a few steps back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Tightening my lids, I cover my face with my palm, trying to calm myself. We were apart for so long that it was never a question whether or not he’d been with other people. I just didn’t want to hear about it.

  “Who is Christina?” I ask, lowering my arm and allowing my hands to hang heavy at my sides.

  “She’s a girl I met over there,” he answers, expecting the question.

  “Were you two dating?”

  “No.” His entire expression is filled with apologies. “I didn’t really date anyone while I was there.”

  Blinking, I raise my chin to the stars. “Go on.”

  “She and I were together a few times, and then I never heard from her. It was…well, you get the drift.”

  “Yeah,” I say, sharp. “I got it. I get it.”

  “Months had passed since I heard from her, and the season was over. Out of nowhere, she just showed up at my place.” He looks straight at me, expressionless. “She was pregnant, and she said it was mine.” He hangs his head. “All I could think about was you. All I saw was you.”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I walk to the edge of the platform, next to a docked ship, facing where the water is lapping below. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” I quietly ask.

  “Because.” I sense him cautiously approaching me from behind before he stops directly at my back, his body blocking some of the constant breeze. “I didn’t know how to with everything that had happened between us. I planned to tell you someday, but I was waiting for the right time. I should have told you sooner. You shouldn’t have found out like this.”

  “One thing I’ve learned,” I pronounce each word with distinction, “is that there’s never a good time for bad news, but keeping secrets only allows their evil to grow.”

  He comes to stand beside me, and the tension passes like a bolt of lightning from his body to mine. The wind blasts against us, and my hair flies across my moist cheeks.

  “So, what happened with Christina? You said the baby wasn’t yours?”

  “No, it wasn’t. I was always careful after you, so part of me never believed the baby was mine…but part of me wanted it to be.”

  “Why?” I ask, circling and coming face-to-face with his somber expression. “Why would you want a baby with someone you barely knew?” My lip shakes. “Why?”

  “Because of you.”

  Brent apprehensively reaches for my wrist, and I allow it.

  “Because I couldn’t fix you or us. I thought it was my second chance to make things right where I couldn’t before.”

  “With another woman?” I ask, desperate for it not to be true.

  “I wanted it to be you.” He finds my other hand with his and takes a step into my space. “I knew things with Christina wouldn’t be the same. It never even felt right in any way…because all I saw was you.”

  “So, you what? Had a life with her?” My voice quakes. “Did you love her?”

  His shoulders collapse. “I never loved her, but I was trying to do the right thing. We lived together for a month before the baby came.”

  Brutally breaking, my heart is pounded to a gelatinous puddle as the jealousy for this woman accumulates.

  She got him. She had it all with him…and a baby.

  I had none of it.

  I was left with an empty womb and scars throughout, wrecking me into oblivion.

  “You had a life with her,” I whisper. “A whole life with someone else.”

  “It was an empty one, Ruby. I have no life without you, no matter how many substitutions I try to find.”

  Stepping around him, I cross the walkway and take a seat on the concrete steps overlooking the southern shores of Chicago. Brent remains in place, solid, a statue illuminated by the lights above.

  Deep breaths.

  Five of them.

  Three more.

  He still doesn’t move. The heaviness of his past is intertwining with our present. It’s all out on the table, and it’s so substantial that even the violent gusts from Lake Michigan aren’t able to haul them away.

  Brent runs his fingers through his hair, peering over the silky black water. Then, he joins me on the steps, sitting next to me.

  “What happened after the baby came?” I ask, needing to know everything.

  “The minute Nora was born, I knew she wasn’t mine.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I just knew.” He balls his fists. “I held her in my arms, and I knew. I don’t know how, but I did.”

  The vision of Brent holding a baby, not ours, hits me with a giant anvil of pain and longing. He cradled a child and called it his…and it had nothing to do with me.

  “Did you say anything?” I question, torturing my heart with the truth of his past.

  “No.” He angles his torso toward me. “Somehow, I thought it was my responsibility. I convinced myself that everything with Christina was my chance to right a wrong with you. I don’t know. So, I didn’t say anything despite my doubts. Her family welcomed Nora and me with open arms. They accepted me easily. I think part of me was just happy to be wanted somewhere.”

  “I can understand that.” I tuck my lips into my mouth. “So, what happened?”

  “I told my parents about Nora and Christina right after the birth, and my mother came for a visit a few months later. She said she needed to meet her granddaughter.”

  “And your mother knew she wasn’t yours?”

  “You see how she is. She took one look at Nora, and she knew the baby wasn’t mine.” Brent exhales, his moist breath clouding into the ebony evening. “I was so stubborn, and it took some convincing, but I eventually conceded to my mother’s demands for a paternity test.”

  “And that’s when you found out for sure?”

  “Yes. That’s why my mom said the things she said about you—well, questioning whether or not you were pregnant. I never told her about what happened between us—you, me, our baby. I’ve never told anyone. That was ours to keep, and I always wanted to keep it that way. My mother’s words weren’t anything personal. She’s just watching out for me, I guess.”

  I wrap my arms around my waist, concealing my middle against the cold creeping from the inside out. “What happened to Christina and the baby?”

  “I helped out for some time, but they both moved out and in with her parents shortly after the results were revealed.”

  “Did she ever find the father?”

  “Yeah. Turns out that it was her ex-boyfriend from college.”

  “Do you still talk to her?”

  “No.” The side of his mouth twitches. “After that, I kind of didn’t talk to anyone. I just did a lot of soul-searching. I focused on the game and finished out my obligations over the next few years. Then, I moved back. It was time.”

  “I wish you had told me. After everything we’ve been through, I’ve been nothing but open with you.”

  His fingers grip his hair. “I’m not perfect, Ruby. Neither are you.”

  “Oh, I know that.” I pull my hat further down over my head. “Your mother was happy to touch on those points tonight.”

  “But you’re perfect for me,” he softly says.

  I don’t reply.

  “You are,” he reiterates. “I hope you feel the same about me.”

  “I love you, Brent.” My voice is even
, droning out the words. “But nothing feels perfect to me right now.”

  I rise from the cool concrete and descend to the walkway. Taking one step in front of the other, I make my way back toward the place where we were dropped off.

  “What are you saying?” Brent asks, fast at my side.

  “I’m not saying anything.” My feet quit their forward motion, and my eyes land on the tall buildings ahead. “I know you’re not perfect. That’s the thing I’ve always loved about you—your imperfections. They always felt like they were mine because no one else could see them.” The icy breeze brutally blows against my face, stinging my cheeks. “I understand why you did what you did, but it doesn’t mean that I like it.”

  “Are you mad at me?” He steps in front of me, fear dancing along the edges of his features.

  “No,” I utter. “It’s like you said before. The deeper you love someone, the greater the pain. My heart just aches in so many ways.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  It’s late Sunday morning, and my apartment is silent, except for the sound of the water running in the shower.

  Brent is preparing to leave. He’s heading back to L.A. His long visit is officially coming to an end.

  Things have been different since his admission about Christina, her baby, and his life in Sweden. Most of this is on my part since I’m having a difficult time processing the hurt from him throwing himself and committing himself to another person and family so blindly. We weren’t together when it happened, so it shouldn’t upset me so much, but it does. There are so many levels of jealousy.

  I understand his reasoning for not telling me sooner, but his secrets still leave me feeling uneasy. He’s been nothing but compassionate over the past few days, offering reassurances to my aching heart.

  I love him still. He loves me.

  However, he’s leaving today in a state of turmoil, and we still have no plan.

  The water shuts off, and a few minutes later, Brent emerges from the bathroom, wearing only his boxers. I rise off the bed and meet him in the closet area.