So Wicked

by Melissa Marino

  Marshall raked his hands through his hair, shaking his head. “All right,” he said. “Enough of all of this. Family meeting.”

  “Family?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “We all work together. We may argue and bitch at each other, but in the end, I view it as a family.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” Phoebe said under her breath.

  “Hey?” Marshall asked in my direction. He crossed the space between us, coming up next to me. He leaned in to whisper in my ear, the closest he had gotten to me since we found each other again. “I want them and only them to know about Aaron. For now. Cool?”

  My heart began racing. I knew we couldn’t keep it a secret from everyone, but I had for so long. My head tilted back to look at Marshall, to inspect his eyes for sincerity. His eyebrow raised because he knew that was what I was doing.

  No relationship was sound unless you could trust, business or otherwise. I had to try with him.

  Unfortunately, I hadn’t tried hard enough with Phoebe. She didn’t know the truth, not about Aaron, Delilah, or anything else. A logical, albeit deceptive, train of thought had kept me from divulging my past to her. In the back of my mind, the place so far away it was rarely visited, I knew there might be a time I’d need to explain to her because she was the only friend I had.

  “What do you think?” Marshall asked.

  Phoebe’s demeanor shifted once again. Her worried expression shifted between Marshall and me, as she rung her hands together in front of her. “Please tell me what is going on?” she asked in a small voice.

  I sighed because I didn’t want to do this, especially not right now, but I had to.

  I whispered back into Marshall’s ear, “Nothing about Delilah yet, okay?”

  He nodded and stepped back from me. “You want to take this?”

  No, but I wasn’t going to leave it up to him.

  “Phoebe,” I said, walking toward her. “I was married. Marshall is his best friend. We both had no idea each other was going to be involved. I’m sorry I never told you, but it was a long time ago, and things did not end…well. In fact, they ended pretty ugly. You can probably understand now why Marshall was so angry when he saw me.”

  “Huh?” she asked, shaking her head in disbelief. “You were married? You told me you weren’t or had never been.”

  “I know, and I feel bad about that. It is a part of my life I want to forget.”

  Her eyes shifted to Marshall. “So that’s why you don’t like us?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t dislike you, Phoebe. Just your hip checks to my door. And Alexis and I agreed we’d see how we can work together. The vibe between the two businesses is too good to not see what happens. And because of that, we want to keep it between the four of us. Deal?”

  I didn’t see the reactions of Wells and Phoebe because my ears were only focused on one thing.

  Alexis.

  It was the first time he called me my name without me telling him to or him correcting himself. It showed a level of respect, a small, tiny extension of the olive branch.

  And it was completely in my hands as all their eyes were on me once again.

  “Phoebe? The displays?” I asked her.

  She nodded before carefully opening the door and slipping out of it. Wells let out a deep sigh before retreating toward the office.

  And then it was just us.

  Him.

  Me.

  The energy had changed once the truth was released. Maybe it was because I admitted it, and that the air breathing it in was freed of lies. My stomach turned, a nausea rising from my gut and radiating everywhere. It was a reminder from a time when it was common, but now it was no longer familiar. It was all the things I held on to and only kept to myself. I swallowed it down like I always had. The nausea would pass. It always did until it came back again.

  I shook my head, freeing it of all that happened. “Anyway, I think you’ll be happy about the cheesecakes. Plus, I adjusted a few other things. Like the mint julep cupcakes? I think with your watermelon mint sangria—”

  “Can I ask you a question?” he said, interrupting me.

  “Yeah.”

  “How did this,” he said, waving his finger toward the Tipsy Treat boxes, “happen?”

  Confused, I asked, “How did what happen?”

  “How the hell did you go from an investment banker to a…baker?” He spit out the last word like it was dirty.

  This did not sit well with me.

  “Oh? So, because an investment banker is considered a high-ranking job, more important because it deals with money, I should be ashamed I’m a baker now? Let me tell you something, Marshall. I built this business by myself, all on my own. I didn’t have a best friend or anyone helping me. I would never and didn’t ever think less of you because you were a bartender, and furthermore—”

  His laughter cut me off, a full-on encapsulating crack-up. “Do you ever shut up?” he asked. “It’s times like this I see the old Lexie.”

  And I saw the old Marshall. It was the grinning, pleasant Marshall.

  I wondered where the old one went to that I only caught glimpses of. Maybe the same place I went? Years spent apart left a lot of room for change. I knew I wasn’t the same person I was the last time he saw me. I couldn’t expect him to be either.

  “All I was trying to ask, before you bit my head off, is what made you make the change? You have to admit the jump from a finance career to culinary is a little unusual.”

  “It was, but you know what? When you trade a life of work for a love, a passion, for the work you do, it all makes perfect sense.”

  He was no longer laughing, but was calm as his body leaned back against the bar, his arms resting on the top of it. “Okay,” he said, seemingly still confused. “That part makes sense, but how did you get there?”

  How did I get there? No one had ever asked me that before. How could they when they didn’t even know? I didn’t know quite how to answer him without bringing up so much from the past—me leaving, not a word since, moving to Boston and then to California.

  “I didn’t know baking was a passion,” Marshall said.

  “How did you not know?” I asked.

  “Huh?”

  Maybe it wasn’t obvious. In retrospect, I guess a lot wasn’t then, or even now.

  I searched my brain for an example until it came to me, and I had no choice but to smile as I recounted it to him.

  “Do you remember WET’s one-year anniversary party?” I asked, referring to Aaron’s speakeasy bar in Chicago that Marshall had managed.

  “Ahh,” he said, his eyes looking up as he tried to recall. “Vaguely?”

  “Okay. Aaron had the Blackhawk players in, and Oprah stopped by?”

  “Was that the year Aaron brought sixteen-year-old Abel to help with shit in the back, and Abel drank whatever was left in the glasses?”

  I laughed. “Yes. He got so wasted, and man, Aaron was so pissed.”

  He joined me in chuckles. “Oh yeah, he did! Aaron had to leave to drive him home. Abel puked in his car and all over himself. Leslie and Daniel read them both the riot act.”

  Leslie and Daniel Matthews, Aaron and Abel’s parents, were never pleased with Abel’s shenanigans.

  “Abel,” I said, recalling my ex-brother-in-law. “How is he?”

  He shook his head, smile still in place from his laughter. “That fucking guy. He’s awesome. He’s a teacher, if you can believe that.”

  “No way!”

  “Right?” he exclaimed. “But he’s a damn good one, too. It took him a while to get all his shit together, and let’s face it, Abel will always be Abel. A sweet kid with just a side of dumbass.”

  I nodded. “That’s Abel.”

  “You’d be proud of him, too,” he said, his tone and expression softening. “He’s become a man. He’s got a sweetheart of a girlfriend, and she’s the best thing that ever happened to him.”

  “I’m glad,” I said. “Really, because he w
as still a teenager when I left.”

  “Hence why you remember him wasted and barfing in Aaron’s car.”

  “Didn’t Aaron try and make you clean up his car?” I asked. “I seem to recall a little best friends’ quarrel between you two that night as well.”

  “He sure as hell did. I told him to go find someone else to do his dirty work.”

  “So, you do remember that night, then? Do you recall the dessert bar? It went with the whole 1920s theme, to go along with the whole Prohibition vibe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I made that.”

  “You made the decorations?”

  “No. I made all the sweets.”

  Once again I could see the wheels turning in his brain. That sweet table was the talk of the party. I had convinced Aaron to let me do it when he was looking for suggestions for a place to hire for the party. For a week before, I worked my regular fourteen-hour-plus day and stayed up through most of the night, prepping for the party. I ran on pure adrenaline and it was the most amazing feeling.

  “Holy shit!” Marshall said, slapping his hand on a pile of twisted napkins on top of the bar. “The brownies!”

  “My brownies? What about them?”

  “The stout brownies!”

  “What. About. Them,” I repeated slowly.

  “When I tried them the other day, they seemed familiar to me, but I knew I’d never had anything like it. But—”

  “You did,” I said, smiling.

  “But it wasn’t that night!”

  “I know. I remember. In fact, the first time I ever made them was for you.”

  Marshall had knee surgery, and while in recovery at home, Aaron would bring him food and things. One day, I had an idea based off a recipe I saw for a pumpkin ale brownie to try it with a stout. Both Aaron and I thought they were good, so I packed up some to send over to Marshall. It was all I heard about for weeks after from him.

  “Damn,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe that shit.”

  And I almost didn’t notice, with his beard covering his cheeks, but he was indeed blushing.

  “There was some good times, Marshall,” I said softly. “With all of us.”

  His eyes held to mine, and it was almost uncomfortable until it wasn’t. The shock of seeing him, someone from my past, had worn off, and if this conversation had taught me anything, it was that there were many good times. It wasn’t all bad.

  He ran his fingers through his hair. “You still have a thing for rainbows?” he asked.

  And he did remember things.

  I’d had a love of rainbows ever since…

  “I do,” I said. “Always.”

  Phoebe opened the door slowly, careful not to bang the wall, and I turned to watch her slide through a crack of an opening while carrying the first box for our display setup. I went to go help her, but Marshall stopped me.

  “Alexis?”

  “Yeah,” I said, calling over my shoulder.

  “We did,” he said with a shrug before looking down at his shoes. “Have some good times.”

  * * *

  After I left Ginger, I told Phoebe I would head back to the house and that if she wanted a break, she could join me there in a few hours. She never asked for much in terms of time off or anything, so I tried to be appreciative. I also had some ulterior motives. I needed some time to myself after the exchange Marshall and I had.

  I couldn’t put my finger on it, and I couldn’t shake it. He was familiar to me in so many ways, but he was someone I didn’t know at all in more ways. I didn’t know if that was why I was sensing such a draw to him, a pull, or if it was simply the proverbial blast from the past that had roused buried emotions.

  He knew me then.

  He was there for all of it.

  He was there for the after.

  I knew before the plus sign even popped up. The vomiting in the morning, sore breasts, and exhaustion weren’t subtle red flags. They were full-blown sirens, blasting their enormous volume into my crumbling soul.

  I knew it.

  Pregnant.

  It wasn’t supposed to happen.

  Ever.

  Not with Aaron. Not with anyone.

  I couldn’t be a mom. I shouldn’t have been.

  But with all the precautions taken, the universe still had to get a good laugh in. Hadn’t I suffered enough for so long?

  There was such clarity as I recalled the day I knew for sure, which began with me hiding in the bathroom to confirm my fears.

  I remember taking the pregnancy test and shoving it back in the box before tossing them both in the drugstore plastic bag I brought it home in. I glanced into the mirror above the sink. My red-rimmed eyes were going to be a giveaway. I knew Aaron would know. I wasn’t ready for Aaron to know.

  I wasn’t ready to know.

  Allergies. That was what I had decided my excuse would be.

  There were little details I always recalled, too. Like how I ran my nude-colored manicured fingertips under my eye to wipe away the mascara that smeared from running and noticing that my polish was chipped.

  The plastic bag went in my Louis Vuitton purse, alongside my BlackBerry, as I considered my next move.

  I never needed help, advice, or whatnot.

  I still didn’t, but I needed someone.

  But it was Leslie, Aaron’s mom, who was the person I needed to talk to. Leslie was the only person I could talk to.

  And then when Aaron walked through the door, his T-shirt damp, and sweat beaded across his forehead. I put my game face on and went on with what I had planned.

  It worked except for my brain screaming: Tell him, Lexie. Tell him now.

  Later.

  Later was going to be better.

  It was later. It was almost a month later and only after Leslie helped me to find my courage.

  His reaction made me even more confused. Disbelief, shock, and finally complete elation.

  I know I shouldn’t have married him.

  I didn’t think I could—even up until the moment I said, “I do,” I didn’t think I could.

  But I did.

  My belly grew. My denial and dread at becoming a mother grew as well.

  Her nursery was ready, but I was not. Every time I walked past the room, the walls painted blue, the color of a perfect sky, with white, puffy clouds and a rainbow extending across them, I felt…nothing.

  Of course, there were rainbows.

  I wasn’t a religious person at all, but I’d catch myself through the day, at random moments, whispering, “God help me,” to myself.

  Or maybe it was to the universe because I knew I couldn’t do it. I shouldn’t do it.

  And when my water broke on May 11, two weeks before my due date, there was no denying it any longer.

  Hours and hours of labor with blinding pain and fear so deep my only focus was that—the agony and the terror.

  And they laid her on my chest, and a part of my heart, a place I didn’t know existed, cracked wide open and was flooded with the most euphoric emotion I’d ever known. It was indescribable. All I knew was…

  Love.

  I loved her.

  Delilah Leslie.

  She was named after the song “Hey There Delilah” that played in the bar the first time Aaron kissed me.

  Leslie after Aaron’s mother. She was so thrilled, tears in her eyes the first time she held her.

  It was like I bundled up all the emotions I had, all I was hiding, and shoved it in a box. I carried it with me for so long already, and while heavy, I knew it was what I had to do. There were so many times I thought I could open the box, all I was hiding, to Aaron, but I knew it would be too late.

  I knew he wouldn’t understand.

  How could he after I’d hid something so ugly, so unforgivable, from him during our entire relationship?

  The expression on his face when he looked at Delilah, the pure joy he had when her tiny hand held on to one of his fingers, was the most beau
tiful thing I’d ever seen. Aaron was made to be a dad.

  I was made to give him to her.

  That was my purpose. My heart told me so. I just didn’t know how to make sense out of it, to know that I was never going to be the wife, specifically the mother, everyone thought I could be.

  I was damaged.

  When I was seventeen, I’d been reckless, and lives had been ruined. A domino effect all because of me. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t, do that to Aaron and Delilah.

  Despite all my precautions, I was never supposed to be a mom.

  Her smile. Her cry.

  It made me want to be her mother, but I knew I’d ruin her because I wasn’t good enough for her.

  Depression, or a word deeper for the kind of despair I had, began to swallow me. I knew I needed to get away. I knew I couldn’t live a life like this.

  It wasn’t postpartum depression.

  No. No, it wasn’t.

  What it was, was something I had long before Delilah. It was something I kept hidden, even from Aaron, a secret so horrible I made myself believe it was a nightmare.

  It wasn’t, though. It was real, and it had happened. It was the reason I couldn’t, I shouldn’t, be a mom.

  But you can’t, you don’t leave your baby, your child.

  Only mothers could relate to this. That child that you grew in your body and birthed left something behind. It was something only a mother and child shared. A piece of myself, my heart, went with her when she left my body, and a piece of hers stayed with me. We would always be connected.

  I didn’t know if the parts that connected us were enough to stay, knowing I’d eventually break her heart someday, just like I did to my parents.

  I was drowning.

  Aaron’s eyes, his continued sadness, was only amplified by my inability to function anywhere but at work or when I was baking. So that was all I did. It was all I could do.

  Just when my head was about to go under for good, when the current was going to keep me from breathing, someone reached out to me and made it okay.

  She told me it was okay to let go.

  So I did.

  “Alexis?” Phoebe asked, entering the kitchen, breaking me out of my thoughts.

  “Huh?”

  “What are you thinking?”

  I looked to my hands, my fingers. “I was just thinking…how it’s been such a long time since I had a manicure.”