“Hurts steadily or is it coming and going like cramps?” she asked. “If it’s coming and going that could be cause for concern.”
“No, it just feels like I had a hard workout.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “That’s typical.” She took a shot glass off a shelf full of different ones that I hadn’t noticed before, and set it on the table. “My back hurt the entire time. For some of us just a few extra pounds starts the body aches coming.” She unscrewed the bottle, poured, then put the top back on and sat down. “That brood of brats has no appreciation for what I went through to have them.” She tapped her glass on the table, then lifted it and threw it back.
The gesture was familiar. It was a thing. A thing of ours? Or a thing I’d just seen somewhere before? Maybe it was a thing a lot of people did. But something else was ringing a bell in my mind. Brood of brats. Where had I heard that before?
“What’s the matter?” she asked. I must have been looking at her funny, because she raised a hand to her chin. “Did I spill?”
“No, I was just thinking about having a brood of brats. I’m not sure I can even handle one.”
“Well, as you know, I didn’t set out to have a brood. Who the hell knew you could have identical twins if they didn’t run in the family?”
I knew. It was just mathematical odds. Fraternal twins were hereditary. I knew this because my cousins were identical twins and the random possibility of it both fascinated and scared me as I had once fantasized about my future family life. Had this woman and I really never talked about this before?
“Oh, wait. It’s fraternal twins that run in the family.” She poured another shot, then screwed the top on the bottle tightly. “You told me that. Honestly, I am so rattled today. Scott and I had counseling this morning and he was just completely uncommunicative.”
For some reason, that’s when it hit me. The note referring to a brood of brats. “Bonnie!” I cried.
She looked at me, alarmed. “What?”
Oops. “Counseling is supposed to make you feel better,” I improvised.
“Maybe, if you’re not married to the most selfish man on earth. Though”—she shrugged—“it’s driving you crazy being married to the most selfless man on earth, isn’t it? Why couldn’t they just reach some nice point in between, eh?” I could tell she was loosening up. I wanted to encourage her to have another shot, so she’d be less likely to notice if I slipped up, but it wasn’t very responsible to try and manipulate someone into getting hammered.
The front door opened.
We both froze.
“Who is that?” I asked her.
“How the hell should I know?” she rasped back. “It’s your house, for god’s sake!”
“Hello?” a male voice called.
It wasn’t Brendan. Who was it? Wouldn’t any intruder, upon sensing people inside, do the same? What was the best response?
“Hello?” I called back strongly.
“Hey there.” A man walked into the kitchen. Good-looking guy. Really good-looking. About six feet tall, with dark hair and blue eyes. Tanned skin, though I had the impression that he always looked like that, not that he had an early season tan. I couldn’t guess at his ethnicity, but only because I was bad at that under the best of circumstances.
“Ramie,” he said, with a nod to me. Then he looked at Bonnie. “How are you?”
“Very well!” She didn’t add now, but I sensed it, though I still couldn’t tell whether that was because she knew this guy or not. “I’m Bonnie. Ramie’s pal.”
“Joe. Nice to meet you.” He registered her only briefly before his eyes flicked back to me. “You’re okay, then?” The words were casual, and to many the tone might have been as well, but there were just enough deeper notes there to give me pause.
I didn’t know what to say. “Good as ever,” I hedged.
It looked like it meant more to him than I’d meant to convey, but he ended with a nod and said, “I’ll just go on out and work in the garage, then. You know where to find me.” He didn’t wait for an answer but gave that tip-of-the-imaginary-hat gesture to both of us and turned right into the hall off the kitchen.
“He’s as cute as you said,” Bonnie breathed as soon as he was gone.
“Did I?”
“Did you?” She snorted. “You haven’t been able to shut up about him for months. I’m glad I finally saw him up close.”
“What did you think?” I couldn’t help asking.
“So gorgeous,” she said. “Even better than you described. What I don’t understand is why you’re not doing him.”
I had to laugh. Even while normal me would have been intrigued by the idea of “doing” him, it was an absurd question under these circumstances. “Might be something to do with my husband? Or maybe, just possibly, my pregnancy?”
She laughed but accompanied it with a dismissive hand gesture. “I’m not even sure that guy’s not the father!”
“What?”
I was startled; my voice had to be hard, maybe even the kind of tone I should apologize for, but she just looked at me, slowly and impassively. Apparently she thought I was the sort of person who might have a child with someone other than my husband, and then pass it off as his.
Dear god, was I?
“Is he?” she asked. “Is he the father? You know I won’t say a word to anyone.” She did that cross-my-heart gesture across the front of her Marc Jacobs top. “Honest.”
How much had I told her? Whatever it was, it was more than I knew now. So I had only to figure out whether she actually knew something or was goosing me about something she thought was common knowledge but was, in fact, a rumor.
“Bonnie, how many men have you known me to sleep with?” I made it sound like a foregone conclusion, but actually it was a question. A very sincere question.
“Fine,” she said, resolute. “I get it, there haven’t been that many that I know of. But you know how it’s been.… No offense, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d ventured out.”
Of course, I didn’t know how it had been. At all. And the idea of “venturing out” so casually on my marriage, particularly when I was pregnant, was a little alarming to me. Not because anyone might have done that. I didn’t have moral judgments for what anyone else might do. But the fact was, my apparent friend didn’t find the idea of my doing it surprising.
So what did that mean about me?
“Bonnie,” I said evenly, as if I knew her and I might know this was a joke. “Come on. Have you ever known me to venture out on Brendan?” I waited with bated breath. “Ever?”
“No!”
She didn’t even hesitate, or look at me strangely, she just rolled her eyes and said, “Okay, right, but there’s a first time for everything. And you seemed so struck by Joe—”
“Joe?”
“Joe! And with your hormones raging and your husband sleeping … well, who could blame you?”
“Did I actually say I wanted to sleep with Joe?” I asked, trying to sound like I knew the answer was no but secretly unsure of what on earth I might have said to this woman—or why.
Her mouth quirked into a smile. “Okay, okay, if that’s the game we’re playing, no. You didn’t say you wanted to sleep with him.”
My relief was palpable. “There. See?”
But it was short-lived. “I think your terminology has, pretty consistently, been that you’d do him.” She didn’t even look smug. She didn’t look like she knew she’d been put on the spot. It looked for all the world like we’d been playing a tennis game that she was really good at. There was no way to hit at her backhand unexpectedly because she was already ready.
Maybe even left-handed.
“So?” she queried.
“So, what?” That question applied to so many things, very few of which it was feeling like Bonnie could answer.
“So, are you going for it?” She gestured down the hall Joe had taken, out into the garage. “You know this neighborhood is dead right now. You could g
o out and bang him with the garage door open and no one would ever be the wiser. Except me.” She giggled. “And obviously I’d hold that over your head forever.”
“Of course.”
“Along with all the other stuff.” She smiled. “So you see? You know I can keep a secret. Because you’d sure as hell have known a long time ago if I couldn’t!”
In a way this was disappointing news. Obviously I wanted to know what she knew about me. I wanted all the stories, alarming as they might be. I wanted to trust her, like I’d trust a friend, but I didn’t know her at all. I had no reason at all to dive into that relationship.
“You know my friend Tanya?” I asked, thinking I’d have to follow up with a clever and seemingly relevant story if she said yes.
“Obviously.”
What did I do now? “What I mean is,” I stalled, trying to think what on earth I could mean about my best friend, whom this woman in front of me probably knew better than I did at the moment, “you know how she always says to take a chance where passion is involved.”
Bonnie laughed. “Tanya said that?”
“Well—”
“That explains the kids and the stuck-like-glue devotion to her husband.”
Now I got it. Tanya was not only married and mothering, but really devoted. It wasn’t that I would have expected anything less from her in any incarnation, only that I thought at this point—in our midtwenties—she would have remained single a bit longer, as she had in my time.
How much had changed?
My thoughts were dizzying. All the questions I couldn’t possibly get answers to. It was one thing when my dad was there to impart wisdom, whether he actually knew the odd situation he was addressing or not, but right now I felt well and truly alone.
“They’re pretty happily married,” I agreed tentatively.
Bonnie shrugged. “That boy of theirs is a hellion.”
“Boy?”
“Her son.” Bonnie looked at me funny. “The one you were babysitting last Sunday. You don’t know two Tanyas, do you? This is my best friend Tanya, and this is my other best friend Tanya.” She smiled, but she looked concerned at the same time. “You’re not quite yourself today, Ramie.”
“No,” I agreed. So maybe nothing I thought I knew had turned out the way I’d believed. “I think I should go back to bed and get some rest. Everything is…” What? What could I possibly say that would make sense to this outsider? None of it made sense to me at all, and I’d been living the madness for some time. Though it occurred to me now that I didn’t even know how much time. “I’m just exhausted. You know how it is.” I gestured at my pregnant belly, as if that were the answer.
Apparently it was. “I sure do.” She stood up. “Listen, honey, if you need anything at all, you give me a ding, okay? No matter what time. I’m always there.”
“Thanks.” I made a show of stretching and yawning and walking pointedly in the direction of the front door.
She came along. “Do you want me to call Brendan for you? Tell him to pick anything up on his way home?”
“No, no, I’m fine. I’m sure I have everything I need here.”
She gave a bawdy laugh and jerked her thumb toward the back of the house. “With Mr. Hancy Pants out there in the garage, I’m sure you do, Ramie. I’m sure you do.”
“Stop.”
She put her hands up in false surrender. “Okay, okay. But don’t blame me for your raging hormones.”
I gave a smile, though I was privately finding her extremely tedious. “Talk to you later.”
She kissed the air next to my cheek. “See ya! Don’t forget to call me if you need anything!”
Even after I closed the door, I imagined I could hear her echo bouncing around the halls.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I went back to the kitchen and sat down at the table and just cried.
There were undoubtedly more comfortable places in the house to go, but this wasn’t my house and it wasn’t my life and it wasn’t my reality and I didn’t know what to do anymore. I just wanted to go home.
But I no longer knew what or where that was.
This wasn’t the life for me. This was the obvious conclusion for the life I’d worked toward. The very things that had made Brendan such a good high school boyfriend—his calm demeanor, his practicality, the way he took things as they came and dealt with them—were the very things that would keep him from moving in any sort of unexpected direction or territory, ever. At least for me. I’d known him too long.
Brendan was the perfect husband for someone who’d lived a wild life, had sown all of her wild oats, and was ready to settle down and truly appreciate the tranquillity he offered. Maybe someone who liked to stay in and watch movies, eat popcorn; in short, someone who no longer wanted adventure and newness and independence.
As bad as these few hours had told me I felt about being married for all time to Brendan, I could only imagine how unfair it was to burden him with a wife who didn’t appreciate all the truly wonderful character traits he had, and the companionship he had to offer.
I had been so selfish all this time, thinking about what I wanted, whether or not Brendan was good for me. Did I want him? Did I want to discard him? Had he kissed someone else? How dare he! How dare an eighteen-year-old boy, even for a moment, kiss someone else and see if maybe he was more compatible with someone other than the one girl he’d dated since tenth grade!
How on earth had I thought that that—my fate and his—was entirely up to me to decide?
God, I was such a jerk!
As nice as things had been between us when I’d left my last high school scene, as sweet and lovable as he was, and even as much as I loved him, it was unconscionable for me to think that the decision for both of our futures was entirely up to me.
If I couldn’t get out of this present, now, I might well continue ruining both of our lives.
I don’t know how long I sat there weeping, but it was some time before I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and looked up and it was Joe, his face etched with concern. Blue eyes sharp, the white of smile lines showing, as he was not smiling now.
“What’s the matter, Ramie?”
I shook my head.
“Hey.” He knelt in front of me and took both my hands in his. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.”
“Is it?”
“Of course it is.”
“How?” Obviously there was no way the two of us were even having the same conversation, but something about his voice was comforting to me. I wanted him to keep talking.
But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned in and kissed me on the lips. Tenderly, but deliciously. Skilled.
It felt so good. So safe. And he smelled wonderful. Some familiar combination of woodsy, smoky, and clean. I closed my eyes and inhaled his scent, and relished the feel of his arms around me. But just for one illicit moment.
I pulled back. “I can’t.”
“I know.”
“Bonnie thinks the baby is yours.”
He laughed outright. “Now, that would be quite a feat.” He shook his head.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, given the fact that you were pregnant when I met you, unless I managed some sort of time travel, I don’t think I’m the father. Didn’t you tell her that?”
No, I didn’t know that. “Of course.”
“Drama.” He smoothed my hair back. “Just like you said. Drama drama drama. No wonder it’s driving you crazy.”
“I think everything’s driving me crazy.” It was hard to breathe. Everything I’d so far concluded from the day I’d been here, I’d apparently admitted to this stranger.
This stranger I’d apparently told my friend I’d like to do.
Pregnant with Brendan’s baby, and I was saying I wanted another man.
“I definitely don’t feel sane at all,” I said.
“You are the most sane person I’ve met.” He looked earnestly into my eyes. “You’re in a tough situation a
nd you’re handling it like a champ. Give yourself some credit.”
“But—” I touched my lips with my fingertips, then looked at him. “We…” I didn’t know the end of that sentence, so I just looked at him with a question in my eyes.
“We met a little too late,” he supplied. “And we’ve been nothing short of heroic in containing our impulses. Ramie, I admire your will to show your child responsibility and loyalty. But when was the last time you were truly happy?”
“I honestly don’t know.” It was devastating to hear that things were so bad in this now that he could say that to me.
“You told me you couldn’t even remember what real happiness felt like.”
“I said that?”
“You know you did.”
“That seems like such a betrayal to Brendan.” I hesitated. Was it? He was my husband. Why was I so unhappy?
“You said that too,” he said, a small smile touching his lips. “He’s lucky to have you.”
“And you?”
He gave a dry laugh. “Sometimes I feel pretty damn unlucky to have met you,” he said. “A month earlier, and we might have had a different story.”
My hand went to my abdomen.
He put his on top of mine. “You’re going to do great no matter what. It’s inevitable.” He kissed me on the forehead, then stood up. “Your husband and your child are the luckiest two people on earth.”
“God help the rest of you, then.”
He laughed. “We’ll survive.” He rumpled my hair, then cupped his hand to my cheek. “I’m here, Ramie. No matter what you need, you know I’m here.”
“Thanks.”
I didn’t even know his last name.
* * *
I WENT UPSTAIRS to the bedroom I’d awoken in a few hours earlier. I wasn’t sure what to do with myself there, but it had to be more comfortable than the kitchen.
Besides, I didn’t want to run into Joe again. Our conversation, as comforting as he might ostensibly have been, had made me distinctly uncomfortable.
Had I fallen in love with this Joe? How heinous. Ridiculous. This me didn’t have a history I knew of or could remember, so she didn’t feel real. I didn’t believe I was feeling her feelings or thinking her thoughts the way I’d felt with eighteen-year-old me, because she didn’t truly exist to me.
If I Could Turn Back Time Page 22