The Baby Plan

by Tia Siren

  "No," I admitted. "I really didn't."

  "Huh," Liana said, shaking her head to herself as she headed for the kitchen.

  "What?" I asked, following her. There was clearly something on her mind.

  "Oh, nothing," she said as she began pawing through my empty cupboards.

  "Liana, for an actress you're a terrible liar. Tell me."

  "Well, it's just that." She opened up the fridge, sighing as she realized that it too, was empty. "It's just that he sounded sincere. Like, really sincere. And I'm an actress. I can tell when someone is faking."

  "I don't doubt that he was being sincere," I admitted, propping myself up on a kitchen bench. "But so what if he was?"

  "So what? Did you not hear what he said?" She suddenly exclaimed. It actually caught me a little off guard. Liana had always been volatile, but usually in a more obvious way. I wouldn't have expected this to get her so worked up.

  "Yeah, I was there. I heard him," I said, smirking at her reaction. "I just don't think it's as big a deal as you're making it out to be."

  "Please girl," she said. "He wants you back. It's so obvious. He came over here to get you back, simple as that."

  "I don't think he did. It sounded like he meant exactly what he said. He came over here to apologize. It was nice of him and a little unexpected. But that's all it was."

  "Do you really believe that?"

  "I do," I said with less conviction than I felt.

  In truth, he had caught me a little off guard. When Liana announced that Liam was at the door, I half expected him to launch into some grand gesture in an attempt to get me back. But he didn't. He didn't even try and get me back. It seemed like he really just wanted to say sorry.

  "Okay, fine," Liana said, biting her lip and nodding along in mock agreement. "And even if you do believe that, as you claim you do. Are you okay with that conclusion? Are you fine with how it went down?"

  "What do you mean?" I asked, a little confused.

  If I was surprised by Liam's apology, I was downright shocked by Liana's reaction to it. She had never been the romantic type, and never one to push Liam or any man onto me. But now, she was acting like his number one fan.

  "Oh, come on. It's so obvious that he wants you back. And more than that, it's pretty obvious that you still want him as well. Don't lie to me now. I know when you do."

  I was unsure of how to answer. Of course, I still wanted Liam. Nothing had changed. I still loved him just as much as I had two days ago. The only reason that I wasn't with him was because I didn't think I could trust him. I was sick of being hurt and thought that I was doing this for my own good. But now, thanks to Liana, I wasn't so sure.

  "That's what I thought," Liana said smugly, as she crossed her arms and nodded her head at me.

  "Fine!" I blurted. "Of course, I still love him. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out. But so what if I do? You know why I broke up with him. You know it's for the best. There's no getting around that."

  "I thought that, too," she admitted. "But now? Now, I'm not so sure. Hear me out," she added, before I was able to interrupt. "I know he hurt you. And I know that sucks. But that's what love is. Love is getting hurt and coming back from it. Love is finding that person that you're willing to be hurt for. No romance is perfect. That's impossible. What is possible, and something that you actually had, was finding that person you're willing to be hurt for. It's rare, but when it happens, you probably shouldn't let it go."

  A silence fell between the two of us for a moment as her words sunk in. She still had her arms crossed as she watched me, nodding her head as if trying to reinforce what she had just said. I, however, was seeing my best friend in a whole new light.

  "Liana, I had no idea you were such a romantic."

  "Oh, I'm not. I watched the Bachelor finale last night, and some of it must have rubbed off on me. Now. What are you going to do?"

  She was right. She had never been more right. I still loved Liam, and he still loved me. That alone should have been reason enough to stay with him. Sure, I was scared, but that was kind of the point. Love was scary, but it was also fun and exciting and everything good. I ended it with him because I was worried that he would hurt me, without even thinking of how much I was hurting myself. But I was done with being scared. I wanted to be with Liam, no matter what.

  "I want him back," I admitted. "I want Liam back."

  "There you go," Liana beamed. "Go get him."

  "But he's gone." I suddenly realized that I was too late. He was leaving the country in less than an hour, with no plans to ever come back. I may never get to see him again.

  "He didn't leave the planet girl. He's at the airport. I highly suggest that you jump in your little car downstairs, hit the accelerator, and high tail it after him. If you hurry, you should make it. You might even get a chance to do a romantic, airport run to the gates and kiss in front of a cheering crowd, type thing. How great would that be?"

  "You're right," I said, "I'm going. I'm going after him." Without another word, I turned and sprinted for the front door. I was halfway out when I realized that I had left my keys in my bedroom and had to return to grab them. Liana was still in the kitchen, chuckling to herself when I ran past the second time. "Hey Liana," I said, pausing at the front door. "Thanks."

  "Anytime, girl. Anytime. Now go!"

  And I did.

  --

  I drove like my life depended on it. Liam's flight was leaving from JFK airport at nine. That gave me less than an hour to get there. Not only that, but I had to get there before he checked in so that I could actually get to him. Once he was through security, I knew that I would have no chance. Either that or I would have to buy a ticket for myself. I wasn't ruling it out.

  An hour wasn't going to be enough time. As I jumped in my car and pulled onto the main road, I was certain that I wasn't going to make it. On any given day, it would take me at least an hour and a half to get to JFK. At least. The fact that it was a Sunday night, when a lot of people were flying out of the city to go home, meant that the freeway was going to be anarchy. But I had to try.

  The Van Wyck Expressway was the main road going into JFK, and I got onto it in record time. I had never driven like that before. I dodged cars, I ran lights, and I hit corners like a professional race car driver. Every time I came up to a turn or a stop light, I thought that my time was done. But somehow, I managed to keep my car on the road and my hand planted firmly on the wheel. I was going to make it.

  The Van Wyck was one long run, and as it was a Sunday, it was packed. The traffic wasn't stopped, but it was puttering along at an intolerably slow pace. I beeped my horn as I came up behind cars, swerving in and out of them like a woman on a mission. They honked back and flipped me off, and most likely said some very obscene things back to me, but I didn't care. I pushed on, driving as recklessly as a New York City cab driver.

  When I was about halfway down the Van Wyck, I caught a break. By the gift of God, the traffic became easier to handle. Where before, the traffic was four lanes wide and bumper to bumper, it suddenly thinned out, even opening up a side lane. I swerved my car to the open lane, thanking the heavens for the clean break.

  The moment my car hit the open lane, I floored it, roaring down the expressway as fast as my car would take me. The cars next to me seemed to not move at all, I was going so fast. I couldn't believe my luck. I was going to make it. I was going to get to Liam on time.

  And then I saw it.

  Up ahead, about five car lengths in front of me was a broken-down bus. That was why the lane was empty, because the cars had been cleared across so they could avoid the bus. I must have missed the signage in my haste. And as my car screamed along the expressway, as I looked for a way off the lane, and back into safety, I lost control of my car.

  I hit the brakes, and the tires of my car locked up beneath me. I tried to swerve to the neighboring lane, only for it to be blocked by other cars. To my right was a metal barrier, in front of me was the broken-d
own bus. My car screeched and skidded, trying to come to a stop. The bus got closer and closer. Four car lengths, three. There was nothing I could do, I closed my eyes and braced for impact.

  My car was going to run head first into the bus. And, at the speed that I was going, there was little chance that me or the car were going to make it out in one piece.

  CHAPTER 37

  LIAM

  "And do you have any carry-on, sir?"

  "What was that?"

  "Carry-on? Do you have any carry-on luggage?"

  "Oh yeah." I reached down by my side and lifted up my backpack, showing it to the flight attendant at the check-in counter. "Just this."

  "And it's weight?" she asked.

  "I don't know. It's carry-on," I said, only half paying attention. “It should fit under the seat.”

  "Can you put it on the scale for me please?" she asked, batting her eyes while working overly hard to seem pleasant and friendly, even though everything she said was laced with cynicism. A typical airline representative, really.

  I nodded, putting the bag on the scales by the counter. I was really only half paying attention as my eyes kept flicking back toward the entrance to the airport and along the entire check-in bay. It was a big airport so it took a fair bit of gazing, which was why I was giving the airline hostess about as little of my attention as possible.

  "Ah sir, I'm afraid that your carry-on is two pounds overweight. I'm going to have to charge you." Again, she spoke in that same cordial manner which seemed to only irritate the situation.

  "What? Never mind. Okay. Fine." I pulled out my credit card to make the payment.

  Usually, I would have argued the point and tried to get out of making such a ridiculous payment. But my heart just wasn't in it. Nor was my head. They were both elsewhere, and at that moment, neither could have cared less about an extra carry-on charge.

  It was Kate that occupied my thoughts as I checked in for my flight at JFK airport. The entire drive there, my thoughts were with her. So much so that I almost missed the airport entirely. And even as I checked in, I almost went to the wrong counter, and then stood at the counter dumbly without handing over my ticket or passport. I just couldn't keep my thoughts straight.

  Although my intentions in saying goodbye to Kate and apologizing to her were pure, there was a part of me that wanted more. First off, I would have liked to have said the words to her directly, rather than through a surrogate like Liana. And secondly, I was sure that if I had said them to Kate then things would have turned out differently.

  I wasn't lying when I said sorry. And I wasn't lying when I said that I wasn't trying to get her back. But that didn't mean that I didn't want her back. If she had come out from the apartment, accepted my apology, and then wrapped her arms around me and kissed me, then I would have accepted her actions with relish and gratitude. I still loved her, despite how much I tried to tell myself the opposite was true.

  That was why I was so preoccupied when I arrived at the airport. Even after I paid for the extra carry-on and made my way to a bench near the security gates, my eyes continued to scan the airport. I could have gone through security, of course, and made my way to the gates, but I wasn't quite ready to. Not yet. A part of me believed that Kate still might come.

  Maybe believed was too strong a word. Too certain. I hoped that she might come. Every time I looked at the entrance or back at the counter, I hoped that I would see Kate looking for me. I pictured her jumping in her car the moment that I left and racing toward the airport. I pictured her bursting through the entrance, spotting me, running up to me, and throwing herself at me. We would embrace, kiss, and promise to spend the rest of our lives together.

  It was all a pipe dream. I had to accept the fact that my apology was the end of the line for the two of us. It might not have been as romantic as I would have liked. And it might not have resulted in the outcome that I was after. But it was the right thing to do. I had to content myself with that.

  But even still, I waited outside of the security check-in until the last minute, just in case. And it was only when I absolutely had to, unless I wanted to risk missing my flight, that I relented and walked through security. I emptied out my pockets, took off my shoes and belt, and stepped through the scanner.

  It was as I was on the other side of security, waiting for my things to pass through the belt, that I heard a vibrating noise. A few more seconds revealed it to be my cell phone, sitting in the plastic tub as it passed through the scanner. I scooped it up the moment that I could, surprised to see that it was Clint calling me.

  "Hey," I said. "You miss me already?"

  "Liam, where are you?" He still sounded a little tipsy. But he also sounded agitated and scared even. I couldn't remember the last time I had heard such panic in my friend’s voice.

  "You're not still feeling that whiskey, are you?" I joked. "You know I'm at the airport."

  "So, you're not on the plane yet?" He sounded like he was breathing heavily, and I could hear a lot of noise coming from behind him. If I had to guess, I would have said he was at the hospital, even though there was no reason for him to be. It was his day off, and he’d been drinking.

  "No, I just walked through security. Are you okay? What's up with you?"

  "Listen, I don't know how to tell you this. I came into the hospital to pick up some stuff. While I was here, a patient came into the ICU. A car crash. Pretty bad."

  "Yeah, I don’t miss that," I said, not understanding why he was telling me this.

  "The accident happened on the Van Wyck, on the way to JFK."

  "Is that why you called? To make sure I was okay?" I chuckled, letting out a sigh of relief. In his drunken state, he must have gotten confused and decided to check that I was okay. It was odd, but not the oddest thing he had ever done.

  "No, listen goddammit!" he exclaimed. "The patient. It's Kate." I could feel the blood drain from my face as the words hit me. My knees gave out, and I found myself reaching for the nearest flat surface to steady myself. "She's unconscious. Her right arm is broken. And there are some serious contusions around her skull."

  "Is she all right? What are you saying? How bad is it?" I was at a loss for words. I had no idea what to say, or worse, what to do.

  "I don't know," Clint said. "She's in the ICU and being looked after. But I thought you should know."

  "Okay, yeah. Thanks for letting me know."

  "Are you okay?" he asked. "What are you going to do?"

  "I'm going to get on this flight," I said. "I'll call you when I land, okay?"

  There was a pause from Clint, and for a moment, I thought that maybe I had lost my connection. "Yeah, all right," he finally said. And then he hung up.

  The moment he hung up, I went about the rest of my business. I pocketed my phone, I picked up my belongings, and I made my way to the gate. But even though I was physically aware of what I was doing, my mind was elsewhere. It was with Kate.

  I was worried about her. I was afraid for her. I wanted to be by her side and make sure that she was all right. The only way that I was able to keep going was by assuring myself that she was in the hospital and, therefore, in the best possible hands. There was nothing I could do. Nothing.

  But even as I told myself this, I knew that it didn't matter. Even though there was nothing I could do, it didn't mean that I shouldn't be at her side either way. I had seen hundreds of grieving husbands and boyfriends sit by their partner's bedsides when they were sick.

  There was nothing they could do, but they were there anyway, showing their love. And it may have sounded odd, and it may have gone against everything I knew as a doctor, but I always believed that it helped. There was just something about having a loved one by your side that seemed to make the difference. As if the heart could sense the presence of love, and it beat harder because of it.

  And then it hit me. I hadn't really registered it before when Clint was talking, but as I made my way to the gate, I suddenly remember something very important tha
t he had said. Kate had crashed her car on the Van Wyck Expressway, the main road leading into JFK. She was coming to the airport. She was racing to the airport. She was on her way to try and stop me.

  My dreams and fantasies weren't bullshit, after all. They were a reality. Kate still loved me, and what I had said to her, or Liana at least, had been the final words she needed to hear. She loved me and was coming here to tell me just that.

  Before I knew it, I was turning around and walking away from the gate. A second later, I was running. I powered through baggage claim and out the front door of the airport. My car was locked up in one of the long-term parking lots, so I waved down the first taxi I saw and gave it the hospital’s address. Even if there was nothing I could do, I was going to be by Kate’s side. When she woke up, the first thing she was going to see was me.

  We were going to spend the rest of our lives together. And the rest of our lives was going to start right now. As long as she was okay.

  --

  Maybe it was because I hadn't been there for several days, but the hospital seemed busier than ever. It was pandemonium as I walked through the front doors, with patients and doctors alike rushing back and forth. Nurses were screaming, and grieving family members were crying. It was all I could do to push my way past the throngs of people and make my way to the ICU.

  Clint was still there when I arrived. He was in his street clothes but stood back in observation as the doctors and nurses worked on the patients in the room.

  "Hey," he said, not looking at all surprised to see me.

  "Where is she?" I asked straight away.

  He pointed to the corner of the room, a lone bed. I hurried over there without another word. There were no doctors or nurses attending her. She was unconscious but presumably stable. But even if that were the case, it was heartbreaking to see her like that.

  As Clint had said, her arm was broken, and she had multiple bruises on both her head and the rest of her body. But even that hadn't prepared me for what I saw. She looked terrible. Her skin was swollen and purple. The wounds on her head looked life threatening. Her eyes were sunken, and her breathing seemed stunted. I could feel tears welling in my eyes, but I didn't even try and stop them.