There are more times than I can count where I’ve seen Leah get dressed up for an evening out. But tonight is different. Tonight, I get to do more than just notice how incredible she looks. Tonight, I get to be the lucky guy who she’s with. Tonight, everyone will know this girl is mine.
“You don’t even look knocked up from this angle,” Bryan says, interrupting my moment. He takes a few steps, standing in front of Leah, looking her up and down. “Fuck me, if it wasn’t for that basketball…” he says, grinning.
Instead of punching him like I expect, Leah smiles. “Coming from you, I’ll take it as a compliment.”
“It was meant as one.” Bryan winks.
And then she laughs.
Laughs! With Bryan for crying out loud!
She can barely stand his pregnancy comments these days, but now he’s the one getting her to laugh? Smile? Without warning, a completely different feeling altogether forms in the pit of my stomach. It’s acidic and burns up my body, causing my arms to stiffen and hands to curl into fists at my side. I try and breathe through it, knowing it’s ridiculous to be jealous of Bryan, but logic is lost on me right now.
“Don’t you need to get ready?” I say through clenched teeth. Bryan nods and smirks at hearing the begrudging tone in my voice.
“Yes, I do,” he says walking way. “Titties await!”
We both watch him head to his room before Leah turns to me, an eyebrow raised.
“Titties?”
I press my lips together, feigning ignorance. “I have no clue what he’s talking about.”
“Sure,” she answers, saying nothing more about it. She takes another few steps, the images on my computer screen grabbing her attention. The shots I’ve been editing for the last few hours. They’re from a shoot I did last week for an up and coming lingerie designer right here in Miami. “Are these from your shoot last week?”
There’s an edge to her voice. Looking down at the screen, I can kind of understand why. Frame after frame are models in skimpy lingerie, lace panties and see-through bras. Leah leans over me, using the mouse to scroll through more images. “Looks like you had your hands full.”
I don’t like the unease I hear in her voice, the one that hints at self-consciousness. How could she think any of these women have anything on her? Didn’t she just witness my reaction when she walked out of the bedroom? My Neanderthal reflex towards Bryan?
“This one,” she begins, “is my favorite.” I glance at the photo in question. The model is lying on a bed, sheets deliberately placed as to show off most of her half-naked body. The scene was meant to depict her waking up looking impeccable in her silk nightie.
“Is your client serious?” Leah asks. “‘Comfort in lace.’ If he really wanted to make this realistic, you should have taken her picture the way women really look waking up in something as ridiculous as that. One strap falling off the shoulder, one boob hanging out. The caption should read ‘Survives all your twists and turns.’”
I laugh, relieved she’s talking to me again.
I take another look at the photo and shake my head, knowing Comb’s right. Although the picture itself is beautiful, the ad is foolish. “I’ll pass along the thought,” I tell her, lifting my arm and wrapping it around her waist.
Leah eyes don’t sway from the screen. “She’s very pretty,” she says quietly.
I look up, focusing only on her. “I hadn’t noticed,” I answer. I’m not lying either. For months, Leah has been the only girl I’ve noticed.
“Sure,” she says, rolling her eyes.
I stand, filling the empty space between us. Carefully, as to not mess up her hair or makeup, I place my hands on the sides of her face and make her look up. Make her look into my eyes.
“It’s true,” I tell her. “My camera might see her, see all of them, but my eyes? They only see you.”
She swallows slowly, her eyes scanning my face, determining whether or not to believe me. I hate that she has doubts. Doubts that she is all I see. So I kiss her. Slowly, carefully, but with as much passion a light kiss like this can give. I kiss her in a way I hope shows my claim on her and how she’s laid claim on me. When I hear her moan and her hands grip my biceps, I believe I’ve made a step in accomplishing that.
It’s incredibly hard to pull away from her, but I do. “I have to go shower,” I whisper in her ear before walking away. After a few steps, I hear her near breathless voice speak.
“Okay.”
I smile to myself, knowing she finally gets it.
AN HOUR LATER, we are all sitting at Prime 112 Steakhouse. The lights are dim but it’s a comfortable balance to the white leather chairs and curtains framing the windows. The exposed ivory brick and wooden beamed ceiling opens the space up, which is good considering it’s a small restaurant. Glass wine racks fill up the walls, lit up from the inside. The bar’s clear stools all have people sitting on them waiting for a table. We, on the other hand, were promptly escorted to a small room near the back of the restaurant reserved for our party of twenty. The windows have dark blinds, shielding us from any outside observers. The room is elegant and private, just large enough to stand around in, but too small for any uninvited guests.
In the middle of the room is a large dark wood dining room, set and ready for when our meals arrive. Seated beside each other and at the center of the table are our guests of honor. The rest of us are scattered around, drinking wine or something a little heavier to start the evening off. It’s an interesting mix of people here. Guys from Eddy’s work, some from our college days. Same with the girls. Holly’s sister is here, as are friends from her college days, and a few from work. There are quite a few people here I’ve been looking forward to seeing but due to a certain someone monopolizing my attention, I’ve hardly spoken to any of them. And she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
Leah and I aren’t seated next to each other around this large table. Instead, we are directly across from one another. From this vantage point, I can easily watch as she brushes her hair behind her ear or lets her head fall back in laughter at something Holly’s sister said. I get to see her eyes shine, smile get bigger, cheeks turning pink. I try and concentrate on what Nate, a friend from Eddy’s home town is saying to me, but my attention refuses to be diverted. I love hearing her laugh or seeing the look of excitement that comes over her face when someone asks about the baby. And I can’t help but smirk every time someone tells her they’re shocked at how far along she is. I swear Leah’s favorite words tonight have been “But you’re so tiny!”
It’s not until after cocktails and our meals have come and gone do I realize I’ve spent the entire evening watching her have fun. And when Bryan announces to the group it’s time to split up so the real parties can get started, I realize I won’t be able to watch her for the rest of the night. Right before we are all set to leave, I walk over to Leah, taking hold of one her arms and pulling her to me.
“Be good tonight,” I threaten with a smile.
Her lips hitch upwards but they don’t quite reach her eyes. I can tell this night has already tired her out and it’s barely started. “To be honest, I’m not sure I’ll make it much longer.” Guilt and disappointment shadows over her face. She rubs her stomach while stifling a yawn.
“Do you want to go home?” I ask, absolutely willing to go with her if she wants.
“Yes,” she says quietly. “But I’ll tough it out a little while longer. I don’t want to disappoint Holly. Besides, Bryan would kill you if you bail on them.”
As if on cue, Bryan comes over, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Time to get Eddy shit-faced.”
“You sure?” I ask Leah once more.
Leah leans in and kisses me quickly on the lips. “Behave,” she says, smiling before heading out with the rest of girls.
Bryan shakes my shoulders, raging with excitement. “Let’s get fucking drunk!”
I HAVE NO idea what time it is. I barely know where I am. Our night went from zero to wrecked ve
ry fast. I loosely remember shots with the guys before we left the restaurant, a lot of rum at the Rumbar Lounge only to be followed by even more shots at the strip club. Flashes of Eddy up on stage getting a lap dance run through my mind as I ride silently in the back of a cab.
“Excuse me, sir,” I slur a little. “What time is it?”
“Four,” he replies.
I nod, trying to count how many hours have passed since I received Leah’s last text.
The time next to the texts tells me she sent it at eleven twenty-seven. Hours ago.
I picture her in my head, settled in under blankets, wearing one of my shirts. Her hair splayed out over her pillow, her face soft and pink from being scrubbed clean.
The vision tugs at me, the urge to be with her and asleep next to her strong. My drunken logic tells me she probably wants the same thing and wouldn’t mind being woken up to have me crawl into bed with her.
I tell the cab driver I’ve changed my mind and give him Comb’s address. Every mile we drive getting closer to her apartment, the better this idea sounds.
I hand some cash to the driver, nearly tumbling out of the car. My feet are sluggish but I make my way inside her building, to the elevator and up to her floor. I pat my pockets looking for my keys. One of them is for this door. I’m ridiculously proud of myself when I find them. It takes me a minute or two to finally get the key into the lock but when I do, I mentally pat my own back with even more pride. I make my way into her apartment, bumping into things as I head to her bedroom. Unpacked boxes of baby supplies, piles of baby clothes neatly folded and tucked away in every corner. I trip over something and use the couch to break my fall, causing some of those piles to fall over. “This place is so small,” I mumble.
I make it to the bedroom and see her lying there, just as I pictured in the cab. Her hair is scattered all over her pillow and she’s wearing one of my oversized t-shirts. I quickly, but definitely not gracefully, undress and climb in behind her. She begins to stir, alerted someone is in bed with her. If I wasn’t so drunk, I’d probably be angry it took her this long to notice. It makes me realize how much I don’t like her being here alone, unprotected.
“Don’t worry,” I reassure her. “It’s just me.”
She turns, her tired eyes opening and adjusting to the darkness. “What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice soft and full of sleep.
“I missed you,” I answer honestly.
I feel her relax into my chest once I’m settled in. “Did you have fun?” she asks, yawning.
I kiss her cheek. “I did. You?”
I feel her shrug. “For a while. I can’t stay out like I used to,” she says sadly.
But for some reason it makes me happy. “That’s okay. I’ll stay in with you,” I tell her, inhaling her scent. It only makes my head foggier, making it harder to keep my eyes open.
I feel her shake against me, laughing softly. “Okay,” I hear her say, pleased.
My hand rests against her hip, my fingers feeling bare skin. She’s so soft. I sigh in contentment, knowing my decision to come here instead of going home was the right one. Because this is where I want to be. Every night, with her.
I try telling her this but the words come out jumbled, my brain shutting down faster than the words can escape my mouth. It’s probably for the best. The words I want to say are ones I should speak when looking her in the eye. When the time is right, not when I’m too drunk to properly enunciate them so she can see how serious I am. It’s better I wait. Find the perfect moment to tell her what my heart is already screaming. Because she deserves that. She deserves more than a drunken declaration I won’t remember in the morning.
I LOVE YOU.
I click through one file, then another, and another. I’ve been searching for where I saved all the work I did earlier this morning for almost an hour. How is it possible that a file I saved not that long ago has vanished?
I love you.
Frustration boils inside of me. Not only am I irritated I can’t continue on with my work, but this baby will not lay off my bladder. It feels like I have a water balloon floating around inside, expanding, threatening to burst every three minutes. All that pressure just to have a few drips come out.
I love you.
And my breasts are on fire today. I can’t stop pulling at my bra, scratching, rubbing. If anyone were to come in and see how much I’m playing with my chest, they’d have quite the show. What I need are two bags of frozen peas. I saw Snooki rest them on top of her breasts when she was pregnant. And obviously, anything Snooki does…
I love you.
I scratch at my stomach, another annoying symptom that doesn’t want to seem to want to go away. It’s a non-stop reminder my skin is stretching, expanding, growing much more than I’m okay with.
I love you.
I’m tired all the time, but have trouble sleeping. I can’t keep my eyes open past eight p.m., but toss and turn all night. Even that stupid body pillow Shane bought me does nothing to help support the giant mass my once toned, flat stomach has become.
Shane.
Usually I can count on him to make me feel better. But not today. Today the sheer mention of his name adds to my growing irritation.
I love you.
It’s been two days and two nights since I heard him mumble those three little words as he fell asleep. Two days and two nights since those three little words have been on repeat inside my head, since he’s had the nerve to act like he never said them at all. But he did and I heard them, loud and clear. Okay, maybe quiet and mumbled, but I heard them nonetheless. And now he has the audacity to act like it never happened? Pretend like he doesn’t remember saying them? People don’t just say those kind of things and not remember them. Not mean them. Right?
I spent the rest of the night preparing myself to hear him say them to me again in the morning, ready with my reply. I even got up first, and spent ten minutes playing with my hair so it looked like I did nothing to it at all, brushing my teeth, applying lip gloss before carefully getting back into bed, waiting for him to wake up. Waiting for him to see me looking like one of those models he takes pictures of.
I did all of that for him!
And what did he do?
He woke up, made no mention of how angelic I looked and went to the bathroom. A few minutes later, he yelled he was going to use my toothbrush. My toothbrush. He walked out of the bathroom, smiled at me and said he was going to go make himself some coffee. No mention, no hint, no nothing. How can someone say “I love you” then ignore it?
Is he embarrassed? Does he feel bad he let it slip out that way? Is he worried maybe I don’t feel the same? He must know. How can he not?
I swallow back the large lump in my throat.
What if he didn’t mean it? What if he does remember saying it and feels awful for even putting it out there? A drunken misuse of words? Two people who only ended up dating due to interesting and unexpected circumstances. Two people who care for each other as best friends, who are having a baby together, but that’s all.
But he came to my place that night. He told me he missed me. He told me he was where he wanted to be. Argh!
Two days and two nights.
Does he love me or not? Where the hell is a daisy when you need one?
I bring my hands to my face, rubbing it in frustration.
My eyes begin to burn. I blink away the tears, refusing to have a meltdown at work. I’m a professional. I can get through this day and figure out my personal shit later. I know I can. I am woman, hear my pregnant roar.
Two seconds later, I break out into a sob.
God, this day sucks.
“Leah, you still haven’t sent me those files,” Holly says, walking straight into my office without knocking.
“I know,” I answer between whimpers. “I can’t find the stupid thing!”
Holly sees my tears and quickly shuts the door, coming to my side and wrapping me in a hug. “Don’t worry. We’ll find it,” she
says laughing.
I don’t bother correcting her. I let her think my tears are about the stupid Bakker file. Last week, I had no choice but to ask her for help. I couldn’t keep up with all the crosschecking and document review. These were my responsibilities as assistant chair but with the growing frequency of doctor’s appointments, my inability to get a good night’s sleep and my constant state of uncomfortableness, I was in over my head.
“I’ll find it. Just give me a minute,” I tell her, wiping my eyes.
“Are you alright?” she asks, walking over to one of the empty chairs.
I look up from my screen and nod. “I’m just tired. And hungry. Once I get some lunch I’ll feel better.”
“Once you get it?” she questions.
I look up from my screen then follow to where Holly’s eyes have shifted.
Sitting on the corner of my desk is my lunch already spread out. A small chicken wrap filled with veggies sits on a napkin, a cup of yogurt with a plastic spoon sticking out of it and an apple cut up already half eaten.
“God, I’m a disaster.”
“No,” Holly says in her most reassuring voice. “You’re pregnant.”
“Forgetfulness and stupidity comes right along with it, it seems,” I say, grabbing an apple slice and shoving the whole thing in my mouth.
Holly laughs. “You just need some rest. That’s all,” she says, taking an apple slice for herself.
“Speaking of needing rest,” she says between bites. “How did Shane feel after boy’s night out? All Eddy could do when he got home was insist on taking a shower. Which only means one thing…strippers.”
I really don’t want to talk about Shane. I fear the emotional breakdown that could ensue. “He seemed fine,” I state, not divulging any more.
Holly smiles. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you that night.”
I smile, but it’s tight, making me fully aware of just how much effort I need to put into it.
Everything Unexpected Page 18