The phone rang, stopping them both mid-argument. It could have been anyone. But Ryann knew without looking who it was. It rang a second time, and she stood unmoving until Spencer went over to the handset on her bedside table and looked at her inquisitively, poised to pick it up.
“You want me to …?”
“No!”
He pulled back a little, surprised by the vehemence of her response.
“Okay …” He shrugged. “I guess they’ll leave a message. You ready?”
She nodded. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest, she could almost hear it.
And Spencer was looking at her strangely. “Ready?” he asked her again.
Ryann felt frozen in spot. And when the ringing finally stopped, she exhaled a deep breath. She looked up to find Spencer still studying her, and forced herself to smile.
“Let’s go,” she said, as though he was the one who had been keeping her waiting.
“Yeah,” he said nodding slowly. “And when we get back, we’re puttin’ away that treadmill.”
“You have to let us do this,” May was saying. Her face was animated, and a little flushed from the wine she had been drinking, and her voice a little shrill. “I never thought I would get the chance to do this for my brother, so you have to let me.”
“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” Spencer said.
“She just means we all thought you were the consummate bachelor, man,” his brother-in-law Quincy said laughing, and tipping back his own glass of pinot noir.
Both Quincy and his sister were hitting the drinks a little heavier tonight because the girls were with Quincy’s parents. Spencer had borne witness to this before, the child-free exuberance that came with a rare night off.
Glancing over at Ryann, he wondered whether they would be the same way. How they hell were they even going to do the parenting part? He hadn’t thought that far ahead and would guess she hadn’t either. It wasn’t as though throughout the pregnancy they’d been models of relationships stability. Suddenly, the time they had, before they would be responsible for two actual human beings, seemed so short.
Sensing his eyes on her, Ryann looked at him and smiled, but the smile was little more than a slight upturn of her lips. Her mind was clearly elsewhere.
“I never really thought about a baby shower,” she said, answering May. “And anyway, there aren’t that many people I’d want to invite.” At that last bit, her eyes fell on Spencer again and then skittered away.
He knew it was because she knew what he knew—that she didn’t really have friends. Her friendless-ness was something he’d wondered at, but never remarked on. It wasn’t as though she was unpleasant to people, but even when she was pleasant, she was distant. People probably sensed that with her—that she was putting up a front that while not false, was incomplete.
“Baby showers are best when they’re small and intimate anyway,” May said. “And none of that gender discriminatory stuff either. Spencer could come and bring Greg and Greg’s wife. It’ll be a couples’ thing. And the men always peel off and head someplace else in the house anyway.”
Ryann glanced over at him again and Spencer winked at her, realizing that she was feeling a little out of her depth with May. His sister was all sunshine and roses, and for Ryann, a woman who was anything but, it had to be like listening to someone speak a foreign and indecipherable language.
“Sounds good,” she said finally. “Except I have a feeling my friend, Ivy, would want in on the planning of something like that.”
“Perfect!” May said. She clapped her hands. “Give me her number before you leave so I can give her a call.”
Ryann smiled and nodded.
“Now that that’s settled,” Quincy said, “you want to bring out that dessert, babe?”
“Yes. But come help me,” May said. “I’ll need you to make the coffee. We’ve held Spencer and Ryann hostage practically all night. They’ll need the coffee to make it home.”
When they’d left Spencer and Ryann alone, he reached across the dining table, extending a hand to her. She hesitated only a second before taking it.
“Y’know what I think?” she said.
“What?”
“I think your family is the nicest group of people I’ve ever met.”
He laughed. “That’s because you haven’t met Joyce yet. Did I ever tell you what she wanted me to do?”
“No. What?” Ryann tilted her head to one side, curious.
“Actually, let’s not talk about that here. I didn’t tell May, so …”
“So, you’re close to Joyce too?”
“Yeah. But in a different way. We fight and argue all the time, but between my sisters, she’s the one who I can trust to pull no punches. May … she’s sweet.”
It was Ryann’s turn to laugh. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Nah. ‘Course not. But you know I like a little edge. Why else would I be with your miserable butt?”
Ryann gave a small smile, but it was tinged with hurt. “I don’t want to be miserable,” she said.
“I didn’t mean …”
“No,” she said, tugging her hand away. “I know what you mean. And I know how I come across.”
It wasn’t like her to be so sensitive. Something was different. He couldn’t put his finger on it just yet but since they’d reconciled, he noticed how, in a hundred little ways, Ryann appeared bruised. He had never really believed that their recent separation alone was responsible for how she’d looked in Dr. Billingsley’s office, but she hadn’t said anything to make him believe otherwise. And maybe he wanted to believe that day that she was wasting away just because she’d ached for, and missed the hell out of him the way he had her.
She sighed, and looked down at the table, averting her eyes from his.
“Ryann, I was joking. I love you, exactly the way …”
Her head jerked upward, and her lips parted a little, poised to say something when May came sailing back out into the dining room.
“Tiramisu!” she sang. “Store-bought, but still …”
It took a few moments before Ryann tore her eyes away from him and instead turned to smile at his sister. Spencer was grateful for the interruption because … what was that?
They ate tiramisu, they drank coffee. And then they made about a half hour’s more small talk with May and Quincy who, by then, were clearly over the whole ‘having-guests-for-dinner’ thing and in the stage of drunkenness where they just wanted to get each other in bed.
Spencer and Ryann said their ‘goodbyes’ and drove in complete silence back to her house where they got ready for sleep themselves. They did it without exchanging very many words, and when the lights were off, they lay far apart, on opposite sides of the bed … processing.
~30~
“Did I ever thank you for calling him?”
“No, Ryann,” Ivy said matter-of-factly. “You never did.” And then after a pause she looked up again. “But seriously, you’re not mad?”
“Why would I be mad? Just because between you and Eli, you’re trying to dethrone Iyanla Vanzant and fix my life?”
“You were looking like crap, Ryann. I had to do something.”
Sitting on the porch, now closed in for the season, they were eating a brunch of fruit and spinach crêpes. Eli had taken the boys out, so Ryann had driven over, hoping she and Ivy would have a decent length of time to talk privately.
“And the ‘something’ you thought would work best was to call Spencer?”
“Yes,” Ivy said evenly. “And it did. You look so much better since you guys have been back together.”
“That’s because since the doctor’s appointment he’s been feeding me as though Washington DC has a famine in the forecast,” Ryann said. “And he hovers all the time. Like a little old lady.”
Ivy shook her head. “Ryann, you’re not fooling me. You’re so in love with that man it isn’t even funny.”
“You’re right. I am.”
&n
bsp; “Wait … what?”
“I’m tired, Ivy,” Ryann said looking her friend in the eye. “Of holding up the sky. And of pretending it isn’t hard. That’s what it feels like I’ve been doing. And I’m tired.”
Her eyes filled, and Ivy reached out, touching her hand. She looked alarmed. Of course she did. Ivy, her best friend, and the person who was practically the closest to her on this earth had never seen her cry. Ever. Of course she was alarmed.
“I do love him.” Ryann shrugged. “And I don’t want to act like I don’t anymore.”
“Why do you feel like you have to act like you don’t?”
Ryann looked across the yard, avoiding her friend’s eyes, wondering whether it might be time to put this burden down.
“Because what if he felt the same way? What if he felt the same way and I got … comfortable? And started to depend on that. Depend on him.”
“What if you did? And Ryann, honestly, you already kind of do … depend on him, I mean. And there’s nothing wrong with that. He’s proved himself worth depending on.”
“But don’t you get it? What if I lost that? I don’t think I could go through that.” Ryann shook her head.
“Again?”
“Yeah. Again.”
Ivy sat back in her chair, saying nothing. But her expression spoke volumes. This is it, it seemed to say. After all this time, I get to meet the real Ryann Walker.
“I should’ve trusted you before now,” Ryann said. “To tell you about my mother, my brother, my …”
“Your brother?” Ivy’s voice was a stunned squeak. “You have a …?”
“Yeah. I didn’t tell you about him because … well, it’s … complicated. And my mother, you never met her because I guess you could call her a … trigger for me.”
“A trigger.”
“Please stop repeating everything I say.”
“I’m sorry! But I’m having a hard time wrapping my … all this time I’ve known you, you have a sibling, and … Is he alive?”
Ryann rolled her eyes. “Yes, he’s alive. Hence my referring to him in the present tense.”
“Well excuse me for thinking he might be dead. Because as far as I’m concerned he’s been non-existent.”
“Maybe you have a right to be angry …”
“I’m not angry!”
“I was in therapy. From the time I was fourteen until I was almost twenty. Because of all this.”
“All what?” Ivy narrowed her eyes. “You’re just throwing stuff at me right now and it isn’t fitting together like maybe you think it is. And what does all this have to do with you and Spencer?”
Nothing. And everything.
“I’ll start at the beginning, then,” Ryann said.
“Yes.” Ivy nodded. “Please.”
Ryann spoke for almost forty minutes, and left nothing out.
Ivy, to her credit, maintained a mostly neutral expression though Ryann knew she had to be shocked. And when, finally, she got to that night—The Night—Ivy reached across the table and held her hand, squeezing it so tightly, it hurt.
“I’ve been wearing all this around my neck,” Ryann said. “All these years, getting calls from Rick … I’ve been wearing the shame. And the guilt, and the …”
She stopped, not knowing how to go on. Ivy squeezed her hand even tighter, and Ryann was grateful that her friend didn’t try to tell her that she shouldn’t feel that way, that it wasn’t her fault. That she should release herself.
She knew all that. But it didn’t make things better.
“I thought I would just have a baby. Easy-peasy, just have a baby and it would be the two of us and I would love her and we would be in this cocoon of ideal mother-daughter love and it would … heal me, and make everything better. But I didn’t count on …”
“Spencer,” Ivy finished for her.
“Yeah. Of all the men out there willing to make babies and walk away, I had to find an overachiever. Not only did he make two babies, he just won’t … leave.”
Ivy laughed. “So, what’re you going to do about him?”
“Tell him,” Ryann said. “Tell him everything.”
She’d only just made up her mind for sure. She told Ivy, and the sky hadn’t fallen. Several feet away, birds still chirped in the trees, the sun still shone and the world continued turning.
Ivy squeezed her hand again. She opened her mouth to say something but hesitated. Nodding, Ryann prompted her to continue.
“I get why that’s scary. But I think it’s the right decision,” she said.
“I know it is. Now, I just need to find the right time.”
“Ryann?”
Ryann turned to face the tall, young woman with the curly hair. It took her a moment, but she finally placed her. Inwardly sighing, she prepared to be pleasant.
“Chrissy,” she said. “Hi. How are you? Happy New Year.”
Chrissy Simmons leaned in and the women exchanged awkward kisses.
“How am I? How are you?” She looked down significantly at Ryann’s middle, and reached out, pulling her hand back when it was halfway.
Donovan Simmons’ young wife was dressed in form-fitting workout gear, and had her curls pulled back into a high ponytail that made her look even taller. Her body was insanely well-toned. Ryann, who was wearing a pair of the dreaded ballet flats she had resisted buying, felt short and squat next to her, even though Chrissy Simmons, at about five-ten was only about an inch taller.
They were in the Starbucks on K Street and Ryann had only just gotten back into the swing of her full five-day work week routine after a whirlwind Christmas, spent with Spencer and his family. She was becoming accustomed to getting in later, arriving at the office around nine-thirty on most days, after taking a little longer to get ready. Every morning was spent adjusting anew to the feeling of her much larger body, massaging her belly with cocoa butter, waiting until she felt the babies squirm and shift beneath her hands before she got dressed and left the house.
“Has it been that long since I last saw you?” Chrissy asked, eyes wide.
Ryann shrugged. “When did we last see each other? I can’t remember.”
“That party at my house.” The other woman answered with a flush, and then it came back to Ryann, how inhospitable and almost rude Chrissy had been that night.
She couldn’t care less about any of that now. She hadn’t heard from Donovan either since then, and had all but put the couple and their charitable aspirations out of her mind.
“I’m about to sit and have a tea and muffin,” Chrissy Simmons said. “D’you want to join me?”
The invitation surprised Ryann enough that she paused before responding, and once she had paused, there was no choice but to accept.
They ordered their food and drinks, and sat at one of the many free tables. Most of the patrons at this time of the morning were the grab-n-go variety, so they were able to get one where Ryann could comfortably push back without having the edge of the table press into her stomach. Chrissy Simmons watched as she manuevered herself slowly into a sitting position, her expression wistful, and solicitous.
“You okay?” she asked, when Ryann expelled a short burst of breath.
“Fine. Thank you. The slightest thing makes me winded these days.”
“You must be ready to go any day now, huh?”
Ryann laughed. “I wish. I only just passed the seven-month mark.” Chrissy wrinkled her brow and Ryann laughed again. “Twins,” she added.
At that, Chrissy Simmons leaned back in her seat and nodded, pursing her lips for a moment before speaking. “You’re … you’re very lucky,” she said finally.
Noting the way the other woman abruptly averted her gaze, Ryann surprised herself by reaching out and touching her hand. Wanting a baby was an emotion she could certainly relate to.
“Oh God,” she said. “Girl, you’re much younger than me. You have plenty of time.”
“Time isn’t the issue,” Chrissy said. “I can’t get pregnant.” She
shrugged.
Ryann didn’t know what to say, especially since the words had been so casually uttered, about something that was clearly not a casual matter.
“Y’know how long it took me to even be able to say that without bursting into tears?” She took a sip of her tea.
“These days there’s lots of ways to …”
“I know. But Donovan thinks it’s ridiculous to ‘employ heroic measures’ just to have a baby.” Chrissy made air-quotes with her fingers. “Of course, he has three already from his previous marriages, so what the hell does he know?”
It was Ryann’s turn to lean back in surprise. Amazing what a little difference in perspective made. Almost a year ago, she was where Chrissy Simmons was, seeing Grace Evans, and imagining her life to be complete, and full of all the things that for Ryann were out of reach.
“That’s what all the fuss about me getting involved in a charity was about. He was trying to distract me,” Chrissy continued, reaching for and breaking off a piece of her cranberry-orange muffin. “He said all I needed was something to focus my energies on.”
Ryann recalled this about her now. She was young, and indiscreet and prone to the ill-advised sharing of confidences. On the few episodes Ryann saw, of that terrible reality show Chrissy had been part of, Ryann recalled how some of the older women had ripped into her, the young, beautiful third wife of a successful man, who didn’t have an ounce of self-protective discretion. Chrissy had done this on the show as well—spilled her guts to people without considering whether they meant her ill, or would share her business all over town. And predictably, she had gotten burned, over and over again.
“How old are you?” Ryann asked, curiously.
Chrissy looked embarrassed. “Twenty-four. But …”
“No.” Ryann held up a hand. “I was just curious. You just … Some things about you remind me of someone I used to know, that’s all.”
“Someone you like, I hope.”
Ryann shrugged. “She didn’t like herself very much, that’s all I know.”
Like Chrissy, she had been pretty, and brash, using her brashness as a big screw-you to the world that seemed to demand she be otherwise; and that judged her for her prettiness, and imputed to her, character traits that could not have been farther from the truth.
The Lover Page 30