by Amy Muscat
“HERE SWEETIE.”
I hear the voice, and I feel the warm cup of something being placed in my cupped hands, but I don’t acknowledge anything.
I know I'm sitting on Peyton's sofa, and I know Peyton is sitting next to me, but I don’t feel anything.
I'm numb… Completely numb. I can't feel my toes, my fingers, and any other limbs. Nothing. I haven’t been able to since I had got those pictures sent to me. I think that was one of the worst nights of my life– no, it was the worst night of my life!
I had come around to Peyton and Keller's house this morning, about two hours ago. I don’t even know how I was even able to function and get into the cab. Thankfully I didn’t think to drive here, ’cause I think I would’ve been in a car accident if I had. When Peyton had opened the front door and saw the sight of me, she had rushed me inside. Asking a million questions at once, but I didn’t have the energy to even tell her; so I pulled my phone out from my jeans pocket and silently showed her the texts.
When I had looked up, Peyton had tears in her eyes, which then started me off with my cry fest, which then made her cry. And we ended up being two sobbing women holding each other when Keller walked down the stairs. Keller being Keller, rushed over and demanded to know what was wrong, and Peyton did to him what I had done to her; she just silently showed him my phone.
Keller had looked confused at first, but then I saw him zoom in, and when he realised what he was seeing, he rushed over to me. He gave me the biggest cuddle I had ever received in my life. He had whispered words of sorrow to me, told me how this must be a mistake. I had laughed a sound so empty that I actually saw Peyton flinch next to me. I had said in a sardonic tone, “How? How is that a mistake, Keller? Pictures don’t lie, unfortunately. How could he do this to me, Kel? I texted him and told him who the man in my hotel room was.”
“I know, I know. Peyton told me he was your cousin, Lott's. I'm so sorry he has done this to you,” he said and pressed a kiss to my forehead; like a big brother would do. Keller had looked at me sadly for a second, before an enraged expression flicked across his handsome face, and with that he stormed off outside, picking his mobile phone off from the table in the hallway.
Then Peyton had led me over to the sofa in the living room, where I was sitting now.
“Drink your tea, sweetie,” Peyton tells me.
Automatically, I lift the ceramic mug up and drink some of the tea. “Thanks.”
“You want anything to eat now?” Peyton had been trying to feed me more or less since I had gotten here. She had asked me if I had eaten, and when I had said no; she had gone and cooked up a storm. I had refused the food, telling her I wasn’t hungry; but I knew Peyton and she was determined to get me to eat something.
Sighing, I nodded my head because I knew if I said no for a second time, Peyton would force-feed me. “Yes please, but only something small; I don’t think I can stomach anything too big,” I tell her truthfully.
A relieved smile spreads across my best friends face as she gets to her feet and starts to walk in the direction of the kitchen, but she stops when I call out her name.
“Yeah?” Peyton asks turning sideways. I watch as she places her hands on top of her pregnant belly, and stroke lovingly.
“Thanks,” I say earnestly. She was the best friend a girl could ask for.
“You're welcome, Lottie, but there're no thanks necessary,” she replies and turns back and continues walking to the kitchen.
I stand up getting ready to follow Peyton into the kitchen, but my phone ringing stops me. I bend down to pick it up from the sofa but end up freezing when I see the caller.
Blake.
My heart starts beating faster, and my breathing becomes choppy.
What should I do? Should I answer? What if he was ringing me to gloat? To rub in my face what he had done, maybe?
The ringing cuts off, but then it started ringing again only seconds later.
Taking a deep breath, I answer the phone but don’t say anything in greeting; I just stay silent.
“Lottie? Angel, you there?” Blake's rattled voice rushes through my ears, and I feel goosebumps form over my skin at hearing him call me Angel.
I'm mute. I can't say anything. My throat has closed up, and I can't get anything out.
“Lottie… please, baby. Please say something! Anything, please,” he stresses.
“Did you sleep with her?” It’s the first full, structured sentence I've said since I received those text messages last night. I had sat up all night, all bloody night, staring at those pictures.
I heard the falter in his breathing before he spoke. “Lottie–”
“Did. You. Sleep. With. Her.” My voice is clipped and harsh, demanding him to answer my question. “Answer the fucking question, Blake.”
“I don’t know,” he breathes.
“What do you mean you don’t know? How could you not know?”
“I–I. I don’t know! I was drunk. When I woke up, she was just there!”
“What, so you're saying you might’ve fucked her then?” I fume.
“No! Yes… maybe.”
“Maybe? Maybe? Maybe you did fuck her?”
“Yes,” he sighs tiredly. I can just imagine him rubbing a hand down his face.
“Well maybe isn’t going to cut it, Blake.”
“Lottie, please…”
“You hurt me real badly in London, Blake,” I whisper. I feel my energy wane and I take a seat on the sofa. “You called me those horrible words–”
“I know, and I'm so sorry for that. So fucking sorry I said those things to you.”
“–but do you know what's funny?” I ask, ignoring his words from before. “I came rushing back to New York. Rushing. Just so I could see you and straighten this shit out. I called you, texted you, came to your flat, sat outside for God knows how long. All the while you're sitting in some goddamned bar getting drunk and then going home with that fucking skank. You call me a dirty, cheating whore? No Blake… that’s not me. That’s you and her. You’re both whores. And you both deserve each other. I knew I should’ve never gotten involved with you in the first place… fucking should’ve trusted my instincts. They were screaming at me to not go out with you, because who am I to change a bona fide playboy, huh? Who am I to think that you could change? I tell you who I am; I'm a fucking idiot. I'm done, Blake. I don’t want to be with you anymore, I don’t want to see you, and I definitely don’t want to hear from you… so this… this is goodbye from me.”
I heard his choked sob, one matching my own. “Lottie, please! I'm so sorry, baby. So fucking sorry. Please don’t do this. Please let me explain. Please?” He’s begging me, but I just don’t care. I don’t care that I never thought a guy like Blake would cry over not being with me. I don’t care that he knows that what he said and did were wrong. I just… don’t care.
“Bye Blake,” I whisper and hang up the phone.
I feel the hiccup of another sob working its way up from somewhere deep in my chest. Then I feel the whisper of wind flying through my hair, before a tiny set of arms are suddenly wrapped around me. I look up startled. Ivy is sitting on the space next to me on the sofa, looking up at me in child-like sorrow.
I pick her up by her small arms and set her on my lap, giving her a proper cuddle. Her head lays on my chest, and mine lays on top of hers. My heart melts when she starts rocking her body. She’s obviously trying to sooth me.
Fuck me, I loved this kid.
“What's wrong, Aunt Lottie?” Her innocent, yet muffled, question bursts my dam and I start crying harder.
“Nothing Munchkin.”
“Yes, dere is. Tell me,” she says demandingly, and I huff out a snort/sob/laugh all mixed together; she was so much like her Dad it was unbelievable.
“I'm just a little upset, Munchkin, that’s all,” I say to her and tucking her beautiful brown tresses behind her ear. “Adult stuff.”
I watch with humour as her little button nose scrunches up, and
she pulls a face up at me. “I don’t like adult stuff. Momma and daddy say dat to me all the time. They say I'm not ’llowed to listen ’cause I'm not old ’nough,” she says pouting at the end.
I start laughing. Only this little girl could bring me outta my miserable state. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, when you're all grown up; you’ll get to listen to all of the adult stuff.”
“You promise?” she asks, her eyebrows pulling together.
“I promise.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” I say back, and hold my arms out for her to lay back. She does, and I turn us around so we are laying down, where we both end up falling fast asleep. She comforted me, and me a four-year-old. But as I said before: sometimes all it takes is a four-year-old to help you through some things.
THAT WAS THREE weeks ago.
I was now on day twenty of post-Blake.
It’s been hard– like extremely hard, but with my friends and family, I had survived… well, sort of. I had lost seven pounds. I started smoking more, and I started to drink more.
I was sort of in self-destructive mode. A mode that I had never been on before, and I wasn’t exactly happy about, but at least I was getting out of the flat now. The first week after the pictures, I had just sat and wallowed indoors… along with the two or ten bottles of wine and some vodka to top it off. I'd even had my own version of a threesome…Ben, Jerry, and me. We had a blast.
This was an every night occurrence.
Until Peyton came around and demanded that I stop this. Stop slowly killing myself, she had said. She had said how she would like her unborn babies to get to know their aunt, in person, and not through a tombstone. A bit dramatic I thought, but it had worked.
So that was when, two weeks ago that I had slowed down my drinking. I started showering again and cut back on my smoking. I left my flat other than to go to the corner shop, and went back to work. I had been busy with Layla’s book; she was coming out to the states in about a month’s time.
And that brings us to now, week three, where I had just left work to go and meet Peyton for her five-month scan. I was so excited that I was smiling away when I heard my name being called.
I stopped and looked behind me, but I didn’t see anyone who I knew, so I turned back around and started walking again, only to hear Lottie being called out again. I turned my head to the left, and when I saw who was calling out to me, my heart started slamming around in its cage.
Looking as pretty as ever, Melody Walker rushed over to me from across the street. She was wearing a pair of black jeans and a white off the shoulder top, and a pair of distressed Converses. Her long brown hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, and she had barely any make-up on her smiling face. Except for under her eyes, she had slight black bags there again.
Does this girl ever sleep? I think to myself. But then, who am I to judge? I've barely slept for three weeks, and I know I must look like shit.
Fuck me.
How was I meant to talk to the sister of the man I still loved, even though the bastard had cheated on me? Before I can answer that question, Melody is standing in front of me. “Hi Lottie,” she says with a gentle smile.
“Hi Mel,” I manage to choke out.
“How– how have you been?” She stutters, looking lost for what to say.
I'm in the same boat love; don’t worry. “I've been okay, thanks, you?”
“Yeah, I've been fine,” she says kicking her Converse on the pavement most probably scuffing them up some more. “This is really awkward,” she laughs nervously.
I chuckle along with her. “I know what you mean.”
“Look, I just wanted to say how sorry I was for what my brother did. I can't believe–”
“Melody… you don’t have to apologise for your brother; he’s old enough to know what he did was wrong.” My heart clench’s as I think of Blake. “How… how is he?” I ask quietly.
She grimaces, “He’s… okay. He’s doing good.”
Pain. It radiates through me without giving me any warning, and I'm suddenly breathless. He was okay? He was doing fine? How was it that he was okay when I'm all fucked up about the whole thing? How is he okay when I'm sitting indoors like a fucking saddo every fucking night? Did what we have mean nothing to him, then?
“Okay– that’s a lie: he’s terrible.” I’ll admit, I felt better when she said that. “He looks like absolute shit. He’s been drinking more, like getting drunk at any opportunity he can.” I watch her bite her lip clearly hesitant on what to say next.
“What?”
“I shouldn’t say, I don’t want you to get upset,” she mumbles.
“Just tell me; it’s not like I'm gonna go back and tell him.”
She thinks about it for a couple of seconds, “He misses you. Like really, really misses you, Lottie. Maybe you could call him and talk to him. Let him explain everything, maybe?”
I choke on the gulp of air I was inhaling. “I–I… I can't. I don’t think I can even see him right now without wanting to punch the lights out of him. I'm so angry with him, Melody, you don’t even understand… I'm sorry I shouldn’t be saying this to you; he’s your brother,” I say guiltily.
She shakes her head in refusal. “No, it’s fine. Really,” she says earnestly. She must have seen my doubtful expression. “What he did was total douchebag material. Complete dick move. Everyone’s really upset with him, which doesn’t help with his guilt, but shit happens right?”
“Right,” I say laughing lightly. It didn’t matter to me that Melody was Blake's sister– someone deeply connected to the man who had completely obliterated my heart– she was a fun-loving young woman. I really liked her, and I'd only met her a couple of times.
“Erm… I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go out to lunch with me…?” When I hesitated, she rushed to talk. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I would completely understand. It’s fine…”
“Mel! Slow down, girl. Jeez,” I say chuckling. “I would love to go for lunch with you. I can't go today because I've gotta be somewhere, right now actually. And I'm like super busy this week, meetings and shit, but next week?”
She nods eagerly. “Yeah, that sounds awesome. Have you ever been to Greenwich Project?”
“No… it isn’t a salad bar or anything is it?” That was like my worst nightmare.
“No,” she says laughing. Did she see the look of horror when I asked about the salad? “They do have salad there, but you can have burgers there, chicken wraps, things like that.”
“Okay then. Sounds good. Wanna meet at two?”
She nods, and we exchange numbers before we go our separate ways. I was actually looking forward to lunch next week.
I ARRIVE AT THE OB-GYN twenty minutes later. I spot Peyton sitting on a bench just inside the air-conditioned reception area.
She grins when she sees me.
“Hey,” I say when I sit next to her. “Where’s Keller?” I ask noticing his absence. I was surprised: Keller would never miss an appointment. Never. I know he still felt guilty about not being there throughout Peyton's pregnancy with Ivy and missing out all those years of both Ivy's and Peyton's lives. I also knew that it killed him to have lost those years of being a father. It was really sad, but it couldn’t be helped; they had a horrible person in both of their lives that fucked everything up.
“He’s gone to get a drink. I told him to grab you a bottle of water, too.”
“Thanks love,” I say to her, before leaning down and speaking to her belly. “Hello there, little ones. I can't wait to finally see you on the screen. I'll make a deal with you guys, yeah? Okay so here’s the deal: if you guys help me win the bet; I promise to spoil you both rotten, deal?” I laid my ear onto her belly, pretending to wait for an answer. But to my surprise, I felt Peyton's belly shake as one of the babies obviously kicked her. I sat up startled, eyes bugging out. “Do you think they actually understood me?”
Peyton's busy giggling at my look of wonder, but after
a minute, she calms down enough to say to me, “Maybe,” she says shrugging. “They say that babies can hear, but can understand what's being said? I don’t know.”
Taking the position of leaning over her stomach again, I ask them a serious question. “Right, if you can kick mummy twice– that’s two times– that means that I'm right. Are you a boy and a girl?”
I wait but, nothing.
I hear a snort come from above me, and I give Peyton a glare. “Shut it, you. It could’ve happened.” I say unconvincingly.
“Yeah, oka–” but before she can continue, I feel the kick come from deep inside her belly again. Twice. “No way,” Peyton breathes.
“Yes,” I shout, happily, jumping up and fist-pumping the air.
“You look crazy,” says a voice from behind me. I spin around and see Keller standing there with three bottles of water, something in a Styrofoam cup, and a silly grin on his face.
“Why thank you,” I reply taking a bow.
“What were you jumping around like a crazy person for, anyway?” He asks curiously.
“Oh! Dude, I totally am winning this bet.” At his confused expression, I explained the bet Peyton and I made a couple of weeks ago; and then I told him what had just gone down with the baby kicking business.
“No, way!” He echo’s Peyton. Then he places the drinks down on the plastic chair next to Peyton and drops down to talk to Peyton's belly. “Did you guys really do that? Yeah? Are my babies clever, then? Yes, you are…” He coos to them, and it’s the most swoon-worthy thing I had ever seen. My heart warms and melts at the same time.
I hurriedly pull my phone out of my pocket and flick the screen up until I touch the icon for the camera. I snap picture after picture of them. Keller squatting down, his big hands splayed over Peyton's pregnant belly, reverently, and Peyton's left hand on top of one of his, and the other rubbing his thick, brown locks lovingly.
“Aunt Lottie!”
I turn and see my favourite girl running towards me, biggest smile on her face. I bend down just as she reaches me, and I sweep her up into my arms.