The Perfect Illusion

by Winter Renshaw

  Audrina freezes, jaw locked open.

  “Go.” My voice booms, startling her into finally getting the fuck out of my face just as Alec comes outside. She pushes past him, running away in tears.

  I don’t give a fuck.

  “Hey, man.” Alec jams his hands into his pockets. “I just wanted to say, I had no idea. And I hope you guys didn’t break up because of me.”

  I don’t say anything. It isn’t his fault. And I’m not upset with him.

  I’m upset with the circumstances.

  And I’m upset that I was so close to tasting love and the kind of emancipation my soul had been craving all these years … only to watch it disintegrate overnight.

  “Don’t worry about us,” I say, placing my hand on his shoulder. “Our issues have nothing to do with you.”

  At least not in a way he’d understand …

  “You going to do the right thing? You going to take care of them?” I ask. Regardless of my frustration with the fact that she completely withheld the pregnancy from me, I do want to see to it that she’ll be properly cared for.

  Alec chuckles. “I don’t want to be a father, are you kidding me?”

  “You don’t have a choice. She’s having your child.”

  He leans closer, like he’s going to tell me a secret. “Hud, I tried telling her to, you know, get rid of it earlier, and she flipped out on me. So then I just told her what she wanted to hear so she’d calm down.”

  My skin heats. I’m on fire. “You have to help her, Alec. She has nothing.”

  “She’ll figure it out. Can’t she get on government aid or something?”

  “So she’s not your problem? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Hud, calm down.” He titters. “She’ll be fine.”

  “And you know that … how?”

  “She’s a smart girl. She’ll land on her feet. Girls like her always do.” Alec slicks his hand through his hair, his eyes darting anywhere but in my direction. I’m making him nervous, and rightfully so. I’ve known this guy my entire life, and I’ve never known him to maintain a single responsibility that wasn’t self-serving.

  His attitude is disappointing but expected.

  “If you’re not going to help her, tell her now,” I say. “Tell her before she gets to the end of her pregnancy and realizes you’re not going to be there and you never were planning to in the first place.”

  He’s quiet, and I hope to God he’s letting my thoughts sink in, but it’s hard telling with him.

  “Do the right thing, Alec.” I punch his shoulder before storming away. “You only get one chance to make it right. After that, you’re fucked.”

  I need to get the hell out of Montauk and back to the city, to my office, to the routine that’s helped me through the last decade of my existence.

  I’m done here.

  Chapter 31

  Mari

  “Sweetheart, what are you doing here? I had no idea you were coming home.” My mother cups my face in her hands, welcoming me inside the foyer of our family’s home.

  My shoulders tremble, and I try my hardest to keep myself together, but my legs are shaky and my eyelids heavy and I just want to lie in my childhood bed and forget about life for a while.

  “You look like you’ve been crying.” She inspects my face. “What aren’t you telling me? Did something happen with Hudson?”

  She pulls my left hand toward her, searching for my engagement ring.

  “The bastard left you, didn’t he?” she asks, lips pressed flat.

  I shake my head. “I left him.”

  Her expression shifts, her mouth agape. “Why?”

  “First he was a bastard. Now he’s wonderful?” I half-laugh, half give up.

  “Come inside. I’ll have your father carry your bags upstairs when he gets home. I have to say, we’re thrilled you’re home, but I’m sorry you had to come home under these circumstances.” She leads me up the split foyer, toward the living room, and covers me with a knit blanket the second I spread out across the sofa.

  I don’t move for a minute.

  I simply breathe in the comforting cocktail of scents that make up this house. My mother’s pot roast in the slow cooker. Her favorite cotton-clean fabric softener. A black cherry candle flickering on the stove.

  Across the room my mother rocks in her La-Z-Boy, worry lines sprouting across her forehead as she twirls a strand of gray-blonde hair around her finger. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. I know she’ll listen when I’m ready to talk.

  Lying on my back with my hands folded over my stomach, I stare at the ceiling and take a deep breath.

  “I’m pregnant,” I say, exhaling.

  My mother stops rocking, stops twirling her hair.

  “And it’s not Hudson’s. It’s this guy I met a couple months ago and it was a fling that meant absolutely nothing,” I continue. “But the guy happened to be a friend of Hudson’s because of course he was.”

  I squeeze my eyes, this feels like the hardest confession of all if only because I’ve never lied to my parents before, not like this.

  “And Hudson? He was my boss in New York,” I say. “The one I hated. The one who treated me like shit all the time.”

  My mom still hasn’t said a word, still hasn’t moved. That’s never a good sign.

  “He needed a fake fiancée,” I say. “And I said yes because he was going to pay me a lot of money. Like, a lot. And I knew I was pregnant. I knew I’d need a way to support myself and the baby. And he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  I run my fingers through my hair before digging them into my scalp. It feels good to feel something other than dazed and disoriented. I left Montauk yesterday, cabbed it back to the city, slept on Isabelle’s couch for a night, then grabbed the first flight to Omaha the next day.

  The last twenty-four hours has been a blur and a nightmare all rolled into one, and though I knew this day was inevitable in some ways, it still doesn’t feel real.

  “Anyway, I came clean to Hudson about the pregnancy,” I say. “And he was upset. Understandably. So I left. But as I was leaving, his mom said something to me that made me realize that he lied to me about something too. Something pretty major. So I guess you could say we’re even now. But we’re also over. And that’s that.” I look at her across the room. She’s biting her nail now. At least she moved. “And now I’m home … homeless and pregnant. Yay.”

  She stares at me, hard.

  “Mom, say something. You’re freaking me out.” I sit up, throwing the blanket off me because suddenly I’m hotter than a furnace.

  “I … wow, Mari.” She sits up in her chair, clearly at a loss for words. “I don’t know what to say other than we’ll get through this. You’ve got us. Daddy and me. And we’ll make the best of this situation.”

  She gets up, taking a seat beside me and placing her arm around my shoulders. I stare straight ahead, but I feel her looking at me. A moment later, she kisses the side of my head.

  “Life has a way of forcing us to go exactly in the direction we’re supposed to go, even when we don’t want to,” she says. “You may not think so now, but someday you’ll look back and you’ll connect the dots and it’ll all have been worth it.”

  The sliding glass door to the patio fills our quiet house.

  “Mari, what are you doing home?” My father asks when he comes around the corner. He takes one look at me and silences his commentary.

  With tear-filled eyes, I hold my wrist out, the one with the Cartier bracelet. “Think you have any tools that could get this stupid thing off me?”

  “Damn right, I do.”

  Chapter 32

  Hudson

  “Mr. Rutherford.” Shoshannah rises at her desk the second she sees me. “You’re back early. I thought you were out of the office until the end of June?”

  “Yes, well, it appears as though I’m back now. Doesn’t it, Savannah?” I grab the stack of mail at the edge of her desk, which does
n’t appear to have been sorted, then I toss it back toward her. “Sort this, please, Savannah. We’re not fucking animals.”

  “Y-yes. S-sorry.” She scrambles to grab the mish-mash of envelopes on her desk, lowering herself to her knees to grab the ones that fell to the floor.

  Up ahead, I see Tiffin from HR peek her head out her door before clambering back to her desk. I’m sure they’re all IM-ing each other with the news. They think they’re so clever, using instant messaging to cover their tracks, but the joke’s on them. I don’t give a flying fuck if they love me or hate me.

  They’re sheep. Their opinions don’t matter.

  Unlocking my office door, I burst through and slam it behind me. Dropping my briefcase on one of the guest chairs, I fire up my computer and prepare to catch up on emails.

  I need to lose myself in work.

  I need to get so fixated and focused on numbers and lines and parametrics that the goings-on of the last twenty-four hours don’t fucking matter.

  An hour passes.

  Then another, and another.

  By the time I’ve caught myself up and responded to the senders of most importance, I tend to the desktop of my computer, where I’d saved the draft for Abel’s shed just weeks ago. Covering my mouth with my hand, I pull in a hard breath, release it, then drag the shed to the trash folder.

  I already sent him the design, but I have a feeling we won’t be discussing revisions anytime soon.

  “Mr. Rutherford.” Marta startles the second I enter my apartment that evening after work, dropping a cleaning rag at her feet. With being gone, I’d reduced her shift to half days while keeping her full-time pay. My treat to her for a job always well done. I was home this morning, and I should have left a note, but my mind was elsewhere. “I didn’t expect to see you. You scared me.”

  “Sorry, Marta.” I step into the kitchen, sitting my briefcase on the counter.

  “Back so soon?”

  “I had to cut my vacation short.” I yank the fridge door open, staring at the empty, sparkling clean shelves. Makes sense. No point in keeping a stocked kitchen when the man of the house is supposed to be gone for a month.

  Pizza it is.

  “Where’s Ms. Collins?” Marta asks, glancing around like she expects to see her hiding behind the fiddle leaf fig tree in the corner.

  “We’ve ended our arrangement.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it didn’t work out, sir.”

  Crossing my arms, I ask, “Be honest with me, Marta. Did you know Mari was pregnant?”

  Marta’s dark eyes widen. “I did not. I take it the baby … is not yours?”

  Pressing my lips flat, I say, “No, Marta. The baby isn’t mine.”

  Her gaze darts around, like she has something she needs to get off her chest, but she’s afraid to say it.

  “What?” I ask. “What do you want to say?”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “You can tell me,” I say. “It’s not like I’m going to fire you for being honest.” I huff, shaking my head. “There aren’t enough honest people in this world, Marta. Everyone’s got something to hide and something to gain by hiding it.”

  Including … even myself.

  In my heart of hearts, I know it’s not right to be so upset with her when I wasn’t exactly forthcoming when we made our little arrangement.

  But a baby is a game changer.

  You can hide feelings. You can hide your intent. You can’t hide a baby.

  “You want my honest opinion, Mr. Rutherford?” Marta lifts a dark brow, taking a hesitant step toward me.

  I give her my full, focused attention.

  “I think it was wrong of you to put her in that position. To make her an offer no woman in their right mind would’ve refused,” she says, choosing her words carefully. “Regardless of her personal circumstances, you knew she needed money and you took advantage of that.” Exhaling, she places her hand over her heart. “Oh, goodness. That was a bit harsh of me, wasn’t it?”

  I keep my expression blank, but I shake my head. “No, Marta. I needed to hear that.”

  “She was a nice girl,” she says. “But I have to admit, I purposely kept my distance from her. I didn’t want to get close. I didn’t want to get attached. I’ve learned over the years to keep my distance from all the women you bring home because they’re never going to be around for very long. It’s easier to keep back and be cordial. They probably think I’m a bit cold, but it’s the way it has to be.”

  “God, this situation is so fucked.” I bury my face in my palms, rubbing my eyes and groaning. “Maybe I have no right to be mad at her.”

  “Maybe.” Marta smirks.

  “And the guy who knocked her up? He has no intention of helping her. He’s just going to bail on her.”

  Marta clucks her tongue in disapproval. “Shame.”

  “She’s alone,” I say. “And homeless because I moved her out of her apartment. She has nothing. I’m sure she went home. To Nebraska. I can’t imagine she has anywhere else to go.”

  “You should call her, sir.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I should.”

  Chapter 33

  Mari

  “Oh, my goodness, Maribel, look at this!” My mother holds up a lamb onesie and squeals.

  “It’s way too early to be buying that stuff,” I say, yanking it out of her hand and placing it back on the rack. We came to Target for five things and somehow we ended up with an overflowing cart of random shit, and now we’re in the baby clothes section. “I’m not even out of the first trimester.”

  “Don’t be so negative. I’m only trying to make lemonade out of these lemons,” she says, swatting her hand at me. “Not that the baby’s a lemon. But you know what I mean. I’m trying to make this fun, Mar. Work with me here.”

  She plucks a miniature three-piece suit from one rack and a lavender polka dot dress from another, holding them up.

  “Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” she asks.

  “I don’t know?”

  “I knew from the very beginning with you,” she says, grinning as her eyes flash with bittersweet nostalgia. “Mother’s instinct. You were the easiest pregnancy. And the best baby. I’d give anything to relive some of those moments. Cherish them. It goes so fast, trust me.”

  She points at me before placing the clothes back on their respective hooks and moving onto a haphazard clearance rack that looks like a pack of wild monkeys tore through it.

  My bag vibrates, and it takes a second for me to realize someone’s calling me. For a moment, I consider letting it go to voicemail. I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone, and my mother is still yammering on about how easy I was to potty-train and how I never once tried to climb out of my crib.

  But curiosity gets the better of me, and I reach in to check the Caller ID.

  Hudson’s name is the last thing I expect to see flashing on the screen, but there it is in bold white letters.

  Struggling to breathe for a second, it’s as if time freezes.

  He hasn’t reached out to me since I left Montauk earlier this week. Not once.

  What could he possibly want now?

  Before I so much as consider answering it, I force myself to press the red button on the screen. I can’t talk to him. Not today.

  Not ever.

  Chapter 34

  Hudson

  The call goes to voicemail, just as I suspected it would.

  “Attention Airstream Passengers, Flight 607 from New York to Omaha’s Eppley Airfield will begin boarding momentarily. Please report to Terminal C at this time,” a woman’s voice plays over the speakers.

  Checking my seat assignment, I move toward the line beginning to form outside the door to the jet bridge.

  Ten minutes later, I’m settling into my first class window seat, paging through an in-flight magazine filled with all kinds of fascinating junk everyone wants but no one will ever use. The woman in the aisle across from me begins to power down her cell phone, and I fig
ure I may as well follow suit. We’ll be airborne soon anyway.

  Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I hover over the power button before opting to send a quick text to Mari.

  I’M SORRY I LET YOU GO.

  I wait a moment, but she doesn’t respond.

  It doesn’t matter anyway.

  I’ll see her soon enough.

  Chapter 35

  Mari

  “You did the right thing.” Isabelle sighs into the phone. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, okay?”

  “I’m trying not to. I was so sure of everything until he called. And then he sent that text.” I roll to my side, pulling my covers up to my shoulders. It’s only two o’clock in the afternoon but I’m already gearing up for a hibernation-worthy nap.

  “Of course he’s sorry he let you go,” she says. “He knows he doesn’t deserve you and now he’s going to try to get you back. It’s cool and all that he’s over the pregnancy thing, but it doesn’t change the fact that he lied to you. He got you to sign a contract under false pretenses. I’m not even sure that’s legal.”

  I groan into my pillow. “Isabelle, I don’t even know what to do anymore. Or what to think. All I know is I knew better. I damn. Well. Knew better.”

  “Hey, I was thinking I’d come out and see you next month?” she changes the subject. She’s good at doing that when my self-loathing grows too tiresome.

  “I don’t want to subject you to that,” I say. “You’d be bored out of your mind here. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “But at least I’d be bored with you,” she says, and I can almost hear the sweet smile in her voice. “I miss my best friend. Like crazy.”