by Kira Blakely
He turns his head, looking at me. For a moment, he just looks at me, his expression vacant. Then he goes to his bed.
“I’m tired. Leave me alone.”
Well, at least he’s not telling me that he never wants to see me again. It’s a start.
“If that is what you want.” I head to the door, stopping just before I open it. “Thank you for listening, Grandfather.”
He doesn’t say another word. He doesn’t even look in my direction.
That’s fine. I’ve said all I’ve needed to say to him.
And now, I have to go to New York to talk to Abby.
***
“Go away, Grant. I don’t want to talk to you,” Abby says through the locked door of her apartment, leaving me standing in the hallway with all the presents I’ve brought for her. “There’s nothing left for us to talk about.”
I put down the paper bags I’m carrying and move closer to the door. “You know there is.”
“If it’s about my job, I quit. I’ll find another.”
“It’s not about your job, Abby, it’s about us.”
“There is no us. There never was. You tricked me.”
At that moment, the housewife from the next apartment comes out with her toddler on her hip, frowning at me.
I give her an apologetic smile, handing her one of the roses I have. She seems to appreciate it, sniffing it as she goes back into the apartment.
Good. I got rid of her. I don’t want to get anyone else’s attention, though.
I move my mouth closer to the door. “Could you please at least open the door, Abby, so that we don’t have to shout?”
There’s no response.
“Or we could just shout for everyone in the building to hear.”
She opens the door but just a crack, the bolt still on. She doesn’t show herself, either, and though I try hard to take a peek, I can’t see her.
“Are you going to talk or not?” Abby asks.
Well, at least I know she can hear me.
I lean on the doorframe and take a deep breath. “Abby, I’m sorry. I know what I tried to do. I know what I did. I asked Nathan to let you work for me, having done my research about you and thinking you’d be the best woman to convince Lindsey to change her mind. I seduced you. I tried to make you fall in love with me. But you know what? I fucked up. I fell in love with you, which wasn’t part of the plan, and that’s something I’ve never done before even though I’ve known a lot of women.”
“Really? Then why do you have files of other women in your inbox?”
“My grandfather sent those. He wanted me to choose a wife from them. I told him I wasn’t going to, though. I don’t care if he feels I’m letting him down like he felt my mother let him down. I’m not going to let myself down. Or you.”
“And what did he say?”
“Nothing.”
Abby falls silent.
“Abby?”
“You should go.”
I want to say more. I want to ask her why she can’t understand me. I want to stay here until she forgives me. I want to break down the bolt, barge into her apartment, and hug her so tight the broken pieces of her heart will fall back into place and then I’ll never let her go.
I don’t though. This is not about what I want. If she wants me to leave and give her some time and space, I’ll do that. I’ll step back for now.
“Okay. I’ll leave the stuff I’ve brought here – just some flowers, chocolates, some Broadway memorabilia, and some stuff from London.” I put the bouquet I’m holding on the floor. “If you need anything, just call me.”
She says nothing, closing the door.
I sigh. Well, I guess this serious conversation ended just like the last one, with neither Abby nor my grandfather saying yes but also not saying no. I just hope they’ll give me a chance, Abby especially.
Frankly, I’m not sure how I’ll do without her.
Come on, Abby. Give me just one more chance.
Chapter 13
Unexpected
Abby
So, Grant wants me to give him another chance, does he?
Sitting on the couch, I look at the pile of presents from Grant in the living room, the pile I’ve just hauled in from the hallway after making sure he’s gone.
It’s not that I don’t want to see him because I’m mad at him. Yes, I am mad at him, but the main reason why I didn’t open the door and face him was because I was afraid that if I looked into his eyes, I’d forget my anger and throw myself at him.
It’s not easy resisting the man you love.
Yes, I love him. I’ve realized that over the past few days. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have hurt as much and I wouldn’t have been so devastated to the point that I couldn’t eat or sleep properly or have the energy to do the things I used to do.
I’ve probably loved him for some time now. That’s why I can’t forget him no matter how hard I try, why I can’t seem to let go of him.
But I have to.
I have to resist him and forget him because I don’t think I can trust him again. He’s already hurt me once. He can very well do it again.
He said he was sorry.
Sorry is just a word. It’s easy to say, especially for men who want something.
He didn’t ask for anything, did he?
Come to think of it, he didn’t. He didn’t ask me to come back to him. He just apologized and explained. Like before, instead of demanding, he gave of himself.
I pout, lying on the couch.
Well, that’s not going to work a second time. I’m not falling for it anymore.
I fell in love with you.
I slap my forehead. Now, he’s using the word love. But, no. I’m not going to fall for that, either. He’s using the right words, but they’re just words.
How will he prove his feelings for you if you don’t give him a chance?
I sigh. My mother kept giving herself a chance at happiness. She kept giving love a chance. She kept giving men chances. And look what happened. Each man she gave a chance to let her down and left her in the dust.
Once is enough. I gave Grant a chance, and he wasted it. He broke my trust. He broke my heart. He used me.
You can’t say he used you if he’s keeping you.
True. But I just know that I’ll keep on thinking that he just picked me because I was the ideal candidate for fulfilling his plans, that we would never have met if not for his plot. How can something that started in treachery be true? How can it be trusted?
Then start again. Grant is willing to do that. He even chose you over his grandfather.
I must say that took me by surprise. And it did make me happy. Still, how can we start over when I don’t know if the doubts will ever end? I was afraid the first time. Now, I’m terrified.
So, you’ll just let him go even if you love him? Choose to be afraid instead of taking a chance on happiness?
“Oh, shut up.” I place my hands on my head, which is starting to hurt from thinking too much.
Actually, my head has been hurting a lot lately. And that’s not all. Yesterday, I felt dizzy while doing the laundry, having to stop for fear of fainting and this morning, I was nauseous, that perfect plate of bacon and eggs making my stomach reel.
Just the thought of that plate, in fact, starts a revolution in my stomach again. I sit up, one hand rubbing my tummy to calm it down and the other on my neck, as if trying to keep the food from coming out. This time, that doesn’t work, though, and I end up going to the bathroom to throw up.
Shit.
When I’m done, I brush my teeth and wash my face then head back to the living room, lying down on the couch again.
What’s wrong with me? Is it something I ate? Can it be all that airline food? Maybe it’s just jet lag or stress.
At any rate, I’d like to find out, and there’s only one way to do that.
I give another sigh, placing my arm over my forehead.
I guess I’m going to the doctor tomorrow.
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***
“Please wait here,” the nurse tells me, gesturing to an empty chair in the waiting room. “Dr. Norwood will be with you shortly.”
“Thanks.” I sit down, resisting the urge to pace the room after the nurse has left.
Who’s Dr. Norwood? I’ve never heard of him.
I was with a Dr. Catherine Martin earlier, who said they were going to run some tests. Did they find something suspicious in my tests? Is that why I’m being referred to another doctor, a specialist maybe?
Am I going to die?
“Abigail Gomez?”
I look up to find myself staring into a pair of deep blue eyes.
Grant?
No. It’s not Grant. They may have the same blue eyes but the resemblance stops there. This man has jet black curls, a few of which are dipping down his wide forehead. His nose is more rounded toward the nostrils, his chin squarer, his lips narrower.
I suppress a frown. Now that I’m boiling with anxiety, I wish he was here.
“Yes, that’s me,” I say as I stand up, finding my head barely reaching his chin.
He’s tall. Not only that. He’s got a great physique, his chest and shoulders broad, his pectorals bulging against the fabric of his white dress shirt so much that I fear the buttons will fly off. And, in between the bottom buttons, I catch a peek of a ripped abdomen just before his shirt disappears into the waistband of his jeans that outlines his narrow hips and waist. His arms look like he can easily carry someone or maybe two someones while his legs look fit enough to have a few children on his lap. Or women.
What is he? An athlete? A triathlete? A double for Superman?
“I’m Dr. Norwood.” He offers me his hand.
Doctor?
Right. He’s got that stethoscope around his neck. How could I have missed that?
Because you were looking at other more important stuff?
Oh, hush.
I shake his hand, finding his firm yet smooth.
He places his hand back in his pocket. “Shall we?”
Shall we what?
He gestures to the hall.
Right. He’s a specialist, which means we’re headed to his clinic right now. Worse, they probably sent someone good-looking to break the bad news so that I won’t be so upset.
I take a deep breath. Relax, Abby. You’re going to be fine.
As he goes into a door, I pause outside, looking at the sign.
Brett Norwood, Obstetrician-Gynecologist.
Wait. What? Is there something wrong with my… reproductive organs? Ovarian cancer? Cervical cancer?
“Please come in,” Dr. Norwood says. “And take a seat.”
I obey, closing the door behind me and sitting on one of the chairs in front of his desk, dipping my clasped hands between my knees as I anxiously wait for news.
“Please tell me what’s wrong,” I plead with him.
“Oh, nothing’s wrong.” He goes through the papers on his desk. “In fact, everything about your pregnancy seems normal.”
I blink. “My what?”
“Miss Gomez, you’re pregnant – a little over five weeks pregnant.”
What? I’m relieved, of course, that I’m not dying. But pregnant? I never thought I’d have a child, though maybe I should have given it more thought. Now that I think about it, Grant and I didn’t use any contraceptives at all.
And this is the result when you don’t use contraceptives – pregnancy. That’s why I’ve been dizzy and nauseous and throwing up.
I clasp my hands over my mouth. “Oh, my God.”
“Congratulations.” Dr. Norwood stands up to squeeze my shoulder. “I know you’re feeling overwhelmed right now but that’s normal, too. After all, you do suddenly have a person inside you. Microscopic, yes, but still a person, one you helped create.”
A person inside me? I look at my belly. How can a person possibly fit there?
“It’s a miracle, really, and it never fails to astound me. That’s why I’m in this profession.”
I place my hand over my belly. “I don’t believe it. I can’t believe this is happening.”
He hands me the ultrasound picture and though it’s black and white, I can see the speck inside the hole – a baby inside my tummy.
I run my fingers over the picture then press it to my heart, a tear streaking down my cheek as the emotions I’ve been trying to hold back – fear, disbelief, excitement, joy – break through.
“I really am having a baby, aren’t I?”
Dr. Norwood nods. “Maybe at your next check-up at eight weeks, you can hear the heartbeat.”
“I’d love that.” I look at the picture again, smiling.
“I’m sure Mr. Gomez would be thrilled as well.”
“Oh, there’s no Mr. Gomez.” I put the picture down on my lap. “At least, none that I know of. I’m not married.”
“But you have a boyfriend?”
“Well, I used to,” I confess.
Suddenly, it occurs to me that I have to tell Grant. I have to tell Grant we’re having a baby.
“I won’t ask about the details. That’s not my job.” He raises his hands as he goes back to his chair. “But let me tell you that pregnancy can be a difficult journey and birth is a challenging event. It helps if you don’t make the journey alone.”
***
I’m… pregnant, huh?
I still can’t get used to the word, still baffled by the news as I step into the elevator of my apartment building.
All the way home, I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop imagining myself with a big tummy, my arms with an infant. I can’t stop trying to imagine my child. Will it be a boy or a girl? Will it have blue eyes or black? Will it be smart? Will it be strong?
I’m excited to find out, excited to begin this journey of motherhood that I know will last all my life. At the same time, though, I’m scared.
What if I’m not cut out for this? I know a lot of things, and I know a thing or two about taking care of babies because I took some babysitting jobs when I was in high school. That doesn’t mean I’m prepared, though, and I’m not sure I can do everything by myself.
It helps if you don’t make the journey alone.
So, do I get back together with Grant then?
I’m still wondering about that when the elevator doors open, deep in thought as I walk down the hallway, which is why I don’t realize I have a guest until I’m just two feet away from her.
“Marjorie?” My eyebrows furrow.
“Abby.” Marjorie gives me a hug. “Oh, I’ve missed you. The kitchen just doesn’t seem the same without you.”
“I missed you, too.” I squeeze her tighter, realizing I’ve needed a hug since Dr. Norwood told me the news and I couldn’t very well hug him. “It’s good to see you.”
Then I step back. “Wait. Grant didn’t send you, did he?”
Marjorie shakes her head. “It’s my day off. I came to see you because I was worried about you. I’ve brought some pies.” She lifts a paper bag off the floor. “Both savory and sweet.”
“Including your signature salted caramel apple pie?” I ask hopefully, suddenly craving it.
Marjorie nods. “Including that.”
“Oh, you’re an angel.” I open the door to my apartment. “Come in. I’ve got something to tell you.”
I don’t just need a hug. I need someone to share the news with and Marjorie’s just perfect.
She gives me a puzzled look as she picks up her bag and steps in. “You know, I thought you’d be very upset but you seem… happy.”
“I am happy.” I close the door. “I’m happy because–” I rub my hands and take a deep breath, “—I’m pregnant.”
Marjorie puts down the bag in her hand, her eyes wide as she stares at me. “You’re pregnant?”
I rub my belly. “I am. I just came from the doctor.”
“Wow.” Her jaw drops.
“That was my reaction exactly.”
She starts jumping.
“Oh, my God. You’re pregnant.” She hugs me again, both of us jumping. “Congratulations! I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you. I could definitely use a friend right now.”
Speaking of friends, maybe I should call Lindsey. She didn’t really do anything wrong, after all, and she’s probably worried about me. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled, too.
Abruptly, Marjorie stops, her hands on my shoulders. “Grant doesn’t know, does he?”
I shake my head then sigh as I sit on the couch. “I have to tell him, don’t I?”
Marjorie sits beside me and holds my hand. “I hate to say this but you do. A child needs a father and as much as possible, he should have one.”
Don’t I know it? I may not want to count on Grant, but I do want my child to have a father to count on – a luxury I never had.
And that’s not all.
She squeezes my hand. “That doesn’t mean you have to get back together with Grant, though, unless you want to. Do you want to?”
I nod. The more I think about it, the more I want someone to go on this journey with, someone to share experiences and memories of my child with.
I want someone to share my life with.
“But I’m scared, Marj. I’m scared that he might manipulate me again.”
“If it’s any help, he looks very remorseful lately.”
I raise an eyebrow. “He does?”
“And miserable. And he hardly eats my food. I think he’s really sorry for what he did to you, Abby.”
“So, you think I should give him another chance?”
“If you love him, you should.”
“Even if that could be another chance to hurt me?”
“I’m not saying he’ll never hurt you again. People hurt each other. That’s inevitable. But judging from what I’ve seen, he doesn’t like hurting you, and he wants to make the pain go away. As long as he keeps doing that, I think the two of you will be fine. You’ll hurt and heal together. That’s what a relationship is all about, right?”
I have to admit she has a point. All those men who hurt my mother, they never looked back. And Grant never did, either, until now.
“If you can’t trust Grant again, trust the love you feel for each other. As long as there’s love, you can make things work.”