by Zoey Oliver
“Craigslist,” she says distractedly. “How about a racecar bed? Is it too soon to get one of those? Those are cool.”
“Hold on. I am not buying anything for my babies on Craigslist, okay? Everybody on there’s just a scammer anyway, trying to get you to a parking lot to sell you drugs or bash you over the head and steal your purse.”
Her eyes widen and she snaps the laptop closed. “Well, I did not know that. You learn something new every day, I guess.”
“If you’re lucky,” I quip.
Raising my arms, I turn in a half circle. What do I really, really need in here anyway? Crib? Dresser? Baby stuff can’t possibly take up that much room.
In fact, I could live in here and give them my room. If I have to have two cribs, the bigger space would really come in handy.
“Hey, maybe your mom still has some of your baby stuff. Did you ask her?” Bea suggests helpfully.
“Oh… that’s a really good idea. Yeah, let me just text her. I could probably run up this weekend and—”
“And what?”
My breath is caught in my throat. I stare at the face of my cell phone, beginning to tremble.
“Ava? You okay? Are you in labor?”
I can’t answer her. I’m still trying to make sense of the alert on the front of my phone. It’s an email for my mother. Just the first fifteen words, but it’s enough.
“Ava?” she says again, carefully reaching for my phone. She takes it from my hand and glances at the front. “Oh my God.”
“I’m going to kill him.”
“You can’t kill him. You’ll go to jail! You’ve got babies on the way!”
I barely hear her as I rush to the living room, snatching my bag off the table and swooping out the door. I’m all nerves, filled with a bright crimson fog that blots out every thought as it starts to boil to the surface.
When I arrive at Ethan’s condo, he’s sprawled on his sofa, headset in his ear, talking at the ceiling about something or somebody in Malaysia, how he’s leveraging something or other. He holds up one finger and smiles when he sees me, silently asking me to wait.
I glare at him, almost boiling over.
“Yeah, Digger? I’m gonna have to get back to you,” he mutters carefully, squinting at me like I’m a bomb that might go off. “Just shoot me an email with the details. We will work it out.”
Plucking the headphone from his ear he stands up, with his hands out. “Now, Ava, I want you to think really carefully about whatever it is you want say to me. You know I would only do what I thought was best for—”
“You told them!” I spit out, trembling so hard I think I’m going to fall over. “You went behind my back and you told them!”
He takes a step toward me, but I take a step back. There are at least three things within arm’s length that I could throw at him, so I hope he doesn’t try to get any closer. I really don’t.
“You said, remember? You said it couldn’t stay like this, Ava. You’re right. It couldn’t stay a big secret like that. Something had to be done.”
“But they’re my parents! It wasn’t up to you!”
“But you weren’t doing it,” he explains helplessly, holding his hands out.
“I wasn’t ready!”
“Now you don’t have to be ready. That’s good, right? It’s done. The Band-Aid is ripped off. The worst is over!”
The room seems to be getting smaller. Everything falls into a tunnel, with him at the end of it and blackness all around. I can barely breathe, I’m choking on so much emotion.
“Now there’s nobody!” I manage to spit out. “I thought I could trust you, Ethan! Even after everything I know about you… I thought I could trust you!”
He looks hurt, his brow knotting in the middle.
“You can trust me,” he objects quietly.
“How could you?!”
“Ava, wait,” he says in a small voice. I see the apology on his face, but at this point I can’t care anymore.
“Just stay away from me, Ethan. Just stay away.”
“Ava, you know I can’t do that.”
I point at him, stabbing at the air. “Actually, yes you can!” I yell, letting my voice get as loud as I can. “You just keep away from me, stay away from all of us. You want visitation, take us to court! Just give me a little bit of child support… just a little bit! Just enough to get by. That’s all I want from you, you understand me? That’s it!”
He shakes his head. “No. No way! You can’t do this.”
“I cannot believe I fell for you, Ethan!” I howl, letting the scarlet anger just pour out of me. “I can’t believe I let you jerk me around with that phony proposal, all this bullshit about us being together with our babies. I actually wanted to believe you meant it! I cannot believe how stupid I was!”
“That’s not stupid. That’s how I—”
“Don’t call me! Don’t text me. Don’t contact anyone in my family ever again!”
“Wait, no!” he blurts out, lunging toward me. “You can’t do this!”
“It’s done!” I practically scream, turning on my heel and almost running back to the elevator. The doors open immediately and I fling myself inside, turning around to see his face just before the doors close again.
I’ll never forget that look. Half anger, half fear. Remorse. Maybe a little shame. Actual emotions on his actual face, how ironic. I finally see what he is really made of, and I can’t stand it.
Chapter Twenty-One
ETHAN
Aden’s restaurant just happens to be in a building that I thought about buying a couple years back. It’s in an almost-great neighborhood, one of those transitional spaces where it trembled on the brink of being profitable for several years, scaring investors off left and right. It’s limped along ever since.
There are still a few vacant lots surrounded by rusty, bulging chain-link fences, and then some beautiful Victorian constructions. High on a hill, the neighborhood has nothing but potential.
Which, to an investor, means it mostly has “nothing.” Great potential for loss, right now.
But like I said, I really like this neighborhood. I like the old San Francisco with the crazy sloped streets, the candy-colored houses. Downtown is a little bit too congested for me. A little too sleek and sophisticated, if I’m honest with myself. I have the most prestigious addresses, of course, but I have never felt entirely comfortable there.
I walk in front of Aden’s restaurant, considering my options. Maybe my only remaining options at this point. I know reaching out to her parents was wrong, but I didn’t think I had any choices.
On the other hand, reaching out to Aden seems downright impossible. Not to mention, practically suicidal. If she finds out, I am toast.
And yet, here I am. I turn around and walk in front of it one more time, noticing that the lights are on, but the place is empty. Next door is another restaurant, just a narrow carry-out for Lebanese food. But the tables there are full. And next to that, there’s a rather seedy bar, TV blaring a baseball game in progress. A quick glance in the front door tells me every barstool is occupied.
That’s good information.
The interior of Aden’s restaurant is pretty much what I would have predicted. He always used to talk about having a place that was really slick. That’s the word he used: slick. He wanted something elegant but masculine, something to compete with the flashy disco clubs that were popular five years ago. Something different than his parents’ sprawling but homely diner, certainly. Sort of like a cognac and cigar bar, before those were even cool. He had a vision.
I stand in the waiting area, looking around. Actually, it’s really nice. Slate floors, casual groupings of oxblood leather wing chairs. An LED-lit bar in black walnut with an excellent selection of rare scotches, from what I see.
So why is this place empty?
I stroll up to the bar, focusing on a Japanese scotch I’ve never gotten around to trying before. The mood I’m in, I feel like I could drink the whole bottle.
After waiting what I think is a polite amount of time, I go to the back of the bar and grab two rocks glasses and the bottle of Kawasaki. I pour three fingers in each, then return to the barstool to wait for what inevitably will happen.
I don’t have to wait very long.
“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing here?”
I don’t look up, just nudge the second glass toward the empty barstool next to me. I hold mine under my nose, inhaling deeply. Japanese whiskeys aren’t quite as earthy as scotch. They’re brighter, a little simpler. And delicious.
“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” Aden snarls, but I hear he’s tired. A little too tired to kick me out, or try to kick my ass. Not that he could, but it’s never stopped him from trying before.
Aden picks up his glass, contemplating the amber liquid for a long time before gulping half of it at once.
“So?” he asks. “What the hell, Ethan? You just decide to drop in? Haven’t you done enough damage already? Christ!”
“I need your help,” I admit. “I’m all out of ideas. I just need your help.”
He shakes his head slowly. “That ship has sailed, Ethan. You wanted my help, you should have come to me like a man. Doing it now… trying to go around her… it’s ridiculous.”
“I’m not trying to go around her. I’m going to do as she asks. I am. I just want you to help me set it up so she never has to worry about anything. She’s not going to like it. She’s going to act too proud to take it. But if you can help me… we can set up a trust. The kids will never have to want for anything. They can go to college… start their own businesses. They’ll have options.”
He squints at me over the rim of his glass, obviously suspicious. “Why do you need my help to do that?”
“Paperwork,” I shrug, figuring I’m at about seventy-five percent honesty here. Could I find this myself? Yes. Do I see a benefit in trying to knock on the Harrison door until somebody gets around to letting me in?
Definitely.
“What kind of paperwork? I can’t afford to take on any more liability, Ethan.”
I look around the bar, sure he’s right. “You put a lot of money into this place,” I nod approvingly. “You did a really good job, by the way. You said you wanted a cool place to hang out. This is it, totally.”
His shoulders slump. “Yeah, well, tell your friends,” he says glumly. “I’m sure I can stay open for another couple of weeks if you guys wanna have a going-away party or something.”
“That bad?”
He takes a deep breath, letting it out with a barely suppressed groan.
“You know how it is,” he sighs. “I had such high hopes. For the neighborhood… for the restaurant… I thought I was making conservative choices, but I might’ve gotten in a little too deep.”
“What? You?” I tease, remembering his habit of getting in too deep to just about everything. “The way I remember it, too deep is practically your middle name.”
“My middle name is actually Ralph,” he informs me.
My eyebrows go up. “Wow, that is a surprise.”
He smiles, his cheeks crinkling like they used to, with dimples up near his eyes. Damn. I realize I haven’t seen him smile in years. Years and years.
“Well, I did buy a house in the neighborhood. Fixer-upper. I’m gonna need a place to eat, Aden. If you close, I’ll be eating a lot of falafel next door. So I need you to stay open.”
He knocks back the rest of his drink, wincing. “It’s too late for that, Ethan. Maybe if you had asked me six months ago…”
“If the doors are open, it’s not too late,” I reply simply. “You would be amazed what a stupid amount of money can accomplish.”
“I bet you’re right,” he chuckles cruelly. “I’m constantly amazed what a stupid amount of stupid has accomplished, anyway.”
We sit in silence for a few seconds. I sort of assume what happened here. Aden started writing checks that the economy couldn’t support, got in too deep, then got his usual attitude problem. He is stubborn, like his sister. When he gets scared, he gets angry.
I bet I could fix the scared part.
“You know, it’s kind of like you stole my idea,” I start.
“Your idea?” he repeats incredulously, snatching the bottle of whiskey and pouring out two more healthy glasses. “I know you’re not referring to my restaurant. What possible part of this could be your idea?”
I casually wave my hand around the empty room. “Well, those armchairs look like the ones in my grandparents’ hunting lodge, remember? We took a weekend up there and drank all the good brandy?”
“They do?” he sniffs, looking over his shoulder. “Well… all those kinds of chairs look the same. That doesn’t count.”
“Sure, it counts,” I shoot back. I’m not sure I’m right about the chairs, but I’m enjoying getting him wound up. It’s just like the old days.
“Whatever,” he mutters.
“And you were never much of a cook,” I remind him, spreading my hand on the bar, watching the light glow between my fingers. “Plus, I am sure I invented this.”
He scowls. “You invented… what?”
I knock on the bar surface that’s slowly changing from blue to violet. “This,” I shrug, like it should be obvious. “The lit bar. This was my idea.”
“The hell it was!” Aden growls, his eyes wide. “Every single detail of this bar, in this whole place, was my idea. Mine. I’ve got notebooks going back to eighth grade for some of this stuff. Recipes I cut out of magazines like a little old lady. This place has been my dream since…”
He stops, his eyes narrow.
I just stare at him.
“You’re just messing with me,” he snarls. “Very funny, Ethan. Why don’t you just go and find someone else to bother?”
“Because there’s nobody else who is going to let me bother them, that’s why,” I sigh, bitterness creeping into my voice. “You should let me bother you, just for old time sake.”
He shrugs, grumbling and drinking and pretending to stare at the TV. We sit there for little while, drinking silently, unsaid complaints passing between us.
“You say you bought a house in this neighborhood?” he finally asks me.
“Oh, yeah. The sky-blue Victorian on the corner, you know it?”
His eyebrows go up and he nods slowly. “Yeah, man. The place is a beast. Gorgeous house.”
“You bet it is,” I agree. “I’ve got some of my guys over there right now, trying to put it back together after what the last owners did. You wouldn’t believe what some people think passes for a bathroom rehab.”
“Oh yeah I would!” he protests. “You should see the upstairs of this building. The owner gutted it to the studs and then fitted it back up with frickin’ IKEA cabinets.”
“No he didn’t!”
“God’s honest truth,” Aden says solemnly. I hear real sorrow in his voice. He’s always had respect for architecture. “Ripped out all the walnut cabinetry, pocket doors and everything. It’s crazy. It’s criminal, practically.”
“Think I should buy it?”
He glances at me sidelong.
“I don’t want your money, Ethan.”
“It’s not a gift. It’s an investment,” I counter. “I could buy the building, and give you a year’s worth of free rent. You fix up the upstairs, use your cash flow to reinvest in your restaurant, start marketing this place. I mean, seriously, it’s embarrassing that this place is empty.”
“Tell me about it,” he groans.
“You can totally turn it around. I’ll bring some people here, help you get some buzz going. Do you have enough cash flow to limp through the next few months? Get everything back together?”
He squints at me, mentally puzzling it out. He realizes I’m not offering him a handout—he’s too proud for that. But I am offering him a reboot. Something too valuable to pass up.
“Why do you want to do this?” Aden asks quietly, rolling the glass between his fingers.
I have to think about it for a long time. Why is it such a hard question answer? Why this block? Why this building? Well, why not? It might make more sense to ask why I waited so long?
“Because I love her, Aden,” I finally answer, finding that the simplest words are the truest. “I don’t know how to tell her. I should have told her a hundred different times, but it almost seemed too obvious to say out loud. She doesn’t think I do. You’ll probably never believe me either. But I love her. I can’t stand the thought of doing anything less than everything I can to make her happy.”
Aden nods, chewing the inside of his cheek. He makes a fist and presses his knuckles against the bar, hard, flexing his forearms. When he finally gets up, his face is confused, hurt.
“What? What did I say?” I ask, concerned he is going to hit me.
“I thought you were going to tell me you’re in love with me,” he growls, his voice cracking at the end as he breaks into a smile.
“You’re a real jerk, you know that?”
His smile gets broader, revealing that chipped front tooth from the time he fell off his skateboard into the statuary the end of the driveway.
“You think I’m a jerk, you should talk to my landlord!” he laughs, his cheeks flushed. I can’t help it; I laugh along with him. I have missed this guy. Now that we’re talking, I can see the hole in my heart that I’ve lived with since we stopped being friends. A hole that feels a little less empty right now.
Chapter Twenty-Two
AVA
Dr. Lopez knocks on the door of the examination room, letting herself in with a flourish. Her white coat billows behind her, revealing her smart, professionally tailored dress and those killer pumps that she’s always wearing. Her ankles are so thin and bony, I’m instantly seething with jealousy.
“Ava!” she singsongs happily, so happily I want to strangle her with her stethoscope. “You look amazing!”