by Josie Wright
“Good, thanks.” I keep my voice even, void of any emotion. That wasn’t so bad. I believe I sounded fairly civil.
I don’t look at him, instead I turn back to finish preparing breakfast. Dave heads to the fridge, searching its contents. He pulls a slice of left-over pizza from its box before closing the fridge. The way he eats, I swear he must have a tapeworm.
“Didn’t you just come back from eating out?” I ask, giving my brother an incredulous look.
“Like that’s ever stopped him,” Ben says, snatching the pizza from my brother and taking a bite, but staring at me, a smile tugging at his lips. Because my body is a damn traitor, my eyes move to his of their own accord, and when our eyes meet, his smile grows bigger and I just know he did this to get a reaction out of me. To make me pay attention to him. And of course I did. I could kick myself right now.
Thankfully my brother comes to my rescue, unknowingly but nonetheless helpful. He elbows Ben in the stomach and grabs the pizza out of his hand, taking a bite.
“Dude, you eating the slice of pizza I just took a bite out of is like you’re French-kissing me.” Though he’s talking to Dave, Ben is still only looking at me.
“Not cool, man. Not cool.” Dave drops the pizza slice into the trash, glowering at Ben, and I finally look away.
Just when I think the situation is under control and I can relax, Dave turns to Ben. “I’ll quickly hop in the shower, but then we’re on for our gaming session.” He turns around and leaves the kitchen. Asshole.
Suddenly, the air feels heavy. Our breathing and the sizzling of the bacon are the only sounds in the kitchen. I bite the inside of my cheek and pick at my thumb nail, like I always do when I’m nervous. I don’t want to talk to him or be alone with him. I know we’ll have to talk at some point. But not now. Not today. Maybe not this month, or this year. Not even this decade, if it’s up to me. I had imagined so often how it would be if we saw each other again and what I would say to him. None of these fantasies had me being ambushed with his presence in my parents’ house. There is no way I can talk to him here. But he doesn’t seem to feel the same way.
While I concentrate on the scrambled eggs and bacon, he suddenly stands next to me, close enough for me to feel the heat of his body. His closeness throws me off, causing me to tense up and clench my jaw.
“Frankie, I think we should...”
I don’t let him finish, instead I yell like a banshee “Dad, breakfast is ready.”
Thankfully, my dad must have been just around the corner, as he strides into the kitchen not a second later with Archer in his arms. It really makes for a change that I’m happy to see him. Ben gives me a pained look, but doesn’t say anything else.
I put a plate full of food in front of my dad and grab Archer.
“I will go meet up with a friend for a bit. I’ll help mom in the kitchen when I get back.”
With that, I storm off upstairs to feed, change, and dress Archer and get dressed myself. Faster than a whirlwind I’m out the door, needing some air to breathe. There were too many emotions swirling inside of me in the past twelve hours, and for once, I have a hard time tackling them head on. I would much rather stick my head in the sand and wait for it all to be over.
Obviously, I don’t want to show up unannounced at anyone’s door on Thanksgiving. Instead, I drive to the mall and have a stroll through it with Archer. A lot of fond memories come to my mind as I walk through the stores. I had spent countless hours with my friends here, shopping or just hanging out. We were such a crazy bunch, always up to no good—nothing illegal—but we were mischievous little assholes.
After two hours of aimless wandering and buying a few books for Archer and me, I decide to hit the road.
Just as I step into the parking lot, I hear the tell-tale noises of a good old-fashioned Harley. I can’t help but grin when it stops in front of me.
“Drake,” I smile up to the guy straddling the Harley. How he’s not frozen to the bone on top of that thing, with nothing on over his jeans and sweatshirt but a leather jacket, is beyond me. His dark hair is short on the sides and a bit longer on top, tousled by the wind. His brown eyes always seem to hold an invitation to get down and dirty with him.
“Frankie, you still remember me.” It’s not a question but a statement.
“Um, well, I don’t suffer from Alzheimer’s and it hasn’t been that long. And you know, the guy that deflowers you on top of his Harley isn’t that easy to forget.”
He starts laughing and it sounds a little bit like the roar of his machine.
“Yeah, it was a few damn good rides. Care for another? The seat is still warm.”
“I’m sure you managed to keep it warm and busy. But I’ll have to decline. My ride is a bit more soccer mom, and a bit less wild thing these days.”
He just now seems to notice Archer for the first time, who is hypnotized by the sound and shiny chrome of the bike. Yeah, you are definitely your momma’s boy.
Drake’s eyes shoot to me and he looks like a deer caught in the headlights.
“It’s not mine, is it?”
At this, I can’t help but break out into a fit of laughter. I laugh so hard I can barely breathe. Archer looks at me a bit puzzled, like he’s unsure if he should be scared and cry, or if he should laugh along. When I look up at Drake and find him glaring at me, it doesn’t really help with the laughing. The big bad biker is shitting his pants because he might be a daddy.
“No, I can guarantee you that you are not this baby’s father. I can’t say that about all the other babies in this town, but mine isn’t yours.” I honestly question his math skills, considering the last time I was on top of that Harley and underneath Drake was before I went off to college.
“Thank fuck. Can you imagine me changing diapers?”
I shake my head. He definitely isn’t father material. Not yet, at least. But then, you never know what talents lie dormant inside of you until you are forced to use them. I wouldn’t have seen myself as a mother two years ago either, and look at me now. Archer is all that matters to me these days.
After a few more minutes of small talk, Drake and I say goodbye. It was good seeing him again. He brings a kind of lightness into your life, no matter the situation. He’s the type to just go with the flow and see what the day brings. That tends to rub off on the people that meet him, and it gives me a bit of a break from the emotional roller-coaster I’m currently on.
We had been dating for quite a while when I was sixteen and he was eighteen. He was the typical bad boy and my teenage rebel heart couldn’t come up with a more romantic boyfriend. But then you get older and realize living into the day just doesn’t work all that well in the long-run, no matter how positive the attitude. But today, I soak it up and take it with me as I make my way back to my parents’ house.
I sing to Archer the whole way home. Not some children’s songs. My son grows up with decent music. Well, at least when he ignores my voice and just listens to the song. During the short ride, he’s had to listen to my rendition of “Sweet Dreams” by Eurythmics, Eric Clapton’s “Tears In Heaven,” that was interrupted by my sobs that are usually brought on by this song, and “Try” by Pink. He seems to find my singing amusing, if his giggles are any indication. Or what’s more likely, he is laughing at me. Either way, we arrive at my parents’ house laughing and giggling.
Chapter 3
Thanksgiving Dinner In Hell
Thankfully, my mom doesn’t need any help in the kitchen and instead of socializing with the guys, I decide to lay down with Archer for his nap.
The good mood from the visit to the mall only lasts until dinner though. As I come down the stairs, I can already see that Ben has the seat opposite of mine. In that moment, I’m thankful for having started Archer on solid food, which I know will keep me busy since he likes to share his food with everything and everyone that doesn’t run away fast enough.
As we all sit down, my father starts saying grace. Not that I have seen any of them
go to church since I can remember, but for the holidays, both my parents suddenly seem to have this deep connection with God. I have a hard time not rolling my eyes, so instead I look around the room. That is until my eyes meet Ben’s. His stare bores through me and it feels like it’s going to crack me open and spill my broken heart onto the table. I quickly break eye contact and look down onto my plate, aware that he’s still looking at me.
Fortunately, as we start eating, everyone else engages in a conversation about football, while I’m busy stuffing my face with roasted potatoes and veggies, at the same time feeding Archer his carrots and peas.
Just when I think that this dinner might be peaceful and relaxed, Ben suddenly addresses me, “So Frankie, you have a baby? How did that happen?”
He stares at me, his lips a strained line and his eyebrows furrowed. Thanks to the pure rage boiling inside of me for him feeling the need to ask such a ridiculous question, I can hold his gaze, while shooting daggers at him with my eyes.
Before I can tell him that they had them on sale at the supermarket, or ask him if he missed that many biology classes, my father pipes up and makes me want to stab myself in the eye with the fork. Or him. I’m not that picky.
“You see, Ben, our daughter thought it would be a good idea to go and get herself pregnant. But that is what happens when you sleep around; you become a single mother and everyone thinks you have loose morals. We don’t even know who fathered our grandson, although we suspect it was her married professor. Not the type of man to bring home to your parents.”
“And we are back on the ‘our daughter is a raging whore’ show. Tonight we present you the same old shit as usual. And just for the fucking record, I know damn well who the father is. I just choose to not disclose that information. But it definitely isn’t my professor.” Harsh words? Maybe. But this is what the constant criticism and insults will do to you.
“How about some manners at the table?” Dad growls, while Dave rolls his eyes. There hasn’t been a peaceful meal in this house since my uterus became home to a little peanut.
My mom ignores both me and my dad. Instead, she joins the conversation lamenting her woes and sorrows to someone that hasn’t heard them before.
“Don’t get me wrong, Ben. We love our grandson. It would have been nice though, if Frankie could have done things a bit more traditionally, and a bit less her way. Archer is such a happy little boy. I guarantee you, you’ll fall in love with him over the weekend. It’s impossible not to. He’s nine months now and he’s the smartest little boy I’ve ever seen.”
“Hey, what about me?” Dave pipes up in mock outrage, but is ignored by everyone at the table.
At my mom’s last comment, I can see the cogs turning in Ben’s head, counting back. His face turns serious and he lowers the fork back to the plate. My heart speeds up and my hands get clammy. I wish there would be a fire alarm I could pull, or an ejector seat would be a nice option as well. Anything to stop this conversation from continuing. I know this isn’t going to end well. And just when I think my mom will shut up and concentrate on chewing her food, she decides to twist the knife she unknowingly stabbed in my back.
“You know, we all missed you so much, Ben. Even Frankie did. I think that’s why she gave Archer your name as the middle name, to always let you be part of the family. We all thought that was such a great idea.”
I recognize the moment when he finally puts two and two together and the truth hits him square in the face. He closes his eyes for a moment before looking straight at me. His face a mask of confusion, pain, anger, and what looks like hope. I, on my part, feel like dying.
I’ve wanted to tell him, and I knew I had to tell him, but this isn’t how it was supposed to go. In that moment I regret that he isn’t some dumb wit with a matching IQ, that I can’t fool him even if I wanted to. I feel cornered, despite everyone else being oblivious to what just transpired. Bile is rising up in my throat as my stomach is turning over with emotions, and my heart is pounding so loud and violently, I can hear the blood rushing in my ears.
My parents and Dave are already engaging in a conversation about the stupid names stars give their children these days. Only Ben and I are silent. I can see so many questions in his eyes and I feel like each one of them burns right through me. I feel the tears pricking at my eyes and can’t take it any longer. I move the chair out a bit too fast, nearly making it fall over. I catch it just in time.
“Excuse me for a moment. Mom, can you watch Archer, please?”
Everyone ignores me, everyone but him. I can feel his stare following me all the way towards the stairs. I enter my old room and lock the door, going straight to the bathroom, where I splash cold water in my face. I feel a bit dizzy with the adrenaline coursing through my system. My heart beats like a crazy drum and I can’t hold back the tears anymore.
Fuck, I should have stayed in Northampton. I go back into the room and get my cell phone from the nightstand and dial the only number I can in this situation.
“What’s up, my dear?”
“Dean,” I sob into the phone. “He’s here. Ben, he’s here. And he knows.”
There is a moment of silence, before I hear Dean’s voice speak again.
“Shit. This isn’t good. How are you feeling?”
“Like I want to scream, cry, grab my shit and run for dear life.”
“Do you need me to come there?”
“Want yes. But it’s enough that my Thanksgiving is hell. No need for you to be dragged into this drama. I just...I just don’t know what to do. How to behave.”
“But you talked to him already. What did he say?”
“No, he—he doesn’t know it officially. I just think he put two and two together when my mom was going off on one of her rants. I...God, Dean, I can’t talk to him. I’m such a mess. I am so angry, so hurt.” I sniffle, trying to get the sobbing under control.
“Oh Frankie, but you knew that this was coming one day. Better today, then ten years from now. Take a moment for yourself and breathe. It’ll be alright. As difficult as it feels, I know you’re strong and can handle this. You’re tough—this is just a mere bump in the road, nothing to even slow you down.”
I let out a shuddering breath, hearing his encouragement and his unwavering faith in me. I sit up a bit straighter, willing the strength he mentioned to the surface.
“If you start singing Jewel’s “Good Day,” I might have to hurt you—physically.”
Dean chuckles and the sound gives me a little bit of calm. No matter what happens here, I have him and the others to go back to. They’ll help me pick up the pieces, like they’ve done in the past.
“I love you.” I wipe my tears away with the back of my hand before running it over my jeans to dry it off.
“I love you too. I’m proud of you. And I’m always here for you. Now go, take care of that bump in the road and get your ass back here so we can sit and watch sappy movies while drinking tea. Alex is no good for that. And call me before bed, ok?”
“Ok.”
I lay back on the bed for a few moments until my emotions aren’t on a rampage anymore. I get up, straighten out my clothes and remove the make-up so I don’t look like a panda and then I open my door.
As I’m about to enter the hallway, someone grabs my arm. I don’t need to look to know who it is.
“Not now,” is all I mutter before yanking away my hand.
“Fuck, Frankie, we need to talk,” he sounds angry and desperate at the same time, trying to get a hold of my wrist again. There’s an urgency to his words that makes me pause for a second.
“I can’t. Not now,” my voice trembles and I rush downstairs, leaving him standing in the hallway.
I can’t do this now. I’m holding on by a very thin, frayed thread. And I don’t want to come undone.
For the rest of the night, we all sit around in the living room. Mom plays with Archer, while Dad and Dave talk football. I just sit there staring into space, fearing the conversation that I
know will happen sooner or later. I don’t want to show Ben how much he hurt me, but I’m not sure that I’m strong enough not to crumble. The few times that I make the mistake of looking around the room, I notice Ben either watching Archer, or looking at me, and I can tell he’s itching to ask a million questions.
But he isn’t the only one; I have questions of my own to ask. When I tried to ask at some point during dinner where the hell he has been for the past eighteen months, my mother just gave me a disapproving look and chastised me, “What does it matter? He is back and healthy and safe.”
He didn’t feel it necessary to answer himself. Instead he just looked down at his plate, like it is the last question he wants to hear. Well, that was good and satisfying.
I have another question for him. A few to be exact. And he won’t like any of them. But I’m not sure I’m courageous enough to ask. Why did he leave? Why didn’t he at least say goodbye? Why didn’t that night mean anything to him?
***
People always complain about how their life changes when they have a baby. Not being able to go out to parties and stay out late. I personally don’t mind it at all, especially right now, I’m thankful that it’s Archer’s bedtime.
“Archer, time for bed.”
“I can bring him to bed,” Mom suggests, “Then you can stay downstairs and socialize.”
“No, thanks Mom. He doesn’t always sleep through yet. I’m quite tired too, so I’ll just go to bed myself.”
“Man, I thought the three of us could go out for some beers and have some fun like back in the old days,” Dave jokingly pouts, his eyes giving away his amusement while he looks between Ben and me.
“Sorry, Dave. I really need some sleep. Archer is like a little ball of energy most of the time...crawling everywhere. I feel like I’m working out twelve hours a day. But you and Ben have fun.”