by Cranford, B.
My eyes flew to him, at once on alert. “No. No, not once.” I tilted my head, thinking about my reactions and wondering—was that the truth? I had exactly zero problem with women making their own choices about abortion, but given my situation, I could honestly say that it had never been a consideration.
Damn, I was lucky.
Except him asking me about it made me wonder about his own feelings on it. “Why? Do you not want it?” I held my breath, afraid the answer would set us back—or worse, end us altogether.
“I do. I’m still processing it, obviously, but yeah, I wouldn’t have wanted you to . . .” He trailed off with a shrug and, without adding anything else, he started to move around his kitchen, putting the kettle on, dropping a couple of pieces of bread into the toaster, setting an array of condiments out on the table. After a minute, he handed me a glass of water. “Whenever I was sick growing up, Mum would make me slowly drink water after. So I didn’t get dehydrated.”
“Thanks.” I lifted it to my lips, my eyes trained on him as he went to grab the now-ready toast. I loved watching him move—the way his muscles played under his T-shirt, the way his ass looked in the same delicious gray sweatpants he’d been wearing on the airplane.
“You want some toast?”
“Um, yeah, okay. That’d be good, thanks.”
It was still awkward. Gone were the comfortable silences we’d shared in the past, where words weren’t necessary. My return and subsequent apology lingered between us still and may yet for a while. I had to accept that—I’d made this uncomfortable bed, and now I had to lie in it.
Call it atonement.
Closing my eyes to ward off the discomfort, I thought about the things left to say, left to figure out, and whether it would be enough to bring us back to where we’d been.
I hoped so. God, how I hoped so. The fact that we had glimmers of it throughout our talk so far gave me a reason to be optimistic. He hadn’t dismissed me immediately, he’d taken the time to joke with me, he’d listened to me, even if he hadn’t actually accepted anything from me yet.
“Grab a seat. I’ll bring it over in a sec.” He gestured to the table and I fleetingly thought how funny it was that we were back where we almost started—I’d asked if we could go somewhere more comfortable and then, well, then there’d been the pregnancy revelation.
He hadn’t really reacted like I’d expected him to when I told him about the baby. I’d been sure that he’d pepper me with questions, starting with “Is it mine?” and going from there. But of course he’d surprise me, react in a way counter to my thinking. Part of me was still processing everything through a Mason filter—and expecting Lucas to react the way my ex would was the highest order of stupid.
“Bianca?” Lucas handed me my toast and sat down in the chair next to me. Almost immediately, his fingers beginning a tapping rhythm on the tabletop. Index finger, middle finger, ring finger, index finger twice. One, two, three, tap-tap. One, two, three, tap-tap.
“Yeah?”
“Whatever happens next, I want—I mean, please let me be a part of this with you.”
His expression was on the edge of pain, his words laced with hope and I hated myself anew for giving him a reason to doubt me. “Of course, you’ll be part of it, if you want to be. You don’t have to ask.”
Eyes narrowing, he said, “Pretty girl, your first reaction was to leave me out of it. To stop talking to me entirely—not just not mention it but cut me off completely. I kind of feel like I do have to ask.”
I reared back, ready to lash out, but he didn’t stop talking long enough for me to defend myself.
“I promised Ashton I’d hear you out. Did she tell you that?”
I shook my head, not speaking because I sensed that he needed this. To purge his anger, to say his piece.
“I really thought I knew you, or that I was close to knowing you. At the very least, I didn’t think you’d just leave me in the dark like that. Not about something so important. And now I can’t quite balance it. I’m torn between wanting to pull you closer and wanting to push you away so you’d know what it felt like. And I know that that’s wrong. That it would be two wrongs not making a right. I don’t even know if I’d be able to do it because I want so much with you. I want this baby and I want you in my life and when I opened the door earlier and it was you, it felt right and good and like you’d been here all along. So now I feel like I need to question everything. Everything.”
It was a metaphorical punch to the stomach, and nothing less than I deserved. But only once—I could accept and respect his need to purge his frustration and worry and anger, but I also wasn’t about to become a punching bag. “Lucas, I—”
He raked his fingers across his head, linking them at the back and bringing his elbows together in front of his face. “Stay. Stay here, don’t leave again, okay?” Opening his arms so I could see his face, I couldn’t help but notice the uncertainty there. “It’s my Saturday off and I promised my dad I’d go over there today and help out with a few things and I want to do that and also talk to him about this.”
“Okay.”
“I need time to think about it.”
“I understand.” And I did. I’d done what I’d come back here to do, which was apologize and ask for forgiveness. Everything else had to wait until he’d had what I’d given myself without thought to him—time.
The ball was in his court now.
20
Lucas
Standing, I turned to leave, but one burning question presented itself, and I didn’t want to leave without knowing the answer. “What did it say, the email that arsehole sent you?”
She didn’t hesitate to answer me. “That he was getting married again and that Vanessa, his fiancée, I guess, was everything he wanted and had never had. That”—she formed air quotes—“‘despite my failings’ I deserved a second chance too.”
“Wanker,” I muttered, clenching my hands into tight fists so that if he happened to inexplicably appear in front of me, I could belt the shit out of him. “And?”
She shrugged. “And . . . nothing. It hurt to read it, because it was so cold and so cruel and so impersonally personal. He found my weak spot and reminded me that I’d failed. That I’d been discarded by someone who was supposed to love me forever. To cherish me and all that bullshit.” Her laugh was subdued. “I know it’s not an excuse for what I did to you,” she reiterated, looking at me though dark eyes that held a wealth of regret.
I crouched down in front of her chair, instinct telling me to keep pressing despite the fact that I felt the need to get away. To process. “I still feel like there’s something else. Is there?”
A brief look of defiance gave way to the truth. “They’re having a baby too.”
Reaching for her, I cupped her face and drew her down for a kiss. “It hurt, huh?”
“It was a shock, more than anything. The timing of it and . . .” She trailed off and I let her. This revelation was just one more to add to what she’d shared so far.
Standing and planting one more kiss on her before releasing her, I took a step back. “I’m going to go to Mum and Dad’s now, but I’ll be back. I promise.”
I left her sitting in my kitchen, and though I climbed into my car and headed in their direction, I didn’t go to my parents’ place. I’d promised I would and so I would, but I couldn’t bring myself to face them right away.
Bianca was back and she made me feel as sure as ever about her. About what we could be for one another. Except now it was lost in a tsunami of feelings about her silence and her choices and her apology.
An email from her ex. A pregnancy. Hormones. Confusion about her past and her future, and where she was supposed to be. Who she was supposed to be.
On the surface, I understood. I did. I knew she’d been through a lot, and I liked to think of myself as an understanding kind of guy. But beneath that surface, I didn’t understand at-fucking-all.
Did she think I was like him? That idiot Mason
who didn’t appreciate her and cheated on her and lost her.
There were so many people I wanted to talk to about what was happening between Bianca and me. People I knew would offer good advice, probably kind words, or in the case of my friends, endless shit for falling for yet another girl. But none of those people were Bianca, and even though she was the one who hurt me—she was also the one I wanted to talk to most.
I wasn’t prepared to let her walk away; I knew that much. But that didn’t suddenly morph my anger into some small manageable thing in the same way her apology didn’t immediately wipe the slate clean.
She once asked me for time. Now it was my turn. And that was fair, wasn’t it?
A baby. We were having a baby, so I needed to find a way to get past this all. I had to. Yes, I was pissed off; I had a right to be, given how carelessly I’d been treated. But didn’t I also owe it to her to try to understand where she was coming from? After all, she hadn’t shied away from telling me about her problems and her issues and her past.
At least, she hadn’t until she’d been hit with a one-two slam. Hip-and-shouldered by life, finding out she was pregnant and getting an email from her dickhead of an ex. It would’ve been a lot to take even if it’d just been the email, right? Add pregnancy hormones to it, and I could kinda, maybe, halfway understand the need to hide away.
Think, you arsehole. I wanted to be able to remember the reasons why I should give her the benefit of the doubt.
No. Not the benefit of the doubt. To just accept that she hadn’t been thinking or not thinking about me but rather trying to come to terms with back-to-back shocks after the upheaval of her life, the end of her marriage.
What the fuck did I know about marriage? It’s not like I’d ever made it that far, even though I’d considered it. Even though I’d been convinced more than once that a woman was “the one.” Sappy bastard that I was.
I shook out my hands, bringing my car to a stop in the car park of the beach that was within cooee of my parents’ place. As in, close enough that I could probably talk this out with them if only I spoke loudly enough. The sand was spotted with people and I knew that as the day progressed more and more would appear to enjoy the still-warm weather. Despite the fact I was highly unlikely to meet anyone I knew, I still decided to avoid the sand and the people, instead taking up a spot leaning against the bonnet of my car.
My foot tapped restlessly, my mind inspecting everything that had happened that morning—and in the last few weeks—from all possible angles. Against my leg, my phone vibrated with a message and, thinking it might be my parents wondering where I was, I grabbed it. Except it wasn’t my parents.
Bianca: I know you’re busy, but I wanted you to know that, despite the way I handled everything, I wanted to be able to come back here, to you, and know I was making the right choice for the right reasons. With no doubt about who I was and what I wanted.
Adding that insight to my already fluctuating thoughts, I asked her something that I needed to know the answer to right away.
Lucas: And what is it you want?
Bianca: You and me and our baby. Together. That’s all I want.
Bianca: Well, I could also probably use some of that cereal you gave me once before. Coco Pops? But that’s negotiable.
Lucas: LOL. I’ll grab some before I come home.
Bianca: Thank you.
There was a weight to her thank you—an acknowledgement—that I recognized even though she didn’t implicitly state it. And because I didn’t know how to respond exactly, I decided to lean into an old refrain that I hoped would give her a laugh.
Lucas: For the record, your ex is—and I can’t stress this enough—a cunt.
I watched as Bianca’s reply bubbled on the screen, though nothing ever came through. She’d seen my message, but for whatever reason had decided not to reply, and that was okay. I smiled at the thought of her trying to come up with some response and then deciding that, nah, there was nothing to say to it.
It wasn’t like I’d lied, was it?
Plus, maybe she was just giving me the space I needed.
* * *
After staying put for a few more minutes, I left my car in the car park and walked toward my parents’ place. Like I said, it was within cooee of the beach and that means an easy walking distance. Knocking but entering before anyone came to greet me, I called, “Mum? Dad?” to get a bead on where they were. Except my words echoed through the house and back at me—making it clear they weren’t inside.
At least, I didn’t think so.
“Mum? Dad? You here?” I called again, heading toward the kitchen. I couldn’t help but wonder how they’d react to the news that they were going to be grandparents—they knew I liked Bianca, that I wanted to make a future with her, but I had no doubt they weren’t expecting it to happen so soon. Especially since they didn’t even know she was back yet.
“Hey guys?” I could hear movement, which meant they must be nearby—if not inside then perhaps just outside. Maybe, I thought, they’d already started on the jobs they wanted me to help with. Except that wasn’t it at all.
I came into the kitchen with my mouth open to ask why they hadn’t responded, but quickly slammed my hand over my eyes instead. “What the fuck?”
Behind my eyelids, the image of my mum—my mother—laid out was trying to burn itself in place, ensuring I would never forget it. Hurried sounds of scraping chairs, or perhaps the table greeted my ears, as well as low laughter from my dad. “Lucas, we, ah, weren’t expecting you yet.”
One hand still covering my eyes, I reached behind me with the other to feel for the safety of the doorway. “Weren’t expecting me? You asked me to come!” The word “come” lingered in the air and I briefly wondered if my parents made the same connection to it that I did. I bloody well hoped not, but given the way my dad’s chuckle got louder, I reckon he must have.
Dirty old bastard.
“To be fair,” my mum started, sounding breathless, “Bianca told us she was back and going to talk to you. We assumed we wouldn’t see you.”
It took a moment or two for the words to sink in, mainly because I was using a large portion of my brain power to scrub clean my memories of my dad screwing my mum on the kitchen table.
I’d eaten off that table. Jesus, I hoped they had hospital grade disinfectant.
“You talked to Bianca?” I asked after a lag. “She called you or . . . ?” I trailed off, letting my question hang in the air.
“You can uncover your eyes now, baby boy,” Mum said gently.
“No, I don’t think I will yet, thanks. Maybe not ever again.”
Dad kept laughing—I don’t think he’d stopped since I’d yelled my surprise—and Mum muttered something to him that sounded suspiciously like, “I told you to lock the front door.”
“I have a key,” I pointed out. “Now, what about Bianca?”
“Come back in here and sit down. I’ll get you something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” I replied, but moved back into the kitchen slowly, my hand still firmly in place. “And I’m not eating at that table ever again.”
“Lucas,” my mum huffed.
I sighed, resigned to live through this god-awful situation, and with it for the rest of my natural life. “Is everyone decent?”
“Barely,” my dad muttered through his laughter, making a smile twitch on my lips. Even though I was 98% mortified to have caught my parents banging on the table, I was also starting to appreciate the humor of it all.
I was also a little bit envious that my parents were having more sex than me. But I sure as shit wasn’t going to mention that to them.
Ever.
Finally dropping my hand, I eyed the room warily. My mum was spraying the table with a bottle of Nifti—the smell of it not only covered the *shudder* scent of sex in the air, but also reminded me of growing up with Mum wiping down the bench and table every day. Dad, meanwhile, was watching Mum bend over and reach for the furthest corner wi
th an appreciative look in his eyes.
“Dad, don’t. Please, for the love of god, don’t.”
He didn’t say anything, but he did shrug and give me a look that I assumed was supposed to make me think he couldn’t help himself.
Lecherous prick.
“That’s my mother,” I pointed out.
He shrugged again. “Yeah, well, she’s my wife.”
There was so much pride and love in his voice that I thought again—for the millionth time—that what they had was what I wanted. I mean, not my kid walking in on me fucking my wife, but the fact was, my parents still wanted and needed each other. Their love hadn’t faded or fallen down at the first hurdle. Or the second. Or the eleventh.
They were still going strong, still into each other. I wanted that.
With Bianca.
Which reminded me. “Seriously, though. Tell me about Bianca. How did you know she was back?”
“She called your dad last night, to get your address. I think she stayed in Geelong overnight.”
Geelong. She’d been less than two hours away last night when I’d gone to bed, still wondering when she’d be back. I stared at Dad. “Wait, she had your number but not my address?”
“I sent her a message, remember? When you couldn’t reach her.” He pulled out a chair and sat down, grabbing Mum’s hand as she started to move away from the table. Pulling her back toward him, he stretched up from his seated position to give her a kiss on the cheek and whisper in her ear. Whatever he said made her blush, and a pang pinched me in the heart.
I needed to get my head right, push past my anger with Bianca so we could have that.
“Anyway, that’s how she had my number. And I’m guessing she didn’t have your address because she hadn’t needed it. It’s not like she was sending you letters and postcards, was it? She probably assumed she’d be with you the next time she came back.”