Dysfunctional Hearts

by L. S. Pullen

  “Firstly, I owe you an apology,” he says, causing my jaw to drop. I quickly close my mouth, unsure how to even reply.

  “Do you know why I’m here?”

  I shake my head. I have an inkling, but considering Charlie’s relationship with his Dad is strained at best, I’m not quite sure.

  His eyes move to my belly then back to my face. “I’m here because you’re having my grandchild.”

  I clutch my hands together, my skin becoming damp.

  “Did Charlie tell you?” I ask, finding my nerve.

  “Yes, he was… upset you hadn’t told him sooner.”

  I shake my head. “It’s complicated, it still is.”

  He reaches for the cake and cuts a piece off. He pops it into his mouth, and his eyes go wide as he chews then swallows. “You made this?” he asks.

  “I did.”

  “It’s delicious. My wife used to bake and cook up a storm. Did Charlie ever tell you that?”

  I clear my throat, “Thank you, and yes, he did.”

  “I want to ask you if you’ll allow me to be part of my grandchild’s life. I want to spend this time getting to know you a little better. I didn’t make the best first impression when we met, and for that, I’m extremely sorry.”

  “How does Charlie feel about this?” I ask.

  “I’m working on my relationship with him, for now. That’s something that will take time. God only knows I haven’t been the best father, but I hope I can at least be a worthy grandfather.”

  I swallow hard. The honesty of his statement was the last thing I expected.

  “You need to tell Charlie. There have been too many secrets between us already.”

  He agrees, and our conversation moves on to a lighter note. It’s surreal, this whole thing, totally unexpected and yet, appreciated. He insists on paying before he leaves and adds a huge tip to the jar on the counter, asking if it’s okay to come by again. I agree.

  Knowing my baby will likely have at least one grandparent present in its life gives me something I haven’t felt in a long time—a small glimmer of hope.

  Chapter 40

  Charlie

  My phone rings and I swipe the screen, pulling it to my ear. There’s a pause, followed by a release of breath. I know it’s her before she even speaks. It happens like that—you sense them before you hear or even see them. It’s easy once they’ve taken root in your soul.

  Her voice sounds as tired as I feel. I swallow the awkward breath; I want to take her in my arms, but then I remind myself why I won’t. She’s left details of the next scan. I clench my fist. I’m going. Of course, I am. But I won’t be telling her that.

  I can’t remember the last time I was this kind of nervous. Outside the entrance of the hospital, I find myself pacing—again.

  And then I feel her.

  I see her walking with her head down, shielding her face from the wind, hugging her coat close to her body. And what hits me is how she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. I pull in a deep breath before exhaling.

  She stops ahead of me like she sensed me. Our eyes connect. A whole list of emotions is reflected in them before her shield goes up and she firmly straps her armour back in place, blinking them away.

  “You came?” she asks. Her voice sounds almost relieved.

  It’s a statement of fact. Clearly, I did, but I nod anyway. I signal with my free hand for her to go ahead and then stuff it in my pocket. I can’t have my hands idle, or I’ll be tempted to reach out to her. When she starts to walk ahead, I follow with my head down.

  She registers at reception, and we’re directed to the fourth floor. And in the most uncomfortable silence there ever was, we take the elevator. We take a seat in the waiting area. I’ve never seen her so fidgety before; her leg bounces as she strangles the strap of her handbag in her lap.

  Rubbing my chin, I consider trying to calm her nerves. I’m refraining from reaching out my hand and placing it on her knee, and I hold my tongue. I’m not ready to talk to her, not yet.

  Her name is called, and she lets out a breath before she stands. Taking a couple of steps, she pauses and stares back to me. “Are you coming?”

  I nod and follow her into the examination room.

  I watch her as she lays back on the bed; her hands tremble. The good guy in me wants to tell her everything will be all right. But I don’t know it will be. I’m still wrapping my head around the fact in less than six months, I’ll be a dad, holding my baby in my arms.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them, they connect with pools of bewilderment and worry. Sophie’s eyes say so much more than her silence. This isn’t about me. It’s about her and our baby. Without a word, I step towards her and reach for her hand.

  Her breath catches, she inhales a deep breath. Her nostrils slightly flare as she works hard to control her breathing. I can see the beating of her chest. She’s being asked questions, and I try to listen, but I keep getting pulled back into a deep, dark well full of thoughts, doubts, and worry.

  The woman has a weird wand, and after adding a good dollop of gel, and smudging it over her slightly rounded belly there’s an echo, and then I hear it, a hard strong—

  thump, thump…

  thump, thump…

  thump, thump…

  A heartbeat.

  My eyes spring to her face; my thoughts are mirrored in her expression. That’s our baby. I squeeze her hand tighter than I should, but she makes no move to pull away. If anything she squeezes back—a joint anchor.

  I’m overwhelmed with something so profound, it’s a struggle to connect one coherent thought with another.

  I lean down. Her eyes flutter closed as tears leak down the side of her face, and I press my lips firmly to her forehead. I close my eyes and breathe her in. When I pull back, the nurse is talking and wiping her belly. It’s quiet now without the background noise of the baby’s heartbeat.

  The clock ticks aggressively. I want to be out of here, out of this room. It’s too hot, muggy, everything is quickly closing in around me.

  I let go of her hand and step away until my back hits the wall. I lean back, crossing my ankles, and stuff my hands in my pockets.

  The nurse prints a picture and hands it to Sophie. She clears her throat and asks if we can have another one. The nurse smiles and obliges.

  Finally, outside, I take a huge gulp of air like I’ve been underwater for too long.

  Fingers wrap around my shoulder, “Are you okay?” Sophie asks hesitantly.

  I only nod and straighten.

  “Where did you park?” I ask. It’s the first time I’ve spoken a word to her since we arrived. I feel like an absolute dick.

  “Second-floor car park,” she says, angling her head back to the multi-storey opposite the hospital.

  “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  With a resigned sigh, she begins walking. I’m half a step behind her. Approaching her car, she stops and turns to me. But without really seeing me.

  “Here.” She holds out the folded card with one of the sonograms inside.

  My hand raises with a slight tremble, and I take it from her.

  She steps away. “Thanks for coming, Charlie.”

  I say nothing in return. I’m worried if I do it will all come out wrong, or my words will mirror my internal struggle.

  Eyes cast down, she unlocks her car and gets in. I wait until she starts her engine and backs away. My eyes lock with hers as she glances in her rear-view mirror, leaving me standing in the middle of the car park.

  Holding the picture of our baby.

  Chapter 41

  Charlie

  When Dad told me he’d been to visit Sophie, I was completely dumbfounded. He wanted to get to know the mother of his soon-to-be grandchild, but she only agreed as long as he made a point to tell me.

  Should I be grateful he wants to know her? That he’s making the effort? Probably. At least she wanted me to know, rather than another hidden truth between
us. But truth be told, if anyone should be making more of an effort, it’s me. I bought a book on pregnancy, just so I could try and learn what’s going on.

  My phone pings an alert tone. It’s why I prefer my phone on silent—they irritate the fuck out of me, always have.

  Nate: Heads up, Sophie isn’t well - just wanted to let you know. Do the right thing.

  Me: Thanks.

  I don’t know when I made the conscious decision to drive over to her place. I went to the shop to pick up a few things and now here I am, parked outside.

  Grabbing the bag from beside me and sucking in a deep breath, I get out of the car and jog up the steps to her front door and knock. Waiting, I bounce on the balls of my feet. When the door creaks open, Soph peers through the gap and then opens the door wider when she sees it's me.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi,” she replies, hoarsely.

  “I heard you weren’t well. I wanted to check on you and maybe talk?”

  Her shoulders sag as she moves aside for me to enter the hallway. She closes the door behind us and nods to the living room, then she grabs a blanket and settles on the sofa, pulling it up to her chin.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “Just a cold, I’ll be fine. You wanted to talk?”

  I scan the room and decide to sit in the armchair. If I sit beside her, I’m not sure what my hands will do. The rustle of the bag reminds me it’s there and I hold it out to her.

  “What’s this?”

  “Just some bits.”

  “Thanks,” she says, putting it down beside her. “So, you wanted to talk?”

  She cuts to the chase and my lip struggles to remain passive—it’s one of the things I love about her.

  “I know we can’t go back, we can’t change things. You hurt me, and inadvertently, I hurt you, and for that, I’m sorry. I want to be part of my…our baby’s life.”

  She licks her lips, strangling her hands together, her eyes meeting mine.

  “I never meant to not tell you. I wanted to be as sure as I could everything was okay with the baby first—” A cough rattles through her chest.

  I lean forward ready to… I don’t know, stroke her back, but I clench my fist and push my hand between my legs instead. “Can I get you anything?” I ask when her coughing fit subsides.

  She shakes her head, leaning back into the cushions of the sofa. Her eyes flutter closed, worry etched between her eyebrows, a frown I wish I could smooth away with the stroke of my thumb. I watch her as her breathing changes, and I know she’s exhausted. I stand. My movement startles her, her eyes spring open, focusing on me. She attempts to get up, but I usher her back down.

  “We can talk properly another time. Rest and if you need anything…call me. You’ll keep me in the loop about the baby?” I ask, my eyes roaming over her mid-section.

  Her pupils dilate, hurt by my question, even though it wasn’t meant the way it came out. “I just meant, I want to be present…to be included,” I say, hoping she doesn’t think I’m being a bastard.

  I leave her feeling a little lighter than I have in what feels like forever. Her presence does that to me. I know trying to get back to what we had will take time, but I am willing to work on it, to be there for our baby.

  Of course, the thought terrifies me—a baby at the complete mercy of me, someone who may act like they have their shit together but is no more adjusted than the next guy. It’s weird how life can take you on a journey you never saw coming.

  I even daydream Sophie and I sorted out our differences and worked past the hurt and the omitted truths as we moved forward not just co-parenting but being together as a family.

  Maybe I’m just deluding myself, and, anyway, I’m not ready to express that, not yet. She shot me down before and I don’t want to upset the apple cart when things are still so fragile between us.

  Chapter 42

  Sophie

  Weeks have quickly turned into months; I’m sixteen weeks pregnant already. A couple of times, I’ve considered reaching out to my parents but quickly thought better of it. They made their feelings perfectly clear with regards to me, and I’ll be damned if I allow them to shame my baby before she’s even here.

  I’ve seen Charlie, but he doesn’t look at me the same. Not like he did before, the truth’s out now. I think we’ve both become more cautious, reserved around one another.

  He always engages with me about baby related stuff but it’s still a little fractured between us. Nate and Flick haven’t said it, but I know they’re feeling the weight of everything that’s happening. I’m going to try my best to move past this—it’s too draining not to. Between work and growing a baby, I just don’t have it in me for hostility.

  A knock at my door stops me from mixing the ingredients. I place the bowl down, wondering who it is and pull it open just a fraction, then all the way.

  “Hey, sugar lips.”

  Standing before me is Simon. I throw myself at him and he pulls me in for a hug while I breathe him in so deep.

  “Going to invite me in?” he asks, laughing into my hair.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, not wanting to let go of him.

  He ushers us inside, pulling his small suitcase behind him and closing the door.

  His nose twitches. “Cookies?”

  I nod, and he follows me into the kitchen.

  “Working on a new recipe for the shop. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

  “I wanted to surprise you.”

  Before I can stop myself, I burst out crying.

  He pulls me into his chest. Simon knows everything about what’s been happening; he phones me all the time, even though it must cost him a small fortune.

  “Just hormones,” I say, pulling away from him and wiping my face with my sleeve.

  “That had better be all it is, or I may seriously lose my shit while I’m here.”

  “It’s just everything, but I’m fine. How long are you staying? Where’s Ryan?” I ask.

  “A week. He’s at home with the dogs. You’re looking good, by the way,” he says. His eyes roam to my now visible bump. I rub it and his hand covers mine.

  “Honestly, Soph. Positively glowing.”

  I smile, wishing that were true and step away to pop the kettle on. “Tea? Or have you moved over to the dark side?” I ask.

  He rolls his eyes, hand on hip. “Girlfriend, please,” he replies with an American accent. “Tea, always tea.”

  “Don’t ever change,” I tell him

  “Never,” he replies.

  For the first time in what feels like weeks, I smile. A genuine, honest to God smile. He wastes no time, working his way through over half the cookies.

  Springing to his feet, he grabs my hand. “Come on. I’m dying to see Sophia’s.”

  He insisted on driving his rental, and I wasn’t about to complain. I quite enjoy being chauffeured around. His opinion is one I value, so when I give him a grand tour which lasts all of five minutes and he turns to beam at me, I can’t help but smile. His reaction makes my heart happy.

  “Come on, I want to see my other bitch.”

  I punch his shoulder, but he just laughs, pulling me into a loose headlock and scuffing up my hair.

  “What are you, like, five?” I ask, pulling myself free with a laugh. Damn, when was the last time I really laughed?

  “Always. Come, let’s go see Flick.”

  I agree, but my stomach twist in knots. It’s Sunday, so it’s more than likely Charlie will be there, too. Anyone would think we had shared custody of our friends. I make a point to avoid being there when he is, and I think he’s been doing the same. But I need to get over it and start building bridges.

  “Oi, bitch, spill. What’s up?”

  I slug him on the arm again “Hey, quit swearing around my baby.”

  “Then talk to me.”

  “Nothing to talk about.”

  He glances over and shakes his head. “Fine, whatever, but you’ll tell me eve
ntually.”

  We turn up the eighties radio station and sing like banshees all the way to Nate and Felicity’s. We pull up their driveway and sure enough, there’s already another car here.

  Great.

  Charlie double takes when he sees us enter the kitchen. He walks straight over to give Simon a half-hug before his eyes scan over to me. My heart stills for a beat. He eyes my stomach which is now showing.

  He walks over, his eyes lifting to mine. “Hey, how are you? How’s the baby?” he asks. His lips brush against my cheek. It’s the only contact he makes, but it’s enough for my body to notice.

  “Good. I’ve been getting flutters.”

  I haven’t told anyone else that, but it’s good to share it with him. And when his lips curl up into one of his rare, signature smiles, for a split second, I forget about who hurt who and how much I miss him. I want to pretend our relationship isn’t fractured when he touches my shoulder briefly. I cover my hand over my belly just as a flutter hits, but I don’t know if it’s the baby or just me being close in proximity of him.

  No one else knows he sends me a weekly text message. They’re brief but I love them. This week he sent me a sixteen-week caption: baby is the size of an orange now.

  “I spoke to the midwife about the whooping cough vaccination,” I tell him.

  “Oh, are you going to have it?” he asks.

  I rub my lower back with my hand absentmindedly. Back pain, just my luck. The morning sickness comes in waves, too, but I’ve found as long as I eat something every few hours, I manage to keep it at bay.

  “Yeah, I think so. Prevention is meant to be the cure, right?” I say with a shrug.

  “Whatever you think is best, I’ll stand by you.”

  I peek up to see him smiling and I return it with one of my own. It’s kind of hard not to. I relish and miss this—the carefree interactions.

  Flick tells us we’re all staying for food, seeing as Nate already has a barbeque on the go. I shouldn’t be surprised—she already knew Si was coming to visit. It’s nice to have him here. I miss them both, not that I’d ever tell them that. For a long time, it was only the three of us, so seeing them moving on with their lives has been a bit hard. I felt like I was always the one being left behind. But now, resting my palm over my stomach, I know I’m finally moving forward, too. And although things with Charlie and me aren’t the same, I know we are on the same page. Going forward, we’ll both work at being the best parents to our baby.