by Tia Sirrah
I looked up at Conner. His eyes were locked on the screen. A pained expression was etched on his face, which caused my smile to falter.
"Based on your blood levels and the measurements of each fetus, I’d say you’re thirteen weeks pregnant."
Conner remained silent as he raked a trembling hand through his hair.
Dr. Shavers offered a sympathetic smile. "I know this is a lot to take in. But the good news is that you’ve already made it past the first trimester, which means the miscarriage rate has already dropped significantly." I breathed a sigh of relief at that. "Do twins run in either of your families?"
"My grandfather on my mother’s side was a twin," I commented. We both looked at Conner.
"Yes," Conner answered, barely above a whisper.
Dr. Shavers responded. "The father’s genes aren’t responsible for a woman releasing two eggs. So essentially, only the mother’s genetics are at play when it comes to fraternal twins." She pointed to the monitor, "You see here, your twins each have their own amniotic sac and placenta, which means you have Dichorionic - Diamniotic twins. Di Di twins can be identical or fraternal. There’s a higher chance that they’ll be fraternal, but it’s too soon to tell. Unlike fraternal twins, identical twins are not genetic."
Dr. Shavers removed the wand. She wiped the excess lubricate from between my legs before removing her gloves. I had a ton more questions which she readily answered.
Being pregnant with twins automatically put me in the high-risk category. Conner expressed concerns about me continuing to work and go to school. If he thought that I was going to sit around with my feet up all day, he was sorely mistaken. Luckily, Dr. Shavers reassured us both that I would be able to continue to work and go to school. If health conditions changed for the twins or me, we would discuss further accommodations and restrictions.
After providing us with images of our twins, more informational pamphlets, and a bottle of prenatal vitamins, we said our goodbyes. As soon as Dr. Shavers excused herself, Conner leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his thighs. "Twins. Holy shit. I didn’t expect that."
"You and me both." I removed the disposable gown and discarded it in a nearby trash bin. "You alright? You seem a little shell shocked," I said as I dressed.
"I’m good. Just surprised." He looked down at the ultrasound image in his hand before looking up at me. "Are we okay?" he asked.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"Never better," he said with a bit of humorless sarcasm in his voice. He reached out and pulled me down onto his lap. Running his fingers through my hair, he said, "You’ve never been more beautiful than you are right now." He twisted a lock of curls around his finger. His green eyes bore into me, lustfully drinking me in.
I snuggled into him, my lips brushing against his neck. "How much have you had to drink today?" I spoke into the crook of his neck.
"Relax. Only three fingers of bourbon."
"We better go, Conner. I’m sure they want their exam room back, and I have to get to school." I moved to get off his lap, but he immobilized me by holding me tighter.
"What’s the problem?" he asked, slightly frustrated.
"It pains me that you’d even ask me that question," I said, as I moved from his embrace. This time he released his hold on me. I headed out the door. He didn’t follow me.
Chapter 18
"YOU CUT HIM OFF?" Fatima asked as she rifled through scraps of silk panties. "From everything?" She shook her head. "You’re a better woman than me. Cause with a man like Conner…" She did a little twerk dance before getting playfully shoved by me.
"Hot mess," I teased. Our menu was sparse. Oral sex for us was like a gateway drug, the appetizer before the meal. So that was off-limits, as well. The sexual chemistry between Conner and I had always been off the charts. We barely came up for air on most days. Over the past two weeks, we’d been acting like two horny virgin teenagers, making out until our lips were chapped and swollen, while dry humping in our clothes. It was torture. But it also forced us to come to terms that although our sex life was insanely hot, our communication outside of the bedroom needed some improvement.
"So much has happened over the last few weeks. I’ve been forced to face the fact that there are some things in our relationship that just aren’t healthy. I had to do something drastic to try to get Conner’s attention." I draped a few bra and panty sets across my arm and moved on to the rack of sports bras. "It’s easy to avoid the uncomfortable stuff when you’re boning multiple times a day," I said to Fatima in a hushed tone.
"Damn," she drawled. "Get it, girl. No, wait. You’re not," she deadpanned.
"Seriously, Fatima, I’m dying here. My hormones are out of control."
"How long are you going to hold back the cookie?"
I shrugged. "For however it long it takes."
"Takes for what?"
I answered her with another faint shrug of my shoulders. Fatima didn’t know the details about Conner’s drinking or his bouts with depression. He hid it well, only showing the outside world exactly what he wanted them to see. A ruthless, in-control business mogul who never showed signs of weakness.
Before cutting him off, on some nights, maybe once or twice a week, Conner would retire to his home office. A couple of hours would go by before he would stumble to our bedroom in a drunken state. Under the haze of lust and inebriation, he would clumsily seek out my body, his hands and mouth roaming greedily. Because I craved him and desperately wanted to connect, I would readily give myself to him. Our sex would be raw, rough, and impersonal, lacking intimacy.
In those moments, Conner would completely detach, seeking his pleasure and ignoring mine. I would give him what he needed, recognizing his need to quiet the noises in his head. While he pistoned inside of me recklessly, I would squeeze my eyes shut, caught in purgatory between pleasure and pain. I would open wide for him –my legs and my heart, silently beckoning him to come back to me. I needed him to come back to me so that I wouldn’t feel used and cheap.
Conner would spill his seed inside of me before rolling over and breaking all physical contact. Once the fog of drunkenness dissipated, he would come back to me, filling in the broken cracks in my heart with the intimacy that I so desperately needed.
I took from Conner what I could, and gave him all that he desired, avoiding the uncomfortable stuff that lay dormant within in. Now with sex off the table, we were forced to deal with our issues and had to find other ways to express ourselves that didn’t include bumping and grinding. Through this new normal, I had to deal with my insecurities and the fact that I was an enabler. I realized that my love and my sex couldn’t save him. It couldn’t save our relationship.
"Enough about me," I said after Fatima and I purchased our lingerie and headed out of the mall.
We approached our cars in the packed parking lot. Fatima leaned against her car, folding her arms across her chest. She gestured to my new car with the lift of her chin. "Nice ride, by the way," she said, admiring the white Porsche Cayenne Turbo S that Conner gifted me.
"Thanks." I leaned against my car and faced her. "So…what’s going on with you and Quentin?"
"Nothing’s going on." I eyed her skeptically. "I’m no homewrecker, and I’m no one’s sloppy seconds," she said, defensively.
"I never said you were, cousin."
"Well, good. Because I’m not. I’m not even thinking about Quentin. Like, at all."
"Okay," I said, matter of factly. "I ran into Quentin a couple of weeks ago. We ended up having lunch together. He asked about you, you know. You may not be thinking about him, but he sure is thinking about you."
"It was a long time ago," she reluctantly admitted. "It was before he married Amy. It was stupid, and we were young. We both made mistakes and hurt each other too much to ever go back." She shook her head out of her reverie. Unlocking her door, she said, "I never told you because of Amy. She was your bestie, and I didn’t want to put you in an awkward position." She swooped her long g
oddess locks up with her arm and fanned the back of her neck with her other hand. "You can tell Quentin that I’m great. Never better." The tight smile on her face proved otherwise.
"Okay, cousin."
"Now give me a hug. It’s hot as fish grease out here, and I can smell the rain coming."
We embraced before we got in our cars. "Love you," I said, rolling down my window. "Wish me luck." I was heading out to meet with Amy. I was anxious and devasted that she ruined our friendship— our sisterhood.
"How does Conner feel about this meet up between the two of you?"
"He understands that I have to do this, but he’s concerned. He doesn’t want me getting too upset and emotional, and it affects the babies."
"Call me if you need me. Don’t let the bougie fool you. You know I can fuck some shit up if I have to." Fatima lowered her sunglasses and pursed her lips. "I mean it. I’ll stay close, just in case I have to roll up."
"I love you, cousin, but I’ll be fine. A few weeks ago, not so much. But now, I’m finally ready to face her."
"Love you, too, cousin. Take care of yourself. I’ll see you next week for some more retail therapy." She blew me a kiss before backing out of her parking space. I steadied by breaths and gripped the steering wheel as I drove through town. I was one step closer to putting a final nail in the coffin of my friendship with Amy.
Chapter 19
I STOOD IN FRONT of the floor-to-ceiling wall of windows that overlooked the wooded terrain. The heavy rains beat mercilessly against the windowpane, creating a bleak atmosphere, adding to my somber mood. Today had been emotionally draining. New revelations from Amy had forced me to reflect on old memories, which made me face some startling truths that left me totally vexed. The sun had set about an hour ago, and Conner still hadn’t arrived home. I’d changed into my silk nightgown and robe, already resigning to spend the night at his place. I was exhausted, and all I wanted to do was snuggle under the covers and fall asleep. But I knew that Conner would have questions for me, as I had for him. I’d already gotten calls from Helena and Fatima, who first alerted me to the photo circulating online.
After viewing the image, I immediately called Conner. His EA, Stephanie, informed me he’d left the office early. That was at 3:30. It was now 10 o’clock. All my calls went unanswered and sent straight to voicemail.
I heard the garage door opening and closing. A few minutes later, I heard Conner’s footsteps echoing toward the kitchen. I heard the faint sound of his cell phone and cuff links clattering against the quartz countertops. I remained rooted in place, listening to the sounds coming from Conner’s sideboard liquor cabinet.
I felt his presence near me before his image reflected in the window. He stood beside me, his eyes focused on the rainfall and the sprawling forest. He’d discarded his jacket. His tie was loosened, and his sleeves were unbuttoned and casually folded back. He held a crystal tumbler in his hand filled with bourbon. Last week, I’d gotten rid of all the alcohol from the house. It was stashed in multiple areas throughout the house. Not only in the obvious places like the kitchen or his office, but in some unexpected places, as well – in wardrobe closets, under bathroom sinks, under beds, laundry quarters, and the pool house. Conner came home from work one day and discovered it all gone. He didn’t address it with me, but by the next day, he’d replaced all the expensive alcohol that was missing from the liquor cabinet.
The evidence of Conner’s foul mood was glaringly obvious. I could only assume that it was because of the photograph. The photo that captured me in a very compromising position.
"Rough day?" I asked, still focused on the view before me.
Conner stood in a casual stance. One hand was in the side pocket of his slacks, and the other hand cradled the crystal tumbler close to his chest. "A trying day, yes," he confirmed, his voice flat.
I watched out of the corner of my eye as the tumbler touched his lips. "And what about you, Novalee? How was your day?" he asked with a hint of an accusatory tone. It wasn’t lost on me that I wasn’t his angel today. He eyes were iridescent, as the glow from the moon reflected off his face. Watching me, he took a swallow of his drink.
"Shitty, actually," I deadpanned. He let out a dry chuckle. "Conner, I’ve been calling all day. Where were you?"
"I had a meeting today…with a therapist."
My head snapped to his, my eyebrows raised. "Really?" I asked, grasping on to hope.
"I won’t be going back," he said, matter of factly. He brought the tumbler back up to his lips and downed its contents in two large gulps. Without even sparing me another glance, Conner turned and walked away, retreating up the staircase.
My eyes were still puffy from all the crying I’d already done today. And more tears threatened to spill, but I was tired of crying. It seemed to be all I did lately.
I met Amy at the Ivy. The Ivy was an upscale restaurant with a quiet atmosphere and sophisticated décor. It wasn’t exactly the most discreet place where one could cause a scene. So, in hushed tones, Amy and I came face to face, opening wounds and secrets that would forever change us.
"Conner and I were not having an affair behind your back. Absolutely nothing happened between us while you two were together. He didn’t even know that I lo—" she abruptly paused before continuing, "that I had feelings for him." She tucked her hair behind both ears with trembling hands.
"This happened back in high school?" She gave an imperceptible nod. "And you’ve had these feelings for him the entire time? I never heard you once mention Conner back in high school. Please explain all of this to me."
"Conner is Wesley, Novalee. As in Conner Wesley Brathwaite. He went by Wesley back then." Conner W. Brathwaite. Was I the densest girlfriend on the planet? How did I not know my boyfriend’s middle name? Was it something that I overlooked, or was it something he had intentionally kept from me, fearing that I would connect the dots? I mentioned "Wesley" to Conner on our second date.
Then it hit me. "Conner took your virginity." I remembered Amy being blabby about it, giving me all the salacious details. "Oh, my God," I said, my fingertips pressing into my temples. She winced at my reaction. All our conversations about Wesley came to mind. Every. Single. Detail. Wesley was the love of her life. The one that got away. They had sex all summer long, in multiple places around town. He was insatiable, she would often say. They couldn’t get enough of each other, she would brag. He dumped her as soon as the school year started.
I stood in the great room, listening to the sounds of the rain. I thought back to the moment that I’d mentioned Wesley to Conner. That was his chance to say something. Anything. But he didn’t. Instead, on that very day, he told me that he wanted me to be his. I agreed to it, ignoring the little voice in my head that told me it was all happening too fast. From day one, I was utterly smitten. I sifted through all the details that I’d remembered about Wesley. I squeezed my eyes shut, disgusted by the sordid details of their brief summer fling.
"The summer before our sophomore year, Conner returned from boarding school, for good this time. We were all hanging out by the lake. We were high on molly and drunk off our asses. One thing led to another, and Conner and I ended up leaving the group and having sex in the woods." She studied me for a moment before continuing. "Conner didn’t know that I was a virgin. I think he was too drunk and high to notice. He wasn’t very gentle." She cleared her throat, her eyes averting from me to off at a distance. "My first time was awful. It hurt like a son of a bitch. But after that night, I knew that I was head over heels in love him. So, I made myself available to him. All the time. The sex got better. Amazing actually," she said and had the audacity to blush.
If looks could kill. The one I gave Amy must have been murderous, as she quickly sobered her thoughts and proceeded. "I tried to be enough for him. But I never was."
I folded my arms around myself and looked back toward the winding staircase. I imagined Conner in his office, helping himself to the new decanter of bourbon.
"Before t
hat summer, nothing had ever happened between us. He and Colton came home ever summer break. Conner would hang out with us at the lake, on occasion, but Colton never did. Colton was more of a loner, an introvert. He was a mama’s boy and the apple of his father’s eye. He liked to spend his days working at his dad’s office or escorting his mom to fancy dinner parties in the stead of his father."
A classmate from high school, Zoie, came over to our table. She was more of a foe than a friend. Her reputation in high school as gossiper followed her through college and into her career. She was now a writer for a sleazy tabloid based out of L.A. She was currently in town, visiting her folks for their wedding anniversary.
After Amy and I exchanged polite greetings with Zoie, and she departed from our table, Amy continued. "I always had a crush on Conner. Everyone did. But he never even looked my way. He was a couple of years older, so we didn’t cross paths too often. But that summer, right after his brother died, Conner changed. He was a wreck. Always angry. Always drinking. Always with a different girl." I listened intently, hoping to get a glimpse into Conner’s past, the one he refused to share with me.
With trembling hands, Amy brought the water glass up to her lips and took a sip. "Then one night at the lake, instead of choosing another girl to hook up with, he chose me." She smiled softly as if reminiscing about a fond memory. "When Conner came home that summer, without his brother, he came home a single man, and it was game on. All the girls wanted a piece of him. No one cared that he was broken. I think that made him even hotter. He was like a project that every girl wanted to fix. We all knew that he was grieving. I knew that he wanted an escape, so I provided that for him. All the girls did. We all wanted to save him." She looked at me knowingly. "I’m sure you know a little bit about that."
