by A. M. Wilson
The rustic restaurant has the wooden exterior doors propped open on this gorgeous September day, and I immediately spot Nathan standing inside. Slowing my gait, I take in how clean-cut and handsome he looks outside of his uniform. His V-neck tee is a simple heather gray and shows off the peak of his biceps nicely. It follows the trim lines of his torso to his waist and delectable ass that looks damn good in a pair of jeans.
Regret simmers beneath the surface. I need to stake a claim on that backside before some other woman goes for it.
What am I talking about? I do have a claim. Make way, ladies, for the lucky woman carrying his baby. My pep talk works like an injection of confidence after Cami’s warnings, and I saunter into the restaurant as though I’m about to order the chef’s table without a reservation.
“Hey,” I greet softly when I’m close and squeeze his fingers tentatively. We haven’t been in each other’s company since the trip to my parents’ house six weeks ago, so being this close to him and smelling his smoky woodsy scent revs up the hormones again.
“Hi.” His gaze sweeps me up and down, stopping on my slight bump. A sweet smile tilts his lips. “Thanks for coming with no notice. She knows something’s up, so she put me on the spot.”
“Are you ready to do this? It can’t be any worse than enduring my family.”
He grunts and studies his dusty boots. “Let’s hope not.”
“Hey—” I lay a soothing hand on his shoulder. The words stick in my throat because I’m unsure what to say to ease his apprehension.
The hostess interrupts our conversation. “Would you like to be seated, or are you waiting for one more?”
“We can sit.” She takes his and his mother’s names before preceding us to a corner booth.
The rustic theme continues from the front door all the way through. Exposed rough wood beams cross the ceiling, and the windows facing the riverside are opened, letting in the cool breeze. The dining area is decorated with reds and greens, and each table holds a lit candle centerpiece in a glass lantern design.
I scoot in to the window seat, and Nathan sits beside me, leaving the bench across from us for his mom.
“This place is so homey. It invites you to come in and stay a while.”
Nathan glances around the space he’s seen dozens of times. “You’re right. We have a lot of good family memories here. And hopefully some new ones to come.” His large hand settles warmly atop mine in my lap.
“That was incredibly nice to say.” Tears prickle my eyes hotly.
“There’s my mom.” He pulls on my hand as he stands, indicating I should stand as well. I follow him out, still blinking away the sting, and attempt to hide my little bump behind my folded hands.
Her approach is one of suspicion, though a small smile graces her face. I can see her eyes work as she takes us in. During my previous encounters with Regina, she’s always been kind to me, and I silently pray this lunch isn’t any different.
“Hello, my son.” She embraces Nathan in a warm, motherly hug, planting a kiss on his cheek before stepping back to take him in. She pats his face lovingly. “You look skinny. Have you been losing weight?”
He tolerates her picking over him for a moment before waving her off. “Mom, you say that every time I see you. I’m the same as always. You remember my friend Kiersten?”
I hold my hand out to shake hers, and she gives it a brief squeeze.
“Of course. Hello, dear.”
“It’s nice to see you again, Regina.”
After our stiff greetings pass, we resume our seats, and Regina settles into her place across from us. Our waiter arrives immediately, accepting drink orders and scurrying back from where he came. The stagnant air surrounding our table gives off an ominous vibe even he doesn’t miss.
My order of plain water with a sliced lemon wedge seems inconspicuous as a drink choice, but I fear it makes me look like a fancy bitch, which I am definitely not. What I need is a strong martini to take the edge off, but that option’s off the table.
“I can’t say I’m not pleasantly surprised to be invited to lunch by my only son, but I feel there is more to this than meets the eye.” She stares pointedly at me as she says it, directing fault for whatever scenario she drummed up before coming here today.
The waiter arrives a moment later, keeping us all on edge while we wait for however it is Nathan plans to respond.
The drinks couldn’t have come at a more perfect time, and I greedily suck back some icy water to wet my suddenly dry throat. Why is this so much harder than blurting it at my parents’? I consider that method again to get it over with.
I sneak a glance at Nathan. Either he can feel my anxiety, or he just knows me well enough by now to know I’m nervous. A heavy hand on my thigh settles me. His fingers compress lightly in warning.
“You’d be right. I invited you here … we invited you here … to share some news with you that I hope will bring some joy.”
Regina’s mouth stretches into a horrified smile, the fillings in her back molars twinkling.
I brace, wishing my galloping heart would take a damn rest.
“Kiersten’s pregnant. We’ll be welcoming our baby in March.”
Her eyes flit back and forth between Nathan and me as that clown-looking sneer remains firmly in place. I inhale sharply at his declaration of a united front. My hand climbs to the space above my heart, compressing the tissue to lessen the twinge. A fragile mask of happiness holds rigid while I wait for whatever words she prepares to share.
The glint in her eye betrays her course. She scrutinizes her son. “I didn’t realize you were seriously seeing anyone.”
Nathan’s jaw falls, and silence expands like the walls of a balloon while he formulates a response. I extend the clock with one of my own.
“We’re casual.” My own family took that news fine, never mind I’ve spoken to my mom on the phone once since then. She’ll forgive me in her own time, and hopefully Regina will too.
“Hmm.” Her hum vibrates the molecules between us. “And how far along are you?” Her tone remains sweet, but the undercurrent of displeasure thrums loudly.
“Fifteen weeks.”
“My goodness, you really waited to share the news. Or did you just find out?”
Nathan’s fingers clench. “We were waiting for the doctor’s confirmation to share.”
She grins, though it looks more like a grimace. “Well, how lovely.”
I share a look with Nathan. Before we can continue further, the waiter returns to take our order.
“The oysters sound good, don’t they?” I ask the table, trying to lighten the mood.
Regina looks at me sourly over her menu. “You can’t have that, dear. It’s not good for the baby.”
“Oh.” Heat curls up my neck. I guess I should have taken Nathan seriously when he said there are things pregnant woman can and cannot have. Being a creature of habit and all, I didn’t think I’d run into any off-limit foods so easily. “I must have missed that. What about the smoked salmon? Would you two like to share?” This feels safe. Smoking fish is a form of cooking it, right?
Regina flat-out snorts, intensifying the sick flare in my stomach.
“I’m guessing another no,” I mutter under my breath.
She hums but doesn’t outright criticize my lack of knowledge this time. My palms sweat, and my heart rate kicks up a notch. My confidence is normally pretty unshakeable, but I’m in unchartered territory here. I’m dangling over the edge of a cliff, and this woman incrementally lowers the rope rather than pull me to safety.
Steeling my spine, I raise my chin and paste a haughty look on my face as I turn once again to the waiter.
“I’ll just have a Caesar salad, please.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sakes, do you know nothing? The dressing has raw eggs, dear,” she sneers.
Nathan’s palms connect with the table in a resounding crack, and he rises from his seat in a manner that has everyone’s jaw agape and eyes wide. I
ncluding mine.
“Enough,” he snarls directly at the woman who gave him life. “You aren’t doing this. Not today. Not any day.”
An awkward silence descends on our table like a black fog, and I glance around to see if any of the other guests gawk at us like a train wreck reality television show. Fortunately, it appears our family drama plays out without an audience. Even the waiter discreetly disappeared from our spectacle.
Not about to give in just yet, Regina tries another route, and this one is like a serrated stab to my heart.
“Janessa has only been gone for two years.”
“Mom!” Nathan hisses and flexes his fingers into the wooden tabletop.
With a trembling hand, I grasp my glass of water for a sip. Pride is fleeting that I manage not to spill and give her something else to gripe about.
Red blotches spread across her cheeks. “I’m just saying. How can you be ready for such a big step when your wife hasn’t been gone that long? You’re still in mourning. Heck, the ground’s still practically fresh.”
Nathan holds himself back so tight he looks about ready to snap in two. The man’s never contemplated laying a hand on a woman in his life, but this may be that very first time. Her words strike incredibly low, and for what? To make a point about something she has no say in? He’s not going to stand for it. Frankly, neither am I.
“You can go.”
My steely tone pulls her attention from her fuming son, and the flash in her eye tells me she’s just getting started.
“Sweetheart, this doesn’t concern you.” She injects her voice with faux sweetness.
These are the actions of a hurting woman—and a confused one at that—but it doesn’t make it right. His mother deserves a bit of grace to come to terms with this somewhat shocking turn of events.
I tell myself these things, but in the end, I remember that I carry what amounts to her first grandchild within my womb, and it will be over my dead body that I allow her to act this way in the presence of my kid. Momma bear unleashed.
We all can’t deliver Jesus’s caliber of forgiveness.
“You know what, Regina? It absolutely does.” I plant my hands on the wooden table and rise. “You don’t get to throw the loss of his wife in his face when it’s convenient for you. And if you think for one second you can treat me the way you have been for the past twenty minutes and remain a permanent fixture in my child’s life, you have another thing coming.”
An outraged gasp falls from her lips, but I continue without allowing her a word. She had her opportunity and squandered it.
“Now, I’m willing to give you one chance to think about your reaction today, and I’m even willing to let you walk out of here and take some time to come to terms with the path life has given to Nathan and me. But if you think for one second that the next time I see you that you can spout off this instant rejection of my baby, you better believe that you won’t be meeting he or she until you’re the one under fresh dirt.”
Silence descends the table again, but I’m done. Gathering my purse, I twist to Nathan, who still hasn’t moved an inch.
“If you’ll excuse me…” I mutter beneath my breath, holding in a fresh wave of tears. The torrent building behind my eyes is the commencement of an ugly cry, and I’d rather an entire restaurant doesn’t witness the hippopotamus-like snot bubbles about to release from my sinuses.
He steps out of my way as if in a trance, and I push by without resistance. Nobody calls my name. Regina doesn’t offer a last-minute apology at my departure—not that I expect her to. I feel like an outsider, and that makes the pressure in my chest that much harder to ignore.
I rush past afternoon diners enjoying a meal that, let’s face it, I’m friggen upset I didn’t even get to order, let alone eat. I make a silent vow to read the gosh darn baby book as soon as I get home. After my cry-fest, that is. Honestly, this entire day makes me wish I had a cat or seven to keep me company. Humiliation takes residence in my bones. I don’t even want to call my best friend, that’s how embarrassed I am.
The front doors remain propped open, and the first step into the light, breezy day is absolute bliss after that twenty minutes of torture. I should perform some ceremonial dance in thanks that the awful woman in there isn’t my actual mother-in-law. I hope both she and Nathan know that I absolutely meant what I said. A person with such awful judgmental qualities will not partake in my child’s life.
“Kiersten.” Nathan’s low growl caresses my name and pops me straight out of that place in my head. The one that forces replays of horrible and embarrassing moments over and over again as if my psyche is hell-bent on making me endure every single iota of pain from it that I can. Thank god for baby daddies with impeccable timing. The cycle is just getting started.
I turn a quarter turn, opening my mouth to tell him I’m not going to hash it out or apologize, and I’d rather be left alone. “Nathan, I—” But clearly, his plans take precedence.
In one move that dizzies my head, I go from standing firmly on the sidewalk to pressed up against the rough, rustic exterior of the restaurant. My wrists are caught in one of Nathan’s palms and held above my head, and his other hand wraps around my chin, holding me steady as his mouth slams down on mine. My cut off sentence provides him the perfect opening to swirl his tongue inside in a kiss that’s a juxtaposition of frantic and delicate.
I’m shell-shocked as I let him devour my mouth in the hottest, most panty-drenching and nipple-pebbling kiss of my entire life.
He pulls back a fraction, lips wet and swollen. Pants of passion fill the fractured air between us as our chests heave together. Brown eyes full of gratitude and lust gaze into mine.
“You are a brilliant and incredible woman. And I am so sorry.” His grip disengages my jaw to trail his fingers down the messy blond locks at the side of my head. Every bit of remorse he claims is written on his face.
Words fail me. The desperation in the part of my womb not occupied by a fetus wants me to push him over and mount him like he’s a bull to be conquered, public parking lot be damned. Then again, this is exactly what not having a relationship should have helped us avoid.
“Nathan.” I dig deep for the words to explain what I feel, but the barrel is empty.
My face must convey it anyway because he steps away from me. Every beat of my heart feels like molasses coats the organ. Slow. Incomplete. Life-altering.
“I shouldn’t have done that. It was the only way I knew how to show you what that meant to me.” The sharp angle of his jaw and cheeks turn to granite. He thrusts his index finger in the direction of the open doors. “She won’t be a problem anymore. I won’t allow it.”
I feared my speech pushed our friendship beyond repair. We’re having a baby together, and my hope is we can co-parent amicably and not end up like one of those families who turn child-rearing into a declaration of war. The affectionless tone tells me the speech isn’t the problem.
It’s me.
The fire from earlier extinguishes. “That means a lot.”
He gazes across the lot as if looking at me hurts. “You okay to head home, or should I call Cami?”
“I’m fine.”
He finally cuts his eyes to my face. “You sure?” he presses.
“Yeah, I’m sure. I was just caught off guard.”
Nathan gives me a curt nod. “See you soon?”
I wrap both sweat-drenched palms around my purse strap. “Sure. Our appointment is on the fourteenth at eight a.m. You should write it down.” Four weeks away. With how things went today, I can’t be sure he’ll want to see me before then, other than in passing at work. The safest plan is to leave the choice up to him.
“I got it,” he replies with apathy.
I roll onto my toes and drop down. “Well, see you.” With a wave that would put all beauty queens to shame, I walk briskly across the lot to my car. I start it right up and head toward home without checking the front of the restaurant. I’ll never know if he watched me drive a
way.
The torrent of threatening tears Nathan swept away stays locked tight. Rather than replay the embarrassing conflict in my head the entire drive back …
I recall the kiss instead.
It was one for the books. If I were keeping track of that sort of thing. Which I am absolutely not.
10
Nathan
The dim yellow light from the hanging pendant lamp above the bar illuminates the crumpled sheet of notebook paper before me. My scratchy handwriting mocks me from between the blue lines, the single line written a middle finger to my efforts today.
Janessa,
It’s October of 2019, and I’m finally writing you back
The abrupt ending reminds me of the conversation that prompted me to start this pathetic letter, and the anger rises within me like a tidal wave. There’s too much on my plate with knocking up my best friend that I don’t have time to be writing letters to my dead wife.
This is supposed to be an acknowledgment of moving forward and not being stuck in the past, but all it feels like right now is a mockery of all the effort I’ve made through the past two years. The truth is, I don’t want to revisit my grief. Not when so many other emotions course through me that have nothing and everything to do with the first love of my life. I also don’t want to continue spending hours at the Swinging Bridge, Janessa’s favorite place, in an attempt to quash my lingering guilt.
On that thought, I signal the bartender for another drink. I’m on my second, but if I had it my way, I’d be half-past drunk and calling my best friend for a ride home. Isn’t that what got me into this mess in the first place?
Too much tequila and a tempting blond beauty packaged in sass and lace.
The nice brunette sets down another glass of scotch, and I take a sip without even glancing up from my failed letter. Thoughts twist and swirl like the cubes in my glass. Past versus present. Both force me into a box labeled right and wrong when I don’t even know which way is up.
