He massages his temples like my words are giving him a headache. “You’re mixing up sex and love.”
“Oh, how I wish that were true. You might not think highly of my relationships, but I know what love is. In fact, I think it took a broken heart to realize exactly what true love is.” I sag into the wall and lightly bang my head against it as I look at the defibrillator on the wall, just waiting for someone to need their heart to be shocked back to life. “Do you know why I always had the worst taste in boyfriends? Because they were never Christian. In high school, I liked the boys as athletic as him and always wound up with someone who was too busy, trying to get their hands up my skirt. In college, I dated guys as smart as him. They were always snobbish and cold. As an adult, I looked to find someone who was as fun and easy to talk to as Christian. I wound up married to a big, fat lie.”
Brian’s demeanor shifts. His hands rub his eyes as he takes some deep breaths and absorbs everything I said. When he lowers his hands, his light eyes are turned down at the ends. That annoyed stance of before has morphed into something softer.
He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it because heart-to-hearts really aren’t his strong suit. Instead, he goes for rational.
“If you really wanted him all this time, you wouldn’t have been able to be friends and see him date other women. Hell, you were married to another man for seven years.”
“Isn’t that the million-dollar question? How do two people with such insane chemistry and an outstanding friendship stay away from each other sexually their entire lives?” I say sarcastically.
“I’ve never spoken this much about sex in my life, and I’m having this conversation in a hallway with my sister.”
I have to laugh at that comment. Even Brian lets out a chuckle. I’m glad I didn’t blink and miss it.
“He friend-zoned me.” I lean my head against the glass and think of Christian as a teenager with his shaved head, which grew out like peach fuzz. I used to rub my hands over it, and he would laugh. He has the best laugh, even then.
“We were in my room, studying for finals. There were study guides on the floor as we took practice exams, and all I remember is wishing he’d look at me as more than a silly girl he studied with or hung out with in the basement, playing video games. I was going to tell him I had a crush on him. Ask him out. I was so nervous. My palms were sweating; I dropped my pencil twice. I never got the chance. He looked at me with these bright eyes, almost like this amazing revelation had just come to him. He said I was his best friend and that I was the only one he could count on. My little heart was disappointed, and yet I felt special. He thought I was so amazing that he gave me the greatest title a teenager could bear. I figured maybe someday he’d look at me as more. But, as the years ticked by, I was always the confidant—the one he called for relationship advice or to vent to about school. We fell into a routine, and I stopped wondering if we’d morph into something more. I was okay with it. Until now. This deal we made with each other, it brought all of those feelings to the surface. The ones I’d buried over and over are now magnified greater than the sun. I’m so far gone; I won’t be able to push them back into that hidden corner of my heart again.”
Brian takes in my sigh and the words of my confession and analyzes them. He leans a hand on the glass as the nurse swaddles the baby back in her blanket and laces her in the portable crib. “Do you think he loves you, too?”
Do I believe Christian loves me? As a friend, yes. I know for a fact that there is so much love in his heart. He’d never have agreed to have a child with me otherwise.
To love me as a wife? His career is too important to him. He wants his freedom, and when he pictures himself old and gray, I’m certain it’s not with me by his side, feeding our chickens in our country house Upstate. How do I know this? Because, since we were in college, that has been his mantra. It hasn’t changed in all the years, and I doubt it ever will.
“No,” I whisper.
“You can’t …” he starts and stops, clearly not comfortable with what he’s about to say. “You can’t have a baby with Christian if you’re in love with him.”
Having someone as your moral conscience is daunting.
I’ve loved hard in the past, and I’ve had a broken heart because of betrayal. But this? This will break my soul.
“I know.” I push off the wall and continue to hug myself. “I know.” Taking a few steps away, I turn to my brother and explain, “It just feels like, now, I’m losing two dreams.”
Brian’s mouth pulls in. There’s a sincere expression in his eyes as he stands here with nothing to say. I’m actually thankful for the fact that he doesn’t fill the air with words just for the sake of talking because there is nothing he can say right now that will make me feel better.
“I’ll see you upstairs.” I walk away, needing more time to be alone with my thoughts. “Thanks for the talk.”
“Meadow,” Brian calls me before I push open the door to the stairwell.
“My life is really great. I’m only hard on you because I want you to have it, too. Your all,” he says without a hint of emotion on his face. And then he adds, “Mom really knows Beth’s ovulation schedule?”
I give him a nod with a face that matches his perplexed expression and then watch as he looks through the glass while the nurse starts to wheel the baby back out. I hope he and Beth decide to have a third child. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for a niece I could spoil with tiaras and tea parties. Yes, I believe a girl can be anything she wants, but every girl deserves to be a princess now and then.
I make my way back to the fourth floor, but I’m not ready to go back to the waiting room. Perhaps this overthinking has been good for me today. It’s kept my mind off of Mom. I know that, when I walk in that room, I’ll find out the results of her surgery, and I’m not ready to hear it.
I take a seat on the concrete stair and rest my head on my knees.
In here, time is still.
I don’t know what is happening with my mother.
I don’t have to end things with Christian.
My heart isn’t shattered, as I have a feeling it will be soon.
My moment of silence is disturbed by the stairwell door being violently flung open. The steel hits the wall with a bang. Christian enters the landing, the door closing behind him as he grips his hair and looks to be hyperventilating.
I rise to my feet and run to him. “Christian!”
He stares at me like I’m a ghost. His arms hang idly at his sides while his eyes are wide and glazed. It takes a moment for him to come to his senses and realize it’s me standing here. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
The pause electrifies the air. My skin tingles, and the blood in my veins rushes to my chest.
With two fast and steady steps, Christian grips my head, pulls me into him, and sears me with a kiss.
I let him brand me.
He’s kissing me with desperation. There’s anger in the kiss and a whimper pouring from his lips when my tongue dances with his. I don’t know what this kiss is.
It’s desperate and powerful.
I tug the front of his scrubs and push him against the wall. My hands are now in his hair, and his fall to my waist, his fingers digging into my sides so much that they hurt.
He pulls away first, panting. Our chests are heaving as we catch our breaths.
His eyes are red and swollen.
Not from crying.
From fear.
“What happened?” I ask, afraid of what is about to come out of his mouth.
“She’s okay.” It doesn’t sound like he believes what he’s saying.
“Then, why are you looking at me like that?”
“I almost lost her.”
“But you didn’t—”
“No. She’s okay.” He shakes his head with his eyes trained on mine. “And all I kept thinking was how I had to save her for you. I was so worried about you.”
H
e kisses me again. I don’t even have a moment to comprehend what he’s saying or why he’s saying it. My mother is okay. She’s alive.
Whatever happened in that room has shaken Christian to his core. I hold him, pulling him into a hug. His head is buried in my neck as I rub his back, willing his body to relax and bring him back to the cool, calm, even downright cocky Dr. Gallagher demeanor.
When he’s unwound, he stands tall. He lays his hands on my face and caresses my cheeks.
“I needed you, and here you are,” he says.
“Funny, because I really needed you.” I smile. “And here you are.”
He kisses the inside of my palm; that kiss soars right to my chest, and it hurts. Hurts because I know now, for sure, I have to tell him how I feel.
We walk into the waiting room together. Christian tells Dad, Brian, and Beth how the surgery went. Dad cries tears of joy. Brian and Beth hug him, Brian giving an extra handshake to top it off.
“What do you say we go out tonight and celebrate?” Christian asks me when we’re out of earshot of my family. “There’s a great sushi place in the East Village one of the nurses was telling me about.”
A night out with Christian sounds fantastic.
“I can’t. I’m going to spend time with my family. Now that Mom’s in the intensive care unit, I might get Dad to come home with me. Sleep in a bed.”
He nods in understanding. “You’re right. You’re a good daughter.”
I smile. “I try.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Of course,” I say without looking at him.
He leans forward to give me a kiss on the cheek, and I back away a little. It’s the first time I’ve ever done that, and I instantly regret it.
He has a look of confusion. I just smile and wave at him as he walks down the hall.
The conversation I must have with him is deep and not something I can do in a public place or while I’m in the midst of my mother’s surgery. It’s something we need to discuss in private and preferably with a scotch … or ten.
It’s a few hours before we’re allowed to see my mother. Dad goes in first, coming out with a red face, tears in his eyes but a smile to go along with it. Brian and Beth are next, and then it’s my turn.
I take my time as I walk down the hall of the cardiac intensive care unit and look for her room. I’ve seen her post-operation before, and it doesn’t help that gut-clenching feeling I have right now.
Her face is swollen, and there’s a breathing tube down her throat since she’s still sedated. Her bed is flat but on an incline, making her look almost Frankenstein-esque, lying there with several monitors around the bed, each hooked up to her body like she’ll be brought back to life by a mad scientist. The steady beep of the machine is drowned out by the rattling of the blood pressure cuff.
I take a seat in the chair by her bed, grab her warm, lifeless hand, and hold it in mine.
A fresh tear rolls down from my eye as I look at my mother, the first love of my life. She looks horrible. If she were awake, she’d lose her mind. Then again, considering what her body just went through, she looks positively beautiful. It’s a unique experience for a child to see their parent at their most vulnerable. Throughout this ordeal, I’ve witnessed my mother’s strength and her weakness. As she grew sicker, her fear was evident, yet she always kept a steady head. Her concerns were never for herself but for her family.
I love her so much for that.
“Full disclaimer,” I say out loud, not knowing if she can hear me. “I’m a bit of a mess right now.”
My nose flares as I attempt to hold back the burning sensation building behind my eyes. My mouth turns down on its own, and there is just no use. More tears fall down my cheeks.
“How am I even your daughter? You are so strong and resilient. Hell, you almost died today. You’re so stubborn that I bet you saw Saint Peter at the gates and demanded he send you back.” I let out a laugh-like cry.
She doesn’t respond. That’s okay because I actually don’t need her to.
“I’m glad you’re okay because I really need your advice, but you have to promise you won’t try to meddle. I know; I know. It’s hard for you not to.” My head tilts curiously at my mother, as I wonder, just wonder, if maybe …
I lean my arm on my chair and twist my body, thinking about my mother’s motives for giving me the egg-freezing brochure. I was so lost in the past that I wasn’t looking toward the present. She pushed me to see what I wanted and knew it wasn’t just about a baby.
“You knew Christian would do the right thing. You knew he’d want to have a baby with me. And you knew I’d agree because I love him.”
I won’t be able to verify this until she wakes up, but I’m pretty damn sure my mother is the most interfering, nosy, conspiratorial helicopter mother there ever was.
I’m so lucky she’s mine.
Only problem with her plan is, Christian doesn’t want me the way I want him. I want more, and that’s unfair because I’d be breaking my vow to him. His career is still his focus; it’s part of who he is. I would never, could never, jeopardize that.
“You have a lot of explaining to do.” I lean down and kiss my mother on her forehead. “Dad is waiting for me. I’m going to make him come home with me to shower and have a home-cooked meal. Next time I see you, you’ll be awake, and everything will go back to normal. Everything …” My voice trails off.
“Better than a recliner?” I ask my dad as he comes out of my bedroom, showered and ready to see Mom.
I gave him my bed last night and took the couch for myself since my second bedroom only has a desk and stationary bike.
He has a giddy smile on his face as he grabs his wallet off the counter. “I’ll feel even better when I can get your mom home. How long do you think she’ll stay in the hospital?”
“Only a few more days.” I grab my bag.
There’s a ring on my landline. When I pick it up, Salvatore is on the other end. “Brian Duvane is here to see you.”
I look at Dad, wondering if he knew Brian was coming over. “Send him up.”
I open the door and wait for the elevator to open. When it does, Brian steps out with three coffees on a cardboard tray.
“I was up early and thought I’d swing by,” he says, lifting the tray.
I open the door wider and welcome him in. He gives Dad his decaf coffee and a small bag before giving me my drink. I take a sip and am surprised my brother knows my coffee order. While Dad rummages through the bag and takes out a blueberry muffin, Brian corners me in the kitchen.
“I came to apologize.”
I nearly spit out my coffee. “For what?”
He holds his hands up in a praying position, something he does when he’s about to do something really uncomfortable. “Beth and I talked last night, and I now realize that I’ve been hard on you.”
I would make a sarcastic comment about pigs flying or ask if he only has months to live, but from the way he’s making a face like he has a sour taste in his mouth, I have a feeling this apology is difficult for him.
“You’re just saying that because I said you have the perfect life.”
“I do,” he states. “I want the same thing for you, and it’s why I’ve been so disappointed. I always thought you lived your life on a cloud with no real responsibilities. It felt as if you never cared about how your decisions impacted those around you. I’m a realist. It’s hard for me to understand someone who lives on passion.”
I let out a small laugh. “That’s crazy because Beth is the most passionate person I’ve ever met.”
“It’s why I love her. And you. You have a big heart, Meadow. You shouldn’t change who you are because of an asshole like me.”
“You’re not an asshole, Brian. You’re just … you. I like you for being you.” I put my coffee down on the counter and push my hair off my face as I think of something Brian opened my eyes to. “When we marry someone, we think it’s a singular decision when, re
ally, they’re not just marrying us; we’re also welcoming them into an entire family. I never considered how Brock’s carelessness affected you or how my decisions with him made Mom and Dad feel. You marrying Beth is one of the greatest things to happen to me. I have a sister. You never had that with Brock, and it must have been hard for you to not only see me married to a man you shared no values with, but to also watch him hurt me the way he did. I would have married him anyway. I was blinded by romance. What I should have been was sensitive to our family. I understand how that must have been for you.”
His mouth quirks up. My acknowledgment of his feelings seems to be enough for him. “Anyway, that’s why I brought you coffee.”
I raise my paper cup in salute. His coffee and an apology are enough for me.
Dad is wiping crumbs off his face as we all head out the door. The two of them are talking about last night’s Yankees score when we get to the lobby. I’m almost at the door when Brian pulls me back. I don’t know why until I look over at a bench by the window and see Brock sitting there in cargo shorts and a T-shirt with a clean-shaven face—well, clean for Brock.
Salvatore scurries around the desk, his hat flopping on his head. “I was trying to call you, Ms. Duvane. He just arrived.”
“Thank you, Sal,” I tell Salvatore because I know he’s worried about Brock being here, especially with my father and brother in the room.
While I’m assuring him all is fine, Brian is walking up to Brock.
His fist is clenched.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Brian asks Brock, who rises from the bench with his hands open, palms out.
“I came to talk to Meadow,” Brock says.
He almost doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Brian’s fist is up in the air and flies right into Brock’s face.
“Oh shit!” I yelp, my hands flying to my mouth.
Dad is quick to grab Brian’s belt, pulling his khakis back and then grabbing his shoulder.
A Really Bad Idea Page 25
