Forbidden First Times: A Contemporary Romance Collection

by Sofia T Summers

  I knew it was wrong to lie about Jessie, but the lie had unfortunately done the trick. The visit, aside from a couple of awkward moments, was easily the most harmonious time I had spent with my parents in years. Even dinner wasn’t the fight it normally was. My mother kept bringing up various relatives, people who just “had” to be included in the wedding party, and all I did was smile and nod.

  “I want Margot to be my best woman,” I said, testing the waters.

  To my great relief, my mother smiled.

  “I think that would be a lovely gesture,” she said. “But please, try to make her do something about that hair of hers.”

  I leaned back in my chair, practically sweating with relief.

  So far, the first part of my plan was working – my mother would be so distracted with my fake engagement that now, I’d be free to pursue Jessie and win her back.

  I just hoped the second part of my plan would be as successful.

  13

  Jessie

  The one thing that killed me about everything happening in my life was that despite the anger and pain and heartbreak I felt, I couldn’t deny that I felt one other thing, too.

  Curiosity.

  “That’s what killed the cat, you know,” Henny said softly one day. We were having a rare brunch in my apartment – It made all the rarer because Olive was still sleeping. Henny had come over with chocolate-chip brioche, eggs, and orange juice. We’d just whipped up some chocolate-chip French toast, and now, we were sitting at my kitchen table feeling gluttonous and pleased with ourselves.

  “I ... I wish I didn’t feel that way. Honest,” I told her, matching her quiet tone in a hopeful attempt to keep our gathering adults-only. “But I feel like I deserve answers. He left me a stupid fucking Dear Jane letter and then disappeared for five years! Who wouldn’t want answers?”

  Henny cocked her head to the side and sipped her orange juice.

  “You know, my therapist says that closure is a myth,” she said slowly. “That it’s selfish – that we only want to get our idea of closure because it makes us feel better about ourselves.”

  I blinked at her.

  “And that’s our job,” Henny said. “You know – like, it’s my own job to manage my expectations and emotions.”

  “If you feel like that, why do you have a therapist?” I asked.

  Henny blushed, and I felt a pang of guilt.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I said quickly. “It’s just, aren’t there ever some situations where it’s appropriate? Like this one? I mean, what do I tell Olive? She’s already getting so curious – asking about her daddy almost every day.”

  At this, Henny looked uneasy.

  “I mean, you tell her the truth. In an age-appropriate way,” she said.

  “Not that I hate her father’s fucking guts,” I suggested airily.

  Henny blushed at my profanity, then shook her head.

  “Of course not,” she said. “You wouldn’t want her to grow up thinking that her father is a bad man, would you?”

  I was quiet for a second. The obvious, rational answer was ‘no’ – I’d never want Olive to think anyone less than human perfection had been part of creating her existence.

  “The thing is,” I said softly. “Ben isn’t a bad man. He ... well, I guess he had some reason for leaving. He did always used to say that I was too emotional for him. Maybe he couldn’t handle it. Maybe he needed to find some female version of Dr. Spock, you know – all logic and reason.”

  “That still didn’t give him the right to leave you without an explanation,” Henny said.

  “I know. But even the best people sometimes make mistakes,” I continued. “He’s not a bad man. Maybe he is now, I don’t know – a lot can change in five years. But like, maybe he’s just not the man for me.”

  Henny didn’t reply.

  Inside, I was so conflicted that I felt almost nauseous. The brioche French toast churned in my stomach as I gathered our plates and brought them into the kitchen. I set them in the sink after rinsing off the crumbs and leaned against the counter.

  What was happening to me? Days ago, I had been so angry and confused that I hadn’t even been able to think straight. I’d called out of work one day and taken Olive to pre-school as usual, but I’d spent the day alone, walking on Wrightsville Beach with my hands shoved in my pockets and my face drawn against the wind.

  At the end of it, I’d come out feeling just as confused as I had when I’d woken up that morning.

  Was it really that I wanted answers, felt that I deserved them? Or was this my anger and feeling of betrayal working overtime to somehow justify the fact that seeing him had stirred up a whole blender full of emotions ... including some that I’d rather have not revisited.

  Henny joined me in the kitchen. She started washing our plates and just as I set them down to dry in the dish rack, I heard the scamper of tiny footsteps.

  “Olive’s up,” I said under my breath. “Ix-nay on the en-Bay.”

  Henny mimed, locking her lips together and throwing the key over her shoulder.

  “Mommy and Aunt Henny!” Olive shrieked at a volume that was far too loud for mornings.

  “Yup,” Henny said. She knelt down and scooped Olive up into her arms. “How’d ya sleep, kiddo?”

  Olive giggled and buried her face in Henny’s neck.

  “It smells like chocolate in here,” she said, sniffing the air and giving me an accusing stare. “Did you and Aunt Henny eat candy?”

  I flushed. “We made chocolate chip French toast,” I told her. “If you’ll sit down at the table and eat with a fork, I’ll make you some.”

  Olive cheered. Henny took her into the living room and put on an episode of Paw Patrol while I cooked more of the French toast. The brioche was so good that I couldn’t resist making more for myself and Henny, too, and I even dug some whipped cream out of the back of the fridge.

  The three of us sat down – Olive perched on Henny’s lap – and ate slowly. Henny kept meeting my eyes over Olive’s head and finally, I just shrugged at her. I would have liked to finish our conversation, but what else was there to say?

  I had a feeling that I wouldn’t be satisfied until I got the answers myself.

  After our second breakfast, Henny left and Olive played in the living room while I did the second round of dishes. When I was done, I wiped my hands on a dishtowel and joined my daughter.

  “So,” I said. “What would you like to do today?”

  Olive blinked. “It’s Saturday,” she said, looking outside. “Can we go to Disney World?”

  I laughed and Olive pouted.

  “Honey, that’s in Florida,” I told her. “Even if we left right now, we wouldn’t get there for hours and hours. You don’t want to sit in the car all day, do you?”

  Olive shook her head ‘no’, but she was still frowning.

  “We could go to the library,” I suggested. “And maybe get a new book. And then we could read it together. What do you think?”

  Olive sighed – a very heavy sound coming from a toddler. It was so sweet and cute that it nearly melted my heart, and I pulled her close and gave her a big hug.

  “What’s wrong, Mommy?”

  “Nothing,” I lied. “I just love you a lot. You know that, right?”

  Olive nodded. “Yes,” she said sweetly before giving me a sticky, French-toast scented kiss on my cheek. I laughed and held her tightly for another second before letting her squirm away.

  “Can we get a book about daddies?” Olive asked.

  Now, it was my turn to blink and blush. Had she overheard Henny and I talking, after all?

  And if she had, how the fuck was I going to get out of this mess?

  “Um, we can look for one,” I said cautiously. “What makes you ask that, sweetie?”

  Olive sighed, blowing a hunk of her dark hair sky-high over her forehead. Her big brown eyes – mirror images of my own – were serious and almost sad.

  “Because I wan
t to know why my daddy isn’t here,” Olive said. She bit on her plump lower lip. “And what kind of a daddy he is.”

  I sighed inwardly.

  “Honey, books are great,” I told her. “But they can’t give you the answers to all of life’s problems. You know that,” I said. “They can help, though.”

  “I just want to know about my daddy,” Olive insisted.

  A deep melancholy feeling came over me, and I realized acutely why I suddenly was so hungry for answers, for an explanation from Benjamin that would explain his absence.

  It wasn’t for me – I had matured so much over the last few years that now, Olive was my first priority. And while I was furious at him for what he’d done, I had to find a way to tell my daughter the truth.

  “Let me tell you a story,” I said. With some difficulty, I rolled to my knees and then got to my feet. I walked over to the couch and sat down, patting the space next to me.

  “Come sit,” I said to Olive.

  Olive nodded. She got to her feet far more gracefully than I had, then skipped over to the couch and sat down next to me.

  “What story are we going to read?” Olive asked.

  I shook my head. “We’re not going to read anything, hon,” I told her. “But I want to tell you about ... um, a friend of mine.”

  Olive already looked interested, and I swallowed hard.

  “Her name was Beth,” I said. “And we were friends in college.”

  “That was a long time ago, Mommy,” Olive said.

  I mock-groaned. “It was an eon,” I said. “Which is a very, very long time. Ten years, even.”

  Olive looked startled – it was as if she couldn’t comprehend what my life had been like before becoming her mother. The look on her face was so cute that I couldn’t resist the urge to lean down and plant a kiss on her head.

  “What about your friend?” Olive asked.

  “She had a boyfriend – you know. They were very close,” I said. “They spent time together all the time. They saw movies and ate dinner tonight,” I continued.

  Olive’s little brow furrowed at me.

  Sensing that I was losing her interest, I added quickly: “They were so in love that ... well, they decided to have a baby.”

  “Like me?” Olive asked.

  I nodded. Relief that she hadn’t asked the crucial question of how, filled me, and I cleared my throat.

  “And, well, as much as they loved each other, they loved their baby even more.”

  Olive blinked.

  “Sometimes, when grown-ups fall in love, it doesn’t last forever,” I said. “But it’s not like that when a mom has a child. That mom will love her baby forever, even after her baby is all grown up,” I explained.

  Olive nodded slowly.

  “Do you understand?” I asked hopefully.

  Olive sighed and wrapped both of her chubby arms around my wrist. She scooted closer and rested her head against my elbow. Talking to her hadn’t really helped me feel any better – and if I was being honest with myself, I didn’t want her to start asking question after question at me.

  All I wanted to do was have her understand that I’d always love her and protect her.

  Whether her daddy would ever come back into the picture or not, I had to stay strong for my little girl.

  14

  Benjamin

  I couldn’t help it – in the next few days, some of my mother’s excitement began to be catching. I should have been smarter, should have realized that since this was fake I needed to be as cautious and careful as ever.

  But the thought of making Jessie mine again – but this time, for good – was so uplifting and encouraging. All I wanted was to see her fall in love with me again.

  And all I wanted was to make her one promise: that I’d never leave her side for the rest of my life again. It should have mattered to me that she’d moved on, gotten married, had a child.

  But it didn’t.

  “Maybe the kid isn’t even hers,” I suggested to Margot later that week. The two of us were sitting in a restaurant – a brewery, overlooking the river – and Margot had just ordered a beer.

  “Scratch that,” she called loudly to the bartender. “Make it a whiskey. Rail, whatever, I don’t care. And a double,” she added.

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “It’s eleven-thirty in the morning,” I said.

  Margot rolled her eyes at me. “Who are you, Mom?” She asked. “Besides, this is my evening. I worked a double last night.” There were dark circles under her eyes and her hair smelled like cigarettes, but even when she complained about her work, I knew that my younger sister wouldn’t have had her life any other way.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “But you’re not driving anywhere, right?”

  Margot gave me a flippant look. “After what you just said about your ex and her kid, I feel like driving off a cliff.”

  I frowned. “What does that even mean?”

  Margot gave me a deadpan look. Her drink arrived and she downed half of it in one gulp, wincing as the sharp whiskey burned its way down her throat. The bartender brought over a pitcher of beer for me and I poured a glass, taking a long swallow.

  “You’re being delusional,” Margot said. “I mean, seriously? You saw her with a kid – most people would just go ahead and assume it was hers. You think she what, took up babysitting over the last five years?”

  My frown grew deeper.

  “I don’t know,” I muttered. “Maybe you’re right – maybe it was a stupid thing to say.”

  Margot sighed. She gave me a guilty look and finished off the rest of her drink. The whiskey was so strong that it came off her breath in waves.

  “It wasn’t stupid,” she said. “I know that you’re being ... hopeful, I guess, if you want me to be nice about it. But I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Ben. I don’t want to lie and make you think that all of this will work out.”

  I didn’t reply.

  “You’re the one who told me that you found her on Facebook, right?”

  I nodded.

  “So, like, is she married? Or what?”

  “No details.”

  Margot sighed.

  Now it was my turn to roll my eyes at her.

  “What?” Margot asked.

  “You can’t just do that,” I told her.

  “Do what?” Margot raised her hand and signaled to the bartender who brought the bottle of rail whiskey over. This time, he left it on the bar top.

  “Just sigh, like you know something,” I said. “This is no time for some stupid girl code – tell me what you think it means.”

  “Okay, well, let me tap into my female intuition and get back to you,” Margot said sarcastically. “Please hold,” she added as she poured herself another glass of whiskey.

  I shifted impatiently on the barstool and drained half of my beer in one gulp.

  “If you want my honest answer, she’s probably not married,” Margot said. “Most girls – women, I guess – are so happy about being married that their whole page is like, littered with gross couple photos.”

  I had to laugh.

  “And Mom always said you were so unfeminine,” I teased.

  Margot groaned. “Anyway, maybe she is married and he’s a total loser and she’s like, embarrassed. Or maybe she’s separated.” A beat passed. “Or divorced.”

  I blinked at her.

  “If the idea of dating a divorced woman bothers you, but you have no problem going after a married one, then I’ve—”

  “No, that’s not it,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s just ... um, well, it’s fucking impossible to imagine any guy who would divorce her. She’s perfect.”

  Margot groaned. “It takes two to tango, doofus,” she said. “Maybe it was a mistake, and they got married too soon or something. Or maybe she was the one who left him.”

  I stared into the depths of my beer glass.

  “Yeah, maybe,” I muttered.

  “Anyway, the only way you can fin
d out is to, you know, ask her,” Margot said with more patience than I deserved. “By the way, what the hell did you tell Mom?”

  “What?”

  “Oh my god, you are so fucking dim this morning,” Margot said. She finished her second glass of whiskey and poured another. I had to resist the older-brotherly urge I felt to yank the bottle out of her hands and return it to the bartender.

  I groaned. “Come on. You know what I’m dealing with.”

  “Then let me tell you what I’m dealing with,” Margot said. “My estranged mother, calling me out of the blue to ask what my dress size is – and to tell me that my brother is engaged.” She paused. “I thought you were just going to tell them you were dating someone, you know, to get them off your back for a while.”

  “Yeah, um, well, that’s not really what happened,” I said lamely.

  “God, they are going to be so steamed when they find out,” Margot replied. She took another fierce swig of whiskey. “And Jessie, of all people! They hated her!”

  “Well, yeah, that’s the thing,” I said. “They don’t know it’s her. I made someone up. Some rich girl from Vermont.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Margot put her face in her hands and shook her head. “How the hell did you think you’d be able to get away with that, and do you think I could have some of whatever it was you took before making this dumbass call?”

  “I’m not high,” I shot back.

  Margot gave me an evil grin. “You’re high on love,” she teased.

  I glared at her.

  “In all seriousness, this is a terrible idea,” Margot said. “What if it somehow gets back to Jessie and she believes it? That you’re trying to romance her when you’re literally engaged to someone else? I doubt she’d stand for that,” Margot continued. “She was always such a spitfire.”

  I shook my head. “I’ve got it under control,” I said. “After all, it’s about time that I sit her down and tell her the truth.”