You are the Story (The Extra Series Book 7)

by Megan Walker

  Ty looks at me with wide eyes. “Did something bad happen?”

  “Yeah,” I say, “but probably not as bad as you’re thinking.”

  “Okay.”

  “You know how your mom has been having a hard time lately?”

  Ty nods. “She’s been really tired. And sad.”

  “Yeah. And I didn’t realize it, but I think it’s because she’s sick. It’s something that happens sometimes after a woman has a baby. Do you know what depression is?”

  Ty thinks about that. “My friend Cody’s dad has depression, and he won’t get out of bed.”

  “Right. Sometimes it’s like that. It’s a sickness in your brain, and it can make you sad all the time, even if you have lots of reasons to be happy.”

  “Like me and Rachel,” Ty says.

  I smile. I love that these are the first things he thinks of when he thinks of his mom being happy.

  “And you,” he adds quickly, like he thinks I’ll be offended.

  “Exactly,” I say. “But just like sometimes you get sick and you can’t help it, sometimes depressed people get sad and they can’t help it. And your mom needs a doctor, but we didn’t realize that’s what was wrong, so she hasn’t gone to one yet.”

  “Is she going to go today?” Ty asks.

  I take a deep breath. This is the hard part, the part I wish I didn’t have to say. “Your mom got so sad and overwhelmed that she went away for a while. But she’s going to come back, and when she does, we’ll take her to the doctor.”

  Ty looks at me like I’m crazy. “We should go get her so she can go to the doctor now.”

  “I’d like that. But I can’t reach her right now, because she went away to be alone.”

  “She shouldn’t be alone if she’s sad,” Ty says, his voice getting a little desperate. “She should be with us, so we can cheer her up.”

  “I agree.” I reach over and put my hand on his shoulder and give it a little squeeze. “I’m not sure we could cheer her up, because it’s probably a sickness and not just regular sadness. I think she should be with us, so that we can be there with her even though she’s sad. But your mom didn’t agree, and I can’t make her come back right now. But she will, and then we’ll get her help, okay?”

  Ty doesn’t like this. He pokes at the pancake with his fork. Then his eyes light up. “I know! We should have Rocket sniff her clothes and find her and then make her come back so we can make her chicken soup and pie.”

  I smile sadly. “I don’t think Rocket’s that kind of dog.”

  “Can I send her a letter?” Ty asks. “Or an email? Or an animal in Farmville?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I think it’s a great idea for you to write her a letter. And send her an animal. But I don’t know that she’ll answer until she’s ready.”

  Ty scowls down at his pancake and its many tentacles.

  “It’s okay if you’re mad about that,” I say.

  “I’m a little mad,” Ty says. “But mostly scared and sad. Does that mean I’m sick too?”

  “No. It’s not contagious. And it’s normal to be regular sad. I am too.”

  He looks up at me, and I can tell he’s reading the pain on my face. I want to hide it from him, to be strong for him, but if Jenna were here, she’d tell him the truth. She’s always tried to be as honest with him as possible.

  “Your mom is going to be okay,” I tell him.

  “And you’re my real dad,” Ty says. “So I get to stay with you while she’s gone.”

  That punches me in the gut. I’ve explained to him that was part of why we were doing the adoption, so that he could stay with me if anything ever happened to his mom. But the fact that he’s worrying about that now— “Yeah, of course,” I tell him. “That’s not even a question. And I know this is hard, but sometimes things are hard and we still get through them.”

  Ty sets his fork down. “Maybe I should pray for her.”

  “That’s a great idea.”

  “And you should too.”

  “Believe me,” I tell him. “I already am.”

  “I want her to come back now.” He’s not whining, just stating a fact.

  “Me too,” I tell him. “But this isn’t her fault. It’s just something that is wrong in her brain, and when she comes back, we’ll get her to a doctor and she’ll start to get treatment to make it better. You know she loves you, right?”

  “Yes,” Ty says. “But what about Rachel? She’ll miss Mom.”

  That, fortunately, is not something I’m worried about. “Rachel is a baby,” I say. “She doesn’t even have object permanence yet. That means that when we leave the room, Rachel doesn’t even know that we’re still there.”

  Ty’s eyes widen. “Really? So she’ll think Mom’s never coming back.”

  I open my mouth to try to explain that this is the opposite of what I meant, but decide it’s too complicated, and possibly terrifying. “Rachel doesn’t understand time yet,” I say. “But I think it would be a really good idea for you to spend some time with her to help her be happy.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Why don’t you make a list?” I suggest. “Of all the things you want to do for your mom. You can make a get-well card, and pray for her, and maybe even make her some soup for when she gets home. Not everything you think of will be possible,” —I know my son too well for that— “but lots of them will be. And I’ll let you know as soon as I hear from her.”

  “Okay,” Ty says with determination, and I can’t help but be amazed at how brave he is. I know he’s scared, and he’s willing to admit that, but he’s also willing to set that aside and think of what his mom and sister might need.

  “I’m proud of you, kid,” I tell him. “It’s okay if you need to cry or yell about this, but I love that your first thought is that you want to help. And I love you and your mom loves you and we’re going to be just fine, all right?”

  “Okay,” he says again, and he throws his arms around my waist. I hold on to him and he holds on to me, and I close my eyes, and try to listen to my own words.

  They’re easier to believe when I say them to him.

  Thirty-one

  Anna-Marie

  I already had today off from work—my character ran off on a ski trip to the Alps with her sister’s boyfriend, and so today’s scenes are just the other characters’ reactions to Maeve’s latest scandal. But despite how much I’ve been dreading my day job lately, I kind of wish I was there now. At least having something productive to do would keep me from pacing around the house feeling super helpless about my friend’s disappearance almost two days ago.

  I distract myself with combing through my closet, looking for the perfect outfit for my slayer character, Scarlet. Black booty shorts? Check. Red leather vest that normally goes over a peasant blouse but looks fabulously sexy and just-trashy-enough on its own? Check. Knee-high, lace-up boots with stiletto heels perfect for kicking vampire ass and making my ass look its very best? Check and check.

  I’m starting to dig through Josh’s closet to see if he has anything that would work for Marco—who I do not imagine wearing either Josh’s usual Hugo Boss business suits or his t-shirt-and-basketball-shorts-style loungewear—when I finally get impatient enough to text Gabby. Again.

  Anything yet?

  There’s only a few seconds pause. Clearly Gabby is anxiously checking her own phone often.

  No, nothing. The kids are with Dana, and Josh just stopped by to see how Felix was doing, so I stepped out for a bit to give them some time alone.

  I sit down on the cushy chair in our big walk-in closet. Josh had said he was going to move around his schedule so he could check in on Felix, which I thought was a really good idea. I know he feels as helpless to help his friend as I do to help mine.

  At least Josh hadn’t been avoiding his friend while said
friend was going through a major crisis.

  Another text from Gabby buzzes through: Going to try calling around at the hospitals again. Check in with the police.

  My gut twists at the thought of Jenna being brought into a hospital, hurt. Or worse. Right, I text back. That’ll be good. Need me to do anything?

  A few seconds go by. No thanks. I don’t think even what I’m doing is helping much. But it feels better to be doing something, you know?

  I get that. And I wish there was something I could do, but it’s not like I knew Jenna so well that I have some sense of where she might have run off to, and it’s not like it’ll do any good to just drive up and down the streets calling out her name like she’s a lost dog.

  I do feel like I know her well enough for this, though: Jenna in her right mind wouldn’t ever leave her family, not without the postpartum depression seriously messing with her brain. And so it scares me to think what else it might get her to do.

  I’m about to go for another round of calming yoga, when I hear Ben’s voice. “Anna-Marie?”

  “In here,” I call, and Ben walks into the closet. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt that doesn’t look or smell like he’s been wearing it for days, so I take that as a hopeful sign.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Enjoying your cavern of shoes?”

  Ben has yet to step foot into our bedroom without making some comment about our vast closet—closet size having been one of the biggest reasons I fell in love with this house.

  “It is my zen place,” I say with a smile, pulling my legs up under me on the chair. Then I give him a look. “But don’t even think about eating in here, either.”

  He ignores the jab, and shifts his weight, looking sheepish. “So I wrote that letter. Did Josh tell you about—”

  “The letter to Wyatt?” I sit up straight.

  “Yeah.” He chews on his lower lip, and holds up a piece of paper he’d been hiding behind his back. “Any chance you’d want to take a look at it? Tell me if it’s any good?”

  “Oh my god, yes!” I jump to my feet. “Give it to me!”

  “I feel like you’ve said these words in this room before, but probably not to a gay man.”

  I smack him on the arm as I take the piece of paper from him, but he’s not wrong. Josh and I have had our share of sex in this particular closet.

  I start reading, as Ben feigns interest in a pair of my gold Jimmy Choos. Honestly, the letter is so much more open and vulnerable than I could have even hoped for. As I read through Ben’s words telling Wyatt how he’s terrified of failing or disappointing him, expressing how horrifying the idea is that Wyatt needs something Ben can’t give him . . . It’s like I’m getting a glimpse into Ben’s soul that very few people—probably Wyatt and Josh only—really get to see.

  And the love he talks about, how deeply he misses and loves Wyatt . . .

  Tears are swimming in my eyes when I finish reading. “Ben,” I say, blinking them back.

  He’s not looking at me, carefully examining a beaded clutch on one of my purse shelves like he has ever in his life paid the slightest bit of attention to anything that could be described as “beaded” or “a clutch.” “How terrible is it?”

  “Ben, this is incredible. Like, really sweet, and honest, and brave. I know how scary it can be to say some of this stuff.”

  He looks over at me cautiously, setting the clutch down. “Really? You don’t think it’s too much? Like, what about the end, where I talk about how excruciating it is being without him?”

  “Is it true?” I raise my eyebrow. I already know the answer.

  He stares down at the ground. “Yeah. Definitely.”

  “Then it’s not too much. It’s exactly what Wyatt needs to hear.”

  He leans against the closest wall. “Do you think it will work?”

  I consider this. “If you mean it’ll get him to understand how sorry you are, and how scared you are about not being able to give him what he needs, and how much you love him and want to work things out with him, then yeah. I really think it’ll work. It’ll get you two actually talking again, which is what you both need.”

  “That would definitely be good,” he says, taking the paper back from me, his lips tugging up at the sides. “Though really I just want my husband to say he forgives me and for us to spend the next several days making up in bed.”

  “In that case, you might want to make sure you have this written on parchment in calligraphy and deliver it while wearing the Mr. Darcy shirt. Possibly all wet, like you just came out of that lake from the movie to write this letter. You know, for the full effect.”

  “Oh, trust me,” he says. “I know Wyatt. I’m planning on it.”

  “Then I’d say you have a really good chance.” I hope he does. I hope this letter works. I hope they can talk through everything they need to, that they can figure out the baby thing and their relationship and how to put things between them back together.

  Like Josh and I will, I tell myself. Like we’re doing, slowly but surely.

  I try not to think about how Felix probably thought that about him and Jenna, too.

  Ben sighs. “I just hope I have any chance at all,” he says in a small voice. He fidgets with the paper in his hand. “Hey, I’m sorry about being a dick to you before. About the couch. And the pants.”

  I can practically feel my eyebrows hit my hairline. Ben doesn’t apologize for being a dick, as a general rule, or at least not in a way that’s so . . . direct. He’s far more likely to make some self-deprecating joke if he feels like he’s gone too far, and even that’s rare.

  “It’s okay.” I give him a smile, to let him know we’re cool. “Thanks.”

  He shifts uncomfortably, and I wonder if I should say more. Does he expect effusive praise for wearing pants in someone else’s house, because there’s no way that’s—

  “It’s just because you’re family, you know?” he blurts out. “And I didn’t think of it as disrespecting you, because, you know . . . you can just say stuff to family, and they’re still . . .” He shrugs, looking down at the carpet.

  “Family,” I say, gaping a bit. “You really think of me that way?”

  “Of course.” He seems surprised I’d even have to ask. “Honestly, my actual family kind of sucks, so Josh and you are like . . . real family.”

  My heart melts. I’d obviously known he felt that way about Josh, but to include me in that, too . . .

  “You’re like that to me too, you know. You and Wyatt. The married gay brothers I never had.” I wince, hoping mentioning Wyatt again doesn’t hurt him, given his fears about whether they’ll even be able to stay married, but he smiles over at me.

  “It’s kind of nice to have family you can choose,” he says. “I figure with your family stuff, you’d probably get that more than most.”

  I laugh. “You’re not wrong there. With the exception of my mom, though, things haven’t been so bad lately. I don’t even dread the family reunions as much.”

  Ben chuckles. “That’s good, because I think Josh actively loves them. He keeps telling me how much he wants his Weiner back from Uncle Joe.”

  “You know, you’re always welcome to come with us one of these years,” I say. “Us being family and all.”

  Ben groans. “I have enough family issues without bringing the Wyoming Halseys on board. Besides, who would Josh call from Wyoming to tell all about Patrice’s well-meaning racism or Uncle Joe’s attempts to get Josh to start wearing cowboy boots?”

  “Good point.”

  He looks away again. “I know it sucks that you guys haven’t been able to get pregnant. You’ll figure it out, though. Not just stuff between you two, but . . . I know you’ll have a kid someday. And you’ll be really great parents, both of you.”

  My heart cracks open, warmth and sadness all at once. “Thanks, Ben. I appreciate that
.”

  He gives me a small smile. “And god help the kid if he eats on that damn couch.”

  I laugh, and pick up a shoe like I’m going to throw it at him, and he ducks out of the room before I can.

  But I find myself still smiling after he leaves.

  Thirty-two

  Anna-Marie

  Afew hours later, I’m lacing myself into my sexy stiletto boots when I get a call from Josh.

  “Hey,” I say, and there’s this little jolt of hope that maybe they’ve heard something about Jenna.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he says. “I’m about twenty minutes away, but thought I’d check and see if I should pick anything up for dinner while I’m out.”

  So no news, then. “I actually have dinner covered. Scarlet may be planning to seduce Marco with a graveyard picnic—patrolling is hungry work, after all.”

  He chuckles. “Sounds amazing.” But I can hear a note of weariness in his voice.

  “Is this really something you want to do tonight?” I can’t help but ask. “With everything going on with Felix and Jenna, if you thought maybe we should put it off a bit—you know, if we need to help out watching their kids, or if it would be better if you hang out with him some more tonight, or—”

  “Felix says he wants some space.” His voice has grown even more strained, and my heart aches.

  “How is he doing today? I mean, not great, I’m sure, but . . .” I leave that dangling.

  Josh sighs. “Worse today. I think he was in so much shock that first night, and I think between yesterday and today, it’s really coming down on him.” There’s a quiet pause, threaded through with the muted sounds of LA traffic in the background. “But I’m totally up for this,” he says. “I think—it’ll just be really nice to spend the night with you. Or Scarlet, I suppose.” I can hear the smile in his words.

  I smile into the phone myself. “Well, Scarlet is all ready to get Marco to break all sorts of watcher rules. And basic graveyard decorum.”