by Maya Hughes
When I finally composed myself and put on a new pair of pajamas, I expected to come back to an empty bedroom. Instead, John sat on the edge of my bed staring at the doorway to the closet. He startled me and stood, crossing the space between us. He didn't touch me, but I could still feel him.
"Are you okay?" he asked, trying to get me to look at him.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. He hadn't left. Relief and fear washed over me. I was so screwed up. He didn’t deserve this. "I'm fine. Sorry for freaking out on you."
"Don't ever apologize for anything you don't want to do. I'm sorry I brought it up."
"No, don't be sorry. I...it's stupid, and I shouldn't be this wrapped up in the past."
He took my hand in his and put it on his chest. "Does what happened have anything to do with these?" he asked, pushing up the sleeves of my shirt. I ducked my head and nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to wreck what little grasp I’d managed to gain on my composure.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, running his hand over the back of mine. His voice, full of concern, which made me feel like even more of an idiot.
"Do you want some ice cream? I have ice cream in the freezer. At least six types." I glanced past him to the door and tried to disengage myself from his hold. Ice cream solved everything, right? He froze for a second before letting me go. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something and then nodded.
"Sure, I'd love some," he said, not letting me run away, but taking my hand in his and threading his fingers through mine. The nervousness coursed through me as we walked back downstairs.
He grabbed a seat at the kitchen counter and I pulled out every tub of ice cream in the freezer. I was wrong, there were twelve types. I served him up a scoop of butter pecan, coffee, and mint chocolate chip, while I stuck to vanilla bean, coffee, and cookie dough.
We ate in silence for a while, and I felt worse by the second. The evening was ruined because of old hang-ups and disasters. He seemed deep in thought and had a grim set to his lips.
"Are you mad? I'm really sorry." I leaned over the counter and covered his hand with mine. He reversed the hold and ran his fingers over my hand and then down to my wrist. I didn't flinch. I didn't snatch them away.
"It's really okay. I'm not mad. These things take time. They take trust. We'll get there."
Relief flooded me. I'd been putting him off and running away, and here he was saying we'd get there. He hadn't written me off. I'd been trying to deny how much I liked him, but not anymore.
"About our date?" he asked, smiling.
"What about it?" I asked, sliding another spoonful of creamy ice cream into my mouth.
"I'm thinking it's got to be big, right? Since something seemed to always get in the way of the others." He gave me a pointed playful glance. "Maybe if I make it big enough, a certain someone will be so overcome with guilt, she'll actually show up."
I laughed. "I have a feeling this certain someone will show up for this date no matter what you have planned."
"I was thinking fire breathers, maybe a harbor cruise, some fireworks, balloon animals, swimming with the sharks. And that's not even including dinner."
I choked on my ice cream.
"Balloon animals?"
"Really? Out of that entire list, the one that tripped you up is balloon animals? What's wrong with balloon animals?"
"They're usually pretty basic, right? Sword. Flower. Dog."
"It seems you haven't found the right guy to show you the whole new world of balloon art. It's definitely on the list now."
"Are you serious?" I laughed, covering my mouth full of ice cream.
"Completely," he said, leaning over the counter and kissing me on my nose.
We finished our ice cream, and John checked his phone.
"I should get going. It's been a long day, and I've got work tomorrow."
A pang of sadness I hadn't expected hit me as he got up and shrugged his coat on.
"Me too." I walked him to the door.
"I had a great time tonight during our not-date."
"I did, too."
He slid both hands along the sides of my face and kissed me so deeply I felt it in my feet. I lifted up on my toes and nearly toppled over as he finally broke the kiss.
"I'll see you at our date." He jogged down the front steps and hopped into his car. I waved as he pulled away from the curb and stared at my wrists as he pulled into traffic and disappeared down the street.
23
John - Now
I raced around the city trying to make sure everything was perfect for our date. The fact that she said she wouldn't back out meant I pulled out all the stops. I hoped maybe she'd open up to me about what happened. The scars weren't from some novice mistake. Those were serious damage, and I looked at her blog in a different light after what happened the night of our not-date.
I'd initially thought it was her kink. She had to have one, right? She owned a sex club and almost every other article on her blog was about it. I realized too late it wasn't because it was her kink. It was because she was trying to get the information out there. She was giving people all the information they needed to do things the safe way. I'd been so stupid not to see things sooner. Unfortunately, I'd discovered the ropes were a kink of mine. I didn't know how she'd feel about them, but I was perfectly fine shelving it, if she wasn't comfortable. For as long as that took.
A call to the aquarium to triple-check on our reservation for the private shark-petting zoo. The balloon-artist rendition of Starry Night was ready to be delivered to the harbor cruise, and the classical-music trio was ready to board with the special arrangements of the theme songs to her favorite video games and TV shows.
It was as close to perfect as I could get. At least what I envisioned being the perfect night for her that didn't include the couch, binge-watching TV, and pajamas. She'd be sure to get to all that tomorrow morning after the date.
On my way to the florist, I kept coming back to her scars. I wanted to beat the shit out of whoever had done that to her. Whoever took something that was supposed to be about trust and mistreated her. I'd love to get my hands on whoever did it. Whoever hadn't done everything in their power to protect my girl. I froze in the doorway of the florist.
My girl. Had that thought really just crossed my mind? We had only been on one real date. We'd had sex once. But I couldn't deny the connection I felt to her. When I woke up, she was the first thing I thought about. And before I went to bed, it was the same. She had me tripping all over myself with that palm-sweaty, can't-sleep feeling.
I slid my order across the counter to the florists. I knew she'd love these when she saw them. She wasn't a flower kind of girl, but Rachel gave me the inside scoop.
"Isn't she a lucky girl?" the brunette behind the counter said.
"I'm the lucky guy. You think they're good, right?"
"If a guy brought me flowers like these, I'd be all over him," she said, batting her eyelashes. Good, I let out a sigh of relief.
I stepped out of the florist. I set the flowers down in the passenger seat of the car and slid in, taking my phone out to check on Frankie. Before I could touch her name, a call came in. Her ringtone blaring through my speakers. My stomach sank as I got a bad feeling about the call.
I answered it when her voice came out high and panicky. Immediately, my body was on high alert. I could barely understand her.
"Frankie...Frankie...slow down. What are you talking about?"
"I'm really sorry, John. I'm so sorry, but I can't make it tonight."
"But--" The call ended before I could even get another word out. I sat in the car stunned and unable to move for a long time. It was like there was a burning-hot poker stabbing me in the chest cauterizing my wound as it went, so I couldn't bleed out immediately. No, this would be a slow, torturous death.
My phone rang again. This time it was the balloon artist to confirm the delivery location. Humiliation rolled over me. What the fuck wa
s wrong with me? I was doing all this, and she kept cancelling. I could keep pretending and showing up at her place with pizza she couldn't turn down, but that didn’t change anything. She didn't want me. Too bad I couldn’t stop wanting her.
I rolled the car window down and snatched the flower arrangement off the passenger side seat before throwing it out the window and into the trash can outside of the shop. I needed a fucking beer.
24
Frankie - Now
I ended the call and stared at the tests all over the bathroom. The numbness had set in. The stunned, numbness that meant I could barely feel my hands.
I picked up my phone again from the counter, my hands trembling.
Me: Sash, I'm pregnant
I couldn't believe this was happening. Birth control had been second nature since college to regulate my periods, but it wasn't like I'd had a chance to test its effectiveness until recently.
Sasha: Holy shit! Seriously?!
Me: Yes
What did I tell him? How did I tell John I'd gotten pregnant? I'm pretty sure that's not what he had in mind when he shared my suite at the wedding.
Sasha: Good job, way to work your way through every high school cliché and you've been out for almost a decade.
I guess that was a silver lining. At least this hadn't happened back in high school. The rumor mill would have gone into hyper drive, plus the whole having-a-kid-back-then thing.
Me: I hate you
Sasha: How are you doing?
Me: I'm freaking out.
I ran my hand across my forehead, squeezing it like I'd be able to think my way out of this situation.
Sasha: It's John's, right?
Me: Yes, it's John's. How many guys do you think I'm sleeping with?
Sasha: I don't know, just checking...
Me: You're no help. I'm sorry I even said anything.
Sasha: I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, and you know I'll be there if you need anything.
Me: A time machine?
Sasha: All out of the plutonium I need to run mine...
Me: What do I do now?
Sasha: Have John's baby?
Me: FUCK
Sixteen tests. The person at the pharmacy thought I was insane buying that many, but I wanted to make sure. I'd bought two boxes of every single type they had there.
The second time I threw up that morning, it dawned on me. I triple-checked my calendar and raced to the pharmacy.
Sasha: Come on. It's not that bad
Me: It's not?
Sasha: You're not some high school or college kid. You're an adult. You have a good, if unorthodox job and your family has money.
Me: Gee, thanks
Sasha: I'm just pointing out the obvious. You'll be fine.
Me: What do I do about John?
Sasha: What do you mean?
Me: I got pregnant. I feel so guilty. This is the kind of shit that guys are always ranting about. Some chick getting knocked up and then getting stuck with her.
My heart pounded as I thought about him hating me. I couldn't handle that. We were only barely in a place of not shooting fiery barbs at one another whenever we saw each other.
Sasha: And that's the kind of guy John is?
Me: No, not really
He'd be a great dad and he'd probably not hate me, but then what? We were still trying to figure if there was an us. A real us. Throwing a baby into the mix was only going to complicate things.
Sasha: So what's the problem? You two fucked. You two got pregnant. This isn't a one-sided thing. It's a risk every time.
Me: I don't know what to do.
Sasha: I'd suggest talking to the father of your soon-to-be child
I hung my head between my knees.
Me: I'm not ready for that
Sasha: You need someone there with you. Who do you know in the city?
Me: John, Rachel, Killian
Sasha: Seriously?! How long have you lived there and you know three people?
She didn't need to remind me how much of a pathetic hermit I was. I already knew this, and nothing like a life crisis to drive that point home. I'd lived in my cave for so long, I didn't even know how to make new friends anymore.
Me: I know more people, just none I could call up and say, hey, guess who's having a baby with a guy she slept with once. This girl!
Sasha: Fine, call Killian. He knows John. He'll be able to give you some sound advice in person and hopefully talk some sense into you.
Me: I will
I stared at my screen for a long time trying to figure out the best text message possible to tell your friend you're pregnant with your other friend's baby. I couldn't stomach a call. I was such a fucking coward.
Sasha: Do it! I'm going to get some food, but when I get back, you'd better have called him.
Me: Fine
I sent Killian a text. 'I'm pregnant. It's John's.'
The little text bubble appeared before the phone rang in my hand. I reluctantly answered it.
"What.The.Fuck?"
"I know," I said, miserably.
"So that's why Grim wanted a beer."
"What? No, I haven't told him."
"You what?" he shouted and I had to hold the phone away from my ear. "You haven't told him?"
"No, I just found out. And you can't tell him."
"Frankie—"
"Do not tell him. I will tell him once I figure out what I'm going to do."
"What do you mean? Are you not going to keep it?"
"Of course, I am. I didn't mean about that. I meant try to figure out what I'm going to do about John."
"Okay. What do you want me to tell him?"
"Tell him ‘I'm sorry’. I...me cancelling the date had nothing to do with him. I mean, nothing to do with me not wanting to go on the date with him. I wanted to go. Just make sure he knows I don't hate him or anything. This isn't a great time, and I need a chance to think for a while."
"I think you should tell him. Come meet us and tell him."
"No, please do this for me Killian. Please," I begged. He let out a deep breath.
"Fine, but I'm not doing this forever. This isn't high school."
Relief washed over me as I slumped down onto the couch.
"Thank you. I promise, not for long. It will take me a little bit to get things straight in my head, and then I'll tell him."
"You'd better. I'm here. I'll talk to you later."
I ended the call and leaned back. When I set my phone down, it dawned on me that I’d left the house without my cuffs or a bracelet or anything. I’d gone out with my wrists and my scars on full display. The thought of leaving the house without them before usually sent me into a panic. Walking around campus with wide bandages around my wrists was a surefire way to get the wrong type of attention. People always thought they knew how I’d gotten them, but somehow them thinking I’d tried to kill myself was in some ways better than the truth.
After all this time, I’d run out of the house without even thinking about it. There were more important things happening. I buried my face in the couch. The smell of peppermint filled my nose. It still smelled like him. Tears prickled the backs of my eyes. What did I do? How do you tell the guy you're kind of dating that you're pregnant with his baby?
25
John - Now
I was already four beers deep when Killian pushed through the doors to the bar. The smell of stale beer and decades-old cigarettes permeated everything in the place. It had been a long time since we'd been to this particular bar. College days long behind us, we hadn't had to go to a place with five-dollar pitchers in a long time.
Killian ordered himself a beer and slid another one across the table to me.
"How are you doing?"
"How does it look like I'm doing?" I asked, upending the beer and chugging it down.
"Not too good." He sipped from his beer.
"She stood me up. Again."
"I know."
"How do you know?" I asked, freezing wit
h my beer halfway to my mouth.
"I talked to her on the way over here."
"You did? What did she say?" I hated how much I wanted to know the answer. Shouldn't there be a switch inside your head where you could turn feelings off with one flick. Especially, feelings for people who had none for you.
"She said, she's really sorry she missed your date, and it wasn't that she didn't want to go,” Killian said, his eyes trained on me, watching for my reaction.
"Then what the hell was it? I can't figure her out. One minute she's hot and we're having a great time, and then the next she's colder than the tundra and I can't figure out what she wants," I said, squeezing the back of my neck.
"It seems Frankie has cast a spell over you. I hadn't realized things had progressed this far with you two. Hell, I hadn't even realized you two were seeing each other after the wedding,” Killian said, leaning back in his chair.
"We've been keeping things casual. Low-key. You know how she is."
"I know how she is,” he said, taking a gulp of his beer. "I'm shocked you managed to get her out of the house at all."
"We had one date. I took her to the aquarium. We've only had one not-date after that, and that was eating Romano's and watching TV," I said, rolling the bottle between my hands.
A hard jab of pain shot through my arm. I shot a glare at Killian.
"What the hell, dude?"
"You got Romano's and didn't bring me any?"
"I'm lucky I didn't pull back a nub when I showed up at her door with it. I wasn't walking out of there with all my fingers and a slice of that pizza."
"I can't say I blame her. I'd have probably done the same." Killian said, leaning back in his chair.
"It was a good night."
I thought back to her scars.
"Did she ever tell you about the scars?"
