by Nicci Harris
Through the front windscreen, I see cars flying past us.
Oh God.
We can't bring a baby into his world.
The blare of horns snaps me back to reality. Staring at the mirror, I acknowledge Carter and say, "Why have we stopped?"
For a man who wouldn't need a mask to dress up as Freddy Kruger, it is amazing how comfortable I am in his presence. Unable to see his mouth, I watch his eyes as he says, "That's big news, Miss Slater. Congratulations."
"Could you hear her?"
Nodding, he confirms, "Yes." When he glances at my ear, I realise I'm still clutching my phone to the side of my head. I lower it to my lap. Looking at it, I'm reminded that Max doesn’t have a phone. He doesn't like to be contacted. Bothered. That's the mentality of a man who doesn't want to be tied to the world. Restricted. Not that long ago, he thought having a girlfriend was worse than polio. And now. . .
I glance up at Carter. "I can't dance Sugar Plum." The words come out at the same time as my realisation. Uttered without context, they must be such peculiar words to him. In two months, I'll be expected to perform a very physically demanding role - one that I'll never be able to do four to five months pregnant. I mean, I could. But not to the standard I would want. That truth sinks like a boulder to the pit of my belly, my body slumping in the seat as if its presence is a tangible thing.
How big will my belly be at five months pregnant?
I'm so small.
Max is so big. . .
I don't know enough about genetics to know whether the size of the parents play any role in the size of the foetus. . .
Should I call it a foetus?
Can I?
Is it wrong?
It's a baby-
"Max said you like carnival rides?"
Carter cuts into my complete freak out. Peering into the rear-view mirror again, I can see his eyes are smiling. And even though it’s a bizarre question or statement, I'm not sure which, I still nod.
He explains, "They have a festival down at Stormy River. How about you skip ballet and I pick up your friend, Toni, and take you both there?"
Cassidy
* * *
Eating my fairy floss on a stick, I walk alongside Toni as we meander along the boardwalk through a noisy sea of people. To my right, there are local nick-nack stalls one after the other; to my left is Stormy River. Flanking me on both sides. . . are two fricking prams. They are, like, the tenth babies I've seen since we arrived half an hour ago.
What's that all about?
They are coming for you, Cassidy.
The mothers silently chant 'one of us' with their eyes and the babies mock me with their cuteness. I'm like the pregnant woman's version of the crazy cat lady phenomenon. Babies start appearing randomly in my path. On the benches I pass. In the windows of the coffee shops. On a nearby fence. . . Okay, maybe not on a fence. . .
I drag Toni off the main deck and onto the grass, hoping the terrain will mean less prams. We move up a bank towards the glowing lights and hustle and bustle of the showgrounds. As we head towards the screams and laughter of people enjoying the main rides, Carter follows several metres behind us.
My best friend gets scanned from head to toe by almost every oncoming female. While Toni is undeniably gay to me, to strangers, he is equally as beautiful as he is masculine. He is clearly ethnic, but most people have a hard time placing his ancestry. Being both Asian and Italian, he's just a lovely blend. He is built solid from spending most of his time at the gym, and he's confident and funny without restraint or care.
He looks over his shoulder at Carter. "Is it weird that I kinda want to pull him into The House of Mirrors and blow him?"
How am I still surprised by the words that come out of Toni's mouth? "Oh my God, Toni, you have a boyfriend."
His beautiful dark, almond-shaped eyes thin further as he grins. "And? There is something kind of kinky about that man I just can't ignore."
Not wanting to think about Carter like that, I avoid the thought all together. "He's Carter. He doesn't have sexuality as far as I'm concerned."
"Oh, Golden Girl." Toni sighs. "He has sexuality. He is dripping in sexuality."
I cringe, now staring at my fairy floss with revulsion. "Don't say dripping."
He lathers his lips and purrs, "Dripping."
"Ugh." Walking to the nearest bin, I dispose of my sugar-wrapped stick. "He's very professional. And kind. It was his idea to pick you up."
Toni rolls his eyes. "Nice to know someone thinks about me."
Ignoring his pity party, I say, "I need to talk to you. Serious-like."
He stops. Facing me, he folds his arms across his chest. "As serious as a heart attack?"
Breathing the warm spring air into my lungs - it's a floral aroma blending with butter and salt from the popcorn stand beside me - I nod. "As serious as pregnancy."
"No way. . ." His voice trails off and his arms drop to his sides. "You're pregnant!"
Glancing nervously around the crowd, I mutter, "Please tell all of Stormy River."
"You're pregnant!" Toni's eyes leave mine and dart around desperately. "I really need to find The House of Mirrors, like, right now."
I study his tight expression. "Are you mad?"
"Fuck." He grumbles, still searching the area with strange intent. "Yes, I think I am. That careless prick."
"No." I reach for his arm, trying to draw his attention back to me. "It isn't like that. This is on both of us."
He scoffs. "What about ballet?"
My breathing gets a little shallow. "I don't know. I'm still processing."
"Well, I'm your processing partner. Oh look" –he gestures over my shoulder– "The House of Horrors. That's fitting. Let's go."
The house has cracked glass windows set into steep black walls. A tiny door acts as the entrance, opening for each rail cart. Theatrical -eye rolling- groans and howls echo from within its depths. Before we can approach the ticket clerk, someone touches my shoulder. I spin to see Carter, up close and personal. I crane my neck to meet his shaded eyes.
A light grin adorns his rough features. "Sorry, Miss Slater, I can't let you go on that ride. Another ride, maybe?"
Toni's eyes widen. "The House of Mirrors okay with you, Carter?"
I stifle a giggle. "Why not this ride?"
Carter takes a few steps away from me. "Any other ride? One less dark, perhaps."
I contemplate arguing with him, but it probably won't get me anywhere. "Okay." I wrap my hand around Toni's arm. "Let's go find the tea pots. Will you come on them with us?" I beam at Carter. Seeing him in his black suit and men-in-black sunglasses, spinning in a pink teacup would literally make my day - maybe my month.
He nods. "If you want me to, then I will."
Toni and I grin at Carter's expression, a stoic mask covering an amused and maybe light-hearted glimmer.
Toni laughs. "Ha. He almost said that with a straight face. Don’t worry, big guy, we wouldn't do that to you."
Pulling me alongside him, Toni leads us away from The House of Horrors and towards the main oval. We sit down on the grass mound circling it just in time to see the start of some sheep dogs herding their flock through an array of obstacles.
Toni stretches his long, denim-covered legs out in front of him. He begins to rip at the grass beside him, a sure sign he's a little anxious. The topic of my pregnancy sits heavily between us. "How the hell are you so calm? 'Cause you're gonna get so fat."
"I don't know," I admit, ignoring his last sentence. It's as if I've just heard life-altering news about a stranger. Not about me. Me: pregnant. With a Butcher baby. Maybe, with a Butcher boy-
"Oh my giddy aunt, are you smiling?"
Lifting my fingers to my lips, I stroke the curve they now form. Yep, I'm smiling. "I have no idea why. Usually, it's your mouth and brain that aren't connected." I laugh.
"Meeeow. Up-the-duff-Cassidy is a mean girl."
I shake my head, smiling for no reason at all. "Sorry."
"So d
o you want to have Max Butcher's baby?"
Pulling my knees up, I cuddle them tight. "It's happening anyway."
"You could abort," he states with ease. Those words lodge themselves in my throat. Immediately, I look around for Carter, finding him a few metres away. Swallowing hard, I turn back to Toni. "I couldn't."
"What if Max doesn't want it?"
"I-" Realisation hits me. "I can't abort. No matter what. I'm kind of afraid he'll secretly hate me for this, but I still can't. He's still getting used to me and now this? Gawd. Have I ruined his life?"
Toni twists to face me, lifting one knee to the side. "Firstly, you couldn't ruin anyone's life, darlin. Secondly. . . I presume by what you have just said that you haven't told him yet?"
Cringing a little, I shake my head.
His mouth drops open. "Fuckidy fuck. Why not?"
I glance away, staring off into the distance. "I only just found out and last night. . .I didn't stay at his."
He hums with contemplation. "And. . . why not? You've been getting humped by that man-god every night since-"
"Since the attack," I blurt out, "we don’t. I mean we try, but it never ends well."
"Is that why you went home? Is he pressuring you?"
"No. God no." I smile at that truth. "He'd never."
"So. . ." He tilts his head knowingly. "You started to talk and then stopped. Last night what?"
"Last night, Max came to me." Feeling uneasy about sharing this intimate information, I squirm a little with discomfort. I keep Max's secrets. His vulnerable side is just for me; sharing this. . . it feels like I'm betraying his trust. And yet, I need to tell Toni something. I hate lying to him. "He was really tense. Really. . . I can't think of another word. Like, intimidating. . . And he has all these bruises and cuts on his face and he wouldn't tell me the truth about how he got them. I. . . saw-" My eyes flicker with unease. Angry eyes. Scarred skin. Dark mien. "Well, the guy who attacked me had all these scars. And I saw him. I couldn’t unsee it. And I just. . . couldn't be with Max last night."
He wraps one long arm around my shoulders, and I lean into him. "Don't feel guilty. You're allowed to feel however you want to."
"Max said the same thing." I sigh, thinking about how patient he's been. How understanding.
Frick, what is wrong with me?
Trying to rationalise an irrational thing, I say, "He's a lot, you know? And he's gone a lot. He disappears some nights." I laugh contemptuously. "I'm not allowed to know what he's doing. I always feel a little lost in his world. Like I'm in a maze."
"A maze?" he confirms, lifting a perfectly manicured eyebrow that usually only proceeds mockery. "With like a minotaur and a fairy?"
I groan with exasperation. "Yes."
He nods as if he's on my wavelength, but the whole concept is a big joke to him. "Is Max the minotaur?"
Rolling my eyes, I just agree. "Yes."
He grins. "Am I the fairy?"
"Yes," I groan, releasing my knees and rubbing my temples with my forefingers. "Thank you. I'm so glad you could stay on track with this analogy."
"Sorry. Okay, so you're in a maze. I get it. You're lost in the big, sculptured hedges of his being. Isn't the maze exciting though? That's why you went in in the first place."
I smile at that. "It is exciting."
"Good." He squeezes my shoulder. "Don't let them win. Control those fucking memories. They are yours. Push them aside. Don't let them win, darlin."
Control.
It's always about control.
I watch as the cattle dogs steer the flock with little effort around the field, controlling them. . ."Do you think sex can be used as a form of control?"
And there it is.
"Of course. But I don't see how that will help you control your memories unless you are thinking about something way above my kink spectrum."
I shake my head at that, feeling a little better already. Feeling like my best friend is now sharing part of the weight of this memory for me. Just having him know about it makes the memory feel lighter. Staring at a black and white border collie that is bending the sheep to its will, I expose more fears in the hopes he'll lighten their hold on me too. "Is Max controlling me?"
Toni cracks up laughing and I kind of want to slap him. That's probably the Butcher baby in me, spiking my hormones. "Oh, Golden Girl. Hell no. Your lady parts have him hog tied; don't you worry about that."
"Stop it, Toni. I'm serious." I turn from the oval and face my beautiful chow-mien-biscotti bestie. "Does being a woman instantly make me weak? Because men literally enter women. Max entered me. My body. Heart." I shuffle on the grass. "And now, a part of him grows inside me. I've never thought about it before, you know, but it's true."
He frowns at me. "That's a really perverted way of viewing your relationship. Where is this coming from?"
I scratch a piece of pink nail polish off my index finger. "It's just something I read," I lie. I lie because I know that listening to the words of a psychotic dead man is absolutely ridiculous. . .
Yeah, Cassidy, it really is.
His eyes suddenly brighten. "Put your finger up his arse. Even the score."
"Oh my gawd, Toni! Seriously?"
"Sorry," he mutters as if ashamed, but I can see he has more to say. It's so blatant on his too-excited face. Unable to hold it back, he blurts out, "If you do though, please film it for me."
I slap my forehead. "I need a new best friend."
He lets out a soft, serious sort of exhale. The kind that means he's understanding me. Understanding what I need to hear. "Alright, Golden Girl. No, Max isn't controlling you with your vag. You are not weak. Women control men, Cassidy. With class and heels."
I sigh. It's not control we offer. . . It's comfort.
Frick, my Max.
That's what he needed yesterday. He gave me what I needed - space - and in doing so I denied him what he needed. Comfort. I'm a place he can be himself - honest, raw, guard-less. I'm his gentleness in this dangerous world and that doesn't make me his weakness - it doesn't make me weak.
Maybe. . . I'm his strength.
Toni continues, "And as for the baby topic, Jacinda Ardern had a baby while the prime minister of New Zealand. If she can do that, then you can work it around ballet. My queen is way ahead of the competition. It's only fair to give them a chance to catch up. You were getting a bit too fabulous anyway."
I smile softly. "I can't dance Sugar Plum." Remembering the sponsorship I was offered, I groan. "And Jimmy's sponsorship is out of the question. He was going to pay my way through Europe but now. . . I can't go."
He nods slowly. "Maybe not this year. But you will. One day."
Breathing smoothly for the first time in what feels like days, I begin to silence the irrational thoughts. I won't let trauma consume me. Let it blanket darkness over the good things in my life. The good people in my life. People I trust. Love.
I take a big breath in and steadily breathe out Erik.
Max
* * *
She was scared of me last night. For the first time, perhaps ever, there was a glimpse of true fear in her golden-hazel eyes. That rips at my guts. I fucking force that down, the way I begged her, the way she rejected me, the way I left, the way it made me feel. . . fucking helpless. Fuck. Yep, I ram it all fucking down.
I glance out the window of my Chrysler 300 and take a sip of my whiskey neat. All my attention should be on the mob at Stormy River. The fucking wop trash that won't last the night. Won't be going home to their families.
Cassidy.
I can't stop seeing her wide, confused eyes. Can't stop recalling how she lied to me about why she wanted to stay at home. Home. That place isn't her fucking home anymore.
I take another sip of my whiskey. My fingers tighten around the glass. Tighten with the urge to shatter it in my fist. To feel the shards pierce my skin. Open me up. Like she does. Fucking Cassidy Slater and her gentle, sweet nature. Hopeful. She pressed her little palm to my cheek and
bared me down with that simple, mundane action. She opened me up. It's a dangerous thing she is doing to me. She is making me want her too much. With that, my skins crawls with the need to get back to her. To order my driver to turn around so I can fix whatever is wrong between us. I don't.
I can't.
I am being escorted to this perceived casual meeting, my car following the convoy of black, bullet-proof, high-end vehicles - Cadillacs and Chrysler 300s. I know that a few cars ahead, Jimmy is drinking red wine and being sucked into a good mood.
As is his style before an execution.
Butch will be stoic - I still don't understand that man.
Clay will be all business, to him this is nothing personal.
Bronson is probably bouncing with anticipation.
Xander will most certainly be nervous.
I couldn't care less how Salvatore feels.
As we roll through the fencing towards the abattoir, I see Marco and his mob jump out from within a black van. All nine men were crammed in, shoulder to shoulder, and I can't think of anything worse. Except. . . maybe polio.
I exhale through a growl.
My car pulls up behind Clay's, but before we step out, we sit for a while. The sight of nine tinted boss cars looming in front of the heads of them is like a warning. The Stormy River mob straighten. Puff up.
Once again, our differences are bleedingly obvious. While I watch my family step out wearing suits and ties, the Stormy River wops shuffle around dressed like they are hitting the clubs - shirts open, gold chains, fucking sneakers. It's an embarrassment.
Before leaving the car, I pull my jacket off and lay it over the leather seat beside me. It's a fucking hot night for October. Usually in the back of my mind, I am calmed by the peaceful thought of Cassidy in my bed. My little piece of purity in this world. Of goodness.
Tonight though, as I walk into the abattoir, flanking Clay, Bronson, Butch, and Jimmy, I'm reminded that she isn't in my bed, and my angry mood is stoked by that thought.
When I stop within a few metres of our 'associates', Xander appears beside me, his demeanour measured. Salvatore quickly moves to stand beside Clay - the little fucker's way of trying to claim a spot on the hierarchy. Even though not a single soul in the Family would promote that piece of shit.
