by Rissa Brahm
The rest of Preeya’s words floated off into the room. He could only see her mouth moving, her eyes and head and hands animated, demonstrating her intense enthusiasm. Why couldn’t he hear anything? Not even the usual clanking of the wall heater. Foggy, all sound. His thoughts, too. Until his rage settled in, then the beating of his heart thudded in his forehead. A deafening thump-thump-slam.
Her mother?
Goddamn you, Gigi.
Preeya said she understood, the us. But no. Too young or too naive or too goddamn selfish. He couldn’t speak. She’d stopped talking now—just a blank stare into his burning-hot face.
He rubbed the top of his head. His hair, curls now, felt surreal. Like, not his own hair, not his own skull. He blinked to try and reset, to mend the sudden separation between him and his body. And between all of him…and all of Preeya.
“What, Ben? You’re scaring me…you look ill.”
“You, Preeya, are scaring me. This is a light topic? You…thinking about your mother, let alone learning about her, finding her—now? Of all times?—is goddamn scary. Dangerous, even! It can only lead to stress. Serious trauma like what you’ve experienced, Pree? I mean, you can’t even talk about it when you’re awake—only in your goddamn sleep. Scratch that; you can only scream and shriek about it in your nightmares. Awful things you’d say without the slightest memory in the morning. Like you were seven again, then you’d jump to now, scared of the things…the things you’d do to the baby. You need a therapist, Pree, not your goddamn vacating coward of a mother.”
He ignored her tears. He just…just couldn’t get logic past her naive bubble, hers or Gigi’s. Gigi. “Fucking Gigi!”
“Stop saying that,” Preeya whispered through her sniffles.
“No. She’s selfish, self-absorbed, self—”
Preeya covered her ears and shook her head at him. Like a child. “She’s anything but, Ben,” she yelled. “She’s anything but selfish.”
“I told her not to bring her asinine idea up to you. I explained the dangers. I’m not just your fiancé and—fuck!—I’m not just this child’s father—that jealous, passive-aggressive bitch—I’m an MD for God’s sake. A surgeon. Pediatric, Preeya. And I’ve seen you faint twice in the six months I’ve known you. That’s without another human being growing inside you.”
Preeya scoffed.
“Okay, you want me to scare you? Fine. I’ve seen birth defects that would turn your stomach, Preeya. I’ve seen—”
Her hands flew from her ears to his mouth. Her cynical expression had morphed into sheer horror. “Stop, Ben…about the goddamn birth defects. I am a third year.”
Exactly, goddamn it. Why then was she acting like an ignorant moron?
“Fine…never mind the medical aspects since you know already. Bottom line—Gigi posed the idea and I said no. Absolutely not now, and not even after the baby. Not with the baby breast-feeding, the most dependent on you that he or she will ever be. Communication with—or worse, meeting—your mother could send you into a tailspin, forget standard postpartum depression, Preeya. I mean, God, you’re brilliant…and even Gigi isn’t stupid. But, well, here we are. She went ahead anyway and you bit.”
Dehydrated and spent, he sighed. The worst part? She hadn’t fucking thought to talk to him about it…again.
“While I love sitting here being called an idiot, you have to admit this is about your ego, your controlling goddamn nature, your pride, flaring up all over the place. All over your precious us.”
“Goddamn right, my pride.” He paused, raked his hair, and growled. Fuck. “Pride is what you call it. I call it mutual respect for each other. Because you…you, Preeya, uttering the word us is a joke. Fucking us? What us? You didn’t think to discuss the godparent thing—fine, you forgot to bring it up when we got back together. I didn’t think about the matter, either. But this morning? Your blanket statement…and now this? Scared to ask me about the hunt for your mother while carrying our child? Maybe considering what I might say on the matter?” He paused and glared at her. “Need it your own way, despite your own welfare, and again, the baby’s!” He shamed her with another shake of his head. “More likely, it didn’t even dawn on you to discuss it with me.”
He pushed her off of him, needing air, space, separation.
She shot him a look of disdain to match her expression their last morning together in Vallarta.
But fuck it. “Here I am, my sole focus on you, solely on you, your well-being, and our child’s—to the extreme. It’s like I care about you and this child more than you do.” His throat got thick, his breath harder to catch. “It rips my heart out, Preeya. You are my life, and you dare threaten…risk…fuck!”
Moments of excruciating silence blipped by.
She reached for his hand.
No. He fisted it in the sheets.
“I…Ben…it didn’t…I thought finding her, my mother…would help…me, the baby…and you. Erase the pain.”
He swallowed then cleared his throat. “You thought? You thought. All on your own, again. And you don’t want to be treated like a child? Isn’t that what you said? Well, stop acting like one, Preeya.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, fucking done with it.
“The answer is no, Preeya…you cannot look for your mother, or think about her, or research her, and for God’s sake, you can’t meet her. Not now and not for the foreseeable future. It isn’t safe. Just, no.” His chest heaved. “You know better, Pree. Shit, you’re about to enter your residency…you better know better—that this level of drama is not okay.”
Preeya’s cheeks shone red, eyes seething, darting at him. She filled her lungs with an enormous breath, as if about to make a grand speech. She held it in, that air oxygenating her body and brain, obviously working hard to prepare that last-minute discourse. He tilted his head and waited, readying for the response, praying she’d meet him on his ground, priorities and hopes matched, like he’d thought they’d been.
Her eyes targeted his. “No, Ben. I will.”
She will—what? Because while her voice had been quiet, almost soft, her words could’ve gone either way, and her glare, God, the look in her illuminated violet eyes, was one of stubborn and prideful defiance. Like a goddamn teenager.
“My heart tells me that I need to do this. I love you, but I need to find and face her, Ben. Now. Not later.” She lifted her chin and pursed her lips, punctuating her final words on the matter.
So that was that? Staunch words ending with her chest puffed up, her superficial confidence bolstering her stand. That she’d do whatever the hell she wanted to do.
A deflated feeling lingered in the room, in the air, sucking the warmth that had been so tangible between them up to now.
He still couldn’t look at her. He wasn’t sure he knew who she was, or ever had.
That’s not true, Ben. This bullshit is Gigi talking.
But the fact that Preeya had it in her, this selfishness, so uncompromising…especially when it came to the well-being of a child, their child. It raged fire up his throat.
But if he said any of this to her, what he really wanted to say, he’d devastate her. It would magnify her awful-mother complex tenfold. He couldn’t.
Preeya drew a loud breath, bringing him back from his mental tirade. He forced himself to look in her face, but she shot her gaze up and away. Shaking his head at the paradoxical clash, the rioting of their egos and perspectives and priorities and the resulting stalemate they’d found themselves in, he knew one thing still—that he…he fucking loved her. And he couldn’t see her in pain or in harm’s way.
He couldn’t just stand by and watch.
“Preeya, I…love you. I do. But I can’t see you do this. Risk your health and the baby’s.” The baby’s. Rage rocked his heart. “Damn it, Preeya!” he yelled. “I’ve already lost…lost too much, and I’m still grieving.” With his index finger he moved her chin to meet his gaze. He hoped his eyes blurry with fucking tears knifed into her while he struggled to f
ind his voice again. Throat cleared, he let a low baritone of admission rumble up from his chest. “Not just Jamie, Preeya. I…I didn’t just lose Jamie. And it’s taken me so much to let life back in again. You, you and the baby, are my life. I can’t—” Tears fell like sharp icicles to the thick white comforter they’d made love under just the night before.
“What, Ben? What else did you lose? Tell me, damn it.” Her tone was harsh and insistent and furious, but her violet eyes betrayed the auditory armor. He saw her care and love for him, but God, she was torn. So damn torn. Why let this…this bullshit endeavor—and Gigi, and her past—come between them? He hadn’t even asked or forced her to choose. He hadn’t asked her to forget. He just needed her to trust him, to confide and consult and respect him, his part in…in their family. His only family.
Preeya huffed shallow breaths, nostrils flaring with each in and out. “Tell me,” she whispered. He saw her hand near his, but then she pulled away. “Just, tell me.”
“My baby, Preeya. My baby…with Jamie. Miscarried, at twenty-nine weeks.”
“Jesus, Ben.” She closed her eyes. Shut them tight. Glistening tears formed at her eyelashes. Her bottom lip quivered and her control, lost. She cried, maybe for him and his hurt, and maybe for her fear—the exact reason he hadn’t uttered the word miscarriage. But she cried—while his tears dried up and no more came.
He longed to hold her, touch her hand, her face, her skin, her hair. But the signs weren’t there. His admission of the deepest grief had been met with a strange isolation. She didn’t lean into him, didn’t touch his hand. She just kept her eyes slammed shut. Minutes of agonizing separation crawled by.
Until, like she woke from a nightmare, she shook it off, straightened herself up, and lifted her face to his. “Why, Ben? Why do you close yourself off from me? We’re getting married, having a baby, and…you couldn’t tell me…this?” Spoken in a hush—a hurt, defeated hush.
“If you don’t get it by now, Preeya—” He bit his bottom lip. “It’s always for you, for our baby. Each and every snap decision and bottled-up goddamn emotion and long-term commitment…I do it for you. To protect you, to love you. For us, the us you…just do not grasp.”
One tear rolled down her cheek. “I feel like, like, I don’t know you, Ben. How much more have you hidden from me?”
Is she fucking kidding me? Fire burned his gut. A controlled surgeon no more. “God, first the names and the religious affiliation, then how we’d travel with or without—”
“Oh please, like we’re gonna leave our kid, abandoned, while we go fix the world! Not over my dead body, Ben.”
“But we at least needed to talk about it.”
“That’s what I’m saying. I’m begging you to talk to me.”
“What the fuck is there to talk about when you’ve already goddamn decided everything for us, Preeya? Fuck! This morning, you told me who our child’s godparent would be—no, who it already was. God, I sensed it—hah! Sensed. Fucking Gigi-intuited”—his head rocked in minuscule tremors, probably looking as crazy as he felt—“that you’re just not ready. You’re not ready, Preeya, to be with someone else. For all the years you dreaded being alone, your monophobia, attaching to people any way you could…but with all that company, you never actually stepped outside of yourself to be with another. Maybe Prana and Gigi are the exceptions…but, well, all I know is that you are not ready…to be with me.” He sighed. “If you ignore my plea here and you do this thing, hunting down your mother, then I’m…I’m sorry.”
“Ben, I need to do this. I just…I need to.”
Air flooded his lungs and he held the breath in for one long, surreal second. “You can’t play pretend with me while you live your solo existence without me, Pree.” He slid out of the bed. “You know what, I just…can’t be here to watch this.”
Then he froze where he stood. Hmm. “Hey, I’ll even give you some time to think things out, Pree. Some distance.” He grabbed his pants from the armchair and slammed each leg down into the day-old jeans. “Last week I got a call. I’ve been requested to run a two-week DWB training course in southern Texas over the holiday break. I’d said no, of course.” He let a puff of a laugh escape him. “But I’ve just decided that I’m going.” Take that, lone decision. “Then I might—no, I will visit Stacy and the kids, being so close to the border.”
Preeya said nothing. Made no eye contact. And she stayed perfectly still. Meanwhile, he grabbed his watch and phone from the nightstand and pulled on the T-shirt lying crumpled at his feet. “I’ll be back before the birth. Stay here, in the house. I’ll leave enough cash, cover all the bills. And—” He snorted, “—have Gigi stay with you…because fuck it, you’re going to do whatever you want, anyway. Hell, maybe you’ll find your mom, reunite…she can come and lend her support, too. She can crash in the guest room where Sylvia was supposed to be.”
He got to the bedroom door and looked back. To his surprise, Preeya was bawling now, close to hyperventilating. She’d been so ice cold. And, wow, had he blocked it out, the sound of her sorrow, deep and hollow and heart-ripping? How in-tune one moment and planets-apart the next.
And fuck, he wanted to rush to her, hand her the half-full glass of water on the nightstand and add a pillow behind her back to support her, then throw his arms around her, sit with her and rock her and talk all night about then and now and forever.
No. He couldn’t. He and Preeya…they were just an illusion.
His jaw locked with a level of detachment that scared him. He couldn’t help her, couldn’t control the situation—why did he think he could control anything? Just like Jamie and her cancer and their dead baby. Fuck.
He forced his gaze down to the scuffed hardwood floor. “I’ll come by tomorrow to pack. I’ll stay…at Stanton’s tonight.” He swallowed, reached for the door’s old tarnished knob, and mumbled, “Call if there’s an emergency.”
“Wait, Ben.” He paused in the doorway, but didn’t turn around. “The marriage license: it’s good for sixty days. You’ll be back, right? Before…so we can, still”—her gasps for air between each few words were killing him—“get married without reapplying again.”
He cleared his throat. “I don’t know, Preeya.” Because he really had no answer for her. Or for himself. Not in his head, and not in his heart.
Or did he? An answer that he couldn’t acknowledge.
“Ben.” A defeated whisper.
“We’ll see.” And he walked away, down the hallway, down the stairs, with her trailing words following him. Something about “escaping again” and “running again.”
CHAPTER 54
She fell asleep crying.
And she woke up crying. The sun had long risen, midday mocking her out the window.
A rush of blood hit her head as she swung her legs off the edge of the bed, feet to the floor, and a flurry of motivation sent her to the closet. To see. To know if it was all a terrible nightmare, an empty threat, a hollow, angry bluff.
She froze at the closet door, her shadow on the wall from the ray of sun leaking in through the translucent curtains. Like in the hotel, or in the bedroom of her parents, a brewing knowledge boiled in her head and heart. That an answer was only a closet door away.
She sighed and opened the walk-in door. A section of empty filled the bar among her clothing. A section of empty to match the hole in her chest. She sank to the hardwood floor, rough and worn from decades of whoever had lived there before. Her fingers felt the antiqued planks of wood and thought splinters would be welcome. She sank down, lay back. She’d just stay there for a few minutes, just until her next inevitable bladder call. Even though she knew she’d need help getting up. She and her boulder. She laughed then, through sobs. She and her boulder might be stuck on the floor forever. No Ben to smile sweetly, offer his hand, pull her to standing. Yanking her close to his chest. To his heart. No Ben, not right now. He had sneaked in while she was asleep, packed a bag and taken off. Just taken off like he said he would.
&n
bsp; *
She found herself in the kitchen eating toast. She’d gotten there through a haze of robotic routine.
She only knew one thing for certain—that she did not call him or text him.
Her pride wouldn’t let her.
And she didn’t reach out to Gigi, either, though she died to cry out, yell out to her best friend for help and support and confirmation that she, Preeya Patel, was not wrong. But she was too angry. And pushing fast-forward in her head, she foresaw blowing up at Gigi without meaning to. It’s not Gigi’s fault. None of this. Although Ben certainly thought it was.
Too much. Too much to think about and no one to help her untangle it. And no one to wrench the vise grip from her heart. Because, damn it, Ben left. Took a temporary leave of absence. Maybe temporary, is how he made it seem. Jesus. Her blood raged through her. What man just up and leaves when shit gets rough? Like in Mexico. Was she not worth fighting for? This was all too reminiscent of someone. Up and leaving her. Too goddamn close.
His words, his meaning—she was selfish? She wasn’t putting her child first? Goddamn him. She snatched her phone, thumbs at the ready. One beat of contemplation, then they tap-pounded the virtual keyboard with rhythmic angst.
Just fuck you, Ben Trainer. Fuuuuuuuck you!
She paused, her chest heaving, her thumbs—like leashed pit bulls ramping up to enter the fight—hovering over Send.
Fuck! Hit Send, and then what, Preeya?
In her constricted chest, her heart knew he wouldn’t answer her, not unless her text included something to the effect of, Yes, I will abandon my hunt for the woman who left me stumbling through the world alone. And, I’ve been selfish, self-absorbed, not considering your feelings. Even though, counter to his belief, she had been thinking of her unborn child. Of the buried negativity plaguing her and everything and everyone connected to her, namely the baby. See, she had not been thinking of herself alone. She and her baby, her baby, remained the priority.
