by Portia Moore
“You went through my things?” she asks in an irritated tone.
“I was cleaning up the pigsty you’ve been living in,” I correct her.
She’s crouched over, her long blond hair cascading down her small back. And the towel is barely covering her ass, which has gotten a lot bigger since I last saw her, but it’s not flabby and wide but toned and round like a volleyball player.
“Don’t be a pervert,” she says, tossing a knowing look my way.
I hide a laugh, and just like that, it’s almost as though we’re back in high school. We used to swim in the pond by Chris’s house, and I always wanted to catch a glimpse of her boobs. She grabs a T-shirt, drops her towel, and pulls the shirt over her head. I swallow hard. Lisa’s definitely grown up since the last time I saw her naked, even though I can’t see the front of her. Her back’s long and smooth, only curving right before her ass pokes it. It’s round, firm, and perfect, and for a minute, I forget why I’m here.
“Look, I’m sorry to scare Ms. Scott.”
“Huh?” I ask.
She tosses the wet towel at me. “God, Aidan, you’ve screwed, what, a thousand girls and you get distracted by a little ass? I guess you haven’t changed much.” She shoots me a disgusted glare, but I can see a small grin behind it.
I let out a breath and throw the towel back at her, but she swats it away before it reaches her face. She looks more like the Lisa I know. Her hair’s grown out a lot, but it looks good on her. Her eyes still look tired, but they aren’t as dull as they were before. Now she just looks tired, instead of steps away from being dead.
“I didn’t mean to bother anyone. I just . . . I was really messed up, and as screwed up as it may be, Ms. Scott is the closest thing I have to a friend.” Her tone is quiet and not dripping with the usual sarcasm.
For a moment, I feel a stab of guilt. It’s really fucked up if the closest thing you have to a friend is the wife of the guy you slept with and whose family you almost destroyed.
“So if you want to berate me, tell me how stupid and selfish I am, and anything else you want to add to the list, go ahead. I’m all cried out, and I’m still just a little bit tipsy. Then you can go ahead about your way,” she proclaims, taking a seat on the bed across from me. She sets her hands on her knees and lets out a deep breath.
“Well, you pretty much covered everything I was going to say,” I say jokingly.
A barely there smile makes an appearance on her face. I think about Lauren and Ms. Red’s text about listening, and I let out my own deep breath and get comfortable in the chair.
“Tell me what’s going on. Why are you living in a hotel? I thought Brett had swept you off your feet and you’d be living in fairy-tale land by now,” I say, trying and failing to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
“We’re on a break,” she answers quickly, then bites the corner of her lip, a tell-tale sign that she’s lying.
“The guy’s a douche anyway.” I shrug, and she rolls her eyes.
“He is not a douche. He’s a really sweet guy and the only person who’s been there for me, so I’d really appreciate if you don’t take any verbal jabs at him when he’s not here to defend himself. You’re more than welcome to direct them at me if you’d like.”
I shake my head. Brett Steltson. I could never stand that dude. The moment I met him, I knew he was a douche. Brett’s such a douchebag name. I don’t know why, but something about him just never sat right with me. Lisa and her best friend, Amanda, always thought he was the perfect guy—nice and older and he had money—but something was off about him. Not to say that a guy can’t be nice and what a girl wants—Chris was always genuinely a good guy, but even he had his problems. Brett was too perfect. Until I caught him with another girl a day after Lisa broke up with him. Then I found out Brett had several girlfriends from a few different high schools. None at his college, which seemed more than a little off to me.
Now I’m not a genius, but for Lisa to be in a hotel room with all of her bags, drinking wine, crying, and before she showered, smelling like a homeless person, something had to have gone down. I hope it’s something he did. I haven’t kicked anyone’s ass in a long time, and I’d love for it to be good ol’ boy Brett’s.
“Okay then, what are you doing here? I’d like to think you didn’t call Ms. Red because you’re feeling sensitive during your time of the month?”
“Has anyone told you you’re a chauvinistic pig?” she asks sharply.
“At least once a day,” I say with a wink.
She sinks into the edge of the bed. She’s quiet, and I can see she’s contemplating something.
I lean forward a bit, giving her a little smile. “It’s not like you care what I think of you anyway right?”
She looks at me and shakes her head. “How is Chris?”
“So you’re going to ignore what I just asked you?” I counter, and she bites her lip.
“I want to know because once I tell you, you may never tell me,” she says quietly.
It’s my turn to let out a deep breath, and I lean back in the sofa chair. Shit, what the hell has she done? She better not be screwing Mr. Scott again. What can be worse than that?
“He’s busy. Lauren’s having twins,” I tell her.
Her eyes widen, and for the first time, they’re bright. For the first time since I’ve been here, it’s like the dark cloud over her head is gone. “Twins? Oh my God!” She laughs. “That’s great! He’s finally getting the family he always w-wanted.”
She’s crying again, and this time it’s an ugly cry. Her face is all scrunched up and her body is trembling.
“Lisa, what the hell?” I shake my head, sit next to her on the bed, pull her body into mine, and hug her.
“I’m sorry,” she says, trying to catch her breath. “I-I just messed everything up so bad. I-I don’t even know my best friend anymore,” she whimpers as tears soak my shirt.
I rub her back and try to think of what Lauren or Ms. Red would say. “I-it’s going to be fine.” I don’t even sound convincing to myself.
“No, it’s not,” she mutters.
“Worst-case scenario, Chris won’t ever speak to you again. That’s kind of expected. And maybe Brett dumped you. So what? He’s a douche anyway. You’re still young, kind of hot, and you can move forward,” I tell her, sounding pretty convincing. But I don’t get how she can pretty much leave her kid without a tear but be crying over breaking up with a dude she didn’t even really like when we were in high school.
“I know Chris is never going to forgive me. I can’t ask him to. I’m not delusional,” she says quietly.
“So you’re crying like this over Brett?” I ask, annoyed. I feel her body stiffen. I shift my body back from her and turn her shoulders toward me. I can feel the tension in the room building as her eyes tear away from mine. “What’s wrong?”
My words are strong and confident, but my stomach feels woozy. I run across all of the terrible scenarios in my mind. She’s dying. She’s done something illegal. She’s slept with Mr. Scott again. I bite my lip to keep from saying any of those things. Her eyes meet mine slowly, and I see her swallow hard.
“I’m pregnant.”
Holy shit! My mouth falls open, but no words leave them. I don’t know what to say. What the hell?
“Can you say something!” she squeaks.
I feel as if my eyes are about to bug out of my head. I was NOT prepared for this shit. I shut my mouth and rest my chin in my hand and stare at her. How the hell does someone who didn’t want a kid a year ago end up pregnant? I’m doing my best to not say something that will make me an insensitive jerk, but it’s killing me.
“Go ahead, tell me I’m an idiot. Ask me how could I put myself in the situation I just got out of. Tell me I’m the lowest person on the planet to leave my first child and end up with another one!” She’s standing and shouting and crying.
“Please tell me Mr. Scott isn’t the father,” I say stoically.
She picks
up the pillow and throws it at me. “Way to be a dick!”
Then she goes into the bathroom and slams the door. I throw my head back in frustration and slap the wall. I think about texting Lauren and Ms. Scott again, but I probably wouldn’t listen to what they said anyway.
It was a little dickish of me to say that, but it was the first thing that popped in my mind, and the relief afterward was worth it. I think back to years ago, when Lisa told me to always say the third thing that came to my mind, not the first.
“I just wanted things to be different,” she yells through the door.
Pregnant again? What was she thinking?
“I-I came to a different state. I started a different job. I even tried again with Brett. I thought if I just made myself be with him, then nothing would have happened like it did, and it’s all just gone wrong,” she cries.
I try to feel sorry for her, I really do, but what the hell is her problem? Is she serious?
“Different?” I can’t help but scoff.
There’s a long stretch of silence, and I feel the tension growing with each second that passes.
“I’m sorry, Lisa,” I say, my throat tight. “I came here to make sure you were okay . . . Lauren and Ms. Red wanted to make sure you were alive and hadn’t done something crazy . . . but let me tell you, I don’t know who you are anymore. The girl I knew wasn’t this person, this selfish, dramatic, pitiful girl who wants everybody to feel sorry for her.”
She swings the door open, her face red, and I can tell she’s about to yell at me.
Before she can, I say, “You wanted things to be different, but what have you done differently besides run away from all of your problems? You want people to think of you differently? How about you be different? Go back home, grow up, do something with your life that you like and not what you think a guy wants you to do. Have your baby, be a good mom, drop in to see your other daughter once in a while. Be sorry not because you got caught and everyone’s mad at you but because what you did was fucking terrible. Trying again with a guy you never had feelings for in the first place and having another kid isn’t different, Lisa. You’re making all the same mistakes over again!”
She looks confused, so I firmly grip her shoulders and lean down until we’re face to face.
“Grow the fuck up. Life doesn’t give us a do-over. We just get to try to do it a little better the next day!” I’m hoping that she gets it, that she’ll wake up and become the woman I know she can be. If she doesn’t, I can’t stand to look at her anymore.
I walk out the door, pull out my phone, and text Lauren and Ms. Red
I wasn’t a good listener or talker but don’t worry she won’t do anything to herself. She’s different.
After I send the text, I turn off my phone.
I WOULD GIVE up every penny in my bank account to walk in the house and find Evie isn’t there. Not dead or anything. Just not there right now, not when I have to do a walk of shame of failure at life. Unfortunately, when I pull up after almost three days’ worth of driving, I see her car parked out front.
My grandparents passed away a few months after I left for California and left Evie and me one of their houses. It was surprising to say the least, since Evie and my grandparents were on the outs for years before they passed. There was a time when Evie couldn’t stand to be in the same room as my grandmother. Not that I blamed her—my grandmother, that is. It must have been hard to look at the child you brought into the world and realize she was drinking herself away. Not that that was the only reason for my grandmother’s disapproval.
When I walk in, I see Evie sprawled out on the couch in the living room, a beer bottle near her feet.
“If it isn’t Ms. California Girl,” Evie snarls.
The smell of the alcohol on her breath greets me before her words do. This would’ve been much easier if she wasn’t drunk, but easy just isn’t in the cards for me apparently.
“Good to see you too, Evie,” I mutter, pushing past her and heading to my old room.
“It was pretty embarrassing finding out from your old boss that you moved to an entirely different state without letting me know,” she continues, following me.
I cringe, thinking of her at the school I used to work for. I think back to how much she and I didn’t get along when I was in high school, how I always blamed her for not being a grown-up and letting men use her. So it says a lot that I’d trade this Evie for that one in a second. Now it’s not a question of if she’s drunk, but how drunk she is.
“You’re pretty embarrassing,” I mutter.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” she asks, grabbing my shoulder.
I pull away from her. “Listen, I would really love to just be left alone.”
I do not want to have a fight today. All I want is a little peace. I know that’s asking for a lot in Evie’s home, but maybe, just maybe, she’ll drink herself to sleep in the next hour.
“How about just get out then, Miss Big City Girl? Miss Educated, Worldly Woman. You shouldn’t need to stay here!” she sings viciously. Her eyes narrow on mine, and she gives me a smug grin to let me know that she knows I’m only back here due to an epic failure.
“Grandma left this house to both of us and I’m not going anywhere, so you can get used to that!” I snarl.
“That’s funny, seeing as you haven’t made a tax payment in the past year,” she spits at me but follows me into my room. “So what happened with you and the golden boy?”
Her amused tone makes me cringe. I take a deep breath and shut my eyes. “He went to the same place Dad did when he abandoned you.”
Her eyes widen, shooting knives through me. “You should have stayed in California. There’s nothing for you here.”
“Gee, thanks, Mom, it’s great to see you too,” I say with as much sarcasm as I can muster.
She rolls her eyes before making her dramatic exit, complete with slamming my bedroom door. I take a deep breath. Things could be worse; she could have trashed my room or rented it out. That wasn’t the worst conversation for two people who haven’t spoken to one another in almost two years. I can’t lie and say that she hasn’t attempted to talk to me, but I guess my broken mother didn’t fit into what I thought would be my perfect new life.
I sit on my old bed, which I moved here from my last apartment, the first one I was able to call my own. I remember the day I signed that lease after landing my first job at Madison Elementary. When I was younger, I never dreamed of being a teacher. I always liked kids, but being their teacher, shaping them into the people they would become, was scary. I wasn’t even the person I wanted to become. I always felt like a sham or a fraud. But when I was in college and it came time to declare a major, I was too chicken to be an English major, so I picked the next best thing. I chose the profession of the person who had inspired me and made me feel as though I could do anything I wanted, the man I thought I was in love with, the man I had my own child with, the man who had caused the destruction of every meaningful relationship I’d ever had. Now I’m back in town with him, his wife, and our child . . . and a former best friend who hates me.
When Aidan left that day, I felt as though I had been punched in the gut. I knew when I told him I was pregnant, it wasn’t going to go over that well. I knew he wasn’t going to pat me on the back and say congratulations, or baby me and tell me everything would be okay. I just thought that he could somehow save me.
That was when I realized that I had been looking for a man to save me my whole life. When I was younger and Evie would come in drunk with guys who would be scary to a grown-up, let alone a little girl, I always hoped my dad would come back and save me. When I was a teenager, I thought William would save me, and after the fall-out of my really bad decisions, I let Brett save me. Somewhere inside me, I hoped that this baby would save me, that it would solidify what Brett and I had, because without him, who was I?
A girl who had betrayed her best friend by sleeping with his father, a girl who had told her daughter for ye
ars she was really her cousin and abandoned her.
Brett had reminded me of who I was before all the mistakes were made. When I was a good friend, when I was loyal, when I had hope for things that didn’t seem possible for me, but I hoped for anyway. I know now that I wasn’t in love with Brett. I only loved the idea of being with him, and no one deserves to be someone’s warped fantasy or security blanket.
I take a deep breath and empty the suitcases from my short lived perfect life in California. In nine months, all I had accomplished was filling up three suitcases with designer labels. Brett loved to buy me expensive gifts. A Tory Burch poncho, a Gucci Satchel, a Louis Vuitton clutch, a Prada sweater—that’s all I’m left with. Well, not all. I touch my stomach and look down at it. No pudge yet.
The first time I was pregnant, at the beginning I never talked to her. Getting attached to someone I would be giving away didn’t make sense. Whenever someone asked me what I was having or how far along I was, I would cringe. It was a reminder of my shame, my hurt, the consequences of my stupid teenage actions. Now, I don’t have the stupid-teenager tag to hide behind. I’ve just been a stupid adult.
When I was pregnant the first time, I knew without a doubt that I would have it. Not necessarily because I was pro-life, but because somewhere within me, I always imagined that the baby would somehow, some way bring Will and me closer together. That even though what we had done was shameful, the baby would be the one beautiful, innocent thing that transpired between us. And that she was. The doctor said Willa was one of the most beautiful babies she’d ever seen. Willa didn’t come out looking like an alien or a gerbil, which is what most newborn babies looked like to me.
Her eyes were wide open, and she had thick blond curls, which Aunt Danni said had contributed to the terrible heartburn I’d had. She already had her father’s smile. For a moment, I forgot that she wasn’t going to be mine, that she was the product of infidelity. For a sliver of a second, I wanted her. I wanted to be a better person for her, to prove to myself that I wasn’t just Evie’s daughter and that I could be the mother I always wanted to be. That moment passed when Aunt Danni began to cry, took Willa out of my arms, and thanked me for giving her the most precious gift she’d ever had.
