The Baby Contract

by Amy Brent

  “I’m not fucking seeing that woman,” I said.

  “Well, you should.”

  “And why’s that?” I asked as I spun around.

  “Because she has cancer.”

  The word hit me like a ton of bricks. Cancer?

  My mother had cancer?

  “Is she?”

  “She’s not dying. Not yet, anyway. It’s her second battle with it,” Emma said.

  “Her second?”

  “Yeah. First, it was breast cancer a few years back. Now it’s liver.”

  “She has liver cancer,” I said.

  “She does. You should go see her. It’s been years, Mason. And I’ve watched the wonderful woman who raised me tear herself to pieces over whatever it was that happened between you two.”

  “She left,” I said.

  “She did. Did she ever tell you why?”

  “No. She wouldn’t even take my fucking calls,” I said.

  “Why don’t you come with me? You can ask her,” she said.

  “I don’t know if I can,” I said.

  “Then grow a pair of balls and meet me at my car. I’ll drive us.”

  I stood there in the hallway of her townhome for what seemed like ages before I drew in a deep breath. I straightened up my coat before I turned and walked out the door, heading for Emma’s Jeep as I shut the door behind me. The drive to her childhood home was long and winding. I had no idea what town we were in or how far away from Dallas we were, but by the time we pulled up into the driveway of a modest two-story home, I could see the tears twinkling in Emma’s eyes again.

  “Just brace yourself,” she said as she parked the car.

  Without another word, we headed into the house. A dog came rushing to my feet, sniffing at my shoes and jumping up onto my leg. Emma scooped the dog up and held it close as we walked all the way to the back of the house, bypassing a pristine kitchen that didn’t look like it’d been used in years.

  We walked out onto a screen porch where a frail woman was sitting in a rocking chair, but even with her stringy hair and her protruding shoulder blades, I recognized her.

  Her scent.

  Her presence.

  It was my mother, and she was withering away.

  “Hey, Mom,” Emma said as she crouched down beside her. “How’re you doing today?”

  “Better than most,” she said weakly. “Not sleeping as much, so I’m getting to enjoy the view of the backyard.”

  It was littered with trees and flowers and butterflies. Her backyard was alive with health and beauty and colors. It was as if someone had dropped a secret gateway to Eden in her backyard, and I stood in awe of it as Emma looked up at me.

  “I brought someone to see you,” Emma said.

  “Oh, really? Please tell me it’s a handsome male friend of yours. You’ve been alone for far too long, pining over that asshole you can’t seem to let go.”

  I smiled at my mother’s statement. She was always so full of fire and determination. Even in her frail state, her tongue spoke thunderous words of truth I couldn’t help but side with.

  “She’s right,” I said as I walked up to her. “You’ve been pining over that loser for far too long.”

  I heard her suck in a sharp bout of air as I walked around to face her.

  “Hey there, Mom.”

  Her eyes looked up at me. Eyes I saw in the mirror every time I looked at myself in the morning. Tears fell from her face as her jaw began to quiver, and I crouched down in front of her, so I could take her hand and bring it to my lips. She was cold. And clammy. Every bone in her body could be seen and her veins protruded from underneath her skin. I closed my eyes as she cupped my cheek, a tear slipping out and tumbling over her skin.

  How I’d missed the touch of my own mother.

  “My sweet boy,” she said breathlessly. “Oh, my sweet, beautiful boy.”

  “Why did you leave, Mom?” I asked. “Why did you not come back for me?”

  I raised my eyes to hers as another tear slipped from my gaze. Both of her hands cupped my cheeks, brushing the tears away I’d refused to cry for so many years. I’d hated her. I’d hated everything about her. Everything in my life was fueled by my hatred for this woman that was withering away right before my very eyes.

  And yet her stare boasted of a strength I’d only ever seen in one other person.

  Sarah.

  Sarah reminded me of my mother.

  “I loved your father so much,” she said.

  “Then why’d you leave, Mom?” I asked.

  “Because love isn’t all it takes to make a marriage work,” she said.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “A marriage takes commitment. Dedication. Patience. Perseverance. It takes compromise to a point where you no longer believe you could compromise any more of yourself. It takes a will to want to make things work. It takes a dedication that is sometimes blinded by the very rage you have toward the person you claim to love. Mason, it takes more than love to make a marriage work. And your father and I, we didn’t have it.”

  “Then why didn’t you take me with you? Why didn’t you talk to me? Or come back to see me?” I asked.

  “You wouldn’t take my calls. You were so angry, and I couldn’t blame you. You were settled into your schools, and you had your friends already established. You were a thriving sixteen-year-old boy. I couldn’t yank you from your life like that. Stick you in another school halfway through your high school career. What kind of mother would that have made me?” she asked.

  “Why didn’t you pick up the phone whenever I called? Why didn’t you call me back?” I asked.

  “Did your father not tell you?” she asked.

  “Tell me what?”

  “The agreement between us was to split all of your costs down the middle. Fifty-fifty. The only job I could find was working third shift in a factory. I couldn’t ever call at a decent hour, so I took to writing you letters. Did you not get my letters?”

  “No. I-I never got any letters,” I said.

  “Well, your father’s never been perfect,” she said as she dropped her hands.

  “You wrote me letters?” I asked.

  “Every morning after I got off work. I’d get them in the mail before I went to bed to sleep before my next shift.”

  My mind was spinning. All this time, I thought my mother had abandoned me. I thought she hated me, that she didn’t want me. I thought she left because of something I’d done and wanted nothing to do with me. But all this time, she was just a woman in a marriage that wasn’t working. A woman who wanted to spread her wings but couldn’t.

  “Why didn’t I get your letters?” I asked.

  “I suppose your father probably has them. He was so angry with me leaving. He wanted me to stay, but he didn’t want to do anything to make it work. He didn’t believe in therapy or re-dating or any of the other things I suggested,” she said.

  “I’m so sorry, Mom,” I said.

  “It’s not your fault. It never was your fault. I could’ve done more. I could’ve come by more to see you. But I knew it would spark arguments with your father, and I didn’t want you to see us fighting. I never wanted you to see any of the hurt we’d caused one another over the years,” she said.

  “I get it, Mom. I get it. It’s all right, okay?”

  I took her hands within mine and brought them to my lips again. I stood up and wrapped my arms around her, pulling this frail woman close to my chest. She cried for me, and I cried for her, setting free the emotions we’d kept back for so many years. But even as we cried and even as she stood to hold me in her weakened arms, Emma’s words kept chanting in the back of my mind.

  She’s got her own shit to deal with.

  I needed to know what was going on with Sarah. I needed to know what was crumbling my strong, beautiful counterpart. I helped my mother back down into her chair and gave her a kiss on her cheek, and the words that came flowing from her mouth were startling.

  “Whoever s
he is, that’s where you need to go next.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I may not be the best at many things, but I know when I see someone in love. Whoever she is, that’s where you need to go now.”

  I stood there, rooted to my place as Emma darted her head over to me. At once, all the foreign emotions I’d been feeling slowly slipped into place. My need to be around Sarah. My incessant pandering to try and find what hooked me to her. The ecstasy I felt buried between her legs. The pull to always be around her. To always know what’s on her mind. This desperation to know what was plaguing her.

  I was in love with Sarah Williams.

  I walked back into the house while Emma talked to our mother. I used my mother’s phone to call Sarah, hoping she would pick up. It didn’t shock me when she didn’t.

  Did she have my mom’s number? May be she was busy…or hurt…or unwell…

  Even though, we made an agreement to have some space from one another for a couple days, I needed to talk with her.

  I needed to see her.

  I needed to tell her everything.

  “I can take you into town,” Emma said.

  “I just need you to take me back to my car,” I said.

  Emma raced us back over to her townhome, and I immediately jumped into my car. She was bombarding me with questions, but I didn’t have time to answer any of them. I flew down the road heading back into Dallas as I reached back for my phone. I ignored all of Tony’s missed calls and messages and tried getting Sarah on the phone again, but all it did was continue to ring. I pulled up behind her apartment complex and slipped in when someone slipped out, rushing up the steps to get to her floor.

  Soon, I found myself banging on her door like I had Emma’s.

  “Sarah, open up. We need to talk.”

  I listened for anything. Any sound or any grunt that might tell me she was there. I started banging again, trying desperately to get her to open up as my heart flooded my body with nerves and adrenaline.

  I needed to see her now.

  “Sarah, please! Come on, open up.”

  But still, no one came to the door.

  I kicked it, frustrated at the position I had now been put in. The one woman I wanted to see, the one woman I wanted to wrap my arms around, was nowhere to be found. She wasn’t taking my calls, she wasn’t answering her door, and I had no idea where the fuck to go next.

  I stood there with my heart in my hands, and I had no one to give it to.

  Chapter 31

  Sarah

  I should’ve opened the damn door. I sat there in my room, listening to him bang down my door, and I just should’ve opened it. We had an agreement, right? An agreement to take some time away from one another. He said he would follow my lead, and I trusted that. I trusted that he would stay away, no matter how hard it was.

  But he sounded so desperate, and I almost caved.

  I fell asleep that night with the sound of the door ringing in my ears. I cried myself to sleep, knowing I’d fully pushed Mason away. There was a part of me that needed space from him, that needed this time to process what the fuck I was going to do next.

  But the rest of me wanted to figure that out with him. The rest of me wanted to yank him into this room, shut my door, and lose myself in him. I knew he could help me find a way out of this. I knew he could help me dig out from underneath the rubble that had come crashing down on us.

  I wanted his presence so badly, but I didn’t know how to ask for it.

  Things had gotten too crazy and too out of control too quickly. In the span of a few days, I’d ruined my relationship with my best friend, I’d ruined my relationship with the public, I’d ruined the reputation of my show, and I’d demolished the relationship I had with Mason.

  Well, the arrangement I had with Mason.

  I pulled myself out of bed and began packing up all of Emma’s things. Mason wasn’t calling or texting me anymore, which meant I could breathe a little easier. At least I’d made that decision easier on him. He would’ve left me anyway once he discovered what was wrong with me.

  Discovered the secrets I was hiding.

  I picked up the box full of Emma’s things and lugged it all the way to my car. I drove over to her place and dropped it on her doorstep, knocking on her door before I turned to leave. The least I could do was return her things, so she could give them to whatever new friendship she developed.

  I’d run out of ways to repair ours, and I simply had to admit defeat and keep going.

  “Sarah? What the hell’s all this?”

  I stopped in my tracks when I heard her voice. I slowly turned around and saw her standing there, looking more beautiful than I’d ever seen her. She’d showered and put on makeup. She was wearing an outfit I hadn’t seen her put on in quite some time. The light behind her eyes was back, and the sight of her filled me with a joy I hadn’t felt in days.

  “That’s the stuff you had at my place,” I said. “Figured you’d want it back.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because we aren’t friends anymore. I figured it would be the right thing of me to give you back your stuff.”

  “When did I ever say we weren’t friends?” she asked.

  “When you stopped taking my calls, told me all my relationships failed because I was damaged, and shut out your brother,” I said.

  “First off, I’m sorry for all that shit I said to you. It was wrong and uncalled for, and you didn’t deserve any of that. What I’ve been trying to tell you and Mason is that I just need time wrap my head around things. Sarah, I fucking found out from the news. Cut me a bit of slack.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I said.

  “Look, if you want to be with my brother, go ahead. He’s a strange one, I’ll give him that. But I’ve seen a good side of him lately, one I didn’t think existed.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “And he likes you. He’s happy with you. If the two of you want to be together, I’m not going to stop you.”

  Her words hit me like a ton of bricks as she picked up the box off the ground. He was happy with me? What the hell did that mean?

  “A good side of him?” I asked.

  “I know. Seems weird, right. When all this blows over, we’ve got a lot to talk about,” she said, grinning.

  “Sounds like it,” I said breathlessly. “How do you know he’s happy with me?”

  “Because he told me. Well, I could see it in his eyes after our mom called him out on it.”

  “Your mother?” I asked.

  “Told you we had a lot to talk about,” she said.

  My mind was running at a thousand miles a second. Suddenly, I felt the desperate need to track Mason down. I was finally standing in the shoes he’d been standing in for weeks, and I felt my fingers trembling as the feeling washed over me.

  I was in love with Mason.

  “A word of advice?” Emma asked.

  I turned my head toward her as tears flowed down my cheeks.

  “Tell him your secrets. I may have already mentioned you had some serious baggage going on, and now he’s curious. Plus, if you want things to work out, you’ve got to let him in. You haven’t done that with any of the men you’ve ever dated. Whether I set you up with them or not. You just hold them at arm's length and let your fame do all the work. If you want it to work with him, let him in. Fully.”

  I felt my entire body shaking with anticipation and fear. Emma was right. I’d never let any of them in. I never told them the things I kept close to my chest. I never told them the things that kept me up at night. I never told them the source of my sadness and anger. What really fueled me to reach for the success I strived for on a daily basis.

  “I know I don’t know Mason well. Hell, all I’ve seen is what’s in the headlines. But even the press has never seen him like this before. He really cares about you, Sarah. He doesn’t chase women, not like he’s chased you. I got a taste of his incessant perseverance when he was knocking down
my door to talk with me. If he’s been doing that to you for however long this has been happening, then it’s serious with him,” Emma said.

  “Serious,” I said, whispering.

  “Go home and think about it,” she said as she stepped back into her home. “I’ll call you in a few days.”

  “Okay,” I said mindlessly.

  The entire way back home, I wondered if I should call him. The mere idea of him feeling the same way toward me filled my chest with delight. It filled so fast and sat so heavy on my lungs, I was struggling to breathe by the time I got home. I rushed up to my apartment and barreled in, immediately calling Mason on his cell phone.

  And I got my first taste of what it had been like to be in his shoes for the past few weeks.

  I hung up and called again, feeling my heart sink lower and lower as it kept throwing me to voice mail. I left him message after message, calling him ten or fifteen times before tears started trickling down my neck. I wanted him to pick up. I needed him to pick up. I needed to talk with him. To see him. To hear his voice even though we had that stupid fucking agreement. I needed him to knock on my door one last time.

  One last time and I would let him in. For good, if that’s what he wanted.

  I called and I called and I called, but eventually, it didn’t even ring. Eventually, it was just me and his voice mail, his voice echoing gently in my ear as I sobbed against my cell phone.