by R. S. Medina
There's someone else. Drip. There's someone else. Drip.
I wonder who it is. Blair wouldn't just start talking to anyone. No, this is serious.
I spend the morning on our phone provider website, trying to see if there is a way for me to see who she has been texting, but there are so many numbers I'm not sure where to start.
I pack Olivia up around lunch when I can't take it anymore.
"Want to go for a ride, baby girl?" I ask Livy, as I buckle her into her car seat. She babbles back in response and smiles. I try not to show her how stressed I am. I feel like my emotions are fraying.
There's someone else. Drip. There's someone else. Drip.
I drive by her work and see her bright blue car parked in the parking lot. It's lunch time, so she's still there. I don't want to walk in and surprise her, though. I won't go that far. I'm not going to interfere with her professional life. But what if it's someone she works with?
Drip. There's someone else. Drip.
I whip the car around and head home. I'm thinking crazy. I have to trust her. She told me the truth. Blair wouldn't lie to me. She told me the truth.
There's someone else. Drip.
I drive to Chazz's house. She's home, so I pull into her driveway. I get Livy out and knock on Chazz's door. She answers. She's in sweats and a horribly frazzled messy bun.
"Oh, hey," she says, surprised. "I wasn't expecting you till later," she says.
"Sorry, I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by," I lie. She steps aside and opens the door for us to come in. I step inside with Olivia, and Olivia claws to get to Chazz. "I hope we aren't interrupting."
"No, no," Chazz says, taking Olivia in her arms. "I was just working on some paperwork and cleaning the house. What's up?" she asks, sitting on her living room couch. I look around. I don't often get to come over here. Since we have the baby, usually Chazz comes over because it's just easier, especially because our house is already baby proofed, thanks to Blair.
"Not much," I say. I feel so frazzled, though. I feel disconnected and crazy. Chazz can see through my bullshit. I see her eyeing me suspiciously. I drop down into one of the armchairs next to the couch, specifically, so I don't have to be close to anyone and can have my own personal space. I feel vulnerable and exposed. Like anything will set me off at any given second.
"What's up?" she asks sternly. She's using the same tone our mother would. She's not even a mom yet, and she's perfected the mom tone. Her kids are fucked when she has them one day.
I sigh. I've never been able to get anything over on Chazz. As my older sister, she has an impeccable bullshit detector. I drop my head in my hands.
"I think Blair has been seeing someone else," I admit to her, breaking down. Her mouth pops open in surprise. I drop my head into my hands, tugging at some hair to help relieve the pain of the constant drip in the back of my mind.
Drip. There's someone else. Drip.
"What?" she asks.
I fill her in about my conversation with Blair this morning.
"I mean at least she told me," I say after filling Chazz in on everything. Chazz sits quietly for a minute, watching Olivia play on the ground. She looks up at me.
"I think I know who she's talking to, Finn," Chazz admits to me, quietly. She looks ashamed. And hesitant.
"What?" I ask, shocked. I don't know what to think or say. How would Chazz know?
She takes a deep breath. "The other day when I came over in the morning to return some clothes," she reminds me, "I happened to see a text message on Blair's phone. I didn't mean to. I wasn't snooping. But it popped up while I was handing it to her," Chazz says cautiously, thinking about what to say and how to say it.
"Okay," I say, slowly.
"Tristan was texting her," Chazz informs me.
I stop. Tristan? Tristan Woods? Her ex-boyfriend from high school? They haven't talked in years. That makes no sense. Chazz lets me mull it over.
"What did it say?" I ask, unsure I want to know the answer.
"He was just telling her she was pretty," Chazz says. "It wasn't anything too bad, but I'd bet money Tristan is who she has been talking to," Chazz says, gently but confidently. "I'm so sorry, Finn." She puts her hand on my knee reassuringly. "I'm sure it will be ok," she says, trying to brighten my mood. "She told you the truth."
There's someone else. Drip. Drip. Drip. There's someone else. Drip. Drip. Drip.
The dripping is turning into a roaring faucet, and I can't think or hear anything else over the roar.
Present
I wake up in Stephanie's bed. I can smell her perfume in the sheets all around me, and it instantly makes me nauseated. It is sickly sweet, compared to Blair's subtle lavender smell. I roll over and see Stephanie naked, wrapped up in the sheets, fast asleep.
Fuck.
I hurry out of bed and throw on my clothes, not stopping to write a note or say goodbye. Stephanie will know I left. She hasn't told Sam that she's been fucking me, so there's no reason for me to stay.
I rush to my car and slam the door and check my phone. It's almost dead, so I put it on the charger. I haven't heard from Blair since yesterday, which is odd, and I miss her so much I ache. That's a weird feeling to have. I suck it up and put my pride aside and text her. No response.
I head home to take a shower. I have to get Stephanie's scent off of me. I can't stand it. I feel like it's invading my pores and my skin and seeping into my blood stream. It's sickening. My disdain for her isn't subsiding, so I don't know why I keep subjecting myself to being her booty call.
I still love Stephanie, but the fact that I love her makes me sick. How can you love someone but still hate them so much at the same time? I hate what she did to me, how badly she hurt me.
When I get home, Billy is asleep on the couch. I'm sure he's going to ask me a million questions about where I was last night—questions I don't want to answer.
My phone pings and I pray it's Blair. She's the only person who makes me feel better, and I need her.
And it's Stephanie.
Stephanie: that was fun. We should do it again. I can't believe it's been a year since we split up. But we could be a family. You, me, and our daughter.
I don't respond. Fuck her. Today is the day I threw her out, and she went right over to Sam's and fucked him like it was nothing. And we still don't have the results from the paternity test.
I hustle into the bathroom and peel off my clothes. I turn the shower on full blast and step in. I let the shower head massage my shoulder blades and let the hot water run over my back and head. I stand there letting the stench of Stephanie roll off like she never happened last night.
I had a moment of weakness. It won't happen again.
Present
While at work, I agonize over what to tell Tristan. I type out at least fifty different responses and delete them before I can send them. I need to just put my on big girl panties and deal with it. Maybe I can just take the easy way out and not respond and ignore him forever, even though that's a dick move?
Tristan texted me good morning forty-five minutes ago, and I still haven't responded.
Fuck. Me.
Me: Meet me for lunch?
Tristan: I'll pick you up at noon.
At noon, I go and wait in the parking lot, scanning cars for Tristan's white truck. When I see him pull around the corner, I walk to the sidewalk so I can just jump in the cab without him pulling in or parking.
When I hop in and buckle my seat belt, Tristan flashes his sideways grin at me. He looks relieved to see me.
"Where to, pretty girl?" he asks, reaching for my hand. My body automatically responds by intertwining my fingers with his, but my mind screeches at me to stop. My stomach feels like it is going to drop.
"I told Finn about us," I blurt, all tact going out the window. I watch Tristan's face for any hint of emotion, trying to analyze every blink or muscle movement.
Tristan's face gives nothing away.
"Oh," he sa
ys simply.
"I mean, I didn't tell him it was you, specifically. But I said there was someone else," I add. Tristan nods but remains silent for a minute. His face still gives nothing away. He strokes his beard.
"How did he take it?" he asks, pulling his hand away from mine, and placing it back on the steering wheel. He pulls into the restaurant we ate at the first time he took me out and parks his truck.
"How do you think he took it?" I respond, somewhat more sarcastic than I intended.
"I'm sorry," Tristan says, apologizing for something that isn't even his fault.
"It's not your fault," I remind him, but he only shrugs. He turns to face me in the car.
I don't know who I am anymore. This whole thing is out of character for me. I always thought I was a better person than this. I never thought I would be a... cheater. God, I hate that word. It's such an ugly, vile word reserved for ugly, vile people.
I never thought I'd put myself in a situation where I have to choose between my husband and my... mistress? Is there a name for a guy mistress? I mean, we have a child together, so my husband wins. But I can't bring myself to tell Tristan that it's over. I mean we never even had a title or a label. But I still have feelings for him, and the last thing I want to do is hurt him. But no matter what I do, someone gets hurt. There is no easy answer.
"I'm sorry you're having a shitty day," Tristan says, grabbing my hand and kissing it while looking me in the eyes. It makes me feel a little better. I smile at him, a fake, tight-lipped smile.
"Stephanie texted me earlier," he says, looking down, breaking eye contact with me. "Today is the year anniversary of us splitting up. She texted just to remind me specifically," he confides in me.
I instantly explode with anger.
"That's so fucked! Fuck her, Tristan!" I exclaim. "Don't you dare respond!" I demand. I'm seething. Fuck her.
It's funny how I can hate her for hurting Tristan by cheating on him, yet I'm basically doing the same to Finn, but I want understanding and compassion. I'm the worst kind of hypocrite.
Fuck. Now I can't tell him that I have to stop talking to him. I can't be that bitch. I'm not going to twist the knife that Stephanie stabbed into his back and make this day, of all days worse. I'll tell him tomorrow. I mean, one day isn't going to hurt, right?
He pulls my hand back to his again and stares down at it and whispers, "Why do I still care? I shouldn't, but I do."
I reach out and touch his face gently, his scruffy beard tickling my fingertips. He looks up at me.
"Because you have a good heart, Tristan. You have the best heart. But seriously, don't you dare waste another second on her. She's just texting you to dig the knife in deeper," I tell him.
His warm, cognac eyes search mine. It reminds me of the term "bedroom eyes," and I can't look away. He makes me want to drown in them.
"You have to stop saying things to make me like you," he tells me.
"I can fix that," I grin. His smile mirrors mine.
"You can try," he flirts, he says smirking.
"Okay, I'll tell you things that make me unattractive," I say.
"Go for it," he challenges.
I think it over for a minute, but it is hard for me to think when he's looking at me like that with those eyes, and all I want to do is touch him. It's almost more of a need.
"Okay, are you ready?" I ask, thinking of five unattractive facts. He nods. I hold up a finger. "One. I hog the whole bed and always have cold feet that I will put on you to warm up." I tick off another finger. "Two. I love musicals. And I can't sing, but I do. Obnoxiously." Tristan laughs. "Three. I have bad morning breath. Four. I'm an only child, so I'm spoiled as fuck. You can't afford me. And five. I don't like chocolate," I admit.
Tristan pretends to think it over. "Okay, first of all, not liking chocolate is blasphemy. What girl doesn't like chocolate?" he asks.
"Me," I insist, laughing.
"That just means I can eat all the chocolate for you," he winks. I laugh, and then he gets serious. "Blair, those are all things I like about you. You can't make me not like you. You're perfect. I can learn to live with those things." My heart stops beating. And the way he is looking at me right now makes me believe it. I'm perfect for him. We belong together.
Without thinking, I jump across the seat and slam my lips into his. My lips are against his, and I'm clinging to him like he's the last breath of air I'll ever get. I need Tristan. I can't imagine not having him in my life again.
Why can't I tear myself in two? One for Finn and Olivia, and the other for Tristan. I want both. I don't want to hurt anybody. Tristan makes me feel things I haven't felt in so long, emotions that have lain dormant for too long. I can't just act like I don't feel things for him. I can't imagine him not in my life. But I can't imagine Finn not there either.
Present
As I was staring at her, while she's counting the unattractive things about her to help me not like her, all I can think about is how much I like her. More than like her, I love her.
She's the first woman in my life that I can picture forever with. Like the corny way people ask you if you can see a future. I see Blair.
I see crawling into bed with her at night, having her hog the whole bed, and fighting her for covers. I can see myself letting her put her cold feet on me, and acting like I hate it, but enjoying having her close to me. I see me holding her and fucking her, making love to her, and sharing a bed with her. I see myself kissing her good morning every morning, even with her morning breath.
I can see myself dealing with her shitty musicals and listening to her sing horribly and laughing when she messes up the words. I see myself falling in love with her awful voice and missing it when she's gone.
I see myself eating all the chocolate she gets because she hates it, but I love it, and it works out perfectly.
I see myself spoiling her already spoiled ass and treating her like the woman she deserves to be treated. I see myself taking care of her and protecting her. Giving her a family and providing for her.
And on the car ride, after I drop her off back at work, I pray to God, if there even is a God, that he brings Blair home to me where she belongs.
Past
Seven long hours. I don't know how she did it because watching made me exhausted.
It is the single most exhilarating and terrifying day of my life, in the best way.
We just got settled in a new house and moved back to my hometown, close to my Dad. And I told her to take it easy, that I could handle the unpacking, but she wanted to help. I swear that all that activity pushed her into labor.
And here we are, seven hours later after Blair's water broke, and my life will never be the same.
I have a pink, wrinkly, tiny new life to protect and take care of now. Blair is resting, but I can't sleep. I can't take my eyes off this precious little girl, scared that if I do, I'll wake up and this will all be a dream. How could I be this lucky?
Blair wanted to wait to pick a name until we saw her, see if we felt a name.
And we did.
Our precious Olivia.
Present
When I get home from work, Finn is waiting for me on the couch. Something is wrong. I can tell by the look on his face. He's tense. His hands are clasped together. I see he has already started drinking. There are three empty bottles of beer on the end table next to the couch, and one half full on the coffee table in front of him.
"Where's Olivia?" I ask, concerned. I drop my purse next to the doorway. We were supposed to have a date night, but he looks like something is wrong. And if he's started drinking this early, I don't foresee us leaving the house tonight.
"I dropped her off with Chazz like we planned," he says. "You need to sit down. We need to talk," he says, nodding toward the couch.
Fuck. My mind starts racing. Those four words are never good. I start trembling a little bit, not sure what to expect. Did someone die? Is someone sick or hurt? There's no way he knows...
I
slowly walk to the love seat opposite of Finn so I can look at him. When I sit, Finn looks at me and blinks, slowly.
"Is there something you would like to tell me?" Finn asks. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He knows. He has to know, but I don't know how. I play stupid. There's no need for me to tell him something he doesn't already know or doesn't need to know.
"What are you talking about?" I ask, looking down at my hands. I start picking at my chipped nail polish. He calls my bluff.
"Don't play stupid, Blair." He says harshly, livid that I won't just tell the truth now that he's busting me.
I blink at him in surprise. I don't know what to say. I don't want to incriminate myself. I don't want to give away anything he might not already know. I've already fucked up enough.
"Let me see your phone," Finn demands, holding his hand out. His eyes are unforgiving, boring holes into me. I'm shaking. My mind is whirring in circles, but it's slow and stupid and not helping me much. I'm panicking too much to think clearly.
I clasp my phone tightly to my chest. I still have a lock on my phone, but I haven't deleted today's text messages. I haven't deleted much in a while. I got careless. I panic and think of ways to delete them without Finn seeing. I think about throwing my phone at the wall, so it'll smash and no one can see them. How stupid am I?
"Have you been texting Tristan?" he demands, even though he already knows the answer.
"How do you know?" I whisper, barely audible. I can't seem to find my voice.
He lets out an angry bark of a laugh.
"Chazz told me," he says, glaring at me.
That bitch! How could she do that to me? I thought she wouldn't tell him. I mentally send her a giant middle finger for spilling the beans. I thought she had my back. I guess that her loyalty should lie with her brother, though.
