Not You It's Me

by Julie Johnson

  I roll my eyes, grab my phone off the table, and text Chase.

  So, I freaked out at you. Turns out, I should’ve been freaking out at my mother, instead. Forgive me?

  The phone rings in my hand.

  “Sunshine.”

  “Hey.”

  “You’re okay?” His voice is thick with concern. “Knox couldn’t find you. You aren’t at your apartment, you’re not at the loft, and your car’s gone from its spot. I called the phone I gave you, but it went straight to voicemail—”

  “I’m okay. I rode the T for a while, walked through the park, then eventually picked up my car and went in search of cupcakes.”

  “I was worried.”

  “I know.” My voice gets small. “I’m really, really sorry, Chase. I shouldn’t have freaked out on you, I know that—”

  “No.” He cuts me off. “You feel like freaking out? I can deal with that. You need to yell at me? Go for it — scream at the top of your lungs, sunshine. You need some space? That’s fine, I’ll give it to you when you need it. But bolting without explanation? Running away without talking to me? Without letting anyone know you’re safe — especially now, when we know for a fact there are people who’d like to hurt you?” His voice gets more strained with each sentence, until he’s growling into the phone. “Sunshine, that’s not okay. That’s never okay.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  I listen to him breathing over the line, imagining his face — jaw ticking, eyes dark, brow creased.

  “No more running,” he says finally, his voice soft. “We have a problem, we talk about it. That’s the only way this is going to work.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, will you please come home?”

  “Yeah, about that. Home.” My eyes narrow. “We have to talk about my apartment. Specifically, about the fact that you moved me out of it without talking to me, and now all of my earthly belongings are sitting in boxes in your living room. More specifically, about your utter insanity if you think I’m going to live with you.”

  Shelby squeals, when she hears this — in all the drama, I completely forgot to tell her about Chase’s executive moving decisions.

  “I figured that might come up, at some point,” he says wryly.

  “Chase!”

  “Sunshine.” His voice is warm — I can hear him grinning.

  “Don’t sunshine me, mister!”

  “You freaking out?”

  “Yes, I am most definitely freaking out!”

  “You gonna run again?”

  I pause for a beat, then sigh in resignation. “No.”

  “See you at home,” he says, clicking off seconds later.

  I listen to dead air buzzing at my ear, and lift my eyes to Shelby.

  “He moved me in, without even asking!”

  She nods. “Sounds like it.”

  “He is the most annoying, bossy, incorrigible, pushy, arrogant man I’ve ever met.”

  Her eyebrows lift. “Anything else?”

  I sigh. “And I’m totally in love with him.”

  ***

  I’m driving back to Croft Industries when my cellphone starts to ring. Cursing, I press a button to toggle the speakerphone and slide my finger to answer the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Gemma!”

  “Chrissy, I can’t really talk right now, but I promise to give you updates on the gala later tonight.”

  “I need you to come over.”

  “It’s not really a good time, Chrissy. I have to sort some things out with Chase and my father and my apartment—”

  “Gemma!”

  I blink, startled by the shrillness of her tone. “Yeah?”

  “I need you to come over.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Mark’s out of town on a business trip, my parents are on a cruise in the Mediterranean, and Winston refuses to eat his Cheerios. Oh, and my water just broke all over my Pottery Barn sofa. But, other than that, everything’s just peachy!”

  “Your water broke?” I shriek.

  “Yep.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Gemma, there’s a puddle of amniotic fluid on my living room floor. I’m sure.”

  “But you’re not due for another two weeks!”

  “Tell that to the fetus.”

  “Okay, um, crap,” I mutter, my mind racing. “It’s going to be okay. We’re just, um… crap.”

  “Gemma, I’m the one in labor. Calm yourself.”

  “Sorry, sorry!” I wince. “Have you called an ambulance?”

  “No, I called you.”

  “But… shouldn’t you call an ambulance? I mean, I can drive you, but what if you go into heavy labor while we’re caught in traffic in the tunnel or there’s some kind of natural disaster on the way to the hospital, and I have to deliver the baby in the backseat, on the side of the highway? What then, Chrissy?”

  Silence blasts over the line. “Let me get this straight. You want your pregnant best friend to ride alone in an grimy ambulance to the hospital, holding a squirming one year old, when she hasn’t even started having full contractions, yet?” she asks finally. “You’re kidding, right? You better be kidding.”

  “Totally kidding,” I agree, grimacing at my own stupidity. “I’m on my way.”

  “Great.”

  I blare my horn as I swerve into the exit lane, toward Chrissy’s neighborhood. “I’ll be there in five minutes. Shelby isn’t far, either — we were just at Crumble, so—”

  “You bitches got cupcakes without me?” Chrissy’s voice is outraged. “And you weren’t even going to bring me a one? I’m pregnant! Not just pregnant, either. I’m in labor!”

  “Technically, we didn’t know you were in labor—”

  “But you do know their Red Velvet is my favorite!”

  “Chrissy, there’s a baby currently coming out of your womb. Please focus.”

  “Whatever,” she grumbles. “Just call Shelby. One of you will have to keep an eye on Winston, while I do this thing.”

  Only Chrissy would refer to giving birth as this thing.

  “How far out is Mark?”

  “He’s in San Diego, for a conference. He’s hopping on the first flight back, but he won’t land for at least six hours.”

  “Damn.” I swallow. “Just breathe, Chrissy. I’ll be there before you know it.”

  “I’m breathing just fine.”

  “Good, well… keep doing that.”

  She snorts. “You know what would’ve made this day a helluva lot better?”

  “What?”

  “A red velvet cupcake.”

  I roll my eyes and hang up, immediately hitting a button to dial Shelby. It rings once, twice, and then her voice is snapping over the line.

  “Miss me already?”

  I cut right to the chase. “Chrissy’s in labor.”

  “Crap.”

  “That’s what I said.” I merge lanes erratically, cutting off a taxicab in the process. He lays on the horn and flips me off, shouting a loud, Bostonian faaahhk you for added emphasis.

  Oops.

  “Anyway, I’m almost to her place, now. Long story short, the baby’s early, Mark’s across the country, and she needs us to watch Winnie, plus hold her hand and do those weird Lamaze breathing exercises while she pushes. Oh, and she really wants a cupcake.”

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to eat before labor. Something about all the pushing, combined with a full digestive track leads to unwanted bowel movem—”

  “Ew! TMI, Shelby. TMI.”

  She sighs. “I’m on my way.”

  “I’m pulling up outside, now. See you soon.”

  I toss my cell back into my purse as my eyes scan the street for a spot in front of Chrissy’s building. There’s not a single free space to be seen and I don’t have time to circle the block, so I swerve into a restricted tow-away zone in front of a fire hydrant, flip on my hazard lights, and race into Chrissy’s building without botherin
g to shut off my engine.

  A car thief’s dream, I know.

  But I’ll be back in a second. And it’s Back Bay — no one here is going to steal my shit-box of a car, sitting amidst all these Audis and BMWs, even if they keys are still in the ignition.

  I fly up the stairs and throw open the apartment door, expecting to find Chrissy in tears, freaking out, mid-breakdown. Instead, I find her sitting placidly on the couch, her overnight birth-bag by her feet, strapping the velcro of Winnie’s tiny blue sneakers.

  “I’m here!” I yell breathlessly, rushing into the room. “I’m here.”

  Chrissy looks up at me. “Great. We’re ready.”

  “Why aren’t you freaking out?” I ask, narrowing my eyes on her. “You should be freaking out.”

  “Pretty sure you’re freaking out enough for the both of us, Gem.”

  “Valid point,” I agree, crossing toward the couch and ruffling Winston’s silk-soft hair. “Hi, Winnie.”

  He gives me a toothy grin, squeals, and reaches for me. I happily haul him into my arms, and he nestles into the crook of my neck with a gurgling laugh.

  “Can you walk?” I ask Chrissy. “Or are you, like…”

  She rolls her eyes and rises to her feet. “God, you’re dramatic, today. Just hold Winnie and grab my bag. His car seat is by the door.”

  She begins waddling toward the exit, faster than I would’ve thought possible, and there’s no choice but to throw the strap of her bag over my shoulder and follow her out. For the entire elevator ride down, I try — and fail — to adopt Chrissy’s composure. I can’t help it — the last time she did this, I showed up at the hospital after it was all over, bearing balloons and a cuddly teddy bear. I didn’t prepare for this possibility. None of us did.

  We bump into Shelby on the front steps.

  “Yo,” she says, nodding to Chrissy.

  “Yo,” Chrissy volleys back.

  I stare from one to the other in disbelief. “And you both think I’m the crazy one.”

  “You are,” they say in unison.

  “Whatever, can we please go to the hospital, now?” I look pointedly at Chrissy. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re in labor.”

  She just rolls her eyes at me.

  “Shotgun!” Shelby calls.

  “Did you just call shotgun for the ride to the hospital?”

  “Oh, don’t look at me like that.” She scoffs. “Chrissy has to sit in the back, anyway. There’s more room.”

  “This is true,” Chrissy adds.

  I sigh and look at Shelby. “I guess you’re leaving your car here, then?”

  “You can’t,” Chrissy says. “They’ll tow you, unless you’ve got a resident sticker.”

  “Crap,” Shelby mutters.

  “We’ll both drive, then,” I decide, shifting Winnie in my arms, so I have a better grip. “I’ll bring Winnie in my car, you can drive Chrissy.”

  Shelby looks guilty, glancing from her shiny, low-slung, two-seater Mercedes convertible to Chrissy. “The thing is, I actually just had the interior redone, and—”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, I’ll ride with Gemma,” Chrissy says, heading for my car which is, thankfully, still idling by the curb. “And anyway, Shelbs, your convertible is so low to the ground, I’d need a fork-lift to get me out again.”

  “Mine may not be any better,” I mutter. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t break down on the way there.”

  “What?” Chrissy says, her voice suddenly shrill.

  Shelby widens her eyes at me and shakes her head in warning.

  “Nothing! Nothing.” I swallow. “I’ll get you there.”

  While I strap Winston into his baby booster, Shelby helps Chrissy get settled in the backseat next to him. My car is rattling a little ominously, but I pretend not to hear it. Getting worked up might snap Chrissy out of the zen-like calm she’s adopted — which, I have a feeling, would be very, very bad for my health. And my ears.

  Once they’re both shut in the back, I turn to Shelby.

  “See you there?”

  “Yep. Take Storrow Drive, it’ll be fastest, this time of day.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t worry, Gem.” She grins as she heads for her car — which she somehow managed to park in a perfect spot, in front of a neighboring brownstone. “The hospital’s ten minutes away. What can possibly go wrong in ten minutes?”

  A feeling of dread creeps over me as soon as she says those words. I want to scream Shelby, you idiot! How could you tempt the universe like that?

  But, since I’m not five anymore, I keep my superstitions to myself, ignore the bad feeling stirring in my gut, and watch her drive off.

  She’s right, I tell myself, sliding into the driver’s seat. It’ll all be fine.

  Forcing a grin, I glance back at Chrissy and Winston.

  “How you doing, back there?”

  “We’re fine, Gemma. Just drive.”

  See?

  Everything’s fine.

  I’m reaching for the shifter when the passenger door of my car is roughly yanked open. A man jumps into the seat — a pudgy, disheveled-looking man, with dirty clothes and a dark scowl. A man whose face I might recognize, if not for the fact that my attention is fully consumed by his hands.

  Or, more specifically, what’s in his hands.

  Because he’s holding a gun, and it’s pointed at me.

  “Drive, bitch,” Ralph sneers, shaking it in my direction. “Right fucking now.”

  Okay.

  This right here?

  So totally not fine.

  ***

  “Where did you get a gun?”

  My mind is racing as I look from Ralph to Chrissy to Winston, considering our options. I contemplate bolting from the car, but Chrissy’s in labor — she can’t run, let alone get Winnie out by herself. Hell, I’m not even sure how fast she can walk, at this point. And then there’s the small matter of the gun in my face.

  “I said drive.” He jostles the gun at me again.

  “Or what?” I ask, my eyes wide. “You’ll shoot me?”

  His scowl deepens. “Gemma, I’m not fucking around.”

  “Okay, I know you’re intent on your revenge, and I ruined your life, and you hate me. Yada, yada, yada. Whatever. It’s going to have to wait, because we’re literally on our way to the hospital right now. This is a real emergency, Ralph, and you’re kind of messing things up for us.”

  “This is Ralph?” Chrissy shrieks. “No wonder you never wanted to introduce him.”

  Ralph turns incredulous eyes to the backseat. “What did you say to me, bitch?”

  Chrissy doesn’t bat an eye at the gun suddenly pointing in her direction. She looks at me, cool as a cucumber, and says, “You never told me he doesn’t shower.”

  I wrinkle my nose, taking in the unwashed stench coming off Ralph. He looks dirty and his clothes are rumpled, like he’s been living on the streets for the past few days. “Actually, this is a new development. He had standard man-child hygiene habits, while we were dating.”

  “Ah, yes. The pants-never-need-to-be-washed, shaving-is-a-weekly-activity, manscaping-is-a-myth type.” She nods sagely. “I know them well.”

  “Exactly.”

  “SHUT UP!” Ralph yells, causing both our heads to snap in his direction. His eyes narrow on me. “Drive the fucking car, Gemma, or I swear to god…”

  “Ralph, come on. We both know you’re not going to hurt me.”

  “You don’t know anything, bitch.”

  “Can we watch the language?” Chrissy asks. “I’ve got a one-year-old back here. Very impressionable age. I don’t want his first word to be cocksucker.”

  Ralph’s eyes darken, and his arm swivels sharply, so the gun is pointing straight at Winnie.

  “Ralph…” I whisper.

  “Shut up!”

  The gun shakes.

  Winnie’s eyes are wide, watching the mouth of the gun like it’s a spinning toy on his mobile.

&nbs
p; Chrissy and I both go dead silent.

  “You don’t think I’ll hurt you, but what about him, huh? Still sure I won’t hurt anyone? No?” Ralph’s voice is low with anger. “Then drive the fucking car, before I decide to stop being so nice.”

  I meet Chrissy’s eyes and, for the first time, I see a flash of fear in their depths. So, I grab the shifter, pull out into traffic, and I drive the fucking car.

  ***

  “Where are we going?” I ask, my voice quiet.

  Ralph doesn’t say anything. His knees are jumping up and down to a beat only he can hear. With each nervous jitter, the gun in his hand bounces a little more.

  “Ralph. Please.” I try again. “Where are we going?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Can we at least drop Chrissy off at the hospital? This isn’t about her. It’s about me. The hospital isn’t far from here. And, if you let me drop her off, I’ll go with you, wherever you want to go. Just let me—”

  “Do you think I’m some kind of idiot?” he sneers, glaring at me.

  Kind of, yeah.

  “You really think I’m stupid enough to let you stop at a fucking hospital?” he continues.

  I mean… a girl can dream.

  “Just drive.”

  My hands tighten around the steering wheel as I meet Chrissy’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Her face is flushed and she’s breathing heavy — telltale signs she’s in pain. My eyes ask a question; she mouths the answer back at me.

  I’m okay.

  Even if she’s not lying, she can’t hold up for long. I’m not sure how fast her labor’s progressing, but I’m relatively certain we should get to a hospital, pronto.

  At Ralph’s direction, I drive a while longer, until we’re well out of Chrissy’s neighborhood. I’m going as slow as possible, looking for opportunities — a police station, a security guard on the street, anyone who might be able to help — hoping Ralph doesn’t notice my crawling pace. I start to get nervous when we pass through the city limits and he tells me to keep driving — away from Boston proper, away from the hospital.

  Chrissy’s breaths have intensified to full-on pants of pain, and even Winnie is looking distressed, the longer we drive in utter silence.

  I’m about to try reasoning with Ralph again, when the sound of buzzing shatters the quiet.