by Portia Moore
So I call John, and he says he’s not doing anything that evening and can meet me in the city for dinner. I give him the address of a pub near my house, a place with good food and beer, and spend the rest of the day trying to get Madison out of my head. It’s always hard—it’s like I see her everywhere still. The lipstick that she forgot that’s still in the bathroom that I can’t bring myself to throw away, her favorite mug in the cupboard, and Ally sitting on the couch looking at me with mournful eyes, as if she’s blaming me that Madison left again.
“I miss her too,” I tell her, and then feel stupid for talking out loud to her. I walk into the bedroom and change for dinner. The bar is a short walk from my apartment and the weather is nice, so I don’t bother taking the car or calling an Uber.
John is already sitting at the bar when I get there, a beer in front of him. He stands up and gives me a one-armed hug as I walk up. “It’s good to see you,” he tells me, waving at the bartender to order a beer for me as well.
“How are things?” he asks, looking sincerely at me after we order food—steak for him and a burger for me. I want to tell him everything, to talk to someone whose opinion I trust and respect.
“Work is great,” I tell him honestly. “I’ve got this huge gig coming up—it’s intimidating but also makes me feel accomplished, like I’ve gotten to the point in my career where I can take on something like this. And it’s paying more than I’ve ever made from an event before—it’ll really make a difference in my savings for the bar. I used to worry sometimes if I made the right choice—you know, leaving the corporate job—but I feel like I’m on the right track.”
“Doing what you love is always the right choice,” John tells me firmly. “There’s way more important things in this world than money.” He looks at me intently, and I can tell that he’s not finished. “But I’m not just asking how work is going. I want to know how you’re doing. I know this has to have been a rough few weeks for you.”
I look down at my plate of food, my appetite gone, my stomach tying up in knots, thinking about last night and how much more confusing it’s made everything. “I saw Madison last night,” I say quietly.
I can tell from the expression on John’s face that he knows what I’m going to say next, but I blurt it out anyway. “I slept with her,” I say miserably. “I know I shouldn’t have, it’s just made everything more confusing for both of us.”
“So you think it was a mistake?” John asks carefully.
“It didn’t feel like a mistake,” I say quietly, embarrassed by what I’m saying. “It felt right. It felt like the way things should be. But it can’t be right, right? How can I ever get over what she did? I just don’t see how that’s possible, and this has only made it harder.”
John is quiet for a long time, and he sits back in his chair, tapping his fingers on his leg as he looks at me thoughtfully. “Do you not want to be with Madison because you can’t forgive her, or because you don’t think you should?”
“I can only say that I want what we had before, before everything happened. I don’t know if what we would have now I can ever want, if I can survive it.”
I wait for him to impart to me the end-all-be-all answer, wisdom from all his years on Earth, but from his empathetic expression I know he doesn’t have that.
“Have you talked to Jackson at all?”
“No,” I say sharply. “And I don’t plan on it, either.”
“If he loses his relationship with you, It might kill him,” John says quietly. “He put a lot of stock in you guys repairing it, after what happened with Holly. I know I would be if I lost my relationship with you or with Alyssa. It’d destroy me. You kids are my whole world. Your mother’s, too. And I know he feels the same way.”
“You wouldn’t cheat on Mom, sleep with someone half your age,” I retort. “That’s the difference.”
“What Jackson did was terrible,” John agrees. “Cheating on Cassandra was inexcusable, and the choices he made about who to pursue…well, none of that is anything I can make up an excuse for. But he’s paying plenty for those mistakes. He’s lost his wife, that much is for sure, and maybe his daughter, too. His marriage is over. He’s getting a divorce, and not on his terms. What he did was wrong, how he handled it was wrong, but he’s your family, Alex. It doesn’t change that.” He sighs, shaking his head.
“Life is too short to hold on to hate. Maybe you should sit down with him and hear him out.” He sees me open my mouth to argue and raises a hand before I can interrupt him. “I’m not saying you have to forgive him. I’m saying you ought to let him explain, and if you can’t forgive, at least it can be closure for you. You don’t have to have a relationship with him, but you shouldn’t leave it like this.”
I’m about to say something—I don’t even know what for sure—when my phone goes off. I pick it up to send it to voicemail and see that it’s the landlord who owns the building I live in, and I hold up a finger. “Hang on, I’ve got to take this,” I say quickly. “I’m sorry.”
“Hello?” I answer the phone.
“Hi, Alex, it’s Richard.”
“Yeah. What’s going on? Is there a problem in the building?”
Richard is quiet for a second. “No, actually,” he says finally. “But I wanted to give you a heads up before the letters go out tomorrow. I’ve sold the building. I wasn’t expecting it to go so soon, but I got an offer way higher than I was expecting. I’m going to need you out of your unit in thirty days.”
What the hell! He wants me out in thirty days. Thirty New York days? I’ve rented that apartment for two years now, and I always pay on time, mostly even early. I didn’t even know the building was up for sale. “I’ll talk to you about this later, okay? I’m out at dinner with my father.”
“Oh, sorry to interrupt. Sure thing, talk later.”
John is looking at me with concern when I hang up. “Who was that?”
“My fucking landlord,” I say, letting out a long breath as I run a hand through my hair, and give him a look to tell him I’m sorry for cursing. “He sold the building. I have to find a new place in a month.” I shake my head, still trying to process it. “Another place in New York in less than a month!”
“You can come stay with us,” John offers. “I know your mother would love to have you there. Until you can figure out what your next step is, of course.”
“Thanks Dad, I appreciate it, I really do. But you guys are a long way from the city, and I work six or seven days a week sometimes, depending on what’s booked. The commute would be awful.” I shake my head.
“This couldn’t have come at a worse time. Finding an apartment on such short notice, in the city—that’s going to cut into a huge part of my savings for the bar. Just when things were looking up, too.”
“Maybe it really is a good time to reach out to Jackson,” John says gently. “He might have some leads.”
I know he’s right—about everything. I hadn’t planned on talking to Jackson—not yet, maybe not ever.
But it’s looking less and less like I have much of a choice.
14
Madison
I couldn’t go back to Parker’s. I wound up sitting in the park, crying with my head in my hands, for far longer than I want to admit. If I went back to Parker’s apartment, she’d want to know how things went with Alex, and since I didn’t come back last night, it’d be obvious that I spent the night with him. And not just that—Parker knows me so fucking well. There’s no way I could hide something like that from her, and I have no idea how she’ll react. I know she’s going to think it was a mistake, that I shouldn’t have let it happen.
And I shouldn’t have, I tell myself harshly as I bite back a fresh round of sobs. I shouldn’t have given in and slept with Alex, then of all times, before I’d even told him about the baby. I should have been strong. I should never have kissed him! Only yesterday I was saying that I would put my needs after the baby’s, and already I’ve failed, putting myself and what I want fi
rst again.
But for just a moment—I thought he’d forgiven me. I’d believed it, down to my bones, and now I see how stupid I was all over again. Because as quickly as he’d said he still loved me, he’d also said that he needed space. And space is exactly what I can’t afford to give him right now—because there’s a third little person in this mess.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper to myself. Sleeping with Alex again has complicated everything for both of us, and part of me wishes that I could take it back, that I could listen to Parker’s advice last night and not go over to his apartment, not put myself in that situation at all. But at the same time—how can I regret it? Last night was a beautiful dream, the best I’ve felt in a long time—back home, back with Alex, back where I belong. I’d thought that I’d never kiss him again, never touch him or make love to him or fall asleep in his arms, and even just having that one night is something that I can’t possibly wish away.
But I’ve got to stop thinking of my feelings. I pull my phone out and dial Rose’s number, knowing that she’ll come and pick me up.
“Hi Madison!” she says cheerily, the moment she answers. “I was just about to call you. There’s an apartment that Jackson wants you to look at. When will you be available?”
“Is now okay? I’m at a park, I’ll text you the address. I was going to ask you if you could give me a ride anyway, so this is good timing.”
“Excellent!” Rose says happily, and a second later I pin the address of the park for her, and then lean back on the bench, closing my eyes.
Rose looks thrilled to see me when I get into the car, which makes exactly one person currently, I think grimly to myself as I buckle my seatbelt. She starts trying to make small talk as soon as I sit down. I can’t bring myself to give her more than small, brief answers, looking out of the window as the scenery passes by.
“I can tell you’re having a hard time,” Rose says finally, her voice becoming quieter. “But I think this apartment will cheer you up when you see it, Madison. It’s quite lovely.”
I’m expecting another ridiculously extravagant loft, one of the ones in the middle of the city in modern, glassy buildings that tower over everything else. But the building that Rose pulls up to is historic-looking, all grey stone and cobbles and an iron fence around a lawn.
I don’t say anything as we walk through the marble-tiled lobby and to the elevator, but when Rose taps her keycard against the door and opens it so that we can walk in, my jaw drops. It looks nothing like any of the pictures she sent—instead of being a huge, open floor plan with sleek modern appliances and fixtures that I’d be afraid to touch and glass walls overlooking the city, or an ultra-luxurious all-white loft like one of them had been, it’s a two-bedroom that’s spacious while still being cozy, with thick carpets and gorgeous view of the park from French doors in the living room that lead out onto a balcony. The kitchen has exposed brick, and although everything is more than roomy, it’s all furnished with soft, comfortable furniture and textiles that make it feel more like a home than an art piece.
I turn to look at Rose, stunned. “What happened to the other ones?” I ask, completely confused. “This doesn’t look anything like those.”
Rose smiles. “Jackson thought that this might be a better fit for you,” she says simply, and I burst into tears.
Shit, I’ve been crying a lot lately. I struggle to wipe them away as Rose hands me a tissue. Maybe it’s hormones or just how completely upended my life has become, but I can’t seem to stop crying about everything. But it just feels so comforting to feel as if there’s someone who still knows me well enough and cares enough to choose something like this, that my baby will have a good life and people who love him or her.
All I need is for Alex to be a part of that life—no matter what. And so I make a decision, sitting down on the soft couch in the living room as I picture baby toys strewn across the thick carpet. I call my doctor and reschedule my ultrasound for later next week, and I make a firm decision to tell Alex before then. I look around the apartment again and feel overwhelmed by so many emotions—joy, sadness, a little fear, but almost contentment. I can see me building a life here, me and this baby. I’m just not sure how Alex will fit in it, but I know now that regardless, I will be okay. I’ll have to be because it’s not about me anymore. As long as this little one is loved, and I don’t have any doubt it will have plenty.
15
Alex
I schedule a meeting with Richard to try and see if there’s any way to keep my apartment, but I can tell from the minute that I see his face that there’s no way this is going to turn out the way I want it to.
“I’m sorry,” he tells me, shaking his head. “I got an offer that I just can’t turn down. I know the market is rough out there, and I’m prepared to give you back six months' rent if you can find something in the next thirty days. But you’re going to have to be out by then. I just can’t afford to lose this deal.”
I spend the rest of the day house-hunting, not exactly what I wanted to do with my time with Blaire’s party coming up and a million things to do to get ready for it. I scour apartment rental sites, Craigslist, and call every realtor in the city—but I get the same result no matter what. For my price range, I’d practically be living in a closet, and an hour’s commute outside of the city…and that’s with roommates—something I won’t do. I like my privacy…Madison is the only person I’ve ever really enjoyed living with.
Fuck.
The thought of Madison hurts even more now, after what we shared the night before last, and I don’t know what to do. Everything seems to just be piling on these days—my breakup, the stress of work, and now losing my apartment. I hadn’t realized just how good I had it with this place until I had to start looking for somewhere new.
Apparently, prime renting season is past, according to every realtor that I contact that afternoon—it’s almost fall, and spring seems to be the time that everyone jumps on the new places that come available. The only thing I can think of to do beyond that is to call Harland, who might have some contacts in the city that I could leverage. I hate asking for favors, but it’s the last string I can think of to pull.
He does have contacts, but I can hear barely concealed laughter in his voice when I tell him what my budget is. “Shit man, I can’t find you a basement room at that price. And here I thought you were pulling in the big bucks with the bartending business! Are you sure you can’t do better than that?”
I don’t have the patience to hear my friend make fun of my work or frugality, and I shake my head, gritting my teeth with frustration. “My money goes towards my business, everything I have almost,” I tell him as calmly as I can manage.
“Well, sounds like it might be time to call up your father. Jackson, I mean.”
“I don’t want anything to do with him,” I say sharply. “And you know why.”
“Dude, look at it this way. He owes you, after what he did to you. At least get something out of the relationship. He fucked you over, so he might as well do something to make good on it.”
I’ve never cashed in on Jackson’s money or connections. I always wanted to do things on my own. But the spot I’m in now is impossible. I don’t have time to apartment-hunt. Blaire’s event is this weekend, and I can’t afford to fuck that up because I have too much on my mind. “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” I admit.
“See? I knew you’d look at it my way if you thought about it,” Harland says victoriously.
I hang up the phone after a moment’s more of small talk, and lean back against the wall, closing my eyes in defeat.
I guess it’s time Jackson and I talk.
I can’t talk to Jackson, or at the very least, he’ll be my last option. I can’t bring myself to talk to him yet. I manage to get penciled in to have dinner with her, and all I can do at that point is hope that she’ll have a solution. Of all the times for this to happen—the biggest event of my career is coming up, and I have distractions flying at
me from all sides.
When the knock at the door comes, I’m grateful for the distraction—to my surprise, it’s Tiffany. For half a second, I think it might be Madison. I want it to be her, but at the same time, I don’t. But when I open the door and see that it’s Tiffany, I’m also relieved and elated to see my sister for the first time since the reception. I grab her in a huge hug as she walks through the door, squeezing her tightly as she laughs and sets her purse down. She looks great—glowing and slightly tanned from her honeymoon, and I can’t help but smile as I look at her. At least someone in the family is doing well.
“How was the honeymoon?” I ask, handing her a drink as we sit down in the living room.
“It was amazing,” Tiffany says as her eyes light up. “Two weeks away with Philip, not worrying about work or responsibilities—it was magical. And the trip itself was gorgeous. Some of the best food I’ve ever had in my life, sitting by the pool, drinking and relaxing. I really needed it—we both did.”
“How did Philip handle the flight?” I ask, grinning.
Tiffany laughs. “Oh, you know. He hates flying. He took a couple of Xanax and passed out.” She shrugs. “I just watched movies the whole way.” She pauses and looks thoughtful for a moment. “You know, you’d think planning a wedding would bring a couple closer together, but I feel like if anything, it’s the least collaborative Philip and I have been on anything. I mean, Mom did most of it. We both kind of just showed up. But it didn’t make me feel particularly close or connected to him, at least not until we got to the ceremony. But the honeymoon…” she smiles, and I can see how happy they are written all over her face. “I’ve never been happier in my whole life, Alex.”
