“I keep trying to give her space. I just don’t know how long to keep working on it. Eventually I have to give up, right? I can’t make her change her mind.”
“Is that your pride talking or your heart?”
Ouch.
“I’m not sure I can tell the difference.”
My mother gives me the look that has always told me she’s on to my bullshit. After my father passed away, it was just me and my mom. She never remarried and I can barely remember her dating. My life was always her main priority. As an adult I feel guilty about that but as a kid I loved knowing I had someone in my corner no matter what. My mom worked hard to be the best mother and father she could be and I’m grateful for that, even more so now when I see what that might have cost her.
“Do you ever wish you’d gotten married again?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“That’s the same subject,” I protest even though she’s right to think I’m taking the heat off myself for a minute.
“I never found anyone worth making the commitment to.” She shrugs like that settles that.
“But you never even went out on dates.”
“I dated.” My mouth falls open at my mother’s admission. “I just never made it your business. Don’t look so surprised.” She gives me an eye roll before going back to the potatoes.
“I don’t remember you going on dates.” I’m sure that would have been seared into my brain. The thought of my mom going out with someone other than my father makes my chest burn a little. I rub the spot to try push the feeling away and notice my mother watching.
“That right there is why I didn’t make it your business. If there’d been anyone worth mentioning I’d have told you, but there was no reason to get you upset for nothing.”
“But didn’t you want to have…”
“Love?” my mother asks. “Or are you asking about sex?”
“God no, not sex. I’m not asking about sex,” I blurt out. I’m not as grown-up as I think and I could live the rest of my life without thinking of my mother and anything sexual.
“Calm down, Graham. I’m not going to scandalize you with any stories.” She smiles. “So, you’re asking about love?”
“I guess.”
“I had that. I still have that. I had that with your father for twelve years. Five before you were born and then seven more after. I never found anyone to compare.”
“But it was hard being on your own, raising me.” I know this already, but I feel the need to say it out loud. She could have been like Julia, could have found a partner to help her. Instead she stayed single.
“Oh, it was hard. You were so little when Connor died. It seemed overwhelming. He’d helped you pick out that suit for your first communion the week before and then you had to wear it to his funeral.”
I’d forgotten about that—the gray suit and blue tie, the shoes that pinched just enough to keep me from crying. I’d focused on my feet and on holding my mother’s hand until the service had been over and then cried myself to sleep with my face pressed into my pillow.
“I thought I’d die from the grief and they’d have to bury me with him. But we got stronger, you and I. If I’d found somebody I loved as much as I loved your father then I might have married again. But we weren’t talking about me. We were talking about you.”
“Were we?” I hedge.
“We were. Are you in love with Cassie?”
“Yeah.” There’s no use in denying it, especially to my mother.
“And you told her that?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And she doesn’t feel the same way?” I can see the little ridge of concern come across my mother’s forehead.
“I don’t know.”
The furrow in my mother’s brow deepens. “What do you mean? You told her and she didn’t say it back?”
“There were extenuating circumstances. There are extenuating circumstances.”
“Well, it’s not like you to let a few obstacles get in your way.” She’s right. Normally I’d push and push until I got what I wanted. If one way didn’t work, I’d regroup and try again. I haven’t been like that with Cassie; I’ve been letting her call the shots, afraid too much pressure would make her run. Nervous that the Graham she remembers from before—the headstrong, selfish one—would never be able to convince her to try. But that tactic didn’t make things any easier. She’s hiding anyway, avoiding me. Maybe it’s time for the more stubborn Graham to try things his way.
“What was that quote your high school coach always used to drill into your head?”
I groan. “You’re pulling out the big guns here. High school football and Vince Lombardi?”
“I know you remember it. Something about heart power? I think it’s time to go visit the poster.”
Of course I remember it. It’s something I’ve said to myself constantly in my career when it looked like the odds were going to be against me. I know my mother remembers it too, because that damn poster’s still hanging on the wall of my childhood bedroom. I trudge down the hall because there’s no use arguing with my mother. Once I crack the door open, the words taunt me from underneath the cheesy graphic. The poster’s nothing to look at, really, but I’ve left it on the wall for years because the quote is.
Once a man has made a commitment to a way of life, he puts the greatest strength in the world behind him. It’s something we call heart power. Once a man has made this commitment, nothing will stop him short of success.
My mother waits for me in the kitchen, as I turn the words over in my head. I hear plates clanking together and know dinner’s almost ready. “Always loved that poster,” she calls down the hall to me. “Having that ratty thing on the wall means I can save my breath for other things.” I march back down the hall and she slides two plates into my hands. “The question is, I guess, how committed are you to this? To Cassie?”
I don’t even have to think about it before I answer. “One hundred percent.”
“Then come and help me set the table and we can work on getting you to success.”
36
Cassie
If the way I feel right now is karma then I have a newfound respect for the universe. After waking up with yet another sickly stomach I nearly lose my breakfast all over a patient after dealing with his rolly veins. Trying to put that IV in his arm was like watching a horror movie and now as I bend over the toilet in the hospital bathroom and actually throw up, I don’t find myself feeling much better. I run through the list of things I’ve eaten trying to figure out what’s got me feeling so queasy, but there isn’t much. Nothing has sounded good to me since I’ve been home and I’ve been forcing myself to put food in my mouth so I won’t be too weak to work out.
I’ve been blaming my lack of appetite on the situation with Graham. After Mexico I’ve ghosted him again and the pain of missing him has me crying on the couch every night. I’ve picked up extra shifts at the hospital and tried to put myself back together by going back to my old routine, but the giant Graham-shaped hole in my life keeps derailing me. I know it’s for the best. He needs to find someone who can give him what he wants—someone who can be with him here the way we were in Mexico. Someone who isn’t terrified to at least try.
I’m splashing water on my face when Delia comes into the bathroom. She gives me the once over and shakes her head. “Did you just throw up?”
I don’t answer, but my shaking hands and sweaty neck give me away.
“If you’re sick you should go home. What is it with you and germs this year? You’re never sick and suddenly you’re sick all the time.” She watches me wash my hands like she’s monitoring a kindergartener.
“I’m not sick, really. I think it’s probably food poisoning. It’ll pass.”
“What have you eaten that could possibly give you food poisoning? I’ve seen you picking at those salads you keep buying. You aren’t eating enough to actually get food poisoning, Cassie.” Delia leans against the sink. “I’
m getting worried here. The no cupcakes and the moping around having me thinking you’ve messed things up with that boyfriend of yours.” Delia’s missing her weekly cupcake delivery. Those have stopped now that I’ve given Graham the cold shoulder.
“For the last time, he wasn’t my boyfriend.”
“But he wanted to be.” Delia’s too smart for her own good. “And you were too scared to let him, so you ran him off. Am I getting close?”
“I didn’t run him off. I just ignored him until he stopped trying.” It sounds even more stupid when I say it out loud.
“Well, that is just fabulous, Cassie. Are you really so afraid of turning into your mother that you’d waste something good just to prove your point?”
“What point do you think I’m trying to prove?” I turn to face Delia, ready to argue.
“That you’re unlovable or undeserving, I don’t know. That you can’t trust a man to stay. That you can’t have nice things. That you’re supposed to end up alone.”
I open my mouth to disagree but find myself clamping my hand over it instead. I run back into the stall just as another wave of nausea crashes over me and vomit forces its way out of my already empty belly. Delia’s over in a flash with a paper towel to wipe my mouth and a hand on my forehead. It makes me think of Graham and the last time I was sick enough to have someone else take care of me like this.
“You’re not warm. I don’t think you have a fever.” Delia’s touching me all over, putting her cool hands on the back of my neck. “How long have you been feeling sick like this?”
“A week, maybe,” I confess as Delia’s eyes widen.
“Touch your boob,” she orders out of nowhere.
“I’m not really up for that right now, Delia. Maybe when I stop puking we can talk about your little fantasy.” I manage a half-hearted grin.
“This isn’t me getting sexy with you, Cassie. Just humor me here. Grab one of your boobs.” Delia’s back over by the sink wetting paper towels for my neck.
“Fine.” I reach under my scrub top to tweak my own nipple. “But I don’t think that this is a great way to calm an upset stomach or else everybody’d be doing it. Ow!” My breast is surprisingly tender.
“Did that hurt?’
“A little. It’s just really sensitive, I guess.”
Delia looks at me in the bathroom mirror. “Cassie could you be…”
“Could I be what?”
“Could you be pregnant?”
“No.” I’m adamant. “I’m on the pill and I always use condoms.” Except with Graham at the bachelor party. And that time in the ocean. And the shower. Basically all over our Mexican villa.
My mouth pops open.
“You should take the rest of the day off and get to the pharmacy,” Delia tells me, her voice full of concern. “We can call someone in to cover for you.”
I stand there blinking, letting my brain catch up with this possible situation.
Pregnant?
Two hours and thirty pregnancy tests later I am dehydrated from all the peeing I’ve done. After the first positive test I’d needed two more trips to the pharmacy and two gallons of Gatorade only to confirm what I could have just accepted with that first set of double lines.
I’m pregnant.
I arrange the tests on my bathroom counter and settle myself on the tile floor. A baby?
My brain blips like I’m watching the cursor on a computer screen. What comes next? I have no idea so I do the only logical thing I can think of and grab my phone.
Can you come over? It’s an emergency. Use the key.
I hit send before I can take it back and go back to stretching out on the bathroom floor. I let my hand rest on my belly, testing out how it feels, but my stomach still feels the same as it always does. I try to imagine a bump there, but my imagination fails me. If I can’t even picture my body changing how can I get to the part where I imagine myself raising a baby? I haul in a ragged breath and try not to let the tears come. I can’t spend any more time crying; I need to stay focused.
The sound of my apartment door opening and closing has me rolling over onto one elbow. Time to put on my big girl panties and figure this out.
Julia comes around the corner holding a grocery bag. “I brought ice cream. And vodka. I wasn’t sure what kind of an emergency this was.”
“I don’t think I’m allowed to have the vodka.” I motion to the counter.
Julia’s eyes widen as she takes in the long line of white plastic sticks. Then a huge grin spreads across her face. “Cassie?” She looks at me. “Are you pregnant?”
“You tell me. I was hoping you might tell me those could all be false positives.” I keep my metaphorical fingers crossed.
“I’m not an expert, but I don’t think you get false positives. And that would be a whole lot of faulty product. How many tests did you take?” Julia marvels at the display on the counter.
“I bought two of every brand.”
“I see.”
I cover my eyes with my arm. Julia’s done this a few times. She’ll know what to do. Although, I think whenever she got a positive pregnancy test it was always fantastic news.
“What did he say when you told him?” Julia asks. “He must be so excited.”
“Who?”
“Graham. Is he over the moon? He’s wanted to be a dad for so long.” Julia pauses. “Unless… it is Graham’s, isn’t it?”
My arm shoots away from my face. “Graham?” Normally I would try to play it cooler here, try to pretend like I have no idea what Julia’s talking about, but in my current state of distress I have a hard time hiding anything. Julia knows about Graham? About me and Graham?
Julia looks more guilty than she should for someone with absolutely no knowledge of my secret relationship. “You have been seeing Graham, right? I thought…”
I sit up. “How did you know about Graham?”
Julia shrugs. “It would be hard not to notice how you two look at each other, Cassie. And after Kat and Amy caught you guys in that closet or wherever it was, well, that confirmed it.”
“They told you about the closet?” Kill me now.
“Sure. Why do you think I put you and Graham in that villa together? I’m not sure why you two have been hiding it, but anyone could see that you two are together. Unless you aren’t?” Uncertainty creeps into Julia’s voice. “Maybe we should go and sit on the couch.” She extends a hand and moves to help pull me up.
“I’m not seeing Graham. We were just sleeping together.” I dig my heels in.
“Cassie,” Julia says in that voice she reserves for her children. “How many classic movies have you watched in the last six months?”
I frown. I’ve actually lost count.
“How much of that disgusting protein powder does he like in his shake in the morning?”
A scoop and a half.
“If I go in your bedroom right now how many of his T-shirts are going to be in your top drawer?”
Three. Not counting the one I’ve been using as a pillowcase. Not that any of that proves anything.
“You’re dating Graham, Cassie.”
“You’ve known all this time?” I croak, not sure if I feel like crying because of my predicament or the fact that my friend has discovered my betrayal.
“Let’s not talk about it in the bathroom. Come on.” Julia herds me into the living room and plops my crying ass on the couch. “Ice cream?”
“Honestly, I don’t think I can hold it down.” I reach for a tissue from the box on the coffee table. I’ve got Kleenex positioned strategically around the apartment for the frequent teary moments I’ve been having.
“It’s the hormones,” Julia confides. “It’ll get better.” She gives me a pat on the leg.
“I’m sorry about Graham.” I wait for her to give me the friendship beat down that I so deserve. Julia has to be angry about what’s happened and now a baby makes things not only messy but difficult to deny.
“Why would you be sorry?”
Julia seems genuinely perplexed.
“He’s your ex, Jules, and a big part of your life. You have every right to be mad at me for getting involved with him.”
“Cassie, you can’t think that I still have some claim over Graham? That was more than a decade ago. I’ve been married twice since he and I were together. I don’t have any say in who Graham dates or what he does.”
I blink. “I thought you’d be upset.”
“That you and Graham were happy? Cassie, I love you and I love Graham and you two are perfect for each other. Why would it make me sad to see that?” Julia reaches for my hand. “We could double date.”
I’m speechless. I’ve been giving myself an ulcer over something that barely registers for Julia. I’ve been avoiding Graham in order to preserve something that never needed protecting in the first place.
“But we both know that you worrying about me is just an excuse,” Julia says like it’s common knowledge.
“What do you mean? I’ve been terrified that you would find out. Why else would I keep pushing Graham away?” I wipe my eyes with the back of my free hand.
“Because you’re terrified of commitment?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then explain to me why you’ve never managed to get this far in a relationship before.” Julia waits like she’s my therapist. “Should I open the vodka and make myself a drink while you think about it?”
I consider asking for a drink myself, before I remember the reason I called Julia over in the first place.
“Are you talking about how I’ve never managed to get myself knocked up before?” I ask. I know this isn’t what Julia’s talking about at all and she lets that crack slide right off.
“Very funny. I’m talking about the warm and fuzzy part. Although, the G-rated version of how you ended up pregnant would also be interesting.”
“Antibiotics,” I tell her and then confess the part that will only confirm everything I’ve been denying. “And no condoms.”
Julia’s eyebrows shoot up. “How did the queen of condoms end up in a no condom situation?”
Forget About It Page 23
