Special Delivery

by Reagan Shaw

  I ignored my mother’s comment and walked further into the house, drawn in by the scents of cooking. A roast, with potatoes? Rosemary potatoes. Oh man, if I did adopt anything from Mom, it would be the cooking skills.

  “Well,” she said, behind me, and shut the door. “I assume there’s a good reason for your visit.”

  “Yes,” I replied, “A child always needs a good reason to visit their parents.”

  “So it would seem.” She was the queen of passive-aggressive too. She swept past me and into the living room, through it, and into the kitchen. I followed her, inhaling that “home” smell. More memories.

  Ugh, get a hold of yourself. You’re not here to think about Noah. Only to debase yourself completely.

  I sighed and shrugged off my coat, hanging it over the back of the sofa as I passed. I entered the kitchen and found my father waiting at the table, his wrinkles far more pronounced than my mother’s, including the smile lines around his mouth.

  “There you are,” he said and got up, drew me into one of his Dad bear hugs. “So glad you came by. It’s like we don’t have kids anymore. You two are always so busy with your own lives. Your mother and I have been left behind.”

  “Don’t be melodramatic, Frank,” Mom said, tut-tutting, though she’d practically mirrored his sentiments earlier. “I’m sure the kids would visit if they had time or reason.”

  And I did have reason. I sat down and accepted a mug of hot coffee from Dad, while Mom flitted around checking things. “Food is almost ready,” she said, merrily—happy for the first time since I’d turned up. She was always in her element in the kitchen.

  I glugged down the coffee, shoving aside my inhibitions. I’d tried contacting Noah several times, and, short of turning up at St. Katherine’s, I couldn’t get his attention. That would have to come next, if he kept ignoring my calls, but this was important.

  This would help get me on my feet. For the baby. For myself. I wasn’t going to rely on Noah for any kind of financial backing. No way, no how. Especially not after what you did. What he did.

  “Erika?” My dad prompted.

  Christ, I’d totally zoned out thinking about Dr. Cox again. “Hey,” I said, and lifted my head. “I mean, yes. I’m here. Sorry. I’ve got a lot to think about at the moment.”

  “You do?” Mom turned and placed the serving dish in the center of the worn oak table. “Like what?”

  “Well—um, it’s complicated.” This was nerve-wracking, even though it shouldn’t have been. I was a grown woman. I could do this. A grown woman asking for help from her parents. “As you both know, Jason and I broke up because I couldn’t have a child.”

  My mother inhaled, sharply. The fact that I couldn’t conceive frustrated her. “And you came to talk about that?”

  “Let her finish,” Dad said, and touched a hand to my mother’s forearm.

  “I’m pregnant.” It came out fast, and it silenced both of them.

  Dad’s face went slack, Mom’s jaw dropped. There was a flash of shock, and then, of pure joy. A smile broke out across her lips. “Really? Truly? Erika, this had better not be a joke.”

  “Oh, trust me, it’s not a joke.”

  “That’s wonderful!” My mother erupted and dragged me into a hug. She thumped me on the back. “That’s so amazing. A miracle! It’s a Christmas miracle!”

  “Christmas was four weeks ago,” I choked out.

  “So? Where’s Jason? When’s the wedding?” Mom asked.

  I blinked. Was she kidding? She knew exactly how Jason had behaved and how we’d ended things. That she thought I’d ever go back to him… “He’s not in the picture, of course. This is my baby,” I said and lifted my chin, as my mother stepped back. “I’m doing this on my own.”

  Mom fumbled for the back of her chair. She gripped it, lowered herself into it slowly. “What?”

  “I’m doing it on my own. And that’s kind of why I’m here. I need help. I have a job and everything, but I need financial support right now.”

  Dad still hadn’t spoken, but he considered me now, tilting his chin upward.

  “Just enough,” I said, hurriedly, “to put down a deposit on a small home or apartment in a good area, close to the fertility clinic, and for the first few months of rent. I’ll pay you back, with interest. Heck, we can even set up a financial agreement or contract, if you will.” I swallowed. “This baby is a miracle, like you said, Mom, and I’ll do anything to give it the best life possible. The best opportunities possible. I just need a little help.”

  “Best opportunities!” Mom threw up her arms. “Best opportunities? You think being a single mother will bring your baby the best opportunities?”

  “I have to make do with what I have,” I said, fervently. “And I will do the best with what I have.”

  “What about the father?” Dad said quietly, and Mom huffed a breath. “Where’s he?”

  “He’s—it’s complicated. I’m going to speak with him tomorrow, but, yeah, I don’t want to have to rely on him if he chooses not to be involved.”

  “He’s legally obligated to provide—” Mom started, but Dad waved away her words. She stared at him as if he’d grown an extra head. “You’re not really considering this, are you, Frank? This is ridiculous.” She focused on me again. “It’s ridiculous. We’ve always been clear with you kids, always. We told you we’d help set you up in life, but that there’d be no handouts, and that still stands. There will be no—”

  “For heaven’s sake, Magda, be quiet.” My dad got up and crossed around to my side of the table. He held out a hand, and I took it, rose from my chair. He hugged me tight. “Whatever help you need, we will be happy to provide. Congratulations, darling. I’m so happy for you.”

  “But who’s the father?” Mom put in, behind his back. “Who is it?”

  I wasn’t ready to answer. Noah’s name traveled up my throat but didn’t get further than my voice box. I couldn’t say it. Even thinking it made me ache.

  Because no matter how much I’d wanted to put my feelings for him aside, they were still there. Alongside the doubts, the fears, the conviction that he’d been playing me all along.

  And tomorrow, I’d have to find a way to put all of that aside and face him, head-on.

  Noah

  It had been a quiet day so far. Nothing but a few checkups, no deliveries, and the rest of the afternoon free.

  My cell buzzed in the top pocket of my white coat, and I drew it out, gritted my teeth, then swept my thumb over it, canceling yet another call from Erika. She’d been trying to contact me nonstop over the past two days, no doubt to talk to me about what had happened between her and Jason.

  “Stop.” It was for myself, not for her. I meandered through the cafeteria and to the vending machine in the corner. I wasn’t particularly hungry, just going through the fucking motions to keep myself sane.

  Jason and Erika. Erika and Jason.

  Why would she do this? Why would she go back to him? Why would she sleep with him?

  And what cruel twist of fate was it, that she’d fallen pregnant with his child after everything?

  Stop.

  How could I when it made me so goddamn angry? She had to understand that she deserved better than that asshole. But if she were pregnant now, after the way she’d felt about having a child, how she’d described it to me, there wasn’t a chance she’d leave Jason. She’d want what was best for her baby.

  Fucking stop.

  I inserted coins, punched a few buttons, and retrieved an iced tea and a bag of chips. I walked out of the cafeteria and back down the hall, heading for the solitude and irritation of the—

  A figure stepped into my path, and I pulled up short. A mixture of emotions—fuck it, since when did I have emotions—flushed through me. Anger, warmth, concern, desire. I reined them in and kept myself perfectly still. Any movement might bring one of them on.

  “Noah,” Erika said, and licked her lips.

  The same lips I’d licked, kissed, tou
ched, cherished. Cherished?

  “Noah, we need to talk.”

  “No, we don’t,” I replied, stiffly.

  “Please.” She squared her shoulders and gave me that steely, strong gaze. The same one she’d used on me as a teenager back in Syracuse, and the one she’d leveled me with when I’d been reluctant to buy Christmas decorations with her.

  “This way,” I said and walked her down the hall and into the office at the end of it. I shut the door behind her, then walked around to my side of the desk and placed the iced tea and chips on it. I didn’t sit down.

  Neither did she.

  Erika hovered just inside the door, as beautiful as ever. She’d kept her hair loose, and she practically fucking glowed from within. Soft pink cheeks, and no circles under her eyes—clear as well, bright as if she’d realized her goals and dreams were attainable.

  “I’m sorry I ignored you,” she said. “I was confused. I was scared. I was cowardly.”

  “It doesn’t matter now.” How could it? “I’m past that. I know you are too.”

  “What does that even mean?” Erika asked, her pale brow wrinkling up, perfect creases to match her perfect pretense. “Noah?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, Erika. I know. I know everything.”

  If anything, she grew paler. The creases deeper. “What? How?”

  “Your brother told me the truth,” I snapped. “I don’t want to get angry, Erika. I don’t like getting angry, so it’s best you just leave now.”

  “But if you know, then you know I’m—you—I’m—” It was one of the first times I’d seen her stumble over her words. She cleared her throat, blushing. Christ, why did she have to be beautiful, even when she blushed? “You know I’m—”

  “Pregnant?” I clenched my hands into fists at my sides. Pregnant with another man’s baby. Destined for someone else. I’d given her everything, including my fucking heart, what was left of it, and she’d chosen this path instead. “Yeah, no shit. That’s why I want you to leave, Erika. I refuse to yell at a pregnant woman.”

  “Oh,” she said, stiffening. “Well, how noble of you. How sweet. You won’t yell at a pregnant woman. So fucking chivalrous.”

  “Don’t start with me,” I grunted. “I’m not in the mood, Erika. I don’t know what you thought you’d achieve by coming here today. It’s pretty clear I’m not interested in what you have to say. Unless, of course, you thought my ignoring your calls was an invitation to make this situation even more uncomfortable in real life.”

  “So that’s it, then?” Erika lifted her palms. “That’s all you’re going to say to me? That’s all you’re going to contribute?” Tears welled in her eyes, spilled over. “That’s it?”

  “Yes, that’s fucking it.” I kept my temper at bay. Didn’t shout, didn’t freak out. Seriously, what had she expected? “What did you think you’d achieve by coming here? That I’d kiss your ass and accept whatever apology you had? Just do us both a favor and leave. Leave and don’t come back, Erika.”

  “Noah—”

  “Don’t contact me again. Don’t even think of it.” I walked past her, ignoring the shaking of her shoulders, the wetness on her cheeks, and the subsequent ache in my heart. I wrenched the office door open and cast an arm out. “You made your damn bed, Erika, now lie in it.” What else could she possibly want from me? Forgiveness?

  Technically, there was nothing to forgive. She’d made a choice and gone with it. Whatever ill attempt this was to assuage her guilt, well, that was on her. I had no interest in helping her sleep at night.

  Erika walked past me, her shoulders heaving. She gave me one last bleary-eyed look of defiance. “So that’s it? This is what you’ve decided?”

  “It’s not about my decisions, Erika, it’s about yours.” I gripped the doorknob so hard it rattled against my palm. “Live your life. Be happy. Just don’t ever contact me again. Don’t even think about it.”

  I shut the door on her then. Didn’t slam it, just shut it. I walked to my desk, more stumbled than walked, and grabbed at my chair, dug into the fabric, tore at it. I lifted a fist and rammed it into the wall so hard that the corkboard dropped to the floor.

  It didn’t help. Nothing would help.

  I fumbled my cell out of my pocket and unlocked the screen, shot off one last desperate text, hating it, hating everything.

  “We need to talk,” it said.

  Noah

  Something wasn’t right about this shit.

  The more I thought about it, the tears on Erika’s face, the way she’d reacted to what I’d said this afternoon, the more I suspected something was off.

  I pulled up outside Marc’s old apartment building, which overlooked Central Park, and paid the cabbie. Got out, studied the sidewalk, the steps which lead up to the glass front door. How was it that this place could look so familiar, yet seem so different at the same time?

  We’d spent years living a stone’s throw from each other, both in Syracuse and in NYC, but it was changed now. Tainted.

  I brought out my cell and checked the chain of text messages between us, starting with my “We need to talk,” and ending with his indication of a time that would suit him. When I’d texted this morning, it had been out of fucking desperation.

  Talking to Marc about shit that pissed me off had always been my solution or had brought solutions to problems. But the desperation had abated and been replaced by questions.

  Why the hell had Erika come to see me? Why did she want to talk, if what Marc had told me about Jason was true? Surely she’d want to leave me in the past as she’d originally planned?

  Something ain’t right. I’d been repeating that over and over to myself all day.

  Either I was onto something here, or I was, once again, desperate to find a way to exonerate Erika from the crimes I’d mentally charged her with. The crime of using me, of trying to break me, of choosing another man over me.

  What kind of man cares about that shit? This kind of man. This kind of fucking man.

  I entered the lobby, reported myself at the front desk, and didn’t wait for the receptionist to call up to Marc’s apartment. I headed for the elevator and punched the button for the top floor.

  A couple minutes later, I was outside his front door, knocking like a man possessed. And maybe I was, possessed by questions at least, and obsessed with answers.

  Marc opened up and let me in, blinking as if he’d just woken up from a deep sleep. “Hey,” he said, as I stormed past him and into the living room. The place was in a state of disarray. Boxes overflowing with packing material, one of the sofas on its side.

  “Moving,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Marc replied. “Jess and I decided it was time for a fresh start, upstate somewhere. Not Syracuse.”

  Disappointment settled over my shoulders. This was what had become of our lifelong friendship? We’d spent years living down the street from each other, and now, he’d chosen to move, and I hadn’t even known.

  Fuck it, he’d cut me out. He was still angry about the Erika affair.

  “What’s up, Noah? You look like shit.”

  “Same to you,” I replied, gesturing to his coffee-stained shirt then the dark circles under his eyes. “Trouble in paradise?”

  “No, I just hate moving.” He shut the front door then walked over to the upright sofa and plonked down on it. “So, what’s up, Noah? I know we, uh, spoke the other day, but I wouldn’t call it reconciling. What do you need?”

  That was his way of telling me that this was nothing more than a passing conversation. He hadn’t forgotten or forgiven the fact that I’d broken my promise. I didn’t blame him for it. “I need the truth.”

  “Huh?” Marc pinched the bridge of his nose. “Come on, dude, you’re going to have to give me a little more than that.”

  “The truth, Marc, about Erika.”

  “Once again… Huh?”

  “She came to see me today. At St. Katherine’s,” I said. “Why?”

  “Fuck if
I know, bro. I’m not exactly in her good books at the moment. She won’t accept my calls. She kicked me out of her office the other day.” Marc shrugged at me. “Maybe she felt you two had unfinished business.” He shifted his gaze away and to one of the boxes, then fell silent.

  The quiet spread uninterrupted. He didn’t look at me, but nodded to the boxes, counting them? Pretending to?

  “You’d tell me if there was more to this,” I said, boring into him with my stare. “You’d tell me.”

  “Dude, there’s nothing to tell except what I have already. I mean, if there was, she would’ve told you herself, this afternoon, right?”

  “Right.” Except I hadn’t given her a chance. I’d told her to get out, to deal with her problems, that she was on her own and that she’d made her bed. I hadn’t given her a chance to tell me anything. “Right.” I lifted my cell out of my pocket again, looked at the screen.

  “What are you doing?” Marc asked, lifting his head.

  “Calling her,” I replied, and unlocked the screen. “I have a weird feeling about this.”

  “There’s no point, man.” Marc got up and walked over. He didn’t dare touch me, knew better than that, but he did stare down at the phone. “She’s not going to answer your call. You two are over.”

  I pressed dial regardless and lifted the phone to my ear.

  “The number you have dialed does not exist,” the cool, robotic voice said.

  I jerked the phone away from my head and stared at it. “What?”

  “What?” Marc asked.

  “I think—fuck it, I think she changed her number.” But how could she have? In one afternoon? Of course she could. It was the fact that she had that struck me right between the damn eyes. I’d upset her so much, written her off so thoroughly, that she’d either blocked my number or changed hers.

  “Why do you care, man?” Marc asked. “She’s with someone else now. She’s moved on.”

  “I’m telling you,” I said, “something isn’t right. The way she acted today…” Why would she have been that upset unless she cared? And why had she come to see me in the first place? “This doesn’t make sense.” I charged toward the door.