Something So Unscripted

by Natasha Madison

  “You really are everything everyone says about you,” he says softly. I get lost in his voice.

  “I just do what I can,” I answer him honestly. He looks down and then up again, turning to walk out of the room and up the stairs. “So what do you say?” I ask Jack. “Want to help me cook dinner?”

  “Yes, please,” he says, smiling. We walk to the kitchen where I start to make dinner with him by my side.

  Chapter Twelve

  Zack

  “That was the best spaghetti I’ve had in a while,” I tell her after I finish my second plate.

  “Roasted garlic,” she says, taking a sip of her bubbly water. “I swear by it,” she says, smiling, and then Jack slurps his last noodle.

  “Is there more for tomorrow?” he asks, looking at Denise.

  She leans into him and whispers in his ear, but it’s loud enough for me to hear. “I put two plates aside for you.”

  He claps his hands and yells out, “Yippee!”

  “You need a bath,” I tell him, wiping the stain of sauce all around his mouth.

  “Why don’t you go and get him in the bath, and I’ll clean up before I go,” she tells me, but I’m not ready for her to leave just yet.

  “You cooked; you don’t get to clean up,” I tell her.

  “Dr. Denise can do the bath,” Jack says, getting the picture, “then she can tuck me in.”

  “Really?” She gives him a sideways glance, and I know in my heart she would do anything for him. She throws up her hand like she gives up. “Fine. Twist a girl’s arm,” she tells him and then gets up and grabs him.

  “Does he know where everything is?” she asks me. Standing in my kitchen, with regular blue jeans on, a white t-shirt with splashes of sauce, her hair tied on her head and her bare feet, it feels like she belongs here, like she is a part of us. Even if we just met.

  She didn’t get pissed off when her shirt got dirty; she didn’t even bat an eye when Jack sneezed and sauce went flying everywhere. He stood there in shock and wasn’t sure what to say; he looked scared that she would freak out, but she did the complete opposite. In fact, she threw her head back and laughed. It means everything.

  “Yeah, he knows where everything is,” I tell her. “The tub is in my bathroom.”

  “Um, would you rather do it then?’ she asks me, and I just shake my head.

  “Let’s go, Dr. Denise.” Jack pulls her by the hands, and I hear him talking to her. “He has purple bubbles we aren’t allowed to touch because they help him exfoliate.”

  I hear her laughter all the way from the kitchen, so I yell back, “That stuff really works.” I shake my head, grabbing the plates and putting them in the dishwasher. My phone rings, and I see it’s the lawyer.

  “Hello?” I say, holding the phone against my ear with my shoulder since my hands are wet.

  “Mr. Morrow,” she starts off, “I’m calling with news.”

  “Give it to me,” I tell her, and I turn to wipe my hands and sit down while I wait for her to drop the ax.

  “Good news first or bad news first?” she asks me, and I’m almost tempted to laugh because where Chantal is concerned, nothing good can come from it.

  “Bad news and then good,” I tell her and brace myself.

  “Bad news is she is fighting the prenup; good news is she doesn’t have a leg to stand on,” she says. “Now I kind of sugarcoated things.” She clears her throat. “She wants joint custody.”

  My blood runs cold. “Fuck that.” I close my eyes.

  “I offered her a flat five million if she would sign over rights to him,” she says, and I wait for it. “Not surprisingly, she jumped on it.”

  “Fucking bitch,” I say out loud, and then I don’t have time to think anything else when she continues.

  “I didn’t get to the best part yet. If you do any interviews about or with Jack, she needs to be involved.”

  “What the fuck does she think? I’m going to do a spread in People?” I ask, closing my eyes.

  “Well, if you do, she wants to be there every step of the way. The loving mother.”

  “She’s fucking insane. My son starts a new drug in the coming weeks.”

  “How much is it costing you?” she asks me.

  “I have no fucking clue, and I don’t care either,” I tell her. “I would give everything I have to make him better.”

  “They don’t make men like you anymore,” she says and then stops abruptly. “I’ll let you know if she makes any other demands.”

  “Yeah, I can’t wait to see what else she comes up with. Botox for life.”

  “Shh.” She laughs. “Don’t give her any ideas.”

  I laugh and hang up the phone, letting my head hang forward. “The loving mother, my fucking ass,” I say and then turn to walk upstairs, wondering where Jack and Denise are.

  I walk into my room toward the en suite and see that the lights are off. I turn on the lights and see that the bubbles are the only thing still in the tub. Turning back around, I walk out to the left and slowly approach Jack’s room as I hear them talking.

  “Would you read me a bedtime story?” Jack asks her.

  “Only if we get to cuddle in that comfy bed of yours,” she says, and he claps his hands. “Which story did you have in mind?”

  “Love you Forever,” he says, and I close my eyes, standing outside the room. He would ask his mother to read that book to him every single night, and she never had the time. She always said it was bedtime.

  “That’s my favorite,” Denise says, and my heart fills. I stand in the hallway and listen to her read him the story. Peeking in, I see them cuddled in the middle of his queen-size bed. Her back propped up on the pillows and one arm is outstretched so Jack can lay on her arm. One hand holds the book while she reads the story to him.

  “When I get big, I’m going to rock my dad,” Jack says to her, looking up.

  “Really?” Denise says. “You need to get big and strong for that.”

  “I will.” He looks at her. “And you are going to make me strong.”

  “Honey,” she whispers to him, “we are going to do everything we can to make you strong again.”

  “And I’m going to have hair like Michael,” he tells her.

  “You are?” She looks at him, and he just nods his head.

  She finishes reading to him, and she just stays there, rocking him in her arms as his eyes get heavier and heavier. She leans down and kisses him on the head once he is fully out and slowly peels herself away from him. Turning off the light by his bed, she walks out of the room and sees me.

  “Sorry, did you usually tuck him in?” she says. “I didn’t even think to call you.”

  “He is five years old,” I tell her, my voice low, “and his mother never held him like that at bedtime.” I’m not sure why I’m telling her, but I am.

  “That’s her loss then,” she says.

  “It is, but it also made it hard for me to watch”—I look down—“you with him. I just hope I’m enough for him.”

  She comes close to me, reaching up and touching my cheek. “You are everything to him.” If I turned my face, I would be able to kiss her hand. If I reached out with my hand, I would be able to hold her in my arms. If I was bold enough, I would take her in my arms and hug her, feel her. But instead, I just nod my head at her. “I should go,” she says and turns to walk down the stairs. I follow her, biting my tongue to keep from asking her to stay.

  Instead, I watch her put her jacket on and slip on her boots and then tell her, “Thank you for coming over and cooking.”

  Her smile is the most genuine I’ve ever seen. “It was so much fun,” she says, and she means every single word of it.

  “Any word on Sarah?” she asks me.

  “She has strep,” I tell her. “She sent me a message that she is just starting meds.”

  “Are you going to be okay with Jack?” she asks me, and I shrug my shoulders.

  “I leave Friday for the weekend,” I tell her.
“I’m hoping my mom can come down.”

  “I’m off,” she tells me. “That would be weird, though, right?” she says, laughing.

  “I don’t want to take advantage of you like that,” I tell her.

  “The offer stands.” She smiles at me, grabbing the door handle. “I had a great time tonight.”

  I smile at her and watch her walk down the steps to a cab I didn’t even know was waiting outside. I watch her get into the cab, then slowly close the door.

  I go back into the kitchen and clean up the rest of the dishes I didn’t get a chance to. I pick up my phone and call my mother while I load the dishes.

  “Hey, Mom,” I say when she answers the phone.

  “Hey, honey,” she says, and I smile. She always calls me that no matter how old I get. Except during hockey, I remember once I cross-checked someone into the boards, and she got up and yelled my name. I’m lucky the ref got me before she did. “How are you? How is my grandson?”

  “That’s why I’m calling,” I start to tell her. “Sarah, his nurse, has strep, and I leave on Friday for the weekend.”

  “Oh, no,” she says. “Want me to fly down?” There it is—the support that a child needs from his mother, the love a child needs.

  “You wouldn’t mind?” I ask her, finally closing the dishwasher and starting it.

  “Mind spending time with my grandson?” She laughs.

  “Okay, I’ll book your ticket now and send you the confirmation.”

  “Oh, good,” she says. “I can’t wait. What else is new?”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say and don’t say anything else and neither does she. “Chantal wanted to fight me for custody.’

  “Oh, dear,” she says, and that is another thing; my mother refuses to swear even when she gets frustrated. It would be so easy to say fuck, but she just turns around and says a clean word.

  “Yeah.” I turn off the lights, heading upstairs. “Luckily, my lawyer baited her with money, and she will sign off on it.”

  “Figures,” she says. “She wouldn’t even know what to do with him.”

  “Now the good news,” I tell her. “They think Jack is a good candidate for a newly approved drug.”

  “Oh my goodness,” she says, and I hear her quietly sob. “The new doctor, Denise,” I correct myself, “Dr. Horton, she is the best there is.” I smile while I talk about her. “She was reading about this new medicine, and she pushed to have Jack approved for it.”

  “She sounds like an angel.”

  “She is,” I tell her, picturing her lying in bed with my son while she reads to him. Not doing it because anyone forced her to, not doing it because people were watching her. But because she wanted to. “He goes in Monday to do the bloodwork.”

  “Will it be okay if I stayed then for the week?” she asks.

  “Of course, it would be okay,” I tell her.

  “Perfect. I’ll tell your father,” she says, and I groan. He doesn’t do well when my mother is away, and I believe the last time, he sulked.

  “Great,” I tell her, laughing. “I’ll wait for the hate mail.” And she then starts laughing herself. “I’ll send you the flight information.”

  “See you soon, son,” she says, and we hang up.

  I peek in on Jack and see that he is still sleeping soundly. I walk back to my room, get into bed, and pull out my iPad to buy my mother a plane ticket and email her and my father a confirmation.

  A message comes through after I press send. It’s from Denise.

  Confirmed. Monday 10:00 a.m.

  I answer her right away.

  We will be there. Thanks for tucking him in; he’s still out like a light.

  She answers me back right away, and I wonder if she’s in bed. I wonder if she’s maybe lying on the couch watching a movie. I wonder if maybe, just maybe, she is thinking about me. I shake my head.

  Best date I ever had.

  I put the iPad down and power it off before I do something stupid like beg her to let me take her out on a real date. If only.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Denise

  Best date I ever had.

  I press send, and I want to take it back right away. What if I give him an idea that I’m after him? What if he thinks I’m coming on to him? Am I coming on to him?

  Tonight, standing in his hallway when he asked me if he was enough, I walked to him without a second thought and touched him as if I have always touched him. I touched him with my hand, and his heat filled my whole body. I pick up my phone and call the one person I know will tell me what to do.

  “Mon amour,” My love, Vivienne says when she answers after one ring.

  “I think I came on to Zack,” I blurt out and then close my eyes.

  “You think?” she asks. “You either sat on it or you didn’t?”

  “Why do you always assume sex?” I ask her, and she just laughs.

  “Because, bottom line, it all leads to sex,” she says, “n’est-ce-pas.” Isn’t that right.

  “I can’t have sex with him.”

  “And why not?” she asks. “Last I checked, and believe me, I checked, he’s all there.”

  “Vivienne,” I say loudly, sitting up.

  “You said I couldn’t go after him; you never said I couldn’t look,” she points out.

  “I never said you couldn’t go after him,” I point out, getting up off the couch and going to my bedroom.

  “I believe ripping the phone from my hand was your way of saying back up bitch.” She laughs. “Besides, I think he’s already interested in someone.”

  “Really?” I say, and I don’t know why my heart has suddenly crushed as fall into bed.

  “Oh, you poor, poor girl,” she says, and I’m not even listening to her. Me touching him was so not okay now. Not that it was before, but now knowing he is with someone. I would never ever touch him knowing he’s dating someone. And then I wonder, why didn’t he tell me he’s dating? Why wasn’t she at dinner? Maybe he doesn’t want to introduce Jack to her just yet. “Are you okay, ma poule?” my girl asks.

  “Yeah,” I say quietly, “just thinking about something.”

  “Something or someone?” she asks the big question.

  “He’s my patient,” I say again. “There is a code and a line I refuse to cross.”

  “Then walk away,” she says, and it hurts, it fucking guts me, and I have no idea why. I’ve known him for two weeks, and the mere thought of him not there hurts me physically.

  “What if I can’t?” It’s a question that she can’t even answer. Not even all her wit and humor can answer this loaded question.

  “Only you can answer that, Ma chere,” my dear, “but answer this. Why is he so different?”

  “What do you mean?” I roll over in bed, thinking to myself.

  “What makes you want to break the rules for him?” she asks me quietly. “Besides a killer face, perfect cheekbones, and crystal clear blue eyes that you can stare at for days and days getting lost in them. His great arms, tight ass, and massive package. What is it about him that makes you want to cross that line?”

  I roll my eyes. “He isn’t that good looking,” I say, and even I know that’s a fucking lie. “I don’t know if I want to cross the line or not.”

  “Just the fact that you are thinking about it speaks volumes,” she points out. “You’ve made a lot of people happy doing what you do and being the type of person you are.”

  “Aww,” I say out loud, “look at you, loving up on me.”

  “What I’m saying is when are you going to decide to make yourself happy instead of just everyone around you?” she says, and I don’t have an answer. I have nothing to say, nothing that will answer her question because I’ve never put my happiness before anything else before. I’ve never had to. “I will leave you with that,” she says. “Bonne nuit.” Good night, she says, and she hangs up. I look at my phone, not sure what to say or what to do, so I do the worst thing possible.

  I go online and google
Zack Morrow and click images. Lots of pictures of him on the ice, in his gear, some of him celebrating. I scroll down and finally find him with a blond woman. I click the image, and my insides fall because she is the opposite of me. Perfect body, or at least that’s what it looks like in her black skintight dress. He has his hand around her as they both look at the camera. Clicking on the picture, the caption comes up.

  Zack Morrow and wife of three years, Chantal Morrow.

  “Oh my god,” I say to myself, “that is her after she gave birth. Jesus.” I’m a glutton for punishment because then I google just Chantal Morrow, and bikini shots come up, none of them with Zack. It seems she loves the camera, the duck face, and Botox.

  I snap a picture of her and send it to Vivienne, Karrie, and Allison in our group chat.

  This is Zack’s ex-wife. Or soon to be.

  And then attach the picture. Allison is the first to answer.

  Jesus, you can bounce a quarter off that ass.

  I laugh, and I don’t have time to reply before Karrie’s answer comes.

  She probably never eats carbs, which means she’s hangry.

  I knew this is what I needed, so I answer.

  But at least she can flaunt it.

  I’d rather have a plate of pasta and hold my man close than have what she has. She has so much Botox, one of her eyebrows is higher than the other.

  Karrie says, and I go back to the picture and check, and she does.

  That means she had Botox five days prior, Vivienne says, and then adds Don’t ask.

  I laugh, and then Allison answers

  Someone is googling a certain somebody. Why is no one pointing that out?

  Hussy, Karrie answers while Vivienne says, Salope

  GOOD NIGHT GIRLS, I tell them in caps. And they all answer me back with LOL

  I put my phone down and look outside. I wonder if he got in touch with his mother. I wonder if he’s going to be okay. I wonder if ... “Stop wondering, Denise,” I tell myself and close my eyes, forcing myself to fall asleep, but it’s for nothing because he’s there in my dreams with his sly smile, his bright eyes, and most of all, his hand that’s always reaching out for me. My sleep isn’t restful; I toss and turn most of the night, waking so often it’s like I didn’t even sleep.