She Gets That from Me

by Robin Wells

  “I know, Mom.” I want that, too. No, the truth is, I want to be the best. I want my parents and the rest of the world to say, I’m so proud of you, and atta girl! and, Jessica, you’re so wonderful and smart and amazing!

  Most of all, I want to feel that way about myself. “I have to go, Mom.”

  “Wait—who picked you up at the airport?”

  “Huh? Oh. I, um, got a ride from the hotel. Gotta run now. I’ll talk to you later, Mom. Love you! Bye.” I click off quickly.

  “‘I’d expect something like this from your sister or brother,’” my sister says, her voice high and Mom-like. She shakes her head. “I told you she thinks you’re the perfect one.”

  “Not anymore.” I want to say, Do you realize what a burden it is, always trying to live up to that level of expectation? But I know that Erin will just say something like, So stop trying to be the golden child.

  “I told you she’s always asking me, ‘Why can’t you be more like your sister?’” Erin says.

  “Yeah, well, next time you can reply, ‘At least I didn’t marry a sperm donor who turned out to have a three-year-old orphaned child and another on the way.’”

  “Can I use that?” Erin asks. “Because I think it might be effective.”

  Now that the worst is over, I think about the reactions I’m likely to get from my other family members. “What about Dad? How do you think he’ll take it?”

  “He’ll look up from his desk for a couple of moments, ask if you’re okay, then tell Mom not to worry.”

  Our father, an aeronautics engineer with Boeing, is brilliant, but he’s a man of few words and even fewer expressions of emotion. Erin is probably right.

  “What about your kids?” I ask. “How will you explain that Zack has a daughter we just discovered and a bun in another woman’s oven? They’re old enough to understand that this is really messed up.”

  She shrugs. “They’re also young enough to be okay with just about anything.”

  “Yeah.” My thoughts turn to my brother. “I’m not too worried about Doug.”

  “Nah. He won’t care at all.” Erin narrows her eyes. “But who gave you a ride from the airport?”

  “What?” I stand, walk to the dresser, and pick up my hairbrush.

  “You heard me. Mom asked, and you totally lied.”

  I should have known she’d pick up on that. A sister can always sense your weak spots. I consider saying Uber, but she’ll know it’s not the truth. “Brett gave me a lift.”

  “Oh, really?” Her eyebrows rise.

  I ignore the innuendo in her voice, look in the mirror, and run the brush through my hair. “He sent me computerized renovations of a house we looked at, and when I texted back that I was coming in on a late flight, he offered to pick me up.”

  “Wow. That’s what I call service!”

  “Yeah, well, I’ll be a double client if I buy a home and have him do the renovation.”

  “I doubt that’s why you’re getting the red carpet treatment.” She crosses to the dresser, picks up my expensive face cream, and opens it. “Not that you ever get anything less.”

  “Would you stop it, already?” The words come out a little harsher than I’d intended.

  “Whoa!”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bark at you.”

  Our eyes meet in the mirror. Hers are full of sympathy. “This is really hard on you, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. And there’s something more.” I blow out a hard breath. I need to talk to someone about this, and Erin is my only option. “Zack wants to stay in New Orleans.”

  “What?”

  “He asked me to think about staying there, so we’d be closer to his children.”

  “Jiminy, Jess!” Her brows furrow. “What did you say?”

  “Hell to the no.”

  “Good for you!” She dabs some of my face cream under her eyes and looks at me in the mirror. “How serious was he?”

  “I think he was just testing out the concept.” I hope. I hope to high heavens.

  She turns around to face me directly. “So . . . Zack will still move here, right?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “You think? Give me a percentage.”

  I’ve dealt in percentages since junior high. “Seventy percent. No, maybe sixty-five.”

  “Jesus, Jess! Those aren’t the greatest odds.”

  “Well, he’s big on keeping his word, and he accepted the job out here.”

  “So why only sixty-five percent?”

  I put down my brush, lean forward into the mirror, and smooth an eyebrow. “He said he didn’t know about Lily when he agreed to the move, and that having a child changes things. And that worries me.”

  “It worries me, too.”

  “Lily was bad enough, but the baby . . . Well, it feels like everything’s been turned upside down.”

  “It kind of has.” She gives me a direct, sisterly, no-BS kind of look. “If he insists on staying in New Orleans, would you reconsider staying there, too?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to watch him play Daddy to another woman’s baby. It makes me sick to even think about it.” My phone dings. I pick it up and read the text. “Brett’s downstairs.”

  “Wait a moment, Jessie,” Erin says. “So . . . would you divorce Zack?”

  The thought of divorce makes me sick, too. “I might threaten to, just to get him to move.” I pull my purse onto my shoulder and head for the door. “Will I see you tomorrow night at Mom’s?”

  “Of course. We’ll all be there.” She puts the lid back on my face cream, heads back to the bed, and flops on it. “Would you mind if I stay here in your room for a while and just enjoy the peace and quiet, without being reminded of the laundry I need to do?”

  “Knock your bad self out.”

  She picks up the TV remote and gives a blissful sigh. “Love you, sis.”

  * * *

  —

  I OPEN THE passenger door of Brett’s SUV and lean in. “I feel like I’ve taken up too much of your time,” I tell him. “And the way things are with Zack and me right now, I’m not sure we’re ready to put in an offer on a house.”

  “I’m going to see this new property anyway,” he says. “And I’d enjoy your company.”

  I smile and climb in. We’d talked last night when he picked me up at the airport, so he knows the whole story about Zack. I think he’s just being polite, but I’m glad to have an excuse to be out of the hotel. My meetings don’t start until Monday.

  As he drives, I ask Brett about his work. He tells me about a renovation he’s working on, and then the conversation wends its way back to personal topics.

  “I’m starting to feel like a third party in my own marriage,” I tell him.

  “I totally get that,” he says.

  “You do, don’t you?” His ex-wife and child are living with another man—a man she plans to marry and have another child with. “It’s good to have someone who understands.”

  “I’m pretty much over it now,” he says, “but at first it seemed like James had replaced me in my own life.”

  “That’s exactly how I feel about this—this Quinn person.” I have trouble even saying her name. I look at him. “You don’t feel that way now?”

  “No. At first all I could feel was loss and hurt and anger. But the truth was, I hadn’t felt all that connected to Sue Anne in a long time.”

  “Things haven’t been very close between Zack and me for a while now,” I admit.

  “Marriages can go through rough spots and still make it.” He brakes for a light and looks over at me. “It all kind of comes down to why you got married in the first place, and if those reasons still hold. Why did you marry him?”

  “Because I loved him, of course.”

  “What did you love about
him?”

  “He’s smart and successful and good-looking. He’s just a really great guy. He hit every item on my husband criteria list.”

  Brett shoots me an amused look. “You had a list?”

  “Of course. I have criteria lined out for my whole life, with goals and deadlines.” I sat down when I was eighteen and wrote out a list of objectives I wanted to achieve by certain ages. So far I’ve hit every one of them, except for having a baby.

  “That figures.” He laughs. “You said your husband is a really good guy. Is he the kind of guy who would want to do right by his children?”

  “Yes.” I blow out a sigh. “I see your point.”

  He flips on the turn signal. “Well, then, I think you’re going to have to compromise. If you want the marriage to work, you’ll have to love his children, too.”

  “I can do that,” I say. “I’d love to adopt Lily, but Zack won’t even considering trying for guardianship.”

  “The baby changes the whole equation.” Brett makes a right turn, then glances at me. “So does the fact that Lily is nearly four. At first I was picturing her like a toddler, but by the end of that third year, they’re solid little people with solid attachments.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  He looks over. “I was wrong to suggest that you try for custody. Both kids belong with Quinn.”

  I feel as if the air has been punched out of me. I fold my arms across my stomach. “Well, I don’t want to be a stepmother. I never did. Before I married Zack, I considered men with children undatable.”

  “Ouch,” Brett says, clasping his chest as if I’d shot him. “That hits close to home.”

  Too late, I realize he fits in that category. I feel a little flustered. Was that an exploratory remark, or just an observation? “This was back then,” I say quickly.

  “You could be a stepmother and a biological mother,” he says. “One doesn’t exclude the other.”

  I shake my head. “Zack won’t even talk about any more IVF.”

  “Well, maybe that can be his compromise. Maybe he’ll agree to try for a child with an egg donor if you agree to stay in New Orleans to be near his children.”

  My muscles tense. “But I don’t want to stay in New Orleans! I’ve taken this new job, and I want to live here. Most of all, I want to get away from Quinn and her kids and this spell they’ve cast over Zack. I don’t want to have another woman in the picture.”

  He looks me full in the eye. “If you really value your marriage, you probably need to reconsider that.”

  In my gut, I have an awful feeling he’s right. But the whole thing completely goes against my grain. I shake my head. “I don’t want to watch him co-parent another woman’s children.”

  He slows as the road turns. “Here’s the bottom line, Jess—and I know how you like bottom lines: Zack is now a father. And as a father, I’ll be honest: I couldn’t move away and leave Petey behind.”

  My heart cracks a little. “But you’re his real father. I mean, you were there when he was born and you’ve always been in his life. Zack is just a donor. He wasn’t supposed to be involved at all.”

  “Yes, but now he is.”

  Now he is. There’s the rub.

  Brett looks at me again. “If he’s the kind of guy who wants to be a good dad, well, that’s your new reality.”

  His words have a stomach-churning ring of truth. “Great, just great.”

  “You act like it’s a tragedy.” Brett changes lanes. “Don’t you think Lily and the baby will benefit from having Zack in their lives?”

  “Well . . . yeah. I suppose.”

  “So maybe it’s meant to be.”

  “Oh, Christ.” I roll my eyes. I really hate this kind of nonsense. “Are you talking about some sort of woo-woo everything-happens-for-a-reason thing?”

  He laughs. “I wouldn’t put it that way, but yeah, I guess I am.”

  “I don’t believe in that.”

  “It doesn’t really matter. Facts are facts, and the facts are, most children benefit from having a father in their lives. So instead of fighting it, maybe you should just embrace it.”

  “But I don’t want to embrace it.” I stare out the window. “They’re not really his children. They’re his sperm donations.”

  “They were. They aren’t anymore.” He glances over at me. “You said Lily calls him Daddy.”

  “Hell,” I mutter.

  “Think it all the way through,” Brett urges. “If you insist that Zack moves here, he’ll go back to see the kids as often as he can. That’s going to leave you out of the loop, unless you go with him every single time. You said you two are pretty distant right now. That distance will just grow further and further if you don’t embrace this new part of his life.” He brakes to let a car merge in front of him.

  “Wow. You could have sugarcoated that a little.”

  He laughs. “I’m not good at sugarcoating. Sue Anne used to say I’m ‘harshly direct.’”

  “You are.” I stare out the windshield. “Emphasis on ‘harsh.’”

  “I just call ’em as I see ’em.” His eyes turn serious. “I had my future all lined out once, too, you know. I was going to be a big shot NFL player. Then I busted my knee, which completely busted my plans. I thought my life was over.” His jaw tightens. “In fact, I was ready to end it.”

  I stare at him. “Really?”

  He gives a curt nod. “Fortunately, a former teammate hauled me to a support group. They taught me how to recognize what’s really important. That’s the stuff you hold on to. The other stuff—well, sometimes you just have to jettison it. Let go of how you think things should be and accept what is. When you do that, you can start finding a way to be happy, no matter what your circumstances are.”

  I blow out a sigh. “You’re saying I need to stay in New Orleans.”

  “I’m saying you need to seriously consider what you want. Do you want to be with Zack? If so, that means you’re going to have to adapt to his new situation. Can you love and accept his kids? Can you support his involvement in their lives? If not, you need to level with him and tell him the truth.”

  “And what’s that? That I want a divorce?”

  He lifts his shoulders. “All I know is that marriage has to be all in. You can’t accept one part of a person and reject another part.” He brakes at a stoplight and looks at me. “I think marriage should be about two people wanting what’s best for the other. Couples should help each other achieve their dreams, live according to their values, and become the best versions of themselves. They should make each other feel accepted and supported and cherished and trusted, and help one another contribute their gifts to the world. If you reach a place where you can’t do that—where your values don’t line up anymore or you don’t accept or trust or support each other—well, then, maybe it’s not a marriage any longer.”

  Or maybe it never was. The thought knocks the breath out of me.

  I’ve always been focused on attaining my goals. I thought a successful life was all about hitting certain markers—get good grades, get a scholarship, get a degree, get a job, move up the ladder; look a certain way, meet a man who checks all the boxes, get engaged, plan the perfect wedding, buy a house, and have a child. My life has always been about achievements and kudos and following the script I’d created.

  Hell. My life—and my marriage—has always been about me.

  I never gave any real thought to helping Zack live according to his values or become the best version of himself or contribute his gifts to the world.

  I lean back against the headrest. Oh, God! Everything Brett just said rings true, and none of it is what I want to hear. My whole world has just tilted on its axis.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “I talk too much. I probably should have kept my mouth sh
ut.”

  “No. You’ve given me a lot to think about.” I stare out the window as he brakes at a yellow caution light. If I were driving, I would have blown right through.

  “And what are you thinking?”

  “I just never imagined my life would look like this.”

  “Me, neither.” His mouth curves up in a wry grin. “But then, whose life does?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Zack

  Sunday, May 19

  A LITTLE BEFORE eight in the evening, I knock on Quinn’s front door. I hear Ruffles bark, and I have a moment of anxiety, wondering if I should have called first.

  Well, duh, of course I should have called first; it’s what civilized people do. Jessica would have a cow if someone just dropped in unannounced. But if I’d called, I would have gotten the update about Lily over the phone, and I would have lost my excuse to stop by.

  I’m relieved that Quinn is smiling as she opens the door. She’s wearing shorts, flip-flops, and a pink T-shirt, and she looks more like a college student than a thirty-six-year-old business owner. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, but little wisps have escaped around her face. Pretty, I think. I squelch the inappropriate thought.

  “I’m making rounds,” I say. “I just saw Margaret, so I thought I’d check on our littlest patient.”

  “How’s Margaret doing?”

  “She’s better. The physical therapist got her up today. She’s exhausted and sore, but being able to get around will be a game changer for her.”

  “That’s great.”

  “How’s Lily?”

  Quinn opens the door wider. “Come in and see for yourself. The way she’s bouncing around, you’d never know she’d been sick.”

  I step into the foyer and bend down to pet Ruffles, but before I can even touch the dog’s fur, a yellow-nightgown-clad Lily barrels toward me, her arms flung wide. I hunker down as she throws herself at me. Her face is alight. “Daddy! I’m so, so glad to see you!” She hugs me as if I’m an adored family member she hasn’t seen in months instead of just since this morning.

  I hug her back, my chest tight. When I move to Seattle, months will pass between the times I see her. I inhale the sweet baby shampoo scent of her damp hair, then look at her as we draw apart. “You look like you feel much better.”