Because I wanted to be pregnant. I’d wanted Mr. Parker’s baby in me, for his virile sperm to do its work, to make me his, make both of us his. And I guess I’d been waiting for a sign. If I did get pregnant, then it was definitely meant to be, I was going to leave school and move in with him, burrow myself in love, relax in his arms as I grew large with his child. But no. Instead, I was still me, un-pregnant, not pregnant, just the same as before with the same future that had been set out since birth.
What did you expect? I asked myself angrily. That you’d get knocked up in a flash, like some kind of easy-bake oven? But the truth was, yeah, I was kind of hoping so. Mr. Parker and I had made love countless times, never getting enough of one another’s bodies, savoring the physical again and again and again. Shit, the last few days I’d been at his house, he hadn’t worked at all, taking me to bed instead of flipping open his laptop. We hadn’t even eaten any real meals, just snacking here and there because we were so desperate for one another, gorging ourselves on each other, our love fest rolling non-stop.
But maybe I’d done it wrong. He’d come in my mouth a few times, maybe I should have let him come in me instead. Or maybe that one time he did me in back, I should have forced him to put it in my pussy, gotten one more load, that could have made the difference. But it was too late, and I shook my head, still shaky and jumbly in my skin, realizing that I was starting to sound erratic and irrational. What’s done was done, and I had to get a grip.
So I threw the test in the trash, grabbing the plastic bag and tying it up, striding out to the dumpster. I didn’t want that thing in my apartment, didn’t want a reminder of how I’d failed at something I’d secretly desired, so close to my heart. And with a grimace, I grabbed my backpack and trudged off to the campus health center before class. Because yeah, I’ve been feeling unhappy enough lately that I signed myself up for a counseling session with a professional, someone with a degree.
With hesitant steps, I let myself into the waiting room. Oh good, it was clear, none of my classmates were here. I’d half been expecting to see someone I knew, but blessedly there were just a bunch of empty chairs and gingerly, I sat down, still looking around warily. It’s not that I’m against counseling or anything, it’s just that my family’s always raised me to be self-sufficient, you know stiff upper lip, grin and bear it, all that rigamarole. So to find myself in the campus mental health center was a change, but heck, I was desperate.
Finally, a chirpy girl called my name with a clipboard in hand.
“Amanda? Amanda Smith?”
I nodded, grabbing my bag.
“Yes, that’s me,” I mumbled, head down, before snapping my chin back up. Being here wasn’t shameful, it’s just like having a broken arm or leg. But instead of fixing a bone, the doctor was going to fix my head instead.
“Come in, Room Five please, down the hall,” said the chirpy student and I followed her dutifully, sitting as she closed the door.
“Thanks for coming, I’m Rebecca Martin. I’m a Ph.D student in psychology at the school, and I’ll be leading your session today. I’ll need to ask you a couple questions first, Ms. Smith. Do you feel suicidal? Have you felt any need to hurt yourself?” she dug right in.
And I paused.
“Wait, I thought I’d see a real doctor,” I said slowly. “You’re a student, just like me? Are there real doctors here? Is it possible to see one?”
And the girl looked at me speculatively, but nodded.
“Yes, we have clinicians who’ve finished their Ph.Ds, and if you like, I can re-schedule your appointment if you feel it’s necessary. But usually our first few sessions are done with Ph.D students in their final years of study. It’s up to you, I’m happy to do whatever you prefer,” she said neutrally.
I thought for a moment. I would prefer someone with a degree, but then again, the blonde was very professional and god knows, she’d probably already spent years studying. So I nodded.
“No, it’s okay, today is fine with you,” I said, “If I need someone else, I’ll let you know.”
And she nodded once more.
“Sure no problem. But let me ask you first: Have you ever thought about hurting yourself?”
And I shook my head, “No, never.”
That was easy, they probably asked everyone that.
“Okay, great,” she said, noting it on her clipboard. “So how can I help you today Ms. Smith?”
And the story poured out, jumbled, in bits and pieces, a torrent of talk.
“Well, I went over to babysit, and I guess things got carried away,” I started, “There was a man,” I stammered. “Mr. Parker, his name is Mr. Parker.”
The blonde listened, nodding.
“Hold on, Mandy,” she said soothingly. “Let’s start from the very beginning, slowly. One sentence at a time,” she said encouragingly, and I took a deep breath.
“I went home to for winter break and was asked to babysit for one of my old clients. Except … I ended up falling in love with the dad,” I mumbled.
To her credit, Rebecca’s face didn’t change at this revelation, it remained neutral, merely nodding and listening.
“And the man is Mr. Parker?” she asked, tone non-judgmental.
I nodded miserably.
“Yes, the man I fell in love with is Peter Parker, like Spiderman. He’s divorced,” I said quickly, “Not married, totally single, so we weren’t cheating or anything. It’s just that he’s twice as old as me, he’s forty and I’m eighteen. So twenty-two years. That’s a lot isn’t it?”
But Rebecca didn’t confirm anything, instead just listening.
“Well, how do you feel about it? The age difference I mean?”
And I took a deep breath.
“Doesn’t bother me at all, to be honest,” I admitted. “It’s never been a problem for us, Peter and I get along so well, we like the same things, we want the same things, share a lot of values, and I love his daughter, it’s almost like I gave birth to her myself.”
Rebecca nodded slowly.
“Sounds like the age difference isn’t the problem or the fact that he has a child. So let’s unpack this slowly. Is there something else standing in the way, something else making you feel upset?”
And I gestured with my hands, frustrated.
“It’s everything else,” I said desperately. “I’m here, he’s there, I have to get a degree, my parents are paying my tuition and I’m supposed to love being here at this fancy school, I’m supposed to have a career, be a lawyer even, and instead, I’m still thinking about Mr. Parker and what could be,” I babbled.
Rebecca nodded sagely.
“So you’re here, but you want to be there,” she began slowly.
And I gave out a small, miserable cry.
“Yeah, but I can’t go back home,” I said with a muffled sob. “My parents would hate me if I dropped out, I’d hate myself for letting them down. And who gets married at eighteen these days? Who has a baby at eighteen? I’ll be the girl they always warned you about, the girl who threw her life away by getting knocked up at an early age.”
Rebecca nodded again, soothingly. “I see how you feel, I understand,” she said.
I took another deep breath.
“Do you?” I asked, hands twisting in my lap, miserable. I literally didn’t see any light at the end of the tunnel, didn’t see how this could end well. But I guess that’s not the point of therapy, a counselor can’t solve your problems for you, they can only reflect what you want, help you delve deeper into yourself to come out with some potential answers. “I just don’t know,” I said helplessly. “I really don’t know how to fix this, how to get rid of these feelings, this hopeless situation.”
And Rebecca nodded, again.
“I think, Amanda,” she said, “That it sounds like there’s a disconnect between what you want, and what you think the larger world wants for you.”
I nodded vehemently.
“It’s exactly that. I want to be with Mr. Parker,
I want to be with him, to love him, to have his babies, but the world wants me to be in school, to be single and a student, have a high-flying career and all that.”
Rebecca was silent for a moment.
“And you don’t see any way to reconcile the two?”
I shook my head.
“Of course not! How would I manage a career with a baby and a man? Remember, I’m from Central New Jersey, that’s sixty miles from here, it’s not exactly close. How in the world could I have both?”
Rebecca let herself smile a little then.
“A lot of women are in your shoes, Mandy,” she said gently. “I understand what you’re struggling with, how it feels like you have to make a choice. But the thing is that it’s not so black and white, there are many shades of grey.”
I was stumped. Of course there are many shades of grey in the world, I got that. So what in the world was she talking about? This psychobabble mumbo jumbo was making no sense.
“Are you telling me I should be a teen mom?” I asked slowly. “To drop out of school? Can you even say that, seeing that you work for the university?” I asked, gesturing to our room.
And Rebecca shook her head patiently.
“What I’m saying is that people often feel like they have to pick one path. They have to go right or left, choose between the blue pill or the red pill, but sometimes there’s no blue or red, there’s just shades of grey.”
Okay, back to this shades of grey thing, it was really getting tiresome. Also, was Rebecca really referring to the movie The Matrix during our session? I sighed. Maybe I should have asked for a real doctor, this was turning out to be a waste of time. But there were only twenty minutes left, might as well go with it.
“Okay, let me try to understand what you’re saying,” I began slowly. “There are many choices in the world, and maybe I’m too black and white, either school or no school, Mr. Parker or no Mr. Parker. But given that my parents have already paid forty thousand in tuition, what should I do?” I asked, staring her in the eye.
And the therapist just cocked her head at me.
“I can’t answer that, you know I can’t,” she said slowly. “But remember, many women juggle a relationship, marriage, babies and career at once. Even multiple kids,” she said with a raised eyebrow. “It’s not easy, I’ll give you that, it’s very, very hard, and many women are constantly afraid that they’re going to drop one of the balls, that they’re one second away from eggs splattering on the floor. But that’s not the point,” she said firmly. “What I’m trying to say is that it’s not easy to be female because there are so many ways our lives can unfold, so many different things that we’re supposed to want. But you don’t have to choose one thing at the expense of another. You have many options, many possibilities, and you can explore many paths at once.”
I was silent for a moment, digesting.
“You mean like take the red pill and the blue pill?” I asked slowly, new horizons beginning to expand in my head.
And Rebecca nodded.
“Maybe take both pills, or blend the pills together to make a purple pill, or look for an orange pill somewhere,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “The world is your oyster, that’s all I’m trying to say. What you’ve laid out is tough, I completely agree, but it’s not insurmountable. Just takes a little bit of work and elbow grease.”
And I nodded slowly then, realization dawning in my mind.
“I hear what you’re saying,” I murmured, more to myself than anyone. “I just thought that the whole image of the woman trying to juggle everything was someone middle-aged, like a thirty-five year old career woman with kids, a husband, who’s also a professional and a PTA mom.”
“That’s who the magazines usually profile,” nodded Rebecca agreeably. “But I don’t think that woman is so different from you. You’re younger, sure, so maybe it hasn’t quite started yet, but your plate sounds like it’s filling up pretty fast.”
And then I was really stunned. Because the counselor’s words were slowly seeping in, penetrating my brain, making some sense. I’d always thought that if I had a baby at eighteen, then life was over. If I dropped out of school, then I was a hopeless loser, my parents would disown me, I’d be done for, with no future, no career, just a down-and-out girl, barefoot with three kids living on hand-outs on the wrong side of the tracks.
But that vision was so extreme, so win-or-lose. And it didn’t have to be that way. There was nothing that said that all that would come true, that that terrible vision of the future had the name “Mandy” emblazoned on it. I was in love, and when you’re in love, babies are natural. Even more importantly, when you’re in love, you have to make compromises and compromises come from both sides of the table. So suddenly, I sat up, alert and filled with energy.
“Rebecca,” I said firmly. “Oh wait, should I be calling you doctor something?”
And the counselor shook her head.
“No, because I don’t have my Ph.D yet,” she laughed.
Oh right. I chuckled myself. God, it felt so good to laugh, a load lifting off my chest, my ability to breathe unhampered, birds twittering in the air. But of course, that wasn’t true. I was still in a windowless room in the campus medical center, it was just that new possibilities had opened. And I hadn’t known it, but these possibilities had always been there, had always beckoned to me, promising, whispering. I merely had to step forward and embrace them.
“Rebecca,” I began again. “I want to thank you because you can’t imagine what you’ve done. I’m not sure what the answers are, but I feel like … I don’t know, I feel like there’s a path forward. Or not one path forward,” I corrected, “but multiple paths, or blended paths, or maybe I have to carve out a new one.”
She nodded, smiling at me.
“Exactly, there isn’t always a right road or a wrong road,” she reminded gently. “Just like there isn’t a blue pill or a red pill. There are many different roads, and you can take any of them and be very happy.”
I jumped up then, heart beating fast. Because I had to talk to Pete, I had to get Mr. Parker on the phone and tell him about all this. Most of all, I had to tell him that I loved him and that we should be together, somehow, some way. I didn’t have the answers, but we’d figure it out, together as lovers.
“I have to go,” I said quickly. “This has been amazing, I can’t tell you how helpful you’ve been, thank you, thank you, thank you, I really appreciate it.” And with that, I bolted from the room, Rebecca’s laugh ringing in my ears.
“Don’t forget to fill out the questionnaire,” trailed her voice behind me. “We’d appreciate the feedback very much!”
And I nodded although she couldn’t see me because I was already running back to my dorm. I had to talk to Pete the sooner the better, now if possible, and it couldn’t wait. My heart was bursting with adoration, with excitement, with possibilities … because I loved him so much it positively hurt.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Mandy
I threw open the door to my apartment, breathless, running into our common living area, eyes wild, panting. I just needed a little privacy, I was going to go into my room and shut the door, dial Pete on the land line and have a real conversation with the man. Except my feet came skidding to a halt because he was here. Right here, sitting on my living room couch chatting with Jane, my roomie, like nothing was the matter.
“Oh Mandy,” sighed Jane, a blonde bombshell from Texas, “Mr. Parker was just telling me that you worked for him over winter break taking care of his daughter. She probably looks just like you, right Peter?” she cooed. “The tot must be irresistible, just like you,” the woman flirted.
Immediately my hackles went up. What the hell was Jane doing sitting so close to my man? My ears steamed, there was probably smoke coming out of them as I glared. Because my roommate was one of those girls who has two sides to her. When males are around, she’s so nice, making like we’re friends, pretending to be a sweet girl. But when it’s only wo
men, or worse, when it’s just me, she turns into ice, a snowman with an icicle for a heart.
But of course, with an attractive alpha male on our couch, the blonde was once again doing her Dr. Jekyll / Mr. Hyde act and acting all sugary and nice.
“Oh let me get you some brownies,” she simpered, standing up and tugging down the front of her sweater so that your eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to her breasts. “Mandy and I made them together, it was such a roommate bonding experience.”
I forced myself to keep calm. Actually, I’d made the brownies and Jane had just pulled them out of the oven at the set time, but there was no way to state that calmly without sounding like a bitch myself. So I took a deep breath and focused on the alpha male.
“Peter, what are you doing here?” I asked. “I didn’t expect to see you. Is Violet okay?”
Mr. Parker held up my winter jacket, something he’d bought especially for me, a deep purple coat filled with goosedown, thin but warm and stylish. I’d accidentally left it in the hall closet when I left, cursing myself when I realized.
“Yeah, Violet’s good,” he rumbled. “She and Mrs. Larson get along like a house on fire, you were right, they’re a great match. But I stopped by because you left this at my place,” he added. “And seeing that I had a business meeting in the area, thought I’d drop it off. You can’t be very warm in the parka you have on.”
I flushed, because I hadn’t had time to buy myself something new, so had dressed in layers instead, wearing two sweaters and then a thin windbreaker over the whole pile. Okay, I looked a little bulky and shapeless, but it was zero degrees after all, really cold. And for some reason, I hadn’t wanted to touch the money Pete had paid me until I got my emotions sorted out, until I felt like there was a solution at hand. So yeah, I’d been schlepping around school looking like a fuzzy bear, cuddly and warm but hardly attractive.
My Boyfriend's Boss: A Forbidden Bad Boy Romance Page 67
