Intercepted

by Alexa Martin

  “The waiter hasn’t even taken our order and I’m already seconds away from throwing your phone away,” Naomi says when I look at my notification-less screen . . . again. “Turn off your ringer, put it in your purse, and do not look at it again.”

  “You’re right. No more phone.” I toss it in my bag like she said and turn back to her. “Thanks for inviting me to lunch. I haven’t been to your neck of the woods in a long time.”

  Naomi called this morning, not long after Gavin and I finished FaceTiming, and invited me to lunch at my favorite little café by my old house. They have the best sandwiches and a killer wine list, and Nay knows those are the only things I need in life. The sketchiest van could pull up next to me, the driver could be wearing a ski mask and have a voice disguiser, but if he said there was bread and wine in the back of the van? You better believe my ass would be climbing in. #WillRiskLifeForBooze&Carbs

  “I’m glad you came. Gavin told Dre he was going out of town. I think he wanted us to keep an eye on you. Shut up,” she says faster than I can even open my mouth. “I wanted to go to lunch with you anyway.”

  “You missed your football wifey? I’m not mad the season’s over, but I miss you too.”

  “That’s part of it,” she says mysteriously, but the waiter comes to take our order before I can have her explain.

  “Naomi! Marlee!” Josh, our favorite waiter, calls our names. “It’s been way too long. I’ve missed your faces around here.”

  I’m sure he missed us getting tipsy and leaving outrageously large tips even more.

  “You know I’m a waiter/bartender at HERS in Five Points. You get to come visit me next.”

  “I think everyone who follows Mustangs football knows you work at HERS.”

  Touché.

  “How could I forget about my Denver’s Most Hated status?” I’m still pissed at Madison for that shit.

  “We all still love you here.” Brown nose. “Do you ladies want your usual? Two bacon, caramelized onion, and brie grilled cheeses and a bottle of the shiraz?”

  “Yes, please,” I tell him at the same time Naomi says, “Not today.”

  “Then I’ll give you two a moment to look over the menu.” He smiles at us then heads to another table.

  “You’re getting adventurous on me?”

  “You could say that . . .”

  “So are you switching the wine, food, or both?”

  “Both.”

  “Then I’ll order the shiraz, but you do know I’m going to steal a sip of whichever one you decide to try.” I grab the wine list off of the table and try to find another one I want to have.

  “I’m not having wine.” Those foreign words snap my attention back to her in an instant. “And I can’t have brie either.”

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  “If you aren’t about to tell me you’re pregnant, there’s a ninety-nine percent chance I might never speak to you again.”

  I have been hounding her about having a baby since I met her. Not only are she and Dre the most beautiful couple and it would be a crime against humanity not to bless us with a baby sharing their genes, but they’re the best people who would make the best parents. But like so many stories, when they began trying to get pregnant about two years ago, they couldn’t. She puts on a strong face, but I know how hard this has been on her.

  “It’s a good thing I’m telling you I’m pregnant then.”

  And I scream. In the middle of a cute little café filled with snooty women who take tennis lessons and lunch, I leap out of my seat, and I scream.

  “Naomi! You’re going to be a mom!” I pull her into a hug. “I call dibs on godmother, and I’m throwing the shower!”

  Some people may say it’s in bad taste to call dibs on these things. But screw them. That’s why I’m not their friend. If there’s one thing I love more than carbs and wine, it’s parties and babies. My best friend’s baby? You better believe I’m calling that shit early.

  “I knew you would call it.” When I can barely hear her, I realize I’m hugging her so tight, I’m accidentally smothering her in my bosoms. “Thank you,” she says on a deep breath when I release her. “I knew you would call it, which is why Dre and I have already appointed you godmother.”

  “Oh my god!” I hug her again, still screaming. Screw the other patrons. #WhoGonnaCheckMeBoo “This is the best day ever! Hurry up and order. We have a mall to hit and maternity clothes and gender neutral baby clothes to buy.”

  * * *

  • • •

  IT TOOK SOME convincing, but after Naomi slipped on her first pair of maternity jeans, she was all in.

  “I’m so buying some of those leggings,” I tell her from my seat outside of the dressing room. “I’m going to put them on and drag Gavin up to Black Hawk with me. We will gamble, drink the free drinks they bring you, and eat at buffets all day and I’ll be comfortable as fuck. Where do you think I can find a sequined visor and matching fanny pack?”

  “You do know we are in public and other people can hear you, right?” She walks out and does a little spin in the cutest emerald shift dress I’ve ever seen. Unbeknownst to me, probably because I’ve never shopped for maternity clothes before, they have a fake little belly you can strap on for women who aren’t showing yet but want to buy clothes. If it’s any indication of what Nay will look like pregnant, it’s going to be unfair to the rest of the women (aka me) who are destined to spread everywhere while pregnant. “What do you think?”

  “It’s amazing. You’re going to be the most chic pregnant woman ever. But since when did maternity clothes get this cute? I thought you were supposed to be in muumuus and jeans that made your ass look terrible.”

  “Smart people probably still wear those because they don’t want to spend two hundred dollars on a dress they will only wear for nine months.” She looks in the mirror and smooths the dress over her cotton-filled bump. “But I’m not smart. I’m totally buying this.”

  “As you should. Dre isn’t a baller for nothing. You’re having his baby! This gives you unlimited access to the credit cards.” #MarleeLogic

  “Agreed.” #NaomiLogicToo. “Take a pic. I want to send it to Dre.”

  She hands me her phone and I snap about a thousand pictures of her in various poses before she goes back to her maternity wardrobe search.

  I sink back into the chair while I’m waiting for her to show off her next outfit and look at my phone for the first time since I put it away at the restaurant. When I see the little notifications showing three missed calls and a new text from Gavin, a giddy thrill shoots through my body.

  I’ve got news. Call me when you can.

  “Nay, do you mind if I go call Gavin back real fast?”

  “Of course not.” She walks out in the black, long-sleeved version of the dress before, holding her phone toward me. “One more first . . .” She stops talking when her phone chimes in her hand at the same time mine vibrates in mine.

  Strange.

  Her eyes go wide, and her face loses some of its color.

  “Are you okay?” I toss my phone onto the seat and grab her bottle of water from the dressing room. “Here, have some water.”

  “Um. Mars?” Her voice is quiet, and she shifts from one foot to the other, something she always does when she’s nervous. “Did your phone go off too?”

  “Yeah . . .” I do not like where this is heading. “Why?”

  “Look at it.” She’s watching me so closely, I’m not sure she’s even blinked.

  I do as she says. There’s an ESPN notification on my screen. My sweaty, shaking hands make it so I have to try more than a few times before I’m able to enter my password correctly. And when I do, I wish I hadn’t. I read and reread the headline until I know I’m not reading it wrong. No. In my hand, there’s a picture of my boyfriend, the smile I’
ve grown to love. The eyes I’ve told my secrets to are staring right back at me under a headline announcing his new contract.

  GAVIN POPE SIGNS RECORD-SETTING, SIX-YEAR CONTRACT WITH NEW YORK GIANTS

  He lied.

  He didn’t go to New York to see his mom. He went to sign a contract for a team on the other side of the country after telling me for weeks he was staying here.

  New York.

  Not Denver.

  Not me.

  #PersonalFoul

  Thirty-nine

  I was so busy running the last three or four weeks of my relationship through my head, I’m not a hundred percent clear on how I got home. I think Naomi drove me back to my place after we left the maternity store so I wouldn’t have to deal with my world crashing down and an overly chatty Uber driver during rush hour.

  Now, numb on my Ikea couch, staring at my ceiling and ignoring the sports commentators on my TV, I’m trying to think of any point where he might have mentioned playing for New York. I can’t think of a single time. I remember Donny telling us they might be interested, but Gavin shut it down so quickly, I never thought twice.

  Stupid.

  He has a home in New York. Family, friends, history.

  Why wouldn’t he want to go back if he had the opportunity?

  The broken, crushed, and betrayed part of me is screaming, Because of me! He wouldn’t want to go back because of me! The cynical, jaded part I’ve become so accustomed to after years with Chris, however, is feeling resolved. He’s a quarterback in the NFL. What did you really expect? You know athletes. What’s the definition of insanity, Marlee? You’re slipping.

  I am.

  It was stupid of me to expect something different.

  Why would I think my measly marketing job at HERS would hold the same weight as a person who is offered 130 million dollars? I know I shouldn’t be mad at him. I mean, what person in their right mind would say no to that kind of money?

  My problem is he hid it from me. He left for New York knowing what the outcome was going to be and he didn’t tell me. Lies by omission are still lies.

  And he knows.

  He. Knows.

  After the way things ended with Chris, sneaking and lying are absolute deal breakers. So either he didn’t think I deserved to know, he didn’t want me to know, or he didn’t think of me at all.

  I thought we were partners. Yes, it’s a new relationship, but I thought we were headed someplace. I assumed we were on the same page.

  Wrong yet again.

  I turned off my phone after I read the ESPN alert and promptly called Brynn to let her know I need an evening to wallow in self-pity before I can go to work. I thought it was a good call. I haven’t cried, but I know if my dad calls asking questions or Gavin sends me a text, I will lose it. And I hate losing it.

  When I feel like I have no control over anything around me, it’s very important for me to keep my emotions in check. Like each tear will water and sprout drama. Not showing emotion lets me keep the power. I refuse to give people the satisfaction of knowing they upset me.

  I never thought I would have to shield myself from Gavin. But hey. What do I really know anyway? Apparently nothing.

  * * *

  • • •

  I’M LYING ON my couch, half drunk, half sugar high, and possibly infected with salmonella from the amount of raw cookie dough I’ve consumed, when Gavin uses the key to my apartment that I gave him.

  Shit.

  “Are you kidding me right now, Marlee? What’s wrong with you? Why is your phone off? I’ve been trying to call you for hours.”

  I was planning on the silent treatment, but after he barges into my home acting like he’s the one who’s been wronged, I think, Eh. What the hell. Let’s set this shit on fire.

  “Wow! Look who it is, ladies and gentlemen.” I stand up and start clapping. “The man of the hour. The king of New York, Gavin Pope. Setting records and getting paid, baby!”

  I’ll fully admit to being on the excessive side of dramatic, but what can I say? When I commit, I fucking commit.

  “What the hell, Marlee?” He flinches slightly, and his eyebrows furrow. “What’s your problem? I thought you’d be happy for me.”

  Oh this mother-effer.

  “I’m thrilled for you, Gavin. Why wouldn’t I be? My boyfriend got the contract of the century. He’s going to be moving across the country. He’s been lying to my face for the last month.” The pounding in my head and my chest have synchronized and I’m shaking so badly, I have to sit down before my legs give in and I fall to the ground. “I’m fuckin’ peachy.”

  “That’s why you’re acting like this?” he asks incredulously. “You think I lied to you?”

  “There’s no think to it, Gavin. You’ve been telling me since the end of the season you were coming back to the Mustangs. Today you signed a contract with New York. Lies.”

  “I didn’t lie. I was trying to surprise you!” He’s raking his hands through his hair and he’s redder than I’ve ever seen him.

  “Surprise me with what, exactly?”

  “With New York! You were just telling me you wanted to move there and open your own business! Saying how you loved my house . . . my family. I thought you’d be happy to get away from Chris and all the bullshit that’s tainted our lives since I got here.”

  “You can’t be serious.” I stare at him wide-eyed, and if I wasn’t so pissed off, I’d laugh. “Gavin! We were talking about a vacation when I said that, not a freaking relocation! What about my family? My job! You want me to up and leave all of that without you even talking to me about it?”

  “We’ll figure it out. New York will be great for your career. I even called my real estate agent out there, she’s already trying to find you a spot for your storefront.” He starts pacing, his long legs making quick work of crossing my tiny space. “Come on, Marlee. Not only is this going to be good for you, this is the biggest deal of my entire life. Is it too much to expect my girlfriend to answer her phone or return a text?”

  “IS IT TOO MUCH TO EXPECT MY FUCKING BOYFRIEND TO TELL ME HE’S MOVING ACROSS THE COUNTRY!” Dammit. He made me lose it. “Too much for you to tell me everything we’ve planned for the last month is total bullshit? Not to assume that I’ll follow you across the country like some puppy? That I don’t find out about the biggest deal of your life from the stupid ESPN app in a maternity store dressing room? Is that too hard for you?”

  All of the color in his face drains and I think I’ve finally hit my mark when he starts to stutter a response. “Wh-what? Y-y-you? Maternity? You’re pregnant?”

  “For fuck’s sake.” I roll my eyes to the heavens. “No, I’m not pregnant. Naomi is.”

  “Oh thank god.” He exhales and pulls out one of the stools from my kitchen table.

  “Nice, Gavin. Really freaking nice.” For some reason I can’t explain, his relief at learning I’m not pregnant stings almost as much as the lies.

  Almost.

  “What? You want to be pregnant?”

  “No, but we aren’t talking about that now.” I’m not going there. He will not see the hurt. Anger? Fine. Sadness and hurt? #AllTheNope

  “Then what are we talking about? This is ridiculous. I got the contract I’ve been waiting my entire life to get and I get to celebrate that with you. I’m sorry you found out the way you did, but this is a good thing.”

  “Get out!” I rise to my feet again, my legs now feeling sturdy while it’s my mind that’s shaky. “I’m not doing this with you right now. You lied to me! You know how I feel about that.”

  The telltale sting of tears is building behind my eyes, but I’ll be damned if I let them fall.

  “You’re always comparing me to Chris,” he says quietly. “Always waiting for me to mess up.”

  “I didn’t have to wait too long, did I?�
��

  As soon as the words slip out of my mouth, I regret them. When I’m angry, I tend to go for the jugular with no regard as to what may come. And by the giant step back Gavin takes, I think this is one of those times.

  “I guess you didn’t.” He rubs the back of his neck and turns toward my door. “I’m gonna get out of here for now and let the dust settle for a bit. But this isn’t over, not by a long shot. I’ll call you later.”

  “Yup.” I fold my arms across my chest. Whether I’m trying to comfort myself or prevent them from reaching out toward Gavin, I’m not sure. “Bye.”

  “Bye, Marlee,” he says to the door, not even giving me the common courtesy to look at me before he walks away.

  Fine by me.

  Except . . . when the door slams shut behind him, the tears I’ve been fighting so hard to keep away finally fall. I lean against the door, listening as his heavy footsteps fade away, praying he will stop and come back to me.

  Instead, I hear the stairwell door slam shut.

  I fall to the ground, letting the soul-wrenching sobs take over my body, allowing the noises that don’t even sound human escape.

  And when I’m all cried out, I know what I need to do to protect myself.

  Forty

  We don’t talk again for the rest of the day.

  Or the next day.

  Or the day after that.

  I guess the stubborn qualities we both possess aren’t always a good thing.

  I know he feels like I’m in the wrong, Mrs. Pope tells me so when she calls me begging me to go over to his place and work things out. Being the mature woman I am, I refuse and tell her to tell him he’s the one who should be apologizing.