Be My Reason

by Samantha Christy

  I reach over and grab the pillow that still smells of Nate. I know I will have to wash it someday. But I’m not ready. Just as I’m not ready to take off the bracelet that has adorned my wrist since he placed it there. Now, it is only a reminder of the men I have loved and lost.

  Every day, I fight the urge to contact him. I don’t know how many times I’ve written an e-mail or text and deleted it at the last second. I have to remind myself that even if we could be great together, he will always have issues and could be a threat to Ryan or any other men in my life. I’m protecting Nate by keeping away. I recite this over and over. It has become my mantra.

  I also remind myself that he has not contacted me once in the past two weeks. If he loved me—cared about me at all—he would have made contact. To apologize, to explain, to even see if I’m okay. But nothing.

  Ryan has been my rock when Emma can’t be here. He is constantly checking up on me. He fills in for me downstairs when I’m too tired to move. He even cancelled his trip to Australia to scuba dive the Great Barrier Reef.

  He has come to make me dinner, yet again. “You ready yet?” he asks, as he comes through the front door.

  “Not yet. Maybe tomorrow.” It is the same exchange we have every night when he comes over. He wants me to get back to living, to go to the climbing gym and try to kick his butt on the rock wall again. And every day I give him the same answer. Every day I hope it is the truth, that tomorrow I will be ready.

  He has made me lasagna tonight and it is heavenly. The man can cook. He is the perfect guy really. He has it all. Looks, money, charm. Maybe he is exactly what I need to get over Nate. Without thinking, I lean over the table and kiss him. I want to erase the past and the bad memory of that horrible day when Nate made me choose. I want to do something that will numb my body and my mind. I want to lose myself in something or someone.

  I quickly realize that not only is Ryan not kissing me back, but he is pushing me away. He drops his napkin on the table, and pulls me up by my shoulders then he leads me over to the couch and gently pushes me to sit down. He sits next to me and takes a deep breath and then lets it out.

  He looks me straight in the eyes. “Lyn, is this what you want?” he asks. “I mean, deep down, when you look at me, and when you kissed me just now, what do you feel for me?”

  I lower my head in shame and look at my fingers as they fiddle with my bracelet. “I love you,” I admit. “I love you like the brother I never had.”

  “And I love you like a little sister,” he says.

  “I thought . . . I mean since he thinks I’m cheating on him with you . . . that I might as well be.” Now that I say it out loud, I realize how ridiculous it sounds. “Oh God, Ryan,” I say, heat creeping across my face, “I’m sorry. I’m such an idiot. Can you ever forgive me?”

  He laughs at me and shakes his head. “You don’t even have to ask, Lyn. Of course I forgive you. And it’s understandable that you want to do something radical to get yourself out of this funk you’re in.” He reaches out to grab my hand. “But how about something more constructive like kickboxing or skydiving? Maybe scuba diving? I can get us down there in a matter of days,” he says hopefully.

  I smile at him. “I don’t doubt you would do that for me.” We get up to go finish our dinner.

  Ryan’s phone rings and he is quick to answer it and step outside of my apartment to talk to whoever is on the other end. He is Mr. Mysterious lately. He has done this a lot in the past couple of days, dropping whatever he is doing to give his full attention to a phone call. He must have a new girl in his life and he doesn’t want me hearing his lovey-dovey conversation when I’m still a flat-out mess. I appreciate him for that. But when I ask him who he was talking to, he always says ‘nobody’. I guess he doesn’t want to burst the bubble yet.

  The bubble. And my thoughts are instantly back on Nate.

  Chapter Thirty

  Every day gets infinitesimally better. Although I’m improving slightly emotionally, my body can’t seem to catch up physically and I still feel like crap. So in an effort to kick my own butt back in gear and have a life—I have decided to seize the day. Make the leap. Take the plunge.

  I have asked Kaitlyn to fix me up again. I know full well that Scott, the hard-body firefighter, probably won’t touch me with a ten-foot pole after the emotional display I put on. But I thought maybe Carl might have another friend who would take a chance on me.

  Ryan walks in the bakery kitchen as Kaitlyn is going down the list of Carl’s friends that she thinks are good prospects. She is talking about great hair and tight asses when Ryan interrupts.

  “Well, thanks, ladies. I think you are both quite attractive, too.” He winks at us.

  Kaitlyn barely misses him with the spatula she hurls across the room. “Not you, Ryan.” She laughs. “We are going over a list of possible dates for Lyn. Apparently, this filly is ready to get back on the horse, so to speak.” She elbows me and raises her eyebrows.

  Okay, I didn’t quite put it that way when I asked her. “I don’t intend on getting on anyone’s . . . um, horse,” I say, getting embarrassed. “I just think that after almost a month, it’s time for me to think about moving on.”

  Ryan pales. He puts down whatever he was doing and walks over to me. “Lyn, are you sure you are ready? I mean, maybe you should wait. And have you talked to Emma about this yet? You really should talk to her before you do anything rash.”

  “Rash? You think going on a date is rash? I thought you wanted me to quit moping around.” I furrow my brows at him.

  “All I’m saying is that maybe you should talk it over with Emma. You know, your best friend,” he emphasizes.

  I guess I haven’t really discussed this with her yet. She stopped her weekly sympathy visits down here after the first two weekends ‘post Nate’, when I told her to get back to her own life.

  “Fine,” I acquiesce.

  He walks back to pick up some papers that fell off the counter. “You won’t forget? You’ll talk to her first.”

  “Yes. I’ll talk to her. Geesh.” He really is playing the part of a brother. Over-protective brother, I’d say.

  I lean over to help him gather up his files and I see the original invoice from the company that made the ‘Brooklyn’s Bakery’ marquee back when I first opened the shop. I didn’t even know I still had records going back that far. “What are you doing with this, Ryan?” I question him.

  He takes the invoice from me and places it, along with all the other strewn about papers, back in his file folder before he answers me. “Uh, well I like the sign so much I thought I might want to use the same company for another business of mine.”

  I give him that stare. A cold, hard stare with a slight raise of my brow that says ‘I’m not sure you are telling me the truth.’

  “Brooklyn, I know you have every right to be paranoid given what I was going to do, but I promise you, this has nothing to do with franchising the bakery.”

  “Hmmm,” I mumble.

  “Hey, that reminds me,” he says, turning back to me, “I have to leave town for a couple of days to check out another business opportunity.”

  “Oh? What kind of opportunity?” I’m curious and a little bummed about an opportunity that might pull him away from Savannah. Although I’ve known all along that he wouldn’t stay around forever.

  “I really don’t want to say anything yet. I might jinx it.”

  I wonder if it really is another business opportunity. He’s been so secretive with all the phone calls lately, I’d bet he’s going away for a tryst with his new fling. But I keep my mouth shut.

  “Okay. Well, good luck then,” I tell him.

  Later, when I’m taking the trash to the dumpster out back, I overhear Ryan outside the bakery on the phone. “. . . you heard me . . . no, of course I didn’t . . . I know . . . just do something and fast . . . okay see you soon.”

  I head upstairs and make my daily phone call to Emma.

  “Hey girl, how’s
it going?” she greets me.

  “Fine, I guess.” We exchange pleasantries and talk about our day as usual. “Hey, I wanted to get your opinion on something.”

  “Always. Hit me.” She laughs.

  “Well, I’m thinking about having Kaitlyn and Carl fix me up.” The words feel strange as I force them out of my mouth for the second time today.

  “No!” she shrieks and I have to pull the phone away from my ear.

  “Okaaaaay, tell me how you really feel.” I roll my eyes at the phone. “No, really, why not?”

  “Lyn, it’s only been a month. I think any guy you date is sure to be a rebound guy. That’s not really fair to him now is it?”

  Well, I didn’t really think of that. I guess she has a good point.

  “Tell me, why do you want to get out there again so soon?” she asks.

  I decide truth is the best way to go with her. Anyway, she’ll see right through me if I feed her a load of crap. “It’s not that I really want to.” My finger traces an invisible spot on the counter in front of me. “It’s just that I feel awful. Like, every day. I’m tired and cranky and I’m sick of being physically sick over him.” I sigh into the phone. “I think if I meet a guy and see that other great guys are out there, maybe it will give me hope for the future and—”

  “Wait,” she interrupts me. “Wait a goddamn second and go back.”

  I’m confused now. “Huh?”

  “You said you are tired and bitchy and feeling sick. Like puking sick or generally feeling like crap sick?”

  “Uh, well I have been throwing up a lot. But then I usually feel better. It’s usually in the morning when I wake up and realize that Nate isn’t here and he isn’t coming back.” I frown.

  “What else? Is there anything else going on with you . . . physically?” she asks.

  I think for a minute. “Headaches I guess. Oh, and I can’t stand the smell of his blueberry muffins anymore. They make me sick.” Nate’s favorite, I think to myself.

  “Lyn. Oh my God,” she says with concern. “It sounds like you’re pregnant. There is a girl in my office who recently found out she is knocked up and I swear she told me the same things you are saying. Tired, cranky, headaches, food aversions and morning sickness.”

  Morning sickness? Food Aversions? God, no. That is not what’s going on. Emma is being dramatic. It’s just my body trying to get over Nate.

  “Have you had your period lately?” she quizzes me.

  “Yes, of course. I had it a few weeks ago,” I assure her. “Plus, I’m on the pill, you know that.”

  “Was it normal?” she asks. “You know the pill isn’t one hundred percent effective, right?”

  I think back. “I guess it was a little light, but Geez, Emma, I was in a really bad way. I still am. That’s why I’m so sick.”

  “Not sick, Lyn. Pregnant,” she says confidently. “I’d bet my life on it.”

  I think about what she has said. I think about the way I’ve been feeling lately. Sick every morning, tired all day. Could it be? Surely not. Fate wouldn’t be this cruel.

  “Oh God, Emma!” I cry out.

  I hear her shuffling around and making all kinds of noise on her end. “Don’t move,” she says, almost out of breath. “Stay right where you are. I’ll be there in four hours.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Lying on the exam table, my feet in stirrups, I still don’t believe the home pregnancy test that Emma made me take last night. Yes, there was a faint line, and, yes, the directions said that any line, even a faint one was a positive result. But, even so, I don’t believe it. I can’t wrap my head around what this could possibly mean for me so I refuse to accept it without concrete proof.

  Emma sits at my side, holding my hand while the doctor inserts a very uncomfortable wand thing up inside me, that, ironically, is covered with what looks to be a condom—the very thing that would have prevented predicaments such as this. The irony is not lost on me.

  My eyes are closed as I say silent prayers over and over that the test was a fluke. That I really have just been sick over losing Nate. That my life is not about to be thrown into a tailspin.

  “Here,” the grinning doctor says, and I open my eyes and look at the monitor that he is pointing to. “This small sac right here, this little peanut, that’s your baby. And that pulsing right there, that’s the heartbeat.” He smiles brightly at me. “Congratulations, Ms. Vaughn. You appear to be about eight weeks pregnant.”

  The look on my face must alert the doctor that this isn’t exactly news for celebration. He quickly removes the instrument, wipes me off and says he will give us a minute as he leaves the room.

  “Oh, Lyn.” Emma pulls me into a hug. “Don’t worry. Everything will be okay. Wait and see. Things will turn out for the best. I promise you.”

  Back at my apartment, I lie in bed trying to digest everything the doctor told me. Apparently, the antibiotics I took a while ago for my UTI probably interfered with the potency of my birth control pills. And that being on the pill caused breakthrough bleeding right around the time I would have expected my period.

  Tears roll down my cheeks onto Nate’s pillow as I stare at the small slip of black paper the doctor printed for me that has a picture of my little peanut. Nate’s baby.

  I swear Emma to secrecy. Of course I will have to tell Nate about this sooner or later. But I have to figure some things out for myself first. She says she will stay with me the next few days as she was planning to visit this weekend anyway.

  Emma crawls in bed with me. After I cry my eyes out, yet again, I come up with some ideas that make this whole situation easier to swallow. I wipe my face and try to look confident. “I can do this.” I nod my head at her. “I can be a single mom. Look at my business, it is perfect for a working mother, I can set up a play pen in the corner of the bakery kitchen. Heck, I can even put the baby to sleep up here and get one of those video monitor things to keep an eye on it.”

  She smiles sweetly at me. “I know you can. And you’ll be the best mom, Lyn. Don’t worry about anything. It will all work out, you’ll see.”

  I fall asleep dreaming of precious blue-eyed girls with long, dark hair and adorable tow-headed boys with Nate’s dimples.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Two days after Dr. Happy dropped the bomb on me, I’m still walking around in disbelief but am slowly coming to accept what is happening. I’ve even thought about picking up the phone a few times to call Nate. I chicken out every time, of course. Maybe he will think that I’m trying to trap him. Or worse, he will say he doesn’t want anything to do with the baby.

  I’m sitting in the bakery office, tears rolling down my cheek for the umpteenth time—freaking hormones—as I stare at the bracelet still firmly attached to my wrist and contemplate being a single mother. I unclasp it for the first time since Nate put it on me. I slip it off, turn it over and rub my thumb over the inscription. To remember the past ~ To trust in the future

  I close my eyes tight and try to envision a future without Nate. I have some close friends that I know will step up to help me out. I’m even quite certain Ryan will offer to be a surrogate dad . . . or at the very least, a favorite uncle. With my friends and family here, I know I can make the best of this. I have to make the best of this. For him or her—I rub my still-flat belly—I will do what I have to.

  I open my eyes and think I must have fallen asleep and slipped into a dream when I see none other than Nate Riley standing in front of me holding a dozen roses in one hand and a thick folder in the other. God, he is a sight for sore eyes. He is wearing worn jeans and a tight black shirt that shows off his impressive physique. His hair has grown out, making it curl up even more at the ends and he has what looks to be several days of stubble on his jaw. He is gorgeous.

  For a split second, my heart leaps and I get so excited that I almost bolt out of my chair and crash into him. But then I realize what has most likely happened and my excitement turns to anger. Emma must have told him about the baby. Th
at is the reason he is here. Not for me.

  “What are you doing here?” I spit out at him.

  He looks guiltily at the floor, and then he raises his eyes back to meet mine. He gives me a smile that makes my body betray me, almost melting me on the spot. He takes a few steps towards my desk and places the vase full of beautiful red roses on it. Then he puts the folder down and retrieves a sketch book out of it.

  “I have so much to tell you, Brooklyn.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know where to start so I guess I’ll just show you.”

  He opens the book for me and stands back. I thumb through the many pages of drawings he’s made of the bakery. Sketches of the outside of the building, the counter area, even the kitchen and office. They are incredible, but I’m surprised that they lack the copious detail that he usually brings to his drawings. The placement of the display cases are all wrong, the office is a much larger scale than it really is and the outside of the building looks like part of a strip mall or something. The outside picture looks nothing like my stand-alone building, although the marquee above the doors is a dead-on replication.

  Confused, I look up at him with a million unanswered questions.

  “Just let me talk for a minute.” He motions to the chair opposite mine. “May I?”

  “Fine.” I blow out a long breath.

  “Brooklyn,” he says, holding my gaze, “I love you.”

  I shake my head at him. “Nate, I—”

  “Baby, please will you let me speak? I have so much to tell you,” he begs.

  I stay silent and cross my arms over my chest. Maybe as a subconscious measure to protect my heart.

  “Like I was saying . . .” He raises an eyebrow at me. “I love you. I love you so much it hurts to even look at you right now, not knowing if I can ever have you again. I know I completely screwed up. It was unfair of me to ask you to choose between me and him—me and your business. But I swear to you I’m better now. I won’t ever do that again. I will make it up to you if you give me the chance.”