Afterwards

by Nia Forrester

  Reading his mood when he was silent was generally not that difficult. Without remembering when it had occurred, Robyn had learned to tell whether Chris’ silences were angry, tired, impatient or simply pensive. Silence, in general, was his default setting. That, above almost everything else was what continued to surprise her about him. Thinking back to the times in the past when she’d socialized casually with him, Riley and Shawn, Brendan and Tracy, Robyn remembered a very different type of man—cynical and funny, sometimes even talkative. If someone had told her then that it was just a façade, she wouldn’t have believed it.

  But she should have known, because in between, there had been those times Robyn would notice that he’d broken away from the crowd, and wind up having these much quieter, private conversations with Riley. Their heads would be close together, and they would look like co-conspirators, laughing at jokes only they knew, his expressions different than those of the public Chris Scaife. In those private chats with Riley, he looked like someone else entirely.

  When she’d asked him why he was close to Riley and he said it was because of how she was with Shawn, Robyn knew that wasn’t it. Or at least not entirely. And it wasn’t even because of the way Riley was with him. Chris was close to Riley because of the way he was able to be with her. Riley’s nature was to expect nothing, to ask nothing, and to look past everything on the outside, seeking a deeper truth about who people were. For a man who faced a hundred people with their hands out that had to be a relief.

  “Hey,” Chris’ hand was pressed against the spot on her back that ached. It felt good there. “Our car’s here.”

  His voice was strained, just as his silence had been.

  Oh god, they were going to have to talk. The entire evening with Curtis and Sheryl and even this last little epiphany about Riley, had been a lead-up to the conversation they had to have. And when they did, Robyn knew just what she was going to have to say.

  30

  “What can I get you?”

  Robyn looked back at the sound of his voice, as she ascended the staircase, heading for the master suite. She was moving slowly, so Chris knew she was tired, and her careful ascent reminded him of the time she’d bruised her tailbone, the way she held her shoulders square, and her back straight.

  “What?” she asked.

  “What can I get you?” He asked the question more slowly this time.

  Robyn still looked confused.

  “To eat? To drink?”

  She shook her head dismissively. “I just need to lie down,” she said. “My. . . I’m tired, I guess.”

  “I know it’s late, but you didn’t eat anything while we were there.”

  “I’ll take some of whatever you’re having,” she said without looking back again. “Thanks.”

  Something was building in the air. He could feel it. That taut energy before an argument. Except that he and Robyn never argued apart from that one time when she’d confronted him about her ex. Her ex. That was the reason Chris felt sure the night would not end without some words exchanged. And in all likelihood, he would be the one to start it.

  Finding leftover slices of capicola, some muenster and blue cheese in the fridge, Chris put it all on a plate, grabbed a box of peppercorn crackers, and carried it all upstairs with two bottles of Orangina. When he entered the suite, he found that rather than lying down, Robyn was sitting upright and cross-legged in the center of the bed as though she’d been waiting for him. She was still wearing her party dress, though she had washed her face clean of all traces of make-up and brushed her hair back from her face.

  Chris slid the tray toward her, and she smiled, shaking her head as though something funny had occurred to her.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Just the sight of you bringing me a late-night snack in bed . . . it’s just. . . . it’s sweet,” she said. And then she sighed, looking down at the food and reaching for the box of crackers.

  Going into the bathroom to wash his hands and face, kicking off his shoes as he went, Chris suddenly had the notion that he wasn’t the only one with something to say. He took his time, and when he returned to the room, Robyn was eating almost voraciously.

  “The cruel trick of pregnancy,” she said over a mouthful of crackers, “is that you’re always hungry and yet most of the time you feel too sick to eat.”

  “Did you feel sick tonight?” he asked, getting into bed and sitting across from her on the other side of the tray.

  “No. Not really. Not sick to my stomach anyway.”

  “Sick some other way?” he probed, reaching for a slice of meat.

  For a moment Robyn watched him lower the capicola into his mouth and wrinkled her brow.

  “Did you ask Mrs. Lawson to buy this cold cut?” she asked.

  Chris smiled. “Did you ask her not to?”

  Robyn looked at him evenly. “No, of course not. It’s just . . . it’s a little salty, and . . .”

  “I haven’t had a migraine in weeks,” Chris said honestly. “So you can stop being the food police.”

  “Someone has to be,” Robyn mumbled.

  Chris reached over and placed a hand on her stomach and Robyn let her arms drop to her sides so he could have better access to do so. His touching her diffused whatever impulse she seemed to have to bicker with him.

  “Don’t think I didn’t hear how you changed the subject,” he said. “About feeling sick. How did you feel sick if not to your stomach?”

  “Back ache.”

  Chris shoved aside the tray and tugged at her arm, pulling her toward him and turning her so he was facing her back. Releasing the hook at her nape, he unzipped her dress and slid it over her shoulders. It fell, like a whisper to her hips, so her back was exposed; the parts that weren’t concealed by the armor-like garment that was her maternity bra anyway. Chris began to undo that as well until Robyn stopped him.

  “No,” she said. “They still hurt. The bra helps.”

  “I’ll put it back on when I’m done,” he said.

  “Done what?” Robyn laughed softly.

  “You have a dirty mind,” he told her, going to work on the bra. Soon he had removed that as well. The bra left behind deep, slightly red pressure marks in her skin. Chris ran his fingers over them, resisting the urge to reach around and touch her breasts. Her skin looked different lately; translucent and sensitive.

  Beginning at the base of her spine, he used his thumbs to gently knead her flesh, pressing firmly, but careful not to do it too hard. Robyn leaned slightly backward against his hands, moaning softly.

  “Ah, that feels perfect,” she said, letting her head fall back.

  Her hair brushed his face and the scent of honeysuckle swept over him. As he worked his fingers up toward her shoulders, she leaned back further, making a circular motion with her neck, surrounding him with the aroma of her hair. She was beautiful, and she smelled delicious. Putting one hand up to her jaw, he turned her head to the side and kissed her. The angle was awkward, so her lips remained just slightly out of his complete reach.

  Robyn turned fully to face him, sitting back on her heels and Chris kissed her properly, one hand at her jaw, the other gently spanning her neck. Kissing her, as good as that felt, wasn’t enough. Pushing her back against the covers, he reached beneath the soft layers of her dress, still puddled about her hips, and found her underwear, pulling it down. Robyn raised her hips obligingly. Lifting the dress, so she was exposed to him, Chris looked at her.

  Unselfconscious, Robyn let him. She still had the tiniest patch of hair, but like the rest of her, she was bigger, fuller even in the most intimate part of her. Taking an ankle in each hand, Chris spread her legs, sliding his hands up her inner thighs and then spreading her at her center. Robyn heaved a deep breath, as though she’d been holding it. She looked like a purple orchid at the highest state of bloom, bursting with color and texture, moisture and rich scent. Chris could see her clenching and unclenching, and leaned in, wanting to taste her . . .


  “No.”

  He froze, for a moment not comprehending. That word, in this moment and in the context of their relationship had no meaning.

  “No,” she said again, sliding away from him and pulling down her dress. “No . . . I . . . I’m sorry. This isn’t how I meant for . . .” She sat up and for a moment buried her face in her hands.

  Chris sat up as well, confused.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “But I . . . we have to talk and if we . . . I can’t let this happen before we talk. I have something to tell you and if we do this, I won’t want to tell you, so . . . I . . . we have to talk first.”

  Nodding, his mind still reeling from the word ‘no’, Chris watched as she pulled the sides of the dress up to cover her naked breasts and gave one final deep sigh, like someone who had survived a near-miss with certain disaster.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “I don’t even know where to start,” Robyn said.

  He waited, a tight knot beginning to form in the center of his chest. “How about at the beginning?” he suggested.

  “The beginning.” Robyn gave a short laugh. “I don’t even know where that is. But maybe we can start with Iris Greenberg.”

  Chris wrinkled his brow. “With Iris?”

  “I found a house,” Robyn said in a rush. “I think you knew that, right?”

  He nodded. “I knew you found a place you liked but you didn’t mention it again, and she hasn’t called me, so I figured you were still looking and would tell me when you . . .”

  “I made an offer and it was accepted,” Robyn said, still speaking quickly. “About a month ago. With a ninety-day close.”

  “Wait, but Iris didn’t tell me that.”

  “She wouldn’t tell you, Chris,” Robyn shook her head slowly. “Because I made the offer. I’m buying the house. Not you.”

  Later, he would remember that moment, and the way it felt. Something that should have made perfect sense felt like a steel-toed boot to the balls. And that sensation was followed by another, much more unpleasant—an unraveling certainty that he knew precisely what was coming next. Just when he was beginning to figure some things out, beginning to wrap his mind around the possibility of a different kind of life.

  Robyn was shaking her head. “I couldn’t believe it at first,” she said. “When Iris called me. That you were planning to buy a house for me to live in. A house, Chris?” She sighed and put her hands in her lap. “What would make you think I could ever accept something like that?”

  Chris said nothing, still studying her, waiting for the words.

  “And then I realized that you’ve always given me things and I’ve never said no. And then add to that, the fact that you have other women who . . .”

  That woke him up. That phrase: other women.

  “Wait just one goddamned minute. There are no other women.”

  “I mean other baby mommas, Chris. Sheryl. Karen. And now me. Another one for you to take care of. For you to get . . . set up and squared away.” Her voice broke as she said the words. “That’s not who I want to be in your life.”

  “So why didn’t you just say . . .”

  “I am saying it. Now. That’s what I’m saying. I didn’t know whether I could or would buy a place so soon, but when you sicced Iris on me, I had to do something. So I’m . . .” She shrugged. “I’m buying my house.”

  “And you don’t want me to pay for it,” Chris said.

  “I don’t want you to pay for it,” Robyn confirmed. She shrugged again. “Why would you? I’m self-supporting, I don’t think I’m in any danger of losing my job. I can do this for myself. And you doing it for me feels . . . wrong.”

  “Fine,” he said, wanting to dispose of the matter as soon as possible, hoping—but not believing—that that would be the end of it. “So you want to buy your own house. Why was that such a big secret?”

  “Because the house is just a symbol. You wanting to buy it for me is just a symbol.”

  “Of . . .”

  “Of what you see this as,” she said indicating the two of them. “Of what you see us as.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Just a . . . thing. A thing that got out of control when I was dumb enough to get pregnant. And then when I did, you were outraged.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Yes, you were,” Robyn said. “You were pissed. And then eventually you decided to ‘step up to the plate’, ‘take your lumps’ . . . choose a metaphor, it doesn’t matter. But the fact is, you decided to roll with it, in exactly the way you rolled with it before.”

  “Robyn, we’d been together less than six months! Did you think I was going to . . . propose?”

  At that, tears sprung to her eyes in an instant and Chris regretted his words. But they’d been said. It was too late.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what I expected,” she said, her voice small.

  “You spring on me that you’re pregnant, and I’m supposed to . . . what? When you’re still all wrapped up in some emotional bullshit with your ex-husband? When you’re . . .”

  “Curtis has nothing to do with this,” Robyn said looking up at the ceiling.

  “Doesn’t he?” Chris asked, feeling the sensation in his chest go from warm to boiling hot. “Tonight you were damn near ready to let that motherfucker back in; minutes away from . . .”

  “You should hear how stupid that sounds. Curtis is about to get married. He has a new relationship and a baby at home. He’s moved on and I have too.”

  “It didn’t look like it to me.”

  “Because I don’t hate him? Is that why?” Robyn shook her head, sounding weary. “Chris, I don’t hate Curtis, and I’m not angry at him anymore and that’s not because I love him. It’s because I love you.”

  Staring at her, dumbfounded, Chris said nothing, but it felt as though she’d pulled out a loaded gun and pointed it at his chest. Without even thinking about it, he backed away from her.

  Robyn nodded. “I thought you might react that way,” she said. “If I said the words out loud. Even though I know you knew.”

  “Robyn, look . . .”

  “Yes, not Prince Charming. I know,” she said quickly. “We’ve been over that! But don’t try to use Curtis as an excuse,” she continued. “You want to know the truth about me and Curtis? He was my husband and my friend, and sometimes my lover, but you know what I realize now? I realize that mostly, he felt like my responsibility. And it was a burden.”

  Hearing her talk about her ex-husband in that manner should have been a relief, and it was, but it also stripped away his very last justification for keeping her at arms’ length. And suddenly, he was staring down into an abyss; a great uncharted territory where he’d never been before and hadn’t the resources to navigate.

  “Maybe the things you were able to do for me, the things you gave me . . . they made me feel what it was like to be on the receiving end for a change. To have someone just nurture me,” Robyn put a hand on his chest. “And yet you never stifled me. You let me be . . . free. To ride motorcycles, and go to nightclubs and even away for a weekend to Lyon with another man, trusting that I wouldn’t betray you. Chris you have no idea what that meant to me. That you understood how to hold me just close enough to feel safe, but not so close that I couldn’t breathe. But then I got pregnant and I could feel something change. You’re . . .”

  “Of course something changed!” he said. “You’re about to have my kid!”

  “But I don’t want to become just another responsibility. Like Sheryl is your responsibility. And believe me, after meeting her tonight, I can see how that must . . .”

  “You met Sheryl?”

  “Yeah. She came over and introduced herself,” Robyn said with a twist of her lips.

  “What did she. . ?” Chris moved closer once again, a hand on Robyn’s upper arm.

  “Let’s just say that I saw what you’re up against. Whatever your arrangement is with her, I can tell it eats at
you. Meeting her only helped me make up my mind to tell you tonight. Whatever it is you have worked out with her, I don’t want us to have anything resembling that. I’m not going to turn into yet another . . . problem for you to solve.”

  Robyn stretched her legs out in front of her and slid to the edge of the bed and moving carefully, a little stiffly, she stood, going over to her pocketbook and opening it. Chris watched her, feeling a million conflicting feelings. But the most overwhelming one was resentment. She loved him? Loved him. And yet she had been thinking about this for awhile, this fucking ambush where any response he gave would be the wrong one. The classic damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-don’t.

  And then it got worse.

  “So I’ve been thinking,” Robyn said. Her voice was trembling, and her hands were too. “About everything. And I got something drawn up.”

  She was handing him some paper, and Chris looked down at it. Still reeling from everything else she’d said, he looked at the words at the top of the first page and his head shot up so he could look her in the eye.

  “This is what you want?” he asked, and his voice sounded like a croak, the words choking past his lips.

  Chris read the words again.

  Voluntary Relinquishment of Parental Rights.

  31

  Resolute. You have to be resolute, Robyn.

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped off the elevator and smiled at the floor receptionist, heading for her office and shutting the door. Approaching her chair as though there might be a snake awaiting her there, she took a deep breath when she saw that there was nothing on the seat. It had been almost a week since that night at Chris’ house and it hadn’t gotten much easier walking into this building, coming to work and not knowing whether today would be the day. Each day passed that he didn’t sign the agreement, she’d walked in expecting that on her chair would be an envelope and inside the envelope would be Chris’ signed acceptance that she alone would be responsible for their baby, financially and in every other way.