Good Boy

by Sarina Bowen

  The dining room is empty, but the kitchen is bustling. Beth and her husband are at the counter flipping through what looks like a booklet of beach resorts, while my baby sister Britt leans against the fridge offering her two cents.

  “No, don’t go to that one,” she advises. “The food is disgusto-central! If you’re dead-set on Mexico, go to the resort where the girls and I spent spring break. It was gorgeous, and nobody got food poisoning.”

  “I don’t know if I want to go to Mexico,” Beth muses. “What do you think, Kyle? Don’t you want to go somewhere more exotic? Oooh! Like Bora Bora!”

  “Never trust a place with a double name,” I declare from the doorway. “They always have a high crime rate.”

  “Blakey!” Britt gives me a big hug, then greets Jess with a warm smile. “Hey, Jess. Nice to see you again.”

  “Samesies,” Jess answers, before slapping a hand over her mouth. She pins me down with a death glare. “Oh my God. I’m picking up your stupid lingo. You’ve corrupted me.” I grin, but she cuts me off before I can make a filthy remark about corruption. “And name one other place like Bora Bora,” she orders.

  I pause. “New York, New York. Duh.”

  Everyone laughs.

  “You want a beer, man?” my brother-in-law asks, rising from his stool.

  “Hit me. Jessie?”

  “I’ll just grab a water, thanks.” She wanders over to the cupboards and opens the one that holds the drinking glasses. I guess she remembers where we keep them from the last time she was here.

  I find myself tracking her every motion as she uses the built-in icemaker on the fridge and then presses a button to dispense water. A warm feeling creeps up my chest. She looks so comfortable in my parents’ kitchen. She looks like she belongs here.

  Footsteps in the hall suck all the warmth from my body and replace it with a chill. Brenna and Molly walk in, and it’s easy to figure out why Bren is scowling at me—Molly’s eyes look watery.

  Of course they do. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that she turns on the waterworks when she’s in court just to win some sympathy from a jury. Twelve on a jury…yeah, at least half of them would probably be suckered in by those crocodile tears. Molly is very convincing.

  Time for a change of subject. “Hey,” I say, nodding to both my sister and my evil ex. “How’s Harley doing?”

  Molly hesitates. “Oh. Um.”

  “He’s not in the car by any chance, is he?” I want to see that furry little beast so bad. He’ll remember me, even after five years. I’m positive.

  Slowly, she shakes her head. “Blake, I’m sorry to tell you this, but…”

  Oh, fuck. Don’t tell me he died. My spine tingles with discomfort.

  “I gave him to some friends in Vancouver. It was hard to get home from work often enough to walk him.”

  “You…” I’m not even sure I heard her right. “You gave away my dog? Without telling me?”

  Her mouth opens and closes and then opens again. “You weren’t exactly taking my calls.” Bitterness splashes across her face. “But I guess I should have figured out you’d answer if the call was about the dog.”

  Yeah, I would have. Because the dog actually loved me, you lying witch!

  My shirt collar is suddenly too small, and my siblings are looking at me the way you watch a volcano that’s about to blow.

  “FOOD!” comes my mother’s ear-piercing shout. “COME AND GET IT!”

  “Praise Jesus,” I whisper. I need a change of scenery, even if it’s only the dining room.

  We all file in, and I steer Jess toward the opposite end of the table from Molly. When we’re seated, we all join hands for grace. Jess gives my knuckles a squeeze, so of course I pull her hand onto my fly just to tease her.

  She pinches me right above the pubes. Hard. I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling.

  “Dear Lord,” my mother starts, “thank you for these blessings we are about to receive. We are grateful for another Sunday together with family, and for Brenna’s good cheer, even while she looks like a beached whale.”

  “Mom!” Brenna gasps.

  My mom opens her eyes and gives Brenna a wink. “We pray for the safe delivery of our grandbaby as he makes his way into the world, and for a victory tomorrow night over the Canucks, who should NEVER HAVE WON THAT LAST ONE! AMEN!”

  I hear Jess stifle a snort.

  The second grace is over, dishes are passed. I offer Jess the platter of ham and then a healthy portion of my father’s smoky ribs.

  “This looks amazing,” my girlfriend says.

  As the platter moves down the table, I watch my sister Brenna put a tiny dot of potato salad on her plate and then pass it.

  “You okay?” I ask. The Rileys are big eaters, and if Brenna is off her chow then I’m worried. My gaze lowers to the huge swollen basketball under her shirt. “And how long was I on that road trip? You look fifty pounds heavier.”

  Her jaw falls open. “Who says that to a pregnant woman?”

  “Oh, shut it. You’re gorgeous and you know it. But you look bigger.”

  After a long pause, she lets out a tired sigh. “I am bigger,” she admits. “I’ve gained about five pounds in the last couple of days.” She rubs the right side of her abdomen and leans back in her chair. “My hands and feet are swollen. I’ve had a tummy ache every day this week. And I think the morning sickness is back—I threw up twice this morning.”

  Concern tugs at me. “Is that normal?”

  Brenna rubs her belly again. “Charlie thinks it’s my stomach rebelling against all the greasy shit I’ve been putting into it.”

  “He could be right. Maybe cut out the Mickey D’s and eat some veggies?” Britt suggests from her seat beside me. “See if it helps?”

  Our sister nods. “Mom made a salad because I asked her to.”

  “Oh!” Molly leaps out of her chair and carries the salad bowl over to Brenna. As if passing it the normal way wouldn’t do. “Is there anything else you need?”

  Brenna shakes her head, giving my ex a sweet smile. “You’ve spoiled me rotten already this week.”

  “Well,” Molly says, returning to her chair. “I remember how hard it was to be pregnant.”

  The fork stops halfway to my mouth.

  I have to play back her words for second just to be sure she actually said them. But it’s true. She sat at my family table and told a boldfaced lie. Again. My sisters are staring at her right now, pity on their faces.

  When she moved away to Vancouver, I thought this shit was over. Several thousand miles of distance between us had allowed me to forget just how conniving she was. But now she’s back, still trying to hang on to a lie she’d told herself. It’s sick.

  And it’s never going to end.

  There’s a sudden zing of pain in my neck, and I drop my fork with a clatter. “Cheezus,” I swear.

  “Blake,” Brenna warns as I get out of my chair. “Where are you going?”

  “Advil,” I mumble, heading for the doorway. The truth is, I need a minute away from Molly to regroup. Things can’t go on like this.

  I stumble into the kitchen and fill a glass with water, then guzzle it down. My brain tries in vain to come up with some solution—some way of easing Molly out of all our lives. But I come up with nothing.

  Someone approaches from behind, and I spin around to find Brenna.

  “Blake,” she says in a low voice. “You can’t just storm off. Her feelings might make you uncomfortable, but they need to be acknowledged. And maybe you shouldn’t bring your new girlfriend over without warning us.”

  My eyes practically bug out. “So, what, every time I visit Ma and Dad and want to bring Jess, I should send her a formal invitation and make sure she RSVPs so you know she’s coming? Bullshit. She’s my girlfriend, Bren. She’s welcome here anytime.”

  Her frown deepens.

  “You never had to check with anyone before you brought Charlie here,” I point out, the anger in my gut going from a simme
r to a boil. “Same for Beth and Kyle. So what the hell makes this any different?”

  “You know what makes it different,” Brenna hisses. “Mol’s my best friend. You were going to marry her! Do you realize how insensitive you’re being? It kills her to see you with someone else!”

  “Then why is she here?” I shoot back. “Nobody’s holding a gun to her head and forcing her to have lunch with us.”

  “She’s here because I want her here! Because she’s family!” Brenna’s cheeks turn bright red. “And she’s still in love with you, you stupid idiot.”

  I take a breath. And another one. And one more for good measure. In fact, I’m two seconds away from busting out the mantra Wesley taught me after my knee gave out on me during the playoffs last season. I’m supposed to say It’s going to be okay three times.

  Except…it’s not fucking okay. And it won’t be, not as long as my sister keeps throwing my lying ex into my path. That woman broke me. She fucking crushed me.

  “I’m sorry that she still has feelings for me,” I say as calmly as I can muster. “But she needs to get over them. I’ve moved on, Bren. It took me five fucking years to do it, but I’m finally in a good place again.”

  No, a great place. Jess Canning is…my goddamn world. We might’ve started off as fuck buddies, then took a trip into the friends-with-bennies zone, but she’s mine now. And she’s everything to me.

  Brenna rubs the bridge of her nose as if she’s warding off a migraine. “I’m happy that you’re in a good place—”

  “Are you sure?” I say bitterly.

  “—but that doesn’t change the fact that Molly is still hurting. What happened between you devastated her, Blakey. Do you even care that she’s still grieving over the baby you lost?”

  I press my lips together, and they’re actually shaking.

  “She talks about him all the time! I take her out for dinner every year on what was supposed to be her due date! What would’ve been his birthday!”

  What. The. Fuck.

  “How do you think she feels knowing that she was disposable to you? You two were planning a future—”

  My mind is still reeling. She celebrates our baby’s birthday?

  “—you promised to always be there for her, and you just threw her away!”

  Our fake baby’s birthday? Who does that?

  “I get that you were hurting just as bad, but you guys could have shared that burden together.”

  Something inside of me snaps. “Brenna,” I warn.

  “You could have grieved for your baby together—”

  “THERE WAS NO BABY!”

  A chorus of gasps comes from the dining room.

  Brenna blinks. “What?”

  I struggle to control my breathing, the ferocious trembling of my hands, the red-hot resentment coating my throat like acid.

  My sister stares at me, waiting for me to explain.

  “There wasn’t. She said… She was trying to make me…” Oh, hell. I spent five years trying not to let it come to this.

  Brenna pales visibly. I can see the moment she figures out what I’m trying not to say, because her chin snaps around toward the dining room, as if Molly’s trustworthiness could be assessed through two walls and a lying, heart-shaped face.

  “Oh my God,” she mouths.

  In a heartbeat, my fury dissolves into defeat. Agonizing and weighty, pressing down on my shoulders until I can barely stay upright.

  “What are you saying?” Brenna whispers.

  I just shake my head. I can’t talk. I can’t even think right now. I need…air. Yeah, I need air.

  Without a word, I stalk past my sister, bulldoze past the dining room, fly into the front hall and stumble out the door.

  27 Five-Alarm Fire

  Jess

  The silence is eerie. And not just because I’m in the Riley house, the place where silence goes to die. It’s eerie because nobody is reacting to the atomic bomb that was dropped in the other room. Nobody is even blinking.

  Well, except Molly. On the other side of the table from me, Blake’s ex is trying to win the award for most blinks per second. Her eyelashes move at the speed of light, each rapid flutter bringing a new drop of moisture.

  Like everyone around me, I’m unaffected by her tears. I’m worried about Blake, who just stormed out of the house. Either that, or the front door decided to slam itself.

  “Mama,” Molly starts.

  Blake’s mother holds up her hand.

  The curly-haired woman instantly falls silent.

  Soft footsteps approach the doorway as Brenna reappears. She’s whiter than the tablecloth, her expression utterly wrecked as she stares at her best friend. Then she drops into her chair and drops her head in her hands. “I’m…having a migraine, I think.”

  “Oh no,” Molly whispers. “Let me…” She rises, but as she approaches, Brenna’s head snaps up, a challenge in her eyes.

  Molly takes a step back. And then another.

  We’re all staring at her now. Everyone’s probably wondering the same thing I am—what the hell? How do you make up such a monumental lie and then cling to it? I have to wonder if she repeated it enough times that she somehow convinced herself it was true.

  Molly grabs her pocketbook off the back of her chair. She walks out of the house, and nobody follows her. The door slams a second time.

  I don’t blame Blake for deserting me in the middle of this war zone, but I would like to find him before he does something stupid, like get into his Hummer and beat his head against the steering wheel.

  I scrape back my chair. The noise it makes is like nails on a chalkboard, echoing in the dining room like a haunted house soundtrack. “I’m going to check on Blake,” I say awkwardly.

  I only take two steps before Brenna gasps loudly. “I think I’m gonna…” She lurches out of her chair in the direction of the doorway.

  Since I’m already on my feet and mobile, it only makes sense that I’m the one who follows her hastily into the half bathroom, where she barely makes it over the toilet before vomiting forcefully. Two seconds later, I have her hair in one hand and a tissue in the other.

  She takes the tissue with a shaking hand and wipes her mouth, turning to me with wide, frightened eyes. “I don’t feel good.”

  Then, while I watch, she sort of melts down onto the bathroom floor and buries her face in her hands.

  By the time I seat myself beside her, Mama Riley is already peeking into the doorway. “I’m going to get you your phone,” she says. “You need to tell your doctor how you’re feeling.”

  Brenna shakes her head. “It’s just…I got upset. I’m so…stressed.” She puts a hand to her chest.

  Mama Riley disappears anyway.

  I’m watching Brenna, and for some reason I’m terrified for her. Something is just off.

  “Brenna,” I say softly. “Where does it hurt?”

  “My head. And I’m dizzy.”

  Anyone can get a migraine. But my Spidey sense is tingling like crazy. She’s sitting with her feet straight out, giving me a view of her swollen ankles. I touch one gently, and when I pull my finger away the indent is still visible. “Brenna, do you know what preeclampsia is?”

  “High blood pressure, right?”

  “Yeah. When my sister was on bed rest in the spring, they were worried about it for her. That’s what your symptoms remind me of. Maybe I’m just a Nervous Nelly, but…” I swallow hard. “Will you have your blood pressure checked just to make me feel better? Pretty please?”

  She groans. “I’m not having this baby today. I’m only thirty-eight weeks.”

  That’s not even dangerous, and I’ll bet Brenna knows it. “Are you afraid?” I ask gently.

  “Hell yes.”

  I let out a shaky laugh just as her husband appears in the doorway. I know I’m just a first-year nursing student, and not even a very good one, but I tell Charlie my concerns anyway, because I can’t help myself.

  “Let’s not waste time
waiting for the doctor to call back on a Sunday,” I suggest. “She should go to the ER for a blood pressure check, just to be safe.”

  “Let’s go,” Charlie says immediately, while Brenna starts to cry.

  I spend the next hour worrying that I’ve sequestered the entire Riley family at a suburban hospital for no good reason.

  At the ER, Brenna is whisked into an exam room while the rest of the Rileys pace. Blake looks distraught. I can’t stand the sight of his worried face, so I plant him in a chair and rub his shoulders until my hands give out.

  When a young doctor comes out to tell us that Brenna will be transferred to the obstetrical ward for an emergency C-section, Blake hangs his head. “This is my fault,” he mumbles. “If I hadn’t lost my shit, this wouldn’t be happening.”

  I dig my hands into his messy hair and tug until he’s forced to lift his head up to look at me. “That’s a lot of bullshit, Blake Riley. Brenna’s had this problem all week. The weight gain. The swollen hands and feet. This doesn’t have anything to do with you or Molly.”

  “That’s right,” the doctor agrees. “Nobody knows what causes preeclampsia. There was nothing you could have done except drive here on the double.”

  We all relocate to a different waiting room, where the Rileys commence pacing again. They are big people, and more than one hospital patron leaves the room to stay clear of their paths.

  I make a vending machine run for sodas, just to have some way to help. And when I hand Mama Riley one, she grabs my elbow with a hand that’s almost the size of Blake’s. “I’m sorry about all that unpleasantness earlier,” she tells me, her voice eerily subdued.

  “Oh! It’s fine,” I say, embarrassed. “Blake, uh, he already told me what happened between them.”

  His mother nods like a sage. “I had my suspicions.”

  “Me too.” I blush. “I mean, I had my suspicions that you had your suspicions.” My tone grows awkward again. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “To him, or to everyone?”

  “Both.”

  She sighs. “I kept my mouth shut because it was obvious my boy didn’t want anyone to know. I thought maybe he was trying to spare his sister’s feelings.”