by S. P. West
“Oh.”
“It’s not a no, Brooke. It’s an I’ll think about it, okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Come here.” He smiles, putting both arms around me, hugging me. “We’ll work something out. Something that’s good for both of us. You just gotta have faith.”
“Did you just quote George Michael to me?”
“Might have.” He gives me a sly grin. “Anyway, I forgot to ask if you’re free tonight.”
“Well let me check my extensive diary and I’ll get back to you.” I tap my lip in mock contemplation. “No, you’re good. It’s not like I can go anywhere anyway.”
“How about you and me head out, go on an official date?”
“You have remembered that we’re stuck in Emmerton, right? I’m not allowed to go out of the town limits. It’s going to be a pretty boring date.”
“Says you.” He scoffs.
“I’ve lived in Emmerton all of my life, buddy, and I know that this place is practically a ghost town at night.”
“Hey, I’m not talking about taking you to a bar, sweetheart.”
“So, where are you going to take me, mister?”
“That’s classified.”
“You don’t know, do you?” I poke him in the side.
“Need to know basis, sweetheart. Now go to sleep.” He laughs as he turns off the light.
Silence descends throughout the room, for a while nothing stirs. My head rests against Brody’s chest, his rhythmic breathing leads me to believe that he has fallen asleep. So, I get up and walk to the bathroom, my mind full of turmoil because of our conversation. Could I give up my new life to return to my old one? I love Brody but…I don’t know if we’re strong enough yet. I feel like we still have some healing to do. We’re not quite there.
In the harsh light from the bathroom, I stand and stare at the horror show that confronts me in the mirror. My hair has that just fucked look to it, or as my mom would say, I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards. If all else fails, I could probably make decent money as an Alice Cooper impersonator, seeing as my eyeliner is streaked all over my face.
I’m seriously in awe that Brody didn’t run off screaming.
That, right there, is a sign of true love.
When I’m finished, I tiptoe back to our bedroom, hoping not to disturb my slumbering man. Unfortunately, I discover I wasn’t born with the ability to see in the dark, when I let out a loud yelp as my foot meets a wooden bedpost.
“Shit!”
The light turns on immediately and through my tears of pain, I see Brody bolt upright, rubbing his eyes. “Brooke? Baby? You okay?”
“Yeah.” I wince as I hobble back over to my side of the bed.
“What happened?” he asks sleepily.
“Stubbed my toe on the bed.”
“Do you want me to beat the shit out of it?”
“No.” I pout, diving into his open arms. “I don’t want you to damage it. It’s too comfy.”
“But it maimed my woman.” He smiles at me, his eyes alight with amusement.
“Your woman will be okay once her man kisses her better.”
“You want me to kiss your stinky feet?”
“My feet don’t stink, asshat.”
Brody laughs, reaching over to turn out the light.
“Night, stinky.”
“Brody?”
“Yes, baby?”
“I might have to take your bed with me when I go home.”
“As long as I’m in it every night, sweetheart, you can have what you want.”
“So you’ll move to Arizona?”
“We’ll see. Night, Brooke,” he says quietly before falling quickly back to sleep.
Brooke
It’s Saturday afternoon—on a surprisingly nice day—and instead of making the most of it and enjoying the slight rise in temperature out in the backyard, Hope and I are driving down Main Street, trying to find somewhere to park. Which is impossible because the roads are jammed and I can’t see any reason why.
I blame Jake for this.
If he hadn’t have emailed this morning to let me know that he was heading back to see us, then we wouldn’t be stuck in a traffic jam, just so we can get extra food. Knowing him, he’ll fly by his private jet, which means we don’t have much time before he gets here.
The man is a millionaire, seriously, I’ve seen his accounts. The very least he could do is send a chef or someone ahead to prepare all the food for the week. The other thing he could do, but isn’t, is stay at Billy’s inn. That would be too easy. He insists on staying with us—Jake and Brody, two Alpha males staying under the same roof, winding each other up. Awesome.
Why Brody agreed to it in the first place is beyond me.
It will be good to see him again though. I’ve missed him, and he did say that he had some information for us that would help us out.
Meanwhile, Brody has skillfully managed to get out of the shopping expedition from hell because “something important came up” at work. Seeing as he never used to work on a Saturday unless the job was urgent, then I’d say he has his feet up and is playing Pokémon Go while Hope and I suffer.
“What the fuck is going on with people,” Hope yells, laying on the horn as ninety-year-old Mrs. Peterson backs out of her parking space without looking, nearly hitting our car. The old goat winds down her window and gives us the bird. Nice. “Did you see that?” Hope asks incredulously.
“Never mind her, just get the space…get the space.” I gesture. On the other side of the lane, Sandra Maitland is sitting in her big-assed SUV, eyeing up the parking space which, by rights, is ours. If she tries to steal it, then that bitch is going down. Our eyes connect and she starts to rev her engine. “Hope,” I warn.
“Calm your tits, I’m on it.” She laughs, suddenly hitting the gas pedal and practically throwing the car into the space. “Ta-da!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sandra let out a long stream of expletives. “Guess that’s us permanently banned from the Woman’s Guild.”
“Who cares? They’re a bunch of nasty old gossipmongers anyway.”
“Mom was a member.”
“Still nasty gossips.”
“Who looked after us when Mom and Dad died.”
“You’re right.” She huffs. “But Sandra Maitland is the worst.”
I’m about to correct her but then I think back, remembering the nasty crap that Sandra told the gossip magazines for a couple of hundred dollars when Hope and Caden split up.
“I bet it’ll be all around the church group by tonight.”
“Let it. They’ve got nothing better in their lives.”
“Hope! Not everyone is like that.”
“Oh yeah, you don’t think they don’t sit around talking about you and Brody?”
“Well…”
“Oh believe me, they do.” She shoves her sunglasses down from the top of her head. “Probably hoping that you burn in hell for living in sin.”
“I don’t care what they think,” I answer as we get out of the car. “Why should I?”
“Because people like Sandra Maitland think you’re a whore.”
“Come on.”
“They do, Brooke.” She presses the key fob, locking the door. “They sit and judge you, all the while maintaining their holier than thou attitude. Because obviously going to church makes you better than everyone else and more entitled to have an opinion on something that doesn’t concern you. When, in reality, you and I know that Sandra Maitland is the first one to drop to her knees when Pastor Barron tells her to.”
“Hope.” I hiss, trying to shush her. “You can’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s all true.”
“Did someone get out of bed on the wrong side this morning?”
“No, but some inconsiderate roommates of mine decided to keep me awake with their non-stop fucking.”
“I’m sorry.” I can feel the blush creep up the side of my face. “We’ll try a
nd keep it down next time.
“Pah! Like hell you will.” She waves her hand at me dismissively as we walk in to the grocery store.
“Oh, and Cade messaged me last night.”
I stop dead in my tracks. “What? Caden? Why? And how? I thought you blocked him.”
“Shhhh.” Hope raises a finger to her lips as she looks around frantically to see if anyone overheard. “Not so loud, and if you must know, he reached out to me. He wrote me a letter.”
“Cade wrote you a letter?”
“It was really sweet.”
“Hope,” I warn. “Don’t get sucked in. He’ll only hurt you.”
“I’m an adult, Brooke. I know what I’m doing, so with all due respect, kindly butt out of my business.”
“Okay, okay,” I whisper, “I get it. Now what did he say when he called?”
“The usual. He misses me. He’s sorry, and whether or not you and Brody are boning yet.”
“Wait. What do you mean the usual? Has he contacted you since you broke up?”
“Every month.” She sighs. “And before you go all big sister bitch-fest over it, I usually ignore him.”
“You didn’t ignore him this time?”
“Nope.”
“What did you say?”
“Apart from get lost?” she says, flinging a box of noodles into the cart. “I told him the two of you were having sex as I typed…then I snapchatted it.”
“YOU WHAT!”
“Snapchatted,” she singsongs, picking up a couple of zucchini. “You were really loud, it was all, ‘Brody you’re so hard.’ Thump, thump, thump.”
I hear a gasp and a loud crash as someone behind me drops a jar. In slow-motion, I turn around to see ninety-year-old Mrs. Lennox and her daughter, Mrs. Oppen, standing there. Mrs. Oppen’s hand is still in the same position as when she let go of the jar, and her mouth is wide open. All over and around her feet is some kind of red sauce. Her mother, on the other hand, is giving me two thumbs up and a gummy grin. I have never been so mortified in all my life.
“You bitch.” I hiss. “You know stuff like that ends up on the internet all the time. Oh. My. God.” My eyes widen with sudden realization. “I’m going to end up on YouPorn.”
Mrs. Lennox shuffles over, stopping when she reaches us, and starts clucking as she gently pats my arm with her wrinkled hand.
“All the best people do, dear,” she says with a wicked glint in her watery blue eyes. “If I was sixty years younger, I’d be uploading videos to it left, right, and center.” She looks around for her daughter, but seeing that Mrs. Oppen has gone to find someone to clean up, she continues. “Back in the day, I used to have a reputation for giving awesome blowjobs. Was giving them in the nursing home, up until my knees went.” Mrs. Lennox giggles when she catches the open-mouthed look that Hope and I are currently sporting. “Oh don’t be so shocked. You think your generation invented sex?”
It’s Hope that recovers first. “Way to go, Mrs. L,” she says, fist-bumping the old lady. “I hope I have your attitude when…”
“You can say it,” she croaks. “Old. It’s true, dear. I’m an old coot, well on the outside I am, but here”—she taps the side of her head—“here, I’m still eighteen. Just don’t tell my daughter what I just told you, she thinks that I only did it three times with her daddy to produce her and her brothers.” Mrs. Lennox rolls her eyes, before leaning toward us, lowering her voice. “Between you and me? I don’t think that prick she married fucks her often enough. Maybe if he did, she wouldn’t be so uptight.”
I have to choke back a laugh as Mrs. Lennox straightens and starts to dust off imaginary fluff from her shoulders. “If I was your age, I’d be banging Brody three times a day and six on Sunday. The boy’s got a nice ass and he’s easy on the eyes.” She winks.
“Mom?”
“Shit,” my new hero says. “Better go, girls. Call me if you ever want to gossip. We have mimosas at the nursing home on Fridays.”
“Mom, are you all right?”
“Yes, dear,” Mrs. Lennox says loudly. “Beth’s lovely girls were keeping me company after you abandoned me.”
“I didn’t abandon you.” Mrs. Oppen sighs. “I went to find some help. Come on, let’s get you home.”
“My own daughter leaving me. I could have died. Dropped dead in the middle of the aisle and you wouldn’t have cared.”
“Come on, Mom.” Mrs. Oppen gives us the stink eye as she takes a hold of Mrs. Lennox’s arm and starts to drag her away.
“Remember,” Mrs. Lennox whispers as she taps the side of her nose, “Mimosas Fridays and mums the word.
“Mother!”
“I’m coming, dear, which I’m sure is plenty more than you have in the past year.”
We watch them as they round the corner, out of sight.
“Who would have thought...” Hope smirks.
“I want to be like her when I get old.”
“You are old.”
“I’m not even thirty yet.”
“That’s positively ancient.” She teases.
“Don’t sass me. Anyway, I’m not talking to you.”
“Why not?”
“Well duh. You told Caden that Brody and I have been doing the nasty.”
“Don’t forget anyone that is on my Snap.”
“What!” I yelp. “You are ten seconds away from being dead to me.”
“I’m kidding. Jeeze,” she says, throwing her free hand up in the air as she rolls her eyes. “Caden was totally impressed with his brother’s performance.”
“I hate you,” I snarl, following along in her wake, almost bumping into her when she stops abruptly.
“You need these?”
“Need what?”
“These”—she holds up a large pack of condoms—“because you two have been doing it plenty. You must have almost run out by now. Better to be safe than sorry.”
My face must turn beet red with the level of embarrassment I feel right at this moment.
“We haven’t used any,” I mumble so quietly that Hope has to step forward just to try to catch what I say.
“Could you repeat that, because I swear that my normally really responsible older sister has just told me that she and her boyfriend haven’t been using any protection?”
I can’t bring myself to look at her, instead I take great interest in the boots I put on this morning. When did they get so scuffed? I’ll have to get some polish or something.
“Brooke!” Hope snaps her fingers in front of my face.
“Yeah?” They really should clean the floor more often, it’s filthy. Isn’t there some kind of food law that states grocery shop floors have to be clean? People pick up all sorts of bacteria walking around, like dog crap…wonder why people don’t get sick more often?
“Answer me, bitch.”
“The floor isn’t clean.”
“What?”
“The floor. It isn’t clean.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Actually, don’t answer that, answer my first goddamn question.”
“What was that again?”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t hear it? It was simple enough…Did you or did you not use protection when you screwed Brody?” She hisses. “Bear in mind that if you don’t answer me in the next ten seconds, then I’ll repeat the question, but louder so the whole store can hear me. Sandra Maitland just walked in. If you don’t want your personal business spread all over this hell hole within the next hour, then I would suggest that you answer me.”
“Okay.” I snap. “No, we didn’t and haven’t.”
“Oh my God! You could be growing Brody’s spawn in there as we speak.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because…because.”
“Brooke,” she warns.
“Brody and I tried before.”
“What?”
“Brody and I tried to conceive before the split. We tried for years but nothing happened, and I do
ubt it ever will. Okay? That’s why we don’t use any protection, because I can’t have children.”
“Well that’s just dumb.”
“Excuse me?”
“Have you been to a doctor?”
“We tried for five years, Hope, nothing happened.”
“So you didn’t see a doctor?”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” I slam the contents of our cart onto the belt. “Infertility isn’t something that should be taken lightly. It hurts. It hurts every time I see a pregnant woman, it hurts every time I hear a baby cry.”
“You never told me,” she says softly, handing her card over to the cashier.
“It’s not exactly something I want to talk about.”
“I get that, but just because you tried and have had trouble, doesn’t mean that you can’t. Only a doctor would be able to tell you.”
“Jesus, Hope. Do you not understand the meaning of ‘I don’t want to talk about it’?” I stomp off toward the exit, leaving Hope to struggle with the heavy shopping cart.
“Brooke, wait up!” I don’t look back. “Brooke Elderhouse, stop right now!” Hope yells so loud that everyone on Main Street stops what they are doing to stare. I stop and look to heaven in hope of some kind of divine intervention, and realize it will probably never happen.
“Yes?” I sigh without turning around.
“We weren’t done talking.”
“And?”
“And you don’t just drop a bomb as big as that on me and get to walk away.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I can’t have kids. End of story. This is why I don’t talk about it.”
“Did you talk to Brody about it?”
“Not really.”
“So you’ve kept it inside all this time?”
“Your point is?”
“Brooke, I’ve known you my whole life.”
“Well duh,” I say as we reach the car.
“I know that you tend to keep these things…inside.”
“Hmmm.”
“I think that maybe this has been eating away at you.” I throw the last paper bag in the trunk and slam it shut, ignoring her as I stomp to the passenger side. “Maybe that’s why you and Brody broke up in the first place.”
