OUTCAST: A Stepbrother Romance

by Wilde, Ora

  It’s quite heartwarming to know, however, that the students in my school - the very same people who witnessed my humiliation during the Homecoming party, or at least what I thought was my humiliation - were actually concerned about me. All the while, I always believed that High School was a breeding ground for pretentiousness, where one can easily be judged for how cool or uncool her fashion sense was or how hip or unhip her preferences were. All the while, I thought that they have found a pariah in me, someone they can condemn and ridicule just to make them feel better about themselves.

  All the while, I thought they were shallow.

  But it was me who has been shallow for failing to realize that they were so much more than the stereotypes I painted them to be.

  Their presence during the wake, admittedly, alleviated a little bit of the sadness I was feeling.

  A little bit.

  But the pain of Nash’s loss was too much to bear.

  Aunt Susan hasn’t really recovered from the death of her son. I doubt if she ever will. She has barely started a conversation with any of us. The only words I have heard from her since that incident at Paydirt Drive were simple responses: yes, okay, I’m fine, good night. Dad worried about her so much that I started feeling afraid for his health. It’s been less than five years since he suffered from a mild stroke, one that forced him to quit smoking and to eat less fatty meat. The stress might take its toll on his body again.

  His health...

  That’s the primary reason why I can’t push myself to tell them about my pregnancy. It was bad enough that I got knocked up. But if they... especially my dad... would find out that Nash is the father of my child, he’d get so mad and so disappointed. He won’t talk to me for weeks, if ever he’ll talk to me at all. I don’t think he’d disown me, but I doubt if our relationship will ever be the same again.

  But he had to know, and soon.

  A rather loud explosion jolted me out of bed that morning. I quickly put on my bathrobe and darted downstairs. My heart was pounding. I haven’t really fully recovered from the terror of my abduction and the tragic events that followed.

  As I reached the first floor of the house, I saw Aunt Susan sitting dejectedly on the chair by the dining table. My dad was throwing a fit, screaming and stomping his foot all over the place.

  “What was that?” I asked with concern. “I heard a boom.”

  “Damn microwave just exploded,” he said without even turning to face me. He kept on cussing - using the most PG terms imaginable, as my dad never really uses foul words - with his hands curled into fists as if he was looking for something to hit and vent his anger on.

  “Was there an electric surge or something?” I queried, trying to look for a possible cause.

  “None,” he answered. “The damn thing just exploded. The stupid box chose the wrong f..f...f... freaking time!” He tried very hard not to say the other F word.

  “Did you put something metallic inside?” I questioned, persistent to know what really went wrong.

  He didn’t answer. His fists uncoiled, he stopped walking in circles like a madman, and his angry face mellowed down into a dumbfounded look. A couple of seconds passed by when he suddenly dashed towards the microwave oven to open its door. White smoke escaped from the enclosure, rising straight to my dad’s face. He coughed a little, as some of the smoke might’ve entered his nostrils. When the vapor cleared, he checked the plate inside the oven. His eyes widened, then, he slowly closed the door.

  “Well, you’re right, genius,” he softly said as he faced me. “I guess I’m getting old. I forgot that the food was placed in an aluminum plate.”

  I just gave him a smile to tell him that it’s alright.

  “Nash fixed that oven,” Aunt Susan surprisingly spoke, the first real sentence we’ve heard from her in days.

  “Yes, he did, dear,” my dad lovingly told her. He approached her and gave her a warm hug from behind, then he kissed the top of her head. She held his hand which was rested on her shoulder.

  “Everything that Nash fixed stayed fixed,” Aunt Susan longingly uttered. I didn’t know if she was talking to us or if she was just thinking aloud. “He’s very good with his hands.”

  “He is, dear,” my dad once again agreed. “And he is a heroic and noble boy. A true man. A real man! Were it not for him, we would’ve lost Andrea too.”

  “I just wish...” Aunt Susan struggled to continue as tears threatened to fall from her eyes. “I just wish... I just wish there was a part of him that was left behind... something I could cherish and hold and love.... something that I could remember him by.”

  My heart skipped a beat.

  What was Aunt Susan referring to?

  Whatever it was, surely, that moment was the chance I’ve been waiting for to finally tell them about the child I was carrying.

  “Like a painting or a greeting card or a letter?” my dad asked her, likewise confused by what she meant.

  “Something like that,” she answered.

  Go Andrea! Now or never!

  “Actually...” I began to say, pausing as I tried to conjure enough bravery to tell them what I’ve always meant to reveal. “Actually... Nash left something more than just a piece of paper or paint on a canvass.”

  Aunt Susan’s eyes lit up like lightbulbs in the night. My dad looked at me, even more puzzled than before.

  “Uhm...” I started to doubt whether or not I was making the right decision. “You see... uhm... well... uhm...”

  Aunt Susan started gesturing with her hands, egging me to speak whatever I had in mind.

  “Well, get on with it,” my dad impatiently ordered. He never liked being left hanging.

  “Uhm... I.... uhm....”

  You’ll have to tell them at some point, Andrea. Why not now? Right at this exact moment?

  “You see...” I continued. “Well... dad? Mom?” I never called Aunt Susan mom, hence, she had that surprised look on his face... actually, it was more like a look of trepidation, as if she had a feeling that I was about to say something direly serious.

  “Andrea... we don’t have all day,” my dad reminded me again.

  I took a deep breath and decided to just blurt it out and get it over with.

  “I’m pregnant,” I told them.

  As soon as I said those words, however, I bowed my head as a great sense of shame overtook me. But before my eyes fell on the floor, I saw the expressions on their faces. Aunt Susan’s eyes widened even more and she was looking at me with her mouth open. My dad’s eyebrows met in the middle, his nose scrunched and his mouth formed a straight line... like he was trying his best to restrain his anger.

  “That’s... that’s... that’s very surprising, Andrea,” Aunt Susan responded. Somehow, I had a feeling that she didn’t have control over the words she spoke, that she just spilled the first words that came to her mind.

  I wasn’t looking at them. But my dad’s silence said a lot about how he was feeling.

  “How long has it been?” Aunt Susan asked.

  “More than a month,” I answered, still looking at the floor. “Six weeks, to be exact.”

  “I see,” she replied. “But what does this have to do with Nash?”

  I didn’t answer.

  I couldn’t.

  “Oh,” Aunt Susan uttered. She has connected the dots.

  Then I heard a chair crash on the floor as if it was pushed violently off its legs. I heard heavy footsteps marching towards the exit. I heard the loud sound of the door slamming as someone went out, walking away from our home, away from us... away from me.

  I opened my eyes and looked up.

  I saw Aunt Susan standing in front of me. She gave me a warm hug.

  “It’s okay, dear,” she tenderly said as she gave my cheek a tepid kiss. “Your dad’s just upset. But it’ll be okay soon.”

  “How soon?” I asked worriedly. I feared for his health and his safety. He might be too mad that he might get himself in trouble out there. He might order
one too many bottles to drink. He might get too drunk that he won’t be able to see the vehicles on the road. He might get...

  “I don’t know,” Aunt Susan answered, momentarily halting my thoughts. “But he will come to accept things, eventually. He has too. You’re his daughter... you’re his only child.”

  I rested my head on her arm as I started to cry.

  I questioned my decision to reveal my pregnancy at that time. Maybe it was too soon. It’s been just two days since we buried Nash. My dad has been worried sick about Aunt Susan. And I haven’t even reported back to school yet. My disclosure may have added more stress to my poor father, who has been dealing with a lot these days. He was the glue that held us together. He forced himself to be strong to carry us through the dark times we were experiencing.

  “Have you gone to see a doctor?” Aunt Susan asked. I couldn’t see her face, but as she pressed her head on mine, I felt her lips curl into a smile. She was happy. How could she not be happy? I was carrying her son’s baby... her grandchild.

  “Not yet,” I said.

  “Well, dress up!” she exclaimed rather enthusiastically. “You’re late to start your checkup as it is, let’s not delay it any further.

  The drive to the clinic was surprisingly pleasant. Aunt Susan was actually humming a joyful tune, holding my hand and squeezing my fingers from time to time. It was a huge relief to see her like that, after almost two weeks of being emotionally distressed. The only bummer during our ride was the window that wouldn’t open... again. Nash fixed it before, but I punched it with my fist during the night of the Homecoming Dance when I discovered that I left my keys in the ignition. I regretted reacting that way.

  One of my many regrets in recent memory.

  I should’ve told Nash that I love him. I didn’t. I was so happy with the thought of having him as the father of my child. I was overjoyed when he told me that he’ll take full responsibility over us. I was too selfish that I didn’t realize that he needed reassurance as well... of my affection... of my loyalty... of the fact that I have come to envision a future with him, and only him, as the man in my life.

  The doctor was visibly upset when she found out that it was my first visit. You should’ve consulted a doctor the first week you missed your period, she said. Aside from that, I was very comfortable with her. She was kind and knowledgeable and skilled. I was confident that my baby would be in good hands with her as my attending physician.

  We went home to an empty house. Dad wasn’t there, much to my dismay. I asked Aunt Susan where he could be. She tried to assuage my worries by saying that he’s probably playing pool with some of his buddies.

  It could’ve worked, only, I knew that dad was bad pool player. He wouldn’t subject himself to such an embarrassing situation, especially not in front of his friends.

  I was able to eat dinner, though only a handful of bites. It was better than nothing. Eat well and healthy, the doctor said, and I did try to comply.

  After my meal, I retired to my bedroom. I didn’t do much that day. I couldn’t even remember a physical task that I did aside from driving to the clinic. Yet, I felt so tired. My body seemed so heavy. I lied in bed and tried to sleep.

  But I couldn’t.

  I haven’t had a good night’s rest since Nash died.

  The sight of him being shot on the chest, by his best friend no less, and being kicked into the rampaging river... it was a scene that played in my mind over and over and over again. I tried to think of other things... happier thoughts... like how my fellow students understood my plight, like how kind and understanding and caring they were, and Aunt Susan with all the love and support she has shown me... and the baby inside me. A boy or a girl? There were times when I wanted my child to be a girl... but even if he was a boy, I’d love him dearly. The same way my mom loved me. The same way my dad loved me.

  My dad.

  Where could he be?

  And I began to worry again, further compounding my inability to sleep.

  I wish my father was okay.

  I wish everything would be better.

  I miss Nash.

  I so terribly miss him...

  A sound outside my window.

  A familiar tap.

  A shadowy figure precariously balancing himself on the ledge.

  And my heart... my badly beaten heart... raced like a kite in a storm. A solitary tear, of joy more than anything else, dropped from my eye. I quickly got up and approached the window to meet him... the man who have claimed my nights as he has claimed my heart...

  27

  Depression…

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Finn said, as he turned to look at the branch behind him and held on to it for support.

  “It’s okay,” I replied. I couldn’t hide my dismay.

  “But you didn’t look startled at all,” he continued as his legs began to tremble. The ledge was just a couple of inches wide. His feet wouldn’t fit its surface, which would make his weight even heavier. “Were you... were you expecting someone else?”

  “No, no...” I lied.

  Did I actually expect someone else? Nash was gone, and there are no such things as miracles. The phoenix is just a legend. Lazarus is just a myth. And I wasn’t crazy. Sad, yes. Insane, no.

  But why did I feel very disappointed that it wasn’t him?

  I realized that the glass pane was just half-open. I pulled up the panel completely and asked Finn to go inside. He thanked me profusely as he wiped his sweat with his gray shirt.

  “That was harder than I thought,” he said, a futile attempt at humor though his effort was very much appreciated.

  “Yeah,” I told him. “Did you use the loose bricks on the wall? They’re formed like a ladder.”

  “Yes, I did...” he replied. “Wait. How did you know that?”

  “Uhm... well...” I couldn’t tell him that I noticed then because Nash always visited me via my window many times before. “It’s my house. I’m very much familiar with what’s on my wall.”

  “I see,” he answered, realizing that what I said made perfect sense.

  “What’re you doing here, Finn?” I finally got over my sorrow to ask him.

  “Well, I want to see how you’re doing, Andrea,” he remarked. “You know... how have you been coping up?”

  I found his question inappropriate. It’s just been two days since we buried Nash. We were still in mourning, a fact that should be obvious to anybody. But Finn... well... I guess Finn was just being overly concerned as usual, and I’m grateful for his intention more than I was for his manner of expressing it.

  “Hurting, still,” I glumly responded. “But we’re coping. In due time we’ll be okay, hopefully, though I don’t know when that will be... if ever it will come.”

  He sat by the side of my bed, the same spot that Nash used to occupy.

  “The pain will always be there,” he told me. “Just like the happy memories you have of him. But the pain... it is necessary. You will always remember him, Andrea... and with remembering, you will be reminded that he’s gone. A necessary evil, my dad used to say. If we try to forget the pain, we try to forget the person. I’d rather be hurt and remember, than be numb and forget.”

  He knew what he was talking about. Finn lost his sister due to Leukemia some three years ago.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I said as I sat beside him. “But most of the time, the pain is just too much. Like it’s choking me breathless.”

  “The bad news is that the pain will never go away,” he tried to explain. “The good news, though, is that you’ll learn how to live with it. And in due time - as you said - you’d be able to use it to motivate you, to inspire you, to make you strive to be a better person.”

  Funny.

  It’s been a little over a week since Nash died, yet, that conversation with Finn was actually the first time I was able to talk about how I was dealing, and how I was supposed to deal, with Nash’s passing.

  “How’s your.
.. your...” Finn found it hard to continue his question, but I knew immediately what he meant.

  “I’m on my sixth week now,” I said. “Aunt Susan and I went to the doctor this morning. The physician was nice. She said that I showed signs of a healthy pregnancy, but she informed me that I should visit her regularly.”

  “Ohhh... that’s great, Andrea!” he enthused. The verve in his voice... it was so sincere, so wholehearted, so true. Before the incident at Paydirt Drive, I never thought Finn would be like that when he found out about my pregnancy. The kindness he has shown was movingly surprising. “I was really worried... what with the stress and all...”