Us: A If I Break (Her) Story

by Portia Moore

  I grab my phone and text my dad that I’ll call him next week, and that I’m fine and everything’s okay. When Megan calls me to pick her up it’s from an address I’m not familiar with. I’ve been to her brother Cal’s new home in the suburbs. It is beautiful and large, not much different than my relatives and more established friends, but this is a mansion. I wait at the gate to be buzzed in and when I pull up I’m greeted by a valet to take my car. I give the keys and look around, impressed at the magnificence of it all. Megan’s come a long way from when I picked her up on the desolate street in the crummy area and small apartment for our first date. I’m greeted by a butler who welcomes me to the “Crestfield Residence.” That name sets off alarm bells.

  I know that name.

  A few moments later Megan, Dr. Lyce, and a shorter man with light brown hair—who may be a little older than me given the distinguished way he’s dressed—appears. Megan’s face lights up when she sees me and I can’t help but wrap her in my arms before I say anything else to Dr. Lyce or the other man she’s with.

  “It’s good to see you Kam.”

  We exchange a handshake. “Good to see you as well.”

  Megan smiles and introduces the man. “This is Dexter Jr., my brother and Dr. Lyce’s husband.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard very good things about you,” Dexter says. His handshake is firm. I wish I could say the same about him, but I don’t remember Megan saying anything about him specifically, or Cal for that matter.

  “Would you like to have a quick drink with me before you leave?” he asks.

  It’s the last thing I want to do. I want to get Megan home, feel her sleeping next to me, but since this is my first time meeting him it’d be rude to decline.

  “Sure,” I say, covering my disappointment up with enthusiasm.

  “Great. I won’t keep you long,” he explains, with a knowing smile. Megan throws me an encouraging yet apologetic glance. He gestures for me to follow him and before long we’re in a large rustic room, the walls covered with bookcases, a fireplace in front of two large leather armchairs which he gestures for me to sit at.

  “What’s your preference, Cognac, Scotch?” he asks, already filling his glass.

  “Just water’s fine for me, we have a long drive back,” I tell him. They’re almost forty minutes out from Megan’s apartment. He smiles approvingly.

  “Good man.”

  He sits in the chair across from me.

  “So, your family is in politics correct?” he asks. I nod, wondering if Megan told him or if his wife did. One thing that makes me uncomfortable is her seeing Dr. Lyce. The relationship seems too muddled. I’m sure she’s a professional, and by doing my own research I learned she is one of the most acclaimed in her field, but it still seems like a conflict of interest.

  “Yes. My dad has some political aspirations and passed them on to me,” I admit.

  “A little bird told me that he has a very good chance of being the republican nominee for the house,” he says, and I nod graciously.

  “My father’s a great man,” I tell him.

  “Another little birdy told me you may have some political aspirations yourself,” he adds deliberately. I let out a laugh.

  “One day. When the time is right.” Dexter smiles and takes a sip from his glass.

  “I’m still getting to know Megan,” he starts, and I still myself in my seat. I know men like Dexter, I went to school with them growing up—wealthy, smart, and believing they know everything, that their opinions and actions shape their world and everyone else’s. And usually they end up being right. I think for a moment that my parents and Megan’s family would blend well with each other, that they would be impressed. My uncle George would be pissing himself to get on her good side again. I’m not entirely sure what the Crestfields are into but it’s obvious they are a juggernaut of wealth and power. I make a note to ask my father about them and feel guilty for not having returned his phone call.

  “I have had the pleasure of meeting Alana. Have you?” he asks, his eyes narrowed on me. I shift a bit.

  “I haven’t,” I tell him, trying to keep my tone even. Dexter nods and I hear him push out a small breath.

  “I know the political landscape has changed those qualified to run and with what sort of baggage,” he says lightly. I’m assuming he’s referencing our current POTUS. I nod and a mirthless laugh escapes my mouth.

  “However, I do worry if Megan’s disorder is something that would hinder someone with those kinds of aspirations. Is it something your family has discussed with you?”

  “I know what you’re hinting at, however, that isn’t going to be an issue with me. I love Megan and I intend for her to be my wife soon. My family also loves Megan. We plan on providing her all of the love and support that she needs,” I tell him confidently.

  “That doesn’t necessarily answer my question.” He laughs lightly.

  “My family wants me to be happy. Megan is what makes me happy. There is nothing that would make me reconsider my love or relationship with her.”

  “I’ve had some experience with this disorder. My younger brother unfortunately has been battling with it his entire life.” I can’t help but flinch when he calls Megan’s condition a “disorder.”

  “It is something that can cause even the most patient of people frustration. The weight of supporting someone going through this when there isn’t really a cure can be daunting—”

  “I know what I’m dealing with. Your wife has done a very good job explaining it all,” I tell him firmly.

  “Do you?” he asks smugly.

  “Yes,” I spout back. He sets his glass down.

  “You haven’t met Alana though have you?” he counters, and I feel my face flush.

  “No,” I admit.

  “They’re very different. Like night and day actually. How will you deal with being with a woman so different than the one you love? One who most likely will be extremely resentful of you?”

  His tone and his glare is irritating. I didn’t know I was about to be given the third degree when all I want is to take my girlfriend home, to get away from all of the worst case scenarios and the drama.

  “I’m going to do whatever it takes so that Megan can be her best self, and if it means coming to some type of compromise with…Alana, then so be it.”

  “What if there is no compromise? What if she hates you? What if she’s still in love with someone else?” he asks pointedly. My jaw twitches. I try to hide my frustration and remain calm.

  “Ian is no longer a problem,” I reply, with a hint of smugness. His expression doesn’t change, but I feel good that I know about Ian, that it’s not something that can be held over my head any longer.

  “Look. I know that you’re Megan’s family and you want what’s best for her, as do I, but if you’re worried about me not supporting her or being committed to her, that’s not the case,” I explain to him, but his expression doesn’t reveal what he thinks of what I’ve just said.

  “I’m not one of those people who think marriage is something you try on and slip off if it gets hard. I believe in the vows that I’d make to her, for better or for worse,” I tell him; he only slightly nods.

  “Well. I guess there’s not much else for us to talk about. I know this has been a difficult couple of days, and I’m sure you’re anxious to get Megan home,” he says, and I nod. We both stand. I don’t think we’ve come to an agreement or understanding, but there’s a mutual respect.

  Once we’re in the car Megan gives me a hug that says everything I’m feeling right now. Relief, appreciation, joy to be back by ourselves. I pull back and give her a kiss on her soft lips.

  “How was your conversation with Dexter?” she asks cautiously.

  “It was fine. I’m used to dealing with men like him,” I tell her easily as we pull off.

  “I know,” she says, sounding relieved and almost proud. “It’s weird though, to have these family relationships, everyone having these s
trong feelings about my wellbeing when I barely know them,” she says, letting out a nervous laugh. I let out a sigh of relief, glad we’re on the same page.

  I’m so glad Megan has a family now, and the fact that she has one that is more than able to provide her the love and support she deserves. But I have to admit it’s been jarring. I don’t exactly agree with her view of it but I squeeze her hand in support. Even though she’s expressing the awkwardness of it, I know she relishes that she has something that’s been missing from her life for so long, and I am happy for her.

  “How did your session go with Helen?” I ask. She says it went fine but doesn’t give me any other details, and I assume it’s because she’s tired and wants to get to bed just like I do so I don’t press her on it.

  “I just want to thank you for being so great about all of this Kam. I know none of this is easy…and it may get harder,” she says reluctantly.

  “It’s going to be fine sweetheart. Now that everything’s out in the open, we’re going to get through this. We’re not just going to get through this—we’re going to come out on top,” I assure her. A stunning smile spreads across her face. It makes me feel good that she believes what I say, that she trusts me now that there’s nothing else in between us. When we finally make it back to her apartment she’s asleep. I carefully take her in my arms and help her into the house. She’s in fantastic shape for just having been in a car accident but some of her skin is still swollen and red. I help her take off her clothes and she chooses one of my night shirts to sleep in, which warms my heart. She eases into bed and I change into some pajamas and slide in next to her. She immediately presses her body towards me and rests her hand on my chest.

  “I love you so much Kam,” she whispers quietly. I hold her against me and kiss her lips again, letting her know without words that I love her more than anything. I fight the urge to ask her to marry me right here and now. When I propose I want it to be special, romantic, something grand almost. She pulls back from me so we’re face-to-face, takes my hand, and puts it underneath her shirt to rest on her stomach. I remind myself that she’s probably too sore to have sex and try to think of every unsexy thought I can to fight off a hard-on. I start to trail my hand down her stomach, wanting to land between her thighs. To hear her moans and whimpers, to feel how wet she is and not be able to touch her will be torture, but it’s too tempting…until she stops my hand and holds it at her belly button. I look at her curiously. Her eyes widen a bit and a soft smile spreads across her face.

  “Kam. I’m pregnant.”

  I swallow hard, unsure if I’m dreaming, if what she just said I really heard or if it’s some beautiful audio hallucination.

  “You’re pregnant?” I ask her before hesitantly allowing myself to really take in her words. Her smile lessens but she nods. Maybe my blank response has tensed her, but when she says yes again I shoot up in bed, unable to contain my elation.

  “You’re pregnant!” I say again, my face hurting from my smile. Now she’s smiling just as hard, tears in her eyes.

  “Yes!” she laughs, and I take her in my arms in disbelief.

  “Are you sure?” I’m afraid to let my hope skyrocket.

  “Yes. I’m sure. They told me at the hospital,” she reveals, a tear falling down her cheek.

  “Are you happy? I know things are so crazy right now and…” she starts. I cup her face in my hands and give her a long, firm kiss on the lips so there’s no doubting my response.

  “Does that answer your question?” She laughs and it’s beautiful, but full of tears. I pull her towards me again and then pull away, lifting her shirt and looking down at her flat belly. I touch it again.

  “My baby’s in there?” I ask, in awe. She nods and places her hand over mine.

  “Our baby,” she says, with a smile I’ll never get tired of.

  “How far along are you? Are you feeling okay? Are you hungry? Do you need something to eat?!” I sound frantic.

  “No I’m fine,” she tells me, laughing. And then it hits me. She was in an accident and could have lost our baby.

  “It’s a miracle,” I say.

  “I don’t know how far along I am but I have an appointment this Thursday with an OB. Do you think you’re able to come?”

  I scoff at her. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world! Are you crazy?!” I laugh, my entire body buzzing. Then I notice her smile disappears and I realize what an idiotic thing it was that I just said.

  “I didn’t mean to…” I tell her quickly, not wanting anything to ruin this moment, our moment.

  “No…it’s okay. It’s just. It’s a reminder that…” She trails off, looking down at her stomach. Her stomach doesn’t show the hint of anything being inside of it but we’ve been having sex like crazy so she could be anywhere from four weeks to twelve for all I know.

  “Don’t even think about any of that now. You don’t worry about anything except taking care of our baby.” I squeeze her hands and she nods, but her eyes look worried.

  “I promise you that our baby will be born safe. I won’t let anyone or anything get in the way of that. We’re in this together now. Remember, you’re not alone,” I tell her, meaning it with every fiber in my body. I see a little relief spread across her face, and I need her to be completely relieved to know that everything is going to work out.

  “I don’t know how far along I am. My period has been sort of irregular the past few months, I think due to the stress of everything, so I don’t have a clue how old this little guy is,” she says, changing the subject.

  “Little guy?” I ask her, amused, and she flushes.

  “I just got a feeling sort of,” she says coyly. I am so in love with this woman. I hop out of bed and go the closet.

  “Babe, what are you doing?” she asks. I pull out the velvet box and hurry back to the bed and open it as if I’ll wake up and it’ll all be a dream if I don’t show her right now.

  “Marry me,” I ask her, opening the box to show her the ring I bought months ago, the one I’ve wanted to give her for so long even though I knew it was too soon. I wanted to wait until it felt like the right time, but now I’m glad I didn’t because I know now is the absolute perfect moment. She lets out a small sigh and tears come to her eyes, a perfect reserved smile on her face.

  “I love you more than anything. I knew from the first time I saw you, you’d be important to me, and I’ve known for a while. I want you to be my wife, and this just makes everything perfect. Make me the happiest man in the world?” I ask her. Through her tears, the sincerest beautiful smile spreads across her face.

  “Yes. Yes, Kam. It’d be an honor.”

  Ian

  When Alana first left, when I woke up and found out she was gone, it was a nightmare. I remember being angry more than anything. I didn’t really think she was gone for good. I couldn’t believe that, I guess. I think it was my mind’s way of trying to protect me, knowing at that moment—only a few days before we were supposed to go on our honeymoon road trip—that I didn’t have a wife anymore. I wasn’t just losing a wife, but a best friend, a soul mate. I couldn’t handle that feeling so I decided to stay angry, then I transitioned from angry to bitter. I stayed bitter for a while then bounced back to anger. I tried to convince myself it was all a joke. That it wasn’t really happening, not long term. Maybe she was scared. Neither one of us had ever been commitment type of people.

  She’d quit her job, and said “I do,” but maybe it was a lot for her to process. I didn’t take in what she meant in the letter. I didn’t try to understand it because the letter made no fucking sense to me then. I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. I had convinced myself that maybe it was some sort of test. Alana liked to play mind games and shit, maybe she wanted to make sure I’d go and do the apprenticeship and be focused on it even in the midst of her blowing my life up. I had told myself that I’d go and do it and once I was finished she’d show up at the end, we’d fight and fuck, and be just how we were. It’s what p
ushed me through it, thinking she’d be the prize I won after doing it.

  It wouldn’t be completely out of the ordinary; she was my controlling little psycho. That’s what I told myself, how I convinced myself to get through those first shitty weeks. It was crazy because I was angry, not allowing myself to feel hurt, but at the same time I was inspired. The apprenticeship was just what I needed. It made me even madder that she pushed me to do it, that she knew it’d ease things, and I hated her for it. I began getting paranoid that she knew she was going to do it all along—leave me—and that she was like some fucked up Marry Poppins coming into my life to give me meaning, making me want a future I never thought about. Marriage, kids, a house in the burbs didn’t seem suffocating like how it was before I met her. But then she left and all the color and magic she brought into my life was gone.

  When I got back home I lost my job because I couldn’t bring myself to go to work, and I used up all the time I had for the apprenticeship. I’m sure I could have taken a leave or something if I explained to the boss what had happened, but I was too fucking embarrassed. Thankfully I had a good chunk of savings set aside or I might have ended up homeless, and to be honest I probably wouldn’t have given a shit.

  Then about four months later a picture I took during my apprenticeship went viral. Jacob, the guy who mentored me that I met through Simon, had to call and tell me because I hadn’t looked at my Instagram account since I left. Most of my activities consisted of sleeping and walking the streets at night. I can’t even say how many hours I walked. Every night, as soon as the moon came out, I walked and begged for some asshole to start shit with me so I can take my anger out on him. One time I walked at least twenty miles before heading back home, just to sleep and repeat. After going viral, paid gigs replaced the sleeping and walking. Instead of going to bars just waiting for some unlucky prick to pick a fight so I could smash his face in, I joined a boxing gym. By this time Blue had apologized to me and made amends so he’d go with me sometimes, but most of the time I went alone. I was too afraid I’d kill someone if I got in the ring so I mostly took my anger out on old punching bags.