by Isabel Love
Then once I broke it off with Charlie, I knew she’d want to talk about it.
I just…couldn’t talk about it. It’s too painful.
So I’ve…slept instead.
Not that sleeping helps me forget about Charlie, or my baby. Lately, I dream about them every night, and sometimes Charlie is holding Noah.
“Quinn!” Monica shrieks.
I sigh and open the door a crack.
“Finally!” she exclaims, pushing past me into my house. She’s carrying a bag in one hand and a pizza in the other.
“I didn’t know you were coming over.”
She drops her supplies on the kitchen table and spins to face me, hands on her hips. “How could you know when you haven’t answered any of my texts or calls?”
I sigh, knowing she’s right.
“It’s been weeks!”
“Sorry, Monica, I just…”
Her expression morphs from anger to hurt. “Do you hate me?”
My eyes widen. “What? No! I don’t hate you. Why would you ask me that?”
“Oh, you know, because I’m pregnant?”
I wrap my arms around my middle, though it doesn’t help me feel any more together. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m sorry, Quinn. I should have told you before the party, but Max and I didn’t want to tell anyone until after my first ultrasound—well, actually, he told one of our patients, Mrs. Harvey, but that was only because she basically predicted that I was pregnant the day he found out. I’m totally rambling, I know, but my point is, my ultrasound was Friday and the party was Sunday so we thought it would be a great way to tell everyone at once, but I’m a shit friend because I totally caught you off guard and I never meant for that to happen.” She finally stops talking and wrings her hands, nervous and awkward.
“Breathe, Monica, I don’t hate you. I’m happy for you.” The words sound forced, even to my own ears.
“Well if I were you, I’d hate me.”
“Stop it.”
She nears me, eyeing me warily. “I’m sorry I’m pregnant.”
“Gah! Stop saying that. I’m not sorry you’re pregnant. I don’t expect everyone to stop procreating just because I can’t.” I sniff.
“You’re right. I’m not sorry I’m pregnant, but I am sorry that it must be making you think of your pregnancy…of Noah.”
Stupid tears burn my eyes.
She steps closer. “I know I said it a million times before, but I’m so sorry for what you went through. I’m not as far along as you were, and I’d be devastated if I lost the baby.”
Stupid tears escape my eyes. I squeeze them shut, but that doesn’t do anything but make more fall.
“Hey,” she says gently, touching my shoulder.
I collapse against her, hugging her tight, sobbing all over her hair and shirt.
“Shhhh. I’m so sorry, Quinn, so sorry.”
She holds me while I cry, for minutes, maybe hours, until the tears work themselves out. As soon as they subside, I move back, looking at the mess my snot has left behind.
“Ugh, gross. Let me get you a new shirt.”
She chuckles. “Don’t worry about it.”
I grab some tissues and blow my nose repeatedly until I get myself under control.
“I have a proposal.”
I raise my eyebrows in question.
“How about you go take a shower, because you stink, then we eat some pizza and ice cream and you have some wine?”
I lift my arm and sniff at my armpit. Yikes, I really do stink. “Okay.”
After I’m freshly showered and Monica has changed into some of my clothes, we lounge in my living room, sitting on the floor around my coffee table, eating pizza and ice cream at the same time. Surprisingly, the combination is not bad.
Monica shovels a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth, closing her eyes in bliss as she savors the treat. “God, ice cream is so good. I could eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
“I like that plan. I think I’m going to do it.” I shovel my own spoon into my mouth.
“So what happened with you and Charlie? You guys were so good together.”
More stupid tears threaten to fall. “Can we not talk about this?”
“Did he not react well when you told him about the baby?”
I choke on my ice cream, some of it going down the wrong pipe. “What makes you think I told him about the baby?”
“Well, after Max and I announced the pregnancy, you and Charlie disappeared. I was worried about you so we went to look for you and we saw you. You both looked upset, so I figured he was comforting you. That’s why I didn’t stay and talk with you that night, because I thought Charlie was going to take care of you, but then Max said you guys broke up. What happened?”
I close my eyes, not wanting to tell Monica Charlie’s business. “He doesn’t know about the baby. I meant to tell him, but there was never the right time.”
She raises her eyebrows and puts her spoon down, the metal clanking against the bowl. “So what was that about then?”
“It’s not my place to tell you, but he was upset for his own reason.”
Her eyebrows go up even higher. “You’re going to leave me hanging? You know I won’t tell anyone.”
I sigh, wanting to tell her about it, but knowing I’ll feel like shit if I do. “I can’t, babe. I promised him.”
“So then, what happened with you guys?”
I shrug. “It just didn’t work out.”
“I’ve been debating ways to kill him, but I need to know the reason so I can be prepared with the correct ammunition.”
“I just didn’t want a relationship anymore.” My excuses are shit and she sees right through me.
“So that’s why you haven’t showered in forever and have been dodging me? Bullshit. I know he hurt you. What did he do? Did he cheat on you?”
I think of Tobias and Tallah, but Charlie was right—that didn’t feel like cheating at all. “No, he didn’t cheat on me.”
“Good, because if he cheated I’d cut his dick off.”
I chuckle at her threat. “No need to cut his dick off.”
“Good, because that’d be kind of awkward. So if it wasn’t cheating, what was it? Did he lie? If he lied, I could cut his tongue out.”
“No. Please don’t cut anything off of him.”
“I’m on your side, babe. I want to help.”
“Can we not talk about this?” I shove a slice of pizza in my mouth and take a huge bite.
Monica’s quiet for a minute, her spoon playing with the ice cream melting in her bowl. “Do you remember when I was a stupid idiot and broke it off with Max?”
“Yes.”
“Well you’re the one who barged into my house and helped me pull my head out of my ass. I’m attempting to return the favor, here.”
“Funny how our roles are reversed now.”
“Stop deflecting. Spill the details.”
I sigh dramatically, knowing she won’t give up until she has the story. If the shoe were on the other foot, I wouldn’t give up until I knew the truth either. “Things were going great with us. We clicked in the bedroom, but we also clicked out of the bedroom. He made me feel…normal.”
“You are normal, dumbass.”
“No, I mean, he made me feel like I could just be myself, and he got my quirks. Reid used to get so pissed when I worked in the studio all night when he got home from work. He thought I should arrange to paint when he was at work so that when he got home, I could spend time with him, but Charlie understood that it doesn’t always work out that way. He’d just hang out in the studio with me, snapping pictures or working on websites.”
“Sounds pretty…perfect. I’m failing to see what wasn’t working out.”
“He wants kids.”
She coughs, eyes bulging out of her head. “Excuse me? Did you just say Charlie wants kids?”
“Yes. I know everyone thinks he’s a big goof and totally irresponsible, but he
isn’t. He’s a good man, talented and smart and…he wants kids.”
“So that’s why you broke up with him?” She gapes at me.
“Of course!” I shout. “I can’t give him a family!” My voice breaks, more stupid tears welling up in my eyes. How the fuck can I have any more tears?
“But you didn’t tell him about your hysterectomy?”
“No, there was never a good time, and then when I learned he wanted kids I figured, what does it matter if he knows about that? I didn’t want to have to make him choose between a family or me. What kind of choice is that?”
“One that he should make for himself, don’t you think?”
“He can find someone new, someone with a uterus.”
“But Quinn, you took that choice away from him.”
I freeze at her words. “What?”
“You took his choice away. I think he should have all the facts and make the choice himself. I think you’d be surprised at what his choice would be.”
I took his choice away from him.
His words from the night he told me about Anna ring in my ears.
“What happened to my choice? Didn’t I deserve to even know about it?”
I’m as bad as Anna. Well, it’s not exactly the same thing, but I did take his choice away.
Oh shit. Shitty shit shit.
“And now you’re getting it.”
My eyes snap up to hers, heart pounding, stomach sinking. “I fucked up.”
“Yes, you fucked up.”
“He’s going to hate me.”
“You need to talk to him.”
“No, I don’t know how to tell him.”
“Well you have to talk to him soon. He’s leaving on Monday.”
“What? Leaving?”
“You mean to tell me you don’t know about his promotion?”
“He got the promotion? And accepted it?” Wow. I’m not surprised he got the job, but I am surprised he took it.
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”
“The promotion is good, yes, except for one small detail.”
“Would you just spit it out already!”
“The job is in New York. Logan and Max are helping him pack tomorrow. He leaves Monday.”
There’s only one way to find out.
BOXES ARE STACKED UP everywhere in my house. HR set me up with a furnished apartment to start, so I don’t need to take my furniture right away. Dom is going to help me sell this place later, so for now, I’m just packing up the essentials and leaving the rest.
“Well, the basement is done,” Max reports, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Upstairs bathroom is done,” Logan chimes in.
I finish taping the box in front of me and place it on top of the nearest pile.
“Then I think we’re officially done. You guys up for a beer?”
“Of course.”
I grab three from the fridge and we head to the back deck. The furniture has been packed away into the garage, so we sit on the steps instead.
“I still think you should stay.” Max bumps my shoulder with his.
“Not this again.”
“It’s just not going to be the same without you here,” Logan complains.
“New York City is not that far away, just a short plane ride. Besides, I’ll be back for the bachelor party and the wedding in just a couple weeks.”
“You promise you’re coming?”
“I promise.”
“You are aware that Quinn is going to be there, too, right?”
“I am aware, but thank you for reminding me.”
“Monica was with her last night, you know.” He glances at me warily as if unsure how much he can say.
“Oh?” I’m not sure how much I want to know.
“She’s really upset.”
“That’s interesting. Considering it was her choice, not sure what she has to be upset about.” My voice is hard.
“Easy, easy.” Max raises his hands as if to say, I come in peace. “I thought it might give you some consolidation to know she’s not happy about it, and Monica said she didn’t know about the move.”
“Well how would she know? I accepted the position after she broke up with me.” Part of me is glad she knows—maybe it will give her a reason to realize she made a mistake. Maybe I want her to try to stop me from going. “How’s Sparky doing, Logan?” My abrupt subject change tells them I don’t want to talk about Quinn anymore.
“He’s good. That dog will eat anything though. He’s moved on from eating Tate’s shoes to eating my socks.”
“Your socks?” Max asks.
“My dirty socks. I was cleaning up the yard the other day and I kid you not, he shit out an entire sock.”
“Gross, yet somehow impressive.” Max chuckles.
“At least socks are cheaper to replace than Tate’s shoes.”
“That’s true.”
We chat some more about mundane things and I realize this is what I’m going to miss the most—my best friends. We talk and talk until we start repeating ourselves and I realize they don’t want to leave either.
“I’m going to miss you guys,” I tell them, smiling wide.
“I hate you for leaving,” Logan says without malice.
“We’re going to miss you, too. Don’t be a stranger, okay? Maybe we’ll have happy hour on Skype.”
“Okay, you’re on.”
I hug each one, chest to chest, and if our eyes are a little glassy, no one comments.
CHARLIE IS ALL OVER my house.
He’s in my bedroom.
He’s in my studio.
His pictures are on my website.
I can’t even pick up a paintbrush without thinking about him.
I’m in love with Charlie Nelson, and he’s moving away tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
Every cell in my body screams at me to go see him, to beg him to stay, to convince him what I said before was bullshit, to tell him I can’t bear the thought of not being with him.
But…
That would require me to tell him everything, and when he knows I’m just as bad as Anna, I’m not so sure he will pick me.
Look at Reid. He was my husband, and when life got tough after losing Noah, he didn’t stick around. He fucked someone else in our bed. I shudder remembering how devastated I was when I saw him. After that, I built walls around my heart and never wanted to give anyone a chance to hurt me again.
Charlie has somehow gotten through those walls, but I still don’t want to make myself 100% vulnerable to him when I’m not sure he will pick me in the end.
Reid choosing another woman devastated me, yes, but I survived and moved on.
If I give Charlie the choice to be with me without a family or move on to find a family with someone else and he doesn’t choose me…I’m not sure I could survive it.
I tried to get out of attending the open house this month, but Suzanne insisted I come, excited about a new exhibit and new prospective clients.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I give myself a pep talk. You can do this. You can rejoin society for a couple of hours and not cry. You can talk to people with a smile on your face and be pleasant. I try a smile on for size, but it just makes me look like I’m constipated.
Whatever.
I might be sad, but I manage to get myself to Art Redefined. I plan to lay low today, just show Suzanne I’m there, smile for some new clients then feign a migraine and get back home. I’ll be here for 20 minutes, tops.
I make my rounds in the front gallery, trying to remember what pieces I brought for this exhibit. When I look at the feature wall, my mouth falls open.
My art is on the feature wall.
Not only that, pictures of me surround my art.
Pictures of me in my studio, hair in a messy bun, paint splattered all over my clothes, a look of determination and fierce focus on my face. My hand holding a paintbrush as I blend a color on the canvas. My wrist wiping sweat
away from my face, leaving a smear of paint behind on my forehead. Each piece has two or three pictures of me around it, and they show me creating that very piece.
He has showcased my hard work with his pictures.
And everyone is buzzing around the exhibit. Among the small crowd gathered in front, I spot my parents. I stare at them, thinking I must be hallucinating. I blink, but they’re still there, staring at my work like everyone else.
“There you are!” Suzanne greets me. “What do you think? It’s magnificent, isn’t it?”
I nod, unable to form a coherent sentence yet. I’m completely overwhelmed.
“You’re not going to believe this, but your exhibit just sold out.”
My eyes widen. “Sold out? But they’ve only been for sale for like 20 minutes.”
She beams at me. “Sold out. And guess what else.”
“I’m not very good at guessing.”
“Everyone who bought a piece bought the pictures of you making it.”
“Really?”
“Really. They love Charlie’s photographs!” she confirms with a nod. “I’ve been talking to your parents, too! It was so nice of Charlie to send them tickets.”
Charlie sent my parents tickets?
They turn and catch me staring at them, open-mouthed. I don’t try to hide my shock, as they have never come here before. They’ve seen me paint and draw before, of course—I’ve been doing it ever since I could hold a pencil—but they never supported my career choice.
Slowly, they approach, and Suzanne leaves us to talk.
“Mom, Dad, what are you doing here?”
“Well, that friend of yours, Charlie, he sent us some tickets in the mail along with a letter,” my mom says.
“A letter?” What could he have possibly said to my parents?
“It would seem he’s quite taken with you.”
“What did he say?”
They glance at each other and my dad clears his throat. “He had some very strong opinions.”
Strong opinions?
“At first I was quite upset at the nerve of him,” my mom huffs.
“But he did make a couple of valid points.”
“Oh? Are you going to share those with me?”
“That good parents show their children unconditional love, that you deserve our support even if we don’t agree with your choices.” She looks away when she says the words, but I see her eyes shine.
