The Family You Choose

by Deborah Nam-Krane

  She had just started digging into her Chubby Hubby and following Brenda’s audition for Cat on a Hot Tin Roof when she heard a knock on the door. One of Zainab’s neighbors? Was the TV on too loud? "Hello?"

  "It’s Michael."

  Her heart raced. "Sorry, no one’s home!"

  "Open the door."

  "Go to Hell," she said, sitting back on the couch.

  "I’m not leaving until you open this door."

  "Good, why don’t you prove what a man you are and break it down? Then I’ll call the police, and probably everyone else in the building will do the same."

  "Then I’ll tell Alex where you are."

  "If you found me, he’ll find me, so what’s the difference?" Silence.

  "Will you please just let me in?" he said at last.

  She put down her ice cream. "On one condition: you have to leave within ten minutes, or I will call the police." Bastard wasn’t worth melted ice cream.

  "Fine. Ten minutes." She rolled her eyes, and opened the door.

  Michael looked like he hadn’t changed since yesterday, and Miranda wasn’t sure if he’d slept either.

  He closed the door. "Is that 90210?"

  "These little insults are so comforting. Okay: What’s worse, that I’m watching it or that you know what it is?"

  "You tell me."

  "Anyway...how did you find me?"

  "I followed Zainab. I knew she used to live around here. I saw her come in, but she didn’t bring anything out."

  "God, you just get worse and worse, don’t you? Remember how I said I’d kill you if you touched my friends? Stalking is close enough. Leave now or I won’t be responsible for what might happen."

  "I wasn’t stalking Zainab."

  "I think what you mean is that you were but you didn’t want to screw her, but that doesn’t really matter. So why don’t you make your call to Alex and I’ll make mine to Richard?"

  "Are you done?"

  "Isn’t that my line?" He scoffed and looked away. "And how did you get in?"

  He shrugged. "I waited until someone was coming in, and then I pretended to have lost my front door key."

  "Terrific. You’ve got a promising career of burglary in front of you."

  "I did try buzzing a few hours ago, but you didn’t answer," he said resentfully.

  Miranda scratched her head. "Yeah, I must have been asleep. That's what woke me up. Thanks a lot."

  "It was four in the afternoon."

  "Right, like you keep a disciplined schedule."

  "Fine," he said, turning and throwing up his hand. "Whatever you want."

  "Whatever I want? That’s off the table, I think, and if that’s what you came here for, you can get out. Even if it’s not what you came for, get out. Go ahead and give Alex my exact address, and I’ll be happy to call the cops on him too." Michael didn’t move. "Michael, what? Can we just finish this? And then you can leave?"

  Michael smiled a little bit and looked at the floor. "Last night didn’t go as I’d planned," he said at last.

  "Sorry. Next time you can get a teenager and get her drunk and coked up." She stopped, remembering something. "Wait, you did that already, didn’t you? Last year at that club? Well, go to another one this time because I think they remember what you look like there."

  "I don’t want a teenager."

  "Something else I don’t believe, and you know what? We’re done." She grabbed his wrist and started pulling him to the door.

  He pulled free easily. "Please just listen to me."

  She turned her back to him. "Thirty seconds."

  Deep breath. "I’m sorry."

  She had never heard those words out of Michael’s mouth before, ever. She turned around. His eyes were teary and his color high. "You’re sorry?"

  "I’m sorry," he repeated.

  "For what?" she said, though not as harshly as before.

  "For...last night. For...being so cruel right before. For...everything. I really never wanted to hurt you."

  "Funny, you’ve been practicing your entire life."

  Michael laughed softly. It spooked Miranda even more than the unsolicited apology. "I know. I’m sorry for that too. I never...believe it or not, you’re the last person I wanted to hurt."

  "Not."

  He looked up and smiled more genuinely than she’d ever seen before. "Do you remember the day you came to live with us? I do. You were wearing that little dress with the pink flowers, and you were eating an ice cream cone. It was melting down the front of your dress. When I first saw you, I thought you were the prettiest thing I’d ever seen. I knew who you were. I wanted to hate you, I really did, but I couldn’t. I never did."

  This was too much. She sank onto the couch armrest again and shook her head. "Give me a break. You did hate me. You called me every name you could think of, you almost crashed me down the stairs, you tormented my friends, and you did it whenever you wanted for my entire life. That’s defined as hating someone, as far as most people are concerned."

  "I hated Alex."

  "And you took it out on me. Same difference, isn’t it?"

  "No, because it made me feel even worse every time I did something to you."

  "Then you must have felt pretty rotten."

  "I guess I assumed everyone always knew that."

  Miranda felt herself blush. "And my friends, Michael? When you almost raped Jessie or when you assaulted Emily or when you did God knows what to Sophie, did you feel bad about those things? When you took away people from me, did you feel bad about that?"

  "I do now."

  "You don’t, see, because you’re a monster."

  "I don’t want to be."

  "Then don’t be. But leave me alone, regardless."

  He was quiet for a moment. Miranda couldn’t turn away. He sat down. "You know, I did hate Richard."

  "You’re a real bastard, then, because he’s never done anything except love you, even when you didn’t deserve it."

  "I hated him because you liked him so much. I hated him because I thought you liked him, because I thought you loved him."

  "I do love him—like a brother."

  "I know. I figured that out—because I figured out who you really did love." She didn’t say anything. "And that just made me hate Alex more."

  "I don’t think you can give me any credit for that, really."

  "You always loved him; no matter what. No matter how he treated you or ignored you." He smiled and traced the line of his chair. "Just like you always hated and pitied me, no matter what." He looked back up and rested his chin on the back of his chair. "Do you still love him now?"

  She blinked. "It’s all a lie, Michael. I loved some handsome, heroic myth. I didn’t love a real person, and...I wasn’t a real person. So don’t feel bad about me hating you," she sighed. "It doesn’t really matter what I thought. Consider yourself not hated, and go be a good person, or at least a better one."

  "I do care about what you thought. And I care about what you think now."

  She stopped breathing for a moment. She looked right into his eyes. He smiled more. She realized, as she hadn’t in years, how handsome he was. Then she reminded herself that no matter who she was or what he said, he was still Michael Abbot, the man she’d offered herself up to last night, the man who’d taken her up on the offer so roughly.

  "My ice cream is melting." Before she could move, he stood up and put the ice cream in the freezer.

  "There, all better."

  "Thanks."

  He stood a foot away from her. "I’m sorry about last night. Both parts."

  "You were mean, but I’m glad I know the truth now. It makes everything easier."

  "Maybe." She blushed again despite her best efforts. "Then I’m sorry about the other part."

  "Really? Because maybe it wasn’t the greatest ever, but you seem like you got what you wanted."

  He shook his head. "It wasn’t what I wanted. Not that way." He swallowed. "You were pretty close, actually."

/>   "About what?"

  "When you said...what you thought I wanted. When you made fun of me. You were pretty close. I did want to hear that you always wanted me." He still smiled, but he looked so sad that Miranda thought she might cry. "And I wanted...I wanted you to at least enjoy yourself."

  She forced herself to stay completely still. "I’m sorry—I’m sorry you wanted something you can’t have. I know what that’s like."

  "What would it take?"

  "For what?"

  "To get what I wanted," he said quietly.

  "I’m not sleeping with you again." She said it quickly, completely still. "That was a one-shot deal."

  "Okay," he said, nodding. "I get it. I had my chance, and I was everything you always thought I was."

  "It wasn’t that bad."

  "Gee, thanks."

  "I mean, you didn’t hurt me."

  "Are you sure? You looked like maybe you were having a little trouble afterward," he said awkwardly.

  "Michael, please." Miranda wished the floor would swallow her up. "I—I’m fine. Thank you."

  He didn’t move. Miranda felt her heart in her throat. "I’m glad," he said at last. "Because I didn’t want to hurt you. I wanted it to be more. I wanted to show you...what I really feel."

  Her lips and ears tingled, and she couldn’t blink. She had to make a choice whether she would speak or not. "What do you really feel?" she whispered after almost a minute.

  "This." He moved towards her, slowly enough that she could have moved away. She didn’t. He leaned in. She closed her eyes. She could feel him smiling.

  It was a much better kiss than the one he'd given her the day before. From the tip of her tongue to the bottom of her feet, Miranda felt her entire body tingle with a sensation she’d never felt before. She sighed a little, then put her hands on his back. He kissed her neck as he put his hands under her shirt. Still kissing her, he led her to the couch. She followed.

  Without thinking about it, she kissed his neck. He took her hand and put it under his pants. She jumped away. "No, no." She closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath. "What kind of games are you playing now?"

  "I’m not trying to play anything." He kissed her again. She fell back onto the couch and realized that she was pulling him onto her.

  "I can’t." He kissed her again. "Not here."

  "Okay," he said, still kissing her as she half pushed him away, half turned herself into his body. "So come home with me."

  She shook her head. "No."

  "Let me make it—"

  "It’s not that." She closed her eyes. "I don’t want anyone to find me."

  He smiled and kissed her hand. "No problem. I’m willing to be your dirty little secret."

  She pulled her hand away. "I didn’t want anyone to find me here, either."

  "Oh." He looked chastened. "Don’t worry. I promise you, I’ll keep Alex away."

  "You’re not very trustworthy."

  "I’m trying. Do I get any points for that?"

  She blinked. "I’m tired."

  "I’ll let you sleep," he said, kissing her again. "But sometimes it’s nice not to sleep alone."

  "I wouldn’t know."

  "Really?" She was growing less afraid. "So you’ve never been lonely? You’ve never looked out into the room and wondered what it would be like to have someone hold you?" She didn’t say anything. "You’ve never wished that someone else was in the room, not even to talk to, but just so that you would know that it wasn’t just you, alone in the universe?"

  "Does that make it go away?" She sincerely wanted to know. "For all of the people who’ve been in your bed, was it less scary? Isn’t it—wouldn’t it be—just more loneliness, knowing that they feel the same thing?"

  He closed his eyes and gently grabbed at her hair. She closed her eyes as he brought his nose to touch hers. "Maybe. But can I tell you a secret?"

  "Shoot."

  "Between you and me," he said, kissing her, "there was only ever one person I wanted in my bed in the dark. Ever since I used to lie awake in Alex’s house and I used to wonder what...that person was doing, and thinking. Sometimes I used to hear a cry in the middle of the night, like someone had just had a bad dream. The kind of dream I always used to have. And I used to creep over sometimes and just stand right outside the door, and I used to wonder. Sometimes I’d put my hand on the door, sometimes I’d think about coming in." He smiled a little bit. "What do you think? Should I have tried the door?"

  "Maybe not." But she kissed him back, and for a long time. She’d never told anyone about her dreams or waking up in the middle of the night.

  "Really?" he asked, and for the first time ever, she didn’t doubt his sincerity. He kissed her again. "You don’t think I could have made you less lonely?"

  "I don’t know," she kissed him back, more gently. "Do you think you’d just told me how worthless I was?"

  "You never looked at me when I didn’t. How could I compete with Jessie or Richard or Alex?"

  "Do you expect me to believe any of this?" She kissed him for much longer, and she could feel the goose bumps rising on his arm.

  "I’m hoping I can be convincing."

  She smiled, but her eyes filled with tears. He kissed her eyelids. "Let’s go."

  He grabbed one of her bags. She didn’t say anything. She was quiet the whole ride back to his house. He parked, and then opened the door for her. She looked at his face, a trace of a smile haunting his lips. She took his hand, and then he led her through his front door.

  CHAPTER 17

  His lips were soft, she thought that night. She’d never thought about his lips before, except that been so tight and cruel—or angry. But he wasn’t cruel now, and he wasn’t angry.

  "Don’t go," he whispered to her at one point. They were lying on the couch. His shirt was unbuttoned, but she’d only taken off her coat and boots.

  She smiled as he kissed her. She wasn’t worried now. She felt as if she’d never been so fully in a moment before. "And why should I stay?"

  "Because you don’t want to be lonely anymore."

  She ran her hand over his chest. "I’ve lived with it so far."

  She sighed as he kissed her fingers. "You win. I don’t want to be lonely anymore."

  She could leave anytime she wanted to. Zainab’s apartment was still a cab ride away. She didn’t need to worry that she was trapped anywhere anymore.

  "Okay."

  He pulled her to him. She ran her fingers through his hair as he kissed her neck. "Admit that you want to stay."

  She pulled him into a kiss, biting his lip. "I want to stay."

  He smiled. "I win," he whispered.

  They spent the next day in his house. She felt like a new part of her, something she didn’t know was inside of her, emerged from the darkness that had surrounded her for the last few days. She might have been ashamed of it before if she had known about it, but now she couldn’t say no to it.

  She was surprised after everything that he was so solicitous. He asked her where he could touch her, if that felt good, if she wanted more, should he do something faster or slower. And she didn’t worry, as every piece of experience told her she should. So she answered honestly; she found she couldn’t help but do so.

  She was also seeing a new part of him. She felt it most keenly when his chest was pressed next to hers. There was something about him that was all-too familiar. There was an ache in him that she could practically hear. She realized the pity she’d always felt for him wasn’t based on sympathy but empathy. He missed the same things she missed. And then she hated him more than she ever had, because she knew that he had recognized it in her, too, and had still chosen to do everything he had.

  She pulled away from him suddenly, angrily, when it overcame her. She thought about what Zainab would think if she knew that Miranda had gone back to him, what Emily would think if she knew any of it, and how Jessie just might lose her mind forever if she thought Miranda had gotten this close to Michael and not killed hi
m. The ridiculousness of being there, after everything...She could leave at any time.

  She pulled away again when he touched her. "I should go," she said coldly.

  He reached out to her again. She didn’t move. He put his arms around her. She couldn’t look at him. "Why are you angry with me now?"

  "Sorry, I just realized how stupid it is to get seduced after you get screwed. Seems out of sequence."

  "I’ll admit, this might look illogical."

  "No, admit this," she said, still not moving. "This is all part of the same game to hurt me; to hurt him. You just didn’t get enough satisfaction from it before. Just admit it, because you’ve already gotten what you want. It doesn’t matter how much longer I stay."

  "I’m not playing a game now. I don’t want to hurt you."

  She could hear his words, but they didn’t make sense. "Why not?"

  "Because I don’t have to," he said. "I’m not playing at anything right now, but please don’t ask me to explain it."

  "No, I think you have to try."

  "Fair enough." He turned her around to face him. "I’ve waited for years. I wanted to pay him back. He took everything from me, and the only person who cared about me was Richard. I wanted what was mine, but all I had left was this house—which is pretty damn cold in the winter, in case you haven’t noticed—and that money. I swear to you, I would have lived on the street rather than stay with him, and I think I did everything in my power to get turned out. But he wouldn’t do it."

  "So you waited until I might be able to help out," she said bitterly, and his jaw tightened. "Didn’t it occur to you...what’s so obscene, Michael, is that you weren’t going to tell me the truth until it helped you. How does that make you any better than he is?"

  "Because I did tell you." She put up her hand as he came closer.

  "But only to hurt me, or to get something you wanted. Not because you cared about my life. What else are you waiting for?"

  "I told you, I’m not playing a game, not even the one you started. When you came here—when you left—everything seemed so empty. I’d given up my fantasy about you years ago, and then there you were. And then you were gone..." He smiled, and moved her hair out of her face. "You see," he said softly, "you really are the one who got what she wanted. Because you’re right, what happened did make me feel little and small."