The Mountains Trilogy (Boxed Set)

by Phoebe Alexander

  "I wondered if you might be willing to talk to someone...," Matt suggested tentatively.

  "Like a counselor?"

  "Maybe. Or just someone who's been in your shoes."

  "I talked to my RA," Abby shared. "I really don't feel conflicted or like anything is wrong with me. That isn't what this is about."

  "I just --" He took a deep breath. "I don't --" He tried one more time: "You're so young, Abby. I don't want you to count anything out, you know? I love you so much, and I want you to be happy. I'm just afraid you're being rash, that's all."

  "Are you going to quit paying for my college?" Abby asked point-blank. She was tired of all the tiptoeing around what she felt was the second most important issue, the first being, of course, whether or not she’d be able to see her sisters.

  They passed through a wide swath of fluorescence cast from a streetlight, and his gentle blue-green eyes illuminated in the strong beam. "No, of course not. You're doing so well in school, and I love seeing you succeed and knowing I'm helping make it happen.”

  "Then what? How is it going to be? Just tell me what to expect." She wasn't sure where her new-found assertiveness was coming from. She felt like she reached in deep to where she'd stored the pain that came from him and Mia, extracting the strength that had been forged by her scars.

  The car came to an abrupt stop a block or two from her dorm as if Matt could no longer drive and talk at the same time. The talking took too much concentration, and he wanted to use the right words. "I'm having a really hard time with this, Abigail. I hope you can be patient with me. I don't know what's going to happen, but I am concerned for you, and I’m concerned for your sisters."

  "What do they have to do with this? This is about me and who I date."

  "I'm not ready to explain it to them yet, okay? They are still very young; please don’t forget that."

  "What, you think I'm going to corrupt them or something?" she scoffed.

  "No, it's not like that," he replied, quickly becoming agitated. "Look, Bobbi honestly thought I should just cut you off…so…"

  "Wow," was the only syllable she could produce.

  "But I couldn't do that, Abigail. Look, I missed the first sixteen years of your life. I don't want to miss any more of it... It's just that this is so far outside my comfort zone and goes against everything I believe in. I am really struggling with the right course of action. Can you please try to understand that?"

  She nodded, tears stinging at her eyes. The borderline aggression she'd felt moments before melted into a pit where her empathy for him and the pain he'd caused were swirling around together like laundry in a washing machine.

  "I'm sad that you're so disappointed in me," she finally said.

  "Oh, honey...it's not that. It's just --"

  But she knew that it was. And "disappointed" was likely a euphemism for "mortified." She hated the idea of disappointing him, perhaps more than she would have hated to disappoint her mother or grandmother. The stakes with her father were higher, because he had only recently chosen to be in her life. She knew her mother and grandmother were in it for good.

  He drove the last few blocks to the dorm and pulled up on the curb right outside the door. He grasped Abby's hand tightly in his own and thanked her for talking to him. They had not agreed on any course of action, other than to let the summer put some time and distance between their opposing views. The last thing he said to her before he drove off was, "I love you and I'll see you in the fall."

  A tear slipped down her cheek, but she didn't say a word. Later she Whispered: I was always told to be myself. What happens when who I am isn’t good enough?

  ***

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Show

  Sarah was enjoying the luxury of sleeping in now that summer break was underway. A two month respite was undoubtedly the best perk of being university faculty. She remembered three years ago when she was working on her book, heading to Colorado for Rachel's wedding, starting rehearsals at the community theatre for South Pacific, and desperately trying to prevent her thoughts from roaming to James, who had just deployed to Afghanistan. I had so much to keep myself busy back then, but this summer it looks like I'm mostly going to be busy gestating.

  One chick was coming home to the nest and the other was flying away. She hated that she'd only have a couple of weeks on each side of the summer with both her children home. Of course, they would all be briefly reunited in Seattle for Adam's wedding in mid-July. Counting the weeks, she realized there would be two four-week periods Owen would be in Colorado, one on each side of the wedding. But the calculation she found most surprising was that she'd be twenty-two weeks pregnant at the wedding.

  Her body was changing every day. When she looked in the mirror and stood sideways, she saw her swollen stomach starting to look less as though she was bloated and more like she was pregnant. Her breasts were full; her areolae darkening. The early summer heat was making her fingers and feet swell ever-so-slightly along with her lips. She hated the way her face always looked puffy when she was pregnant. She remembered it all too well from her past baby cooking adventures.

  James seemed to be enjoying her blossoming maternity. She had her suspicions that the contrast of her soft curves with Vanessa's firm, crossfit-rendered figure heightened his arousal. She gathered this based on his recent not-so-subtle hinting toward having his cake and eating it too, i.e. a threesome. He was framing it as a late birthday present.

  He was anxiously awaiting the OB's release of Sarah's pelvic rest mandate. He had even cleared his schedule so that he could accompany her to see the new obstetrician, Dr. Barbara Asaki, who was a tiny Japanese woman in her mid-forties with a blunt bob haircut, thick glasses and a warm smile.

  Sarah was immediately impressed by her bedside manner. Dr. Asaki was personable, not in a rush like some doctors, and certainly up on the latest in her field. Sarah was also pleased that she didn't bat an eye when she expressed interest in having a home water birth with a midwife.

  "We have two midwives on staff," Dr. Asaki confirmed. "Assuming everything goes smoothly, I don't see why we can't give you the birth experience you desire. And you're not very far from the hospital if anything were to go awry."

  Sarah looked at James and smiled. He knew how important delivering the baby in conditions as close to nature as possible was to his wife. Having a medicated hospital birth was her biggest regret from her other two pregnancies. She liked that Dr. Asaki treated her like a professional. "I'm no medical doctor," Sarah had assured her. "But I read a ton and I'd like to say I'm a very aware, knowledgeable patient."

  "Clearly!" Dr. Asaki agreed.

  She scheduled Sarah's amniocentesis for the following visit. And she said the magic words that James had been longing to hear: "Pelvic rest is no longer warranted unless you have any spotting, cramping, et cetera. Good?"

  Sarah noticed she had a habit of asking "good?" instead of "okay?" or "yes?" when she wanted to make sure she was understood. James was vigorously nodding, expressing his agreement.

  "Great," Sarah echoed, wondering how long it would be before she was sharing her bed with Vanessa.

  Sure enough, that was the first topic of conversation once they were shielded in the privacy of their car. "So, Vanessa and I have a date on Friday night. Maybe I could invite her over?" He didn’t even attempt to conceal his giddiness.

  Sarah rolled her eyes and took a deep breath, but his concentration was on backing out of the parking space, so he didn't notice. You'd think he could reiterate how excited he is about the baby, or how cool it was to hear the heartbeat today. But no. No, his priority is

  getting his dick wet.

  "Whatever you want to do," Sarah answered, deciding that it wasn't prime time for picking a fight. She just didn't have the energy to argue or call him out on his selfishness and insensitivity. First time making love with my husband again after twelve weeks without and I have to share him with another woman, she thought. How could he possibly think I�
�d be okay with that?

  He only smiled in response. Any man who blindly accepts “whatever you want to do" as an answer from his wife should know they are dipping their toes into

  extremely hot water. "Whatever you want to do" is code for "if you go ahead and do that one thing I'm not crazy about, there's going to be hell to pay." She amused herself briefly with that thought, but then the sadness of the situation overwhelmed her.

  Why is it so hard for me to talk to him anymore? Sarah wondered. But she couldn’t deny that she’d spent a significant amount of their relationship biting her tongue. He tensed up whenever a serious discussion erupted, and he’d been like that from Day 1. Emotionally lazy, Sarah had confirmed her diagnosis with Rachel. They concluded both of their men suffered from that condition.

  Her mother had always taught her to choose her battles. With James, there were some things she could push for, and some things that had remained non-negotiable throughout the years. Any work decision he made, for example. If he decided tomorrow to deploy for another year, there would not be one thing I could say to convince him otherwise. Especially if he felt it was his duty to serve his country. My opinion would mean nothing, she reflected. When he had decided to pursue his Master’s degree and take on new responsibilities for curriculum development, he had not consulted her.

  "Are you okay?" he asked, glancing over at her from the driver's seat.

  She nodded. Any fool can see I'm not, she thought. But she was tired of dragging him into her emotional upheaval. The last year had been a roller coaster, and it became clear very early on he didn't want to ride it alongside her. He projected the attitude: "you deal with your shit; I'll deal with mine." But I thought the whole point of marriage was to form a partnership. To make a promise to bear each other's burdens, to pool resources and to fulfill each other’s needs. If that’s not what we both signed up for, then what is our marriage about? she suddenly wondered. What the hell are we even doing?

  ***

  Abby pushed the door to the theater open, and the familiar musty smell of its velvet seats and curtains assaulted her senses. They always say smell evokes the strongest memories, she thought. She couldn't believe

  she hadn't set foot inside for two years. This was where I met Bree, she remembered. She caught a glimpse of her ex-girlfriend’s golden-haired ghost swinging her leg onto the stage and hoisting herself up. That was the first time Abby had ever seen her. She hadn't taken the stairs; she'd climbed.

  Bree was nowhere to be seen, and Abby didn't expect her. She had decided to stay on campus in Virginia for the summer assisting in some lab; that was what Abby had gathered from her Facebook page. Yes, she admitted to stalking her a time or two after her breakup with Mia. The more noteworthy thing might have been that she had not once stalked Mia on social media. The only places Mia was active were Instagram

  and Twitter, and Abby had stopped following her accounts the night she walked out and left her key.

  Abby ambled down the aisle toward the stage where she saw the familiar team of Xavier and Boyd poised at an eight-foot wooden table with their clipboards and matching smirks. She took the pen and filled out her information. "You're Dr. Lynde's daughter, right?" Xavier asked.

  "Dr. McAllister now, but yes. I was in South Pacific a couple of years ago."

  "I barely recognized you at first. You've filled out!" he exclaimed. "And I mean that in a good way."

  She knew Xavier was gay, so she didn't think anything of his potentially suggestive comment. "Yeah, college will do that do you," she answered, patting her stomach. She had ended the year with thirty-four credits and twenty additional pounds. But she liked the

  way they looked on her body, which was now more feminine, shapelier. She no longer felt like she had a nineteen-year-old's mind trapped in a twelve-year-old's body. She had also grown an inch, so she now stood at five foot three and a half inches, only an inch and a half shorter than her mother.

  She turned to take a seat in one of the worn velvet chairs, but her eyes captured a figure in the corner of her peripheral vision walking down the aisle. She turned and immediately recognized Garrett Stone and his fiery red hair making his way toward the audition table. Unlike the director, he had no issues placing her: "Abby!" he bellowed, racing toward her with his arms outstretched.

  She was taken aback, literally; she was nearly knocked over by his giant 6'3" frame as he embraced her. How is this happening? she asked herself. My mother did not have good things to say about this man after their breakup and now here he is with his arms around me? I am pretty damn sure she would not approve.

  "What part are you going out for?" he asked, his green eyes glowing with the adrenaline he’d banked for his audition.

  "Just the chorus," Abby answered, trying not to make any more eye contact than necessary.

  "Awww, you'd make a great Sheila," he winked.

  Garrett was invited to audition first. He reprised "Pity the Child" from his role as Freddie in Chess, and when he finished, the entire audience was stunned, rendered speechless. Abby had nearly forgotten Garrett's voice was so powerful and emotive. She had no trouble believing he'd be cast as one of the male leads: Claude or Berger.

  When it came her turn, she stood in the center of the stage and softly began to croon "Easy to Be Hard." She wasn't auditioning for the role of Sheila, and she knew all the women who were vying for the part would also choose that song, but she didn't care. She just loved the song. It reminded her of her father. It reminded her of Bree. It reminded her of Mia. She sung it to all three of the people who had hurt her in the past two years since she'd stood on that stage. And when she finished,

  she felt like she was floating back down to earth. She'd teleported to another place and another time for a few moments.

  After the audience of fellow auditioners finished applauding, Garrett gestured for her to come sit next to him. He patted her on the back: "That was awesome. You definitely have your mom's voice."

  She began working out in her mind what she was going to say to her mom about Garrett being in this production when she saw the next auditioner take the stage. He was tall and broad-shouldered, but otherwise lanky, although not quite as tall as Garrett. He had longish wavy hair worn tucked behind his ears, a chestnut color with golden highlights and deep, rich brown eyes that caught the light when he looked up toward the rafters just before he opened his mouth to sing.

  He had a much deeper voice than Abby anticipated, and the words he sang were even more unexpected. He belted out a beautiful arrangement of “Amazing Grace.” She had not heard that song since she was a little girl.

  “Thank you, Landon; that was great!” Boyd led the applause when the young man finished. Landon returned to the row of velvet chairs on the other side of the aisle, in a perfect position for Abby to continue observing him.

  Most guys her age were blurry figures of masculinity to her, their specific features obscured. She didn’t pay attention to their hair, eyes, or build, their clothes or posture. But something about Landon drew her in. He seemed different as he sat with his ankle crossed over his knee. He pulled out a notebook and began to jot down a few notes. There wasn’t a smart phone in sight. Everyone else in the room between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five had their phones out and were instagramming or snap-chatting or tweeting.

  Abby pulled out her own phone while she waited through the rest of auditions playing out on the stage ten feet away. Garrett didn’t stick around to watch. She logged into the Whisper App, found a photo of a stage with thick crimson curtains, and typed out the following message: Doing summer theatre with my mom’s ex and a cute boy. Should be interesting.

  ***

  Even at the last minute, James told Sarah she could back out. But she put on her game face and opened the door to let Vanessa inside when she arrived. She was dressed in a simple black and white print dress. It was loose but belted with a silver chain, and she’d paired it with red heels and a red necklace. Her shoulder-length strawberry blon
de hair fell in soft curls around her face. “It’s so good to see you again, Sarah!” she gushed, pulling her hostess in for a close embrace. Her sweet, flowery perfume penetrated Sarah’s nostrils.

  “James is in the shower,” she explained. “He wanted us to have a chance to sit down and talk for a few minutes before he joins us. Is that okay?”

  “Sure, of course!” the other woman agreed and followed Sarah into the living room where she sat on the sofa with her legs crossed. Sarah sat across from her in the chair she used to grade papers which made her feel like the professor. Vanessa was the young ingénue there for her lesson. It was not an unfamiliar dynamic, but it still felt awkward to Sarah.

  “How’s everything going?” Sarah started out. She straightened her dress, smoothing it out over her growing stomach. She had opted not to wear heels, or even shoes at all for that matter. Barefoot and pregnant, she thought to herself. It was nearly summer, already quite hot, and the only thing she cared about at this point in time was comfort, hence the strapless tube dress with no bra and a simple pair of cotton thongs underneath.

  “Everything is great! Really glad it’s summer. My favorite time of the year!”

  “I meant with James,” Sarah clarified, willing a smile onto her face. Now was a good time to showcase her acting skills. She didn’t feel like doing this, being here, entertaining James’s girlfriend, but she didn’t feel like not doing it either. Wasn’t the alternative him going to see her alone? It was their night, Friday, after all.