Great. No witnesses.
I looked over at Sophie, her neck veins looking as if they were starting to throb. “You sure you want to do this?” I asked.
“You sure you don’t?” Her eyes were wide; game-on. I nodded my certainty, and without a hiccough she got out of the car. “Your photos.” She held her hand out, her eyes begging for them.
“Oh, Sophie…” I groaned. “Not the drama.”
“Please, Robin.”
I reluctantly conceded. The situation was already high on drama. Why not add some fuel to the fire?
I watched intently (and in terror) as Sophie stormed up the steps of her old apartment, the fluttering reel of my baby’s photos in her hand. Breath held, window narrowly cracked so I could spy on what was sure to become an all out war, I tensely watched and waited.
Please don’t be home. Please don’t be home. Please don’t be—
A small movement of the front door, but no figure on the other side. Was it my imagination or was the front door actually opening? Sophie still stood stoically at the top step, both hands, made into fists, planted firmly on her hips. Then the door pried open slowly, slowly, still slowly, and then—there he was. Brandon. The door now wide open, Brandon standing there, a shocked expression covering his face, and Sophie still standing as stoically as ever.
I heard some muffled voices but couldn’t make out a single word.
Damn crickets.
I thought of cracking the window some more, but I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself. If I was lucky, Brandon would never know I was in the car.
Well, there goes that plan. Sophie was suddenly pointing at me, abruptly shaking her finger in my direction. Brandon looked over and our eyes locked. I couldn’t help but quickly turn away.
Become invisible. You’re not here. This is not happening.
I could finally make out their words. Sophie was screaming at Brandon that he needed to grow up and do what was right by me. Brandon, whose voice wasn’t quite as shrill or loud, seemed to be making his case. I stole a swift glance, mad curiosity getting the best of me. Brandon had his hands jammed deep into his jean pockets and was rocking back and forth on his bare heels, calmly speaking inaudible words to Sophie. But Sophie wouldn’t hear it. She started flailing her hands about, a few curse words cropping up here and there, still shouting at him that all of this was his fault. He started shaking his head over and over and over, then he ran his fingers through his wavy brown hair, head cocked to one side, mouth slightly open. Sophie shoved my baby’s photos at him and his mouth fell agape.
“Take a look!” I heard her yell. “This is your baby!”
He had the pictures gripped in his fingers. He brought the reel up closer, furrowing his brow and shaking his head in what I knew to be denial. The pictures were handed back to Sophie.
A sudden urge to defend my unborn baby sprang forth, and I bolted out of the car. I didn’t like the fact that Sophie was showing him my baby’s photos, but what had I expected when she asked for them? With this mysterious newfound aplomb, my hands shaking and heart rate quickening with each step I took closer to Brandon, I forced myself to be brave and defend my baby.
Stand up for yourself, Robin. Stand up for your baby. You can do it. Be brave.
“Robin,” Brandon said, sending my thought pattern askew.
My steps had started out briskly. I was overpowered by a sense of urgency and courage. Then, when Brandon called my name, I came to realize how displaced I felt by standing up and taking charge of the situation. What was I doing? I slowed my pace. Was I out of my mind? I became timid, asking myself why the hell I’d gotten out of the car. It seemed like a bold move at the time—but this wasn’t my style. What was I going to do now?
So stupid, Robin. Stupid. Stupid. What now?
Sophie came over to me and linked her arm in mine. She asked if I was all right and told me she’d take care of things, as if reading my mind, or perhaps my body language. I was going to crack at any moment. Run back to the car, tearing up, telling myself how foolish I was trying to stand down Brandon. Trying to stand up for myself and my baby. Doing this over the phone was one thing; attempting it in-person was social suicide for me. I just couldn’t do it.
But then, when I looked up at Brandon—his hands once again deeply sunk into his pockets, rocking on his bare heels, a smirk growing on his face—I summoned that boost of courage once more and told myself I could do this. If not for me, then for my unborn baby.
So I said, “Listen.”
Be as courageous as you were when you talked to him on the phone, Robin.
“I don’t want you to have anything to do with my baby,” I said. “It is my decision to have and raise this child and I want to do so without you. Sophie, here,” I looked at her and gave a very small but knowing smile, “is only doing what she thinks is best. She’s a bigger person than you’ll ever be. And…and…and so am I.” My hands were trembling, knees practically knocking; I persevered. “I’m never going to get rid of this baby. I never considered it. You wanting me to abort it tells me all I need to know about you, Brandon. I don’t want someone like you in my baby’s life.”
Sophie squeezed me close to her, giving me that extra vote of confidence I needed right then.
I continued. “She only thought I—we only thought you could have some decency and help out with some of the expenses at least.” I swallowed deeply, the frog in my throat abating. “I know I could take this to court and have you forced into paying child support. But to be quite frank with you, this is supposed to be an exciting and new time in my life. I don’t want to spend any of it in court, dealing with custody or support battles or any of that shit. I want to leave now and get on with my life. And I don’t want you to be a part of it.” I looked long and hard at him, his smirk gone, leaving him with nothing but an expressionless face.
Wow! Courage from nowhere…kind of nice.
I took my baby’s photos from Sophie and turned back towards the car, my hands and knees noticeably shaking and my heart pounding so loud and so hard and so fast I could feel it pulsate deep in my ears. I was nearly back at the car when Brandon spoke.
“I’ll send you what cash I can. When I can.” His response took me by surprise. I pivoted on my tottering legs. “I’m not a total dick,” he added, looking hard at Sophie. “And I promise I’ll stay out of your life, Robin. If that’s what you want.”
“If you don’t want to love and care for this baby, then yes, I want you to stay out of our lives.”
“Consider it done.”
I muttered a “thank you” for whatever reason, and as I was about to get into the car he said, “I’m sorry about this. You know, I never imagined something like this would happen.”
“My baby isn’t anything to be sorry about. But if you’re apologizing for—”
“I’m sorry things turned out like this for everyone,” he said. “And I’m sorry you’re going at this alone. I just don’t—”
“I know, I know. You don’t want this,” I said, the deafening pounding of my heartbeat in my ears starting to recede. I took in a shaky breath, then exhaled, closing my eyes briefly. “I’m okay with that now,” I said. “Come on, Sophie. I’m tired. Oh, and Brandon.” I looked at him one last time. “I’m not alone. Never was.” I looked to Sophie and said, “Let’s go home now.”
Sophie gave Brandon Lara’s address for where he could send his checks (I’d be surprised if anything ever arrived), and I shut myself into the car. It was time to leave. Sophie had come to do what she felt was necessary. I’d said everything I’d needed to say to Brandon. It was time to go home.
I watched as Sophie said something low and brief to Brandon up close, then came some inaudible response from him, followed by a swift slap across his face. Sophie shouted some more obscenities, probably rightly deserved, before jogging her way back to the car.
“And I mean it!” Sophie shouted, right before she got in and started to roll out of the neighborhood.
After a painstakingly long silence, I said, “Thanks, Sophie.”
She blurted out, “Why thank me? You didn’t want any part of this scene I made.”
“Thank you for your support. For your friendship. It’s really admirable how you’re trying to help.”
“Yeah, well,” she said gruffly. She turned on her window wipers as a light rain developed. “He deserved it. And I think I needed it, too. Selfish bastard.”
“You did what you had to for both of us. For all three of us.” I rubbed my nonexistent bump of a belly. “And we should both be over him. Through with him. He’s gone and out of our lives now, save for a few checks that I doubt I’ll ever see…he’s gone now, Sophie.”
She nodded emphatically and added, “That’s for sure. He’s moving to New York. Before the end of the year. Says he found a new and better job and is moving. No looking back kind of thing, I guess.” She looked at me. “Probably for the better, huh?”
“Definitely,” I said, still rubbing my stomach. “Definitely for the best here. So, what did you tell him?” I was madly curious. “And what a slap! What ever for?” I’d nearly forgotten the last-minute blow she sailed his way.
She laughed a loud, solid sound. “He said a few choice words. Called you something I didn’t appreciate. Anyway, I told him that if he ever came near you or any of us, especially your baby, that I’d come after him and tear him apart.”
“What, with some mobsters you’ve befriended?” It did sound kind of funny.
“Oh, I’d find a way to hit him where it hurt. We were together for three years, Robin. I’d figure something out. I don’t think any of us have to worry about him, though. He’s leaving for New York and he’s getting out of our lives completely. Like you said, he’s gone now.”
“Fresh start.”
“Yeah, fresh start for everyone.”
I found myself smiling slightly, and not because Brandon was not only steering clear of our lives and moving across the country, as far as he could possibly go within the continental US. I smiled because Sophie was right. It was a fresh start for everyone. A new chapter. And I was actually looking forward to it. Really looking forward to it, as daunting as parts of it might be.
“What do you say to a gelato and a brief shopping run downtown?” Sophie said, upbeat. “There’s a new baby store I saw open up a few weeks ago. I bet we could find little Robin Junior something super cute. My treat.”
Chapter Eight
Moving day had arrived, and it was all hands on deck! I didn’t have that much to begin with, as my apartment was as small as they come, so packing my personal effects was no great task. Lara helped orchestrate an online sale of most of the furniture that I no longer wanted and didn’t need. A lot of the stuff was pretty shabby—stuff I’d never replaced from my college days. Lara’s apartment was exquisitely furnished, and her hardwood floors and immaculate kitchen with granite countertops and all stainless steel appliances, didn’t need a ratty coffee table like mine around. We did keep a few things that I didn’t want to let go of or that we actually found a use for, but most of my furniture had either been sold or donated and was in the process of being hauled on out. Slowly the apartment I’d called home for four years was emptying out. A small wave of nostalgia overcame me as I stared at the area where my bed had once been, the carpet beneath a brighter (and cleaner) shade.
God, how many nights did I spend in that bed cramming for tests? Or how many nights did the girls and I spend in this room together…in this apartment together…
“You sure this is everything?” Claire asked, picking up a small box from my bedroom and snapping me out of my nostalgia. “Doesn’t look like all that much.”
“Lara’s helped me get rid of a ton of stuff. Just personal things are left, really. Clothes, shoes, books…” I did a sweeping three-sixty of the bedroom. “Not that much stuff, nope.”
Claire wiped some sweat from her brow with her shoulder. “It’s effing hot. I’m glad we’ve got the boys to help with the heavy stuff.”
Seattle graced us with a particularly warm June day, and no level on the air conditioning unit could keep any of us cool enough with all the moving going on. And no matter what I tried, I couldn’t keep from having what I swore were hot flashes. I took a sip of the lemonade I’d whipped up (four gallons worth) before the helpful crew of movers arrived.
“Ow,” I moaned, rubbing at my forehead. “Damn brain freeze.” I read somewhere either online or in my baby book that sometimes pregnant women would experience bouts of strange bodily reactions, such as night sweats, a sudden outbreak of goose bumps, and, yes, brain freezes. “It’s not even that cold.” The heat was melting the ice fast.
Sophie came in to retrieve yet another box as Claire made her way out with another.
“And you’re sure this is all you have?” Sophie asked, surveying the room and its few remaining boxes.
“My goodness, yes,” I said, chuckling. “I don’t have all that much.”
Sophie shrugged, now holding a box that contained many of my paintbrushes, watercolors, and various other art supplies.
“Careful with that one, doll. That one’s got my treasures.”
Sophie read the label ART SUPPLIES written in bold, black letters on its side and said, “So how’s that going? Still painting and sketching like your usual self? Any masterpieces yet?”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t think so.” I followed Sophie out to one of the cars, carrying a very small box myself. The girls, and Conner and Chad, who had also offered to help me move, insisted that I not carry anything that weighed more than ten pounds. And even then, Sophie said that I should consider making my weight limit five pounds “to be safe.” I told them they were overreacting. It wasn’t like I was about to burst or anything. I still wasn’t even showing. But then Lara popped in with a stern warning that Dr. Buschardi had told us that the first trimester was the most dicey of times in a pregnancy. “You could miscarry if you’re not careful,” the doctor had said. “When you clear your first trimester your rate of miscarrying decreases significantly.”
“Well I’m pretty much done with my first trimester,” I’d told Sophie. “Actually this weekend marks my moving on into the second one. And boy have the cravings already hit!”
It didn’t matter, though. I was not to lift anything more than five pounds, and the girls would make sure of it.
“Looks like this is the last one for this car,” Conner said, taking the box from Claire and arranging it in her Corolla.
“And that’s the last for this baby,” Chad said, taking the box from Sophie’s clutch and setting it in the trunk of her compact car.
Everyone had pitched in, bringing over their cars and trucks, and spending their entire Saturday helping me move to Lara’s.
“Thanks, guys,” I said, stretching out my back. “I don’t know what I’d do without your help.”
Jackie came up beside me and started to massage my lower back. “You didn’t lift something too heavy, did you?” Her tone was scolding, and I told her not to overreact. It was the expected cramping and general discomfort that comes with being pregnant.
We finished loading Lara’s car with some more boxes, and utilized every inch of space in both Conner’s and Chad’s large trucks. Then we made our way for the second time from my old University District neighborhood to the adjacent neighborhood of Wallingford, where Lara lived. Where my new home was!
Wallingford was an old working-class part of town that is now a very pleasant district. It has some interesting bookstores, DIY-style and thrift stores, coffee shops, and inexpensive eateries. Wallingford is as much a “real” neighborhood as you can get. It still has some old-fashioned hardware and handy and supply stores, even some ruggedly handsome and quaint pubs and espresso shops. It’s mostly a residential part of Seattle, much like Claire and Conner’s neighborhood of Madison Park, and is very quiet and serene with next to no traffic. It would be the perfect location to have a newborn and start raising a bab
y. And Lara’s snazzy apartment would be like high living. Granted we’d soon be three living under one roof best suited for two and Lara’s cat, but we’d make it work. It’d be a substantial improvement from my place.
“Who’s up for some burgers?” Chad asked, getting out of his massive truck once we arrived at my new home. “We could unload Sophie’s roller skate and then you girls could go for a burger run?” He looked over at Sophie, who was rolling her eyes.
“It’s an economically- and ecologically-sized car,” Sophie defended. “Unlike that monster of a gas guzzler you have. Who needs such a big truck like that anyway? Overcompensating for something, are we?”
Sophie had asked for it; she should have known better. Naturally, Chad had a smooth one coming: “You of all people should know that’s not true, Sophie baby.”
Conner made a low and drawn out groan, followed by a whistle that said, “Burn! He got you good!” He clapped Chad on the back.
“Whatever,” Sophie said, tossing her silky, long, brunette ponytail behind her. “It’s still a ridiculous vehicle.”
“Hey, that truck’s helping make this move go quickly,” I reminded her. If it weren’t for Chad’s large truck, and Conner’s, too, we would be looking at a few more carloads. And in this heat I didn’t even want to consider such a possibility.
“Got a point there,” Jackie added, lighting up a cigarette and making sure she stood several yards away and downwind from me. The first time she’d lit up around me post-pregnancy news all of the girls had practically screamed admonitions at her. Jackie made a motion with her hand, silently asking me if she was far enough away. I gave her a smile and a thumbs up that she was fine.
“Oh, you know you like it,” Chad teased Sophie, who was looking in the opposite direction, clearly not wanting to carry on a discussion with him. “Besides, it comes in handy when I need to transport a big canvas. Not to mention it hauls mom and dad’s boat, the kayaks… Which I know you enjoy riding.”
When Girlfriends Step Up Page 10
