by Zoey Oliver
“No you can’t… wait. I don’t know. Can you?”
My mouth opens and closes as I think about it. Can I? That certainly would simplify things. I hadn’t even thought about it until I just said it.
“Not sure… I guess I’ll try?”
“That’s a good girl,” she sighs, going back to her luxurious bowl of soup. “Finish eating. Gotta keep your strength up! You’re eating for… three? Oh my God.”
“Oh my God,” I repeat.
***
The next week, I catch an Uber out to my parents’ house, dressed in loose-fitting clothes and feeling strangely optimistic about the whole thing. After all, when Bea laid it out for me, it sounded like there was no way my parents would greet the news with anything less than joy. Maybe a parade.
But when I see Aden’s car in the driveway, my heart sinks.
I was not entirely prepared for this after all.
The door swings open, a yellow wedge of light exploding as my mom appears silhouetted, all smiles with her arms out.
“Ava!” she exclaims. “Hey, baby, you’re home!”
I can’t help but smile as she gathers me into a big hug. She groans dramatically, leaning me from side to side.
“Mom, Mom!” I object. “I’ve only been gone a couple of weeks!”
“It feels like forever!” she moans.
She pushes me back, holding me by my shoulders so she can inspect me from top to bottom. “You look awesome. You’re eating okay? Looks like you are eating okay.”
I smile nervously. “Yes, Mom, I’m eating okay. I’m hungry though. Is dinner ready?”
“Yes! Your father cooked!”
She rolls her eyes.
“What? Really?”
“Yeah, he said he wanted to try something new… Barbecue? I don’t know what’s gotten into him. Now that you and Aden are out of the house, he seems to think he gets to start over.”
As we head into the dining room, I can see him through the back door. He’s wearing a long, checkered apron that’s tied in the back, holding a shiny spatula in front of him as he scowls at the grill.
“Oh boy, this is going to be fun,” I mutter.
“He’s actually pretty good,” Aden says as I round the corner into the dining room. I swallow automatically, plastering a smile onto my face.
“Oh is he?”
Aden rolls a glass of scotch between his fingers, the ice cubes clinking against the sides. “Yeah. We had some pork tenderloin last week that was tasty as hell. You probably should’ve been here,” he finishes sourly.
“I’ll do better,” I respond, and I mean it.
Dinner is nice, and I hardly have to say anything. The three of them just chatter back and forth, just like always. After a while I realize, it’s really just the same. I’m the only one who thinks it’s any different. Because I’m the only one who has anything to hide.
“So, Mom, Dad…” I start. They freeze in mid-sentence, turning toward me with half-formed smiles on their faces.
I take a deep breath. Then I take another.
“I need to tell you something…And there’s no easy way to say it. I’m pregnant.”
Everybody just stares. I try to concentrate over the pounding in my head, in case they’re about to say something. I don’t want to miss it but I’m afraid of what it might be.
“You’re what?” Aden finally says.
“Pregnant?” my dad repeats, his voice stunned into monotone.
“You’re having a baby?” my mother whispers. Her face has gone white, her lips pale and slack.
“Actually, two babies. Twins. I found out last week.”
They all look at each other, exchanging glances, silent conversations. For a moment their attention is not on me, and I feel like I can take a breath to try to catch up.
“Does this have anything to do with Ethan Mercer?” Aden asks shrewdly, squinting and pointing at me with his fork. I can see his hands trembling with rage.
“Aden, I—”
“How did this happen?” my dad blurts out. “How did you… you just graduated! You just got your first job! Your first apartment!”
Part of me wants to answer, it happened the regular way. But that would just pour fuel on the fire. I opt for the conciliatory. “Which makes it all kind of perfect, right?” I plead. “Everything is sort of coming together for me… I mean, I realize I’m young…”
“So young!” my mother cries out. Her fingertips fly toward her mouth, fluttering like birds wings. “You’re so young!”
Suddenly, I’m very sorry. I’m not ashamed, but I can see something dissolving in her eyes, some other plan that she knows is crumbling away like a sand castle under the tide.
“Oh, Mom…”
“If this has anything to do with Ethan,” my brother growls, “I will fucking kill—”
“Who’s the father?” my dad asks. He’s gone stony, his face gray and impassive. He holds my mother’s hand, caging it in his big, wide hand against the tablecloth.
“Does it really matter?” I ask meekly, but I’m not sure anybody’s listening to me anyway.
My mom clears her throat, then twice more. She sniffles and stares at the ceiling. When she looks back at me, she has a brave smile and her cheeks are pink.
“You know what, Ava, babies are always a blessing,” she says in a small but strong voice. “If this is what you really want—”
“It really is!” I insist. As soon as I say the words, I hear how true they are. It really is what I want. I don’t know how, and I know it will be extremely hard, but I know it will be okay.
We chatter awkwardly for little while longer, though Aden says almost nothing. Finally I dial up another Uber and promise my parents I’ll be back next week for dinner. They embrace me stiffly, holding back what I’m sure are avalanches of emotions.
When the Uber arrives, I rush out to meet it, feeling like I’ve made the best of the situation and I’m ready to escape. I feel a tug on my elbow and turn around to see Aden, his eyes flashing, his jaw clenching and unclenching.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he reminds me.
“I don’t like your tone!” I object, twisting my elbow away. “I’m a grown woman, Aden. I do not like the way you are treating me right now.”
We face off for a few more seconds, until the Uber driver honks. I stalk away, pretending to be a lot more brave than I feel.
As the car pulls away from the curb, I watch Aden glowering at me from the sidewalk. I don’t know what he is going to do, but I’m pretty sure he’s not going to just give up.
Chapter Seventeen
ETHAN
Ten times. That’s how many times I’ve texted Ava since she visited me at my place two weeks ago. Ten times.
Zero responses.
I glare at my phone angrily. What is she trying to do to me? I waited two days before texting her the first time. Just a simple message saying How are you doing? Would you like to get dinner?
Nothing.
At first I thought she was playing some kind of douchebag trick on me—one that I have to admit I might have done to other girls in the past—so I waited a couple days before texting her again.
And still nothing.
So then I asked her for a quick picture of the necklace, just to see if she was wearing it. Maybe I crossed the line with that one. Maybe she thought I was checking up on her or something, and so she didn’t want to respond in order teach me a lesson.
I admit, I may have done that kind of thing too.
In the past.
But after eight messages sent two or three days apart, and nothing sent back, I started to get worried. I stalked her on Facebook a little bit. I just wanted to make sure she hadn’t moved to Argentina or something. And there she was, sharing a triple-sized ice cream sundae with Bea, grinning and happy as ever. Absolutely glowing.
It made my stomach hurt.
So now it’s been ten messages, over two weeks, and she’s not dead or hospitalized or a
nything like that.
But scrolling back to her other Facebook posts, one kind of stands out. In it she’s leaning on a stack of boxes, standing in the middle of an empty room. Did she get a new apartment? She did mention that, but then she didn’t ask me for referrals or anything. Did she move?
Before I have time to think it through, I email the HR department at my web media company and innocently ask for a spreadsheet with updated contact information for all the employees. I’m perfectly within my rights, I’m sure. Legally, anyway.
And there it is, her new address. About four blocks from here, in a perfectly respectable building that I don’t own. Well, that’s clever.
Even though I want to pretend I’m not going to, I head over there immediately. It’s half past eight on a Thursday night. She might be home, right? Or we could just happen to bump into each other in the lobby? Or, maybe the building is for sale. Maybe I want to buy it. I’m always interested in new real estate investments…
Who am I fooling?
My mouth is dry and my heart is pounding in my throat through the whole walk. Fog has rolled in from the bay and it soaks through my clothes, chilling me completely. September in San Francisco is dreary at best, but it’s merely a harbinger of everything that happens over the winter. Still, something propels me forward, some undeniable urgency.
I knock at the door gently, standing to the side of the keyhole. The hallway is modest but clean, with recently installed carpeting and an unblemished chair rail. Her apartment is at the end, and she’s hung a homey wreath of dried flowers on the door. That strikes me as adorably poignant somehow.
No answer.
I knock again, listening intently until I hear shuffling sounds. The deadbolt unlatches and I swallow hard. The door opens just a couple inches, just far enough for her bright blue eyes to blink innocently at me from the gap.
“You’re home,” I say instead of hello for some reason. I sound gruff, like a fairytale character.
“I am,” she says, slightly sarcastically.
I shift from foot to foot, unsure what to say next.
“Well… I guess I just wanted to make sure you are okay,” I mutter uncomfortably. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
She squints at me, huffing her breath out through her nose. Without another word, she turns away, letting the door swing open behind her.
I pause in the foyer to just be polite. She walks away toward the kitchen, adorable in a pair of comfy-looking sweatpants with Cal State embroidered across the butt.
“Do you want some water?” she calls out. “Tea? Diet Coke? I’m sorry I don’t have any champagne or anything.”
She turns back toward me, leaning one hand against the counter. The sapphire pendant glitters brightly from between her collarbones.
“You’re still wearing it,” I observe quietly.
She sighs, her fingers drifting toward the pendant absentmindedly. “Well, it is beautiful,” she mumbles. “My birthstone and all.”
Tentatively, I take a couple more steps into the apartment. It’s not bad. Clean, in a nice neighborhood with good access to transportation. She’s picked a few quality pieces of furniture to get started: a green velvet couch, a dinette set with drop leaves. Framed pictures cluster on the wall over the table, and I see the smiling faces of her parents and brother.
“This is a great apartment. Really great.”
“Yeah, it is… Ethan, why are you here?”
I clear my throat, searching for the right words to say.
“I guess… I want to try something new. Maybe expand my horizons.”
She knuckles her hip, casting her weight to one side and rolling her eyes.
“Okay… do you want to tell me what that means?”
“It means that… I mean…” The words fail me. I take a deep breath and try again. “It means I want you to answer my texts. On a regular basis.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“I have been texting you for two weeks. You haven’t responded at all.”
“Well, what’s the point, Ethan? We already decided not to do anything…”
“But you were at my condo. We were together,” I explain, confused as to why she’s making this so difficult. “I thought we were really getting somewhere. I felt like we had something, didn’t you?”
She tips her head back, staring at the ceiling in frustration.
“Ava, if it’s your family… I’m an excellent negotiator. I can talk to them. I can make them understand—”
“Ethan, don’t be crazy -- you’re never going to be able to make them understand!”
Her voice is thick with frustration, anger maybe. I walk toward her, eager to hold her in my arms. If I can just get my arms around her again I’m sure that I can reach her. She can’t be this closed off for me, can she?
“But I want to try,” I say, quieter. “I want to try… with us.”
“That’s ridiculous!” she exclaims. “How do you even know?”
Her eyes focus on mine, challenging me with her bold stare.
“What you mean, how do I know? I just know. I feel it. I feel like there’s something between us. You have to know that too, Ava. Admit it.”
“So, there’s something between us, so what? Have you ever tried? Have you ever been with anybody for longer than a week, Ethan? Tell the truth. Because I know for a fact that you haven’t!”
I shake my head. She’s got a point. As I walk through the dining room, the urge to touch her becomes stronger. If I can just connect with her, I know she’ll understand how sincere I am.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I finally admit. “I haven’t ever felt this way before. But I want to try. I need to try.”
Her cheeks redden. She bites her lips together and shakes her head stubbornly.
“Ava, please,” I whisper. I reach out and touch just the edge of her arm, noticing how it practically sparks against my thumb. It’s there. The connection is there.
“No, I can’t…” she whispers. I see her chin trembling and take that final step, gathering her in my arms. She shakes her head and buries her face against my chest, pounding meekly at me with her tiny balled-up fists.
“Quit fighting it,” I murmur. “I’m making you an offer you definitely can’t refuse, Ava.”
Tipping her chin toward me, she blinks again, searching my eyes. I try to hold nothing back, so she can see whatever there is to see in me. She takes my hand, pulling it down, letting it rest across her belly. I’m confused, but I appreciate the gesture and let my palm rest there, happy to touch her.
She doesn’t say anything.
Something feels… different.
Taking a half step back, I quickly look her over. What’s different? She’s warm, almost hot to the touch. Her cheeks are red, and maybe she’s gained a little weight. Her cleavage is lush and overflowing from the neckline of her T-shirt. And where I just had my hand…
“Ava… what’s different about you?”
She traps her lower lip between her teeth, taking a long time before she says anything. When she inhales to say the words, I already know. I feel it in my heart.
“Ethan… I’m pregnant.”
My mind whirls. Pregnant? With my baby?
I don’t even have to ask. I know it. I could feel it.
“Ava, that’s… amazing.”
She looks up, startled. Her eyes are so blue, they almost look like swatches of sky.
I can’t hold back anymore. I take her in my arms again. I feel it now for sure, how she is so different. She’s definitely more solid, more grounded, with my baby growing inside her. Something I’ve never felt before wells up inside of me, threatening to take me over completely. I find her lips and kiss her, drinking in her scent, trying to capture every bit of her against me.
“We’re going to be together,” I tell her when I’m finally able to pull away for just a moment. I repeat it two more times, until she finally nods in agreement.
“Are you sure, Etha
n? You have to be sure.”
“You’re my family now, Ava. I couldn’t be more certain of anything in the world. We’re going to be together.”
Finally, she smiles. It’s like the sun breaking through the clouds. She smiles with her whole heart, pushing up on her toes to kiss me, pressing her arms around my neck. I could kiss her forever like this, hold her to me, drink her in.
But finally she climbs down, smiling shyly, pulling her T-shirt down over her slightly swelling belly.
“Oh, one more thing, Ethan? We’re having twins.”
Chapter Eighteen
AVA
The hostess looks up when I come in, squinting against the glare of sunlight that bursts through the open door. It’s early afternoon, and the restaurant is deserted.
“Is Aden around?” I ask her politely.
She tips her head to the side, looking me over. I’ve never met her, but Aden goes through hostesses faster than dishwashers. She’s probably only been here a few weeks, probably will only be here few weeks more. The restaurant business in San Francisco is really competitive, to say the least. An attractive hostess with experience is always in demand. They don’t stick around if the business isn’t good. It doesn’t look good on a resume.
She squints at me suspiciously, then nods like she’s made a decision.
“He’s in the back,” she informs me. “I’ll go get him. Would you like to sit at the bar?”
“Sure,” I agree.
I feel bad that I haven’t been here more. I know Aden has been struggling, and I didn’t think that he would have wanted me interfering or criticizing, or even just witnessing it. So I stayed away. But this is worse than I thought.
The restaurant is open for lunch, so there should be somebody here. But there’s nobody. The booths are sparkling clean and ready, like any minute now a crowd will come in. The TVs are on in the bar. I can hear kitchen staff moving around.
I can only guess what happened. He spent too much on the decor and food for this neighborhood, which hasn’t gotten trendy in response. It’s still “interesting” bordering on “seedy.” Then he had to raise his prices to compensate. Being the most expensive restaurant in the neighborhood isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but you have to have something to make up the difference. Customer service, unique food items, maybe a charming and agreeable business owner who likes to get to know his patrons.
