Dirty Neighbor (The Dirty Suburbs)

by Miller,Cassie-Ann L.

  “Can you get rid of it? Please?” I say panicking as I bend forward in my chair, fanning my face with my hand. The slightest things make me sick to the stomach lately. I guess this is what being lovesick feels like. Damn you, Keeland Masters!

  My mother dumps the sandwich into the garbage and opens the windows to air the place out. She comes over to me with a glass of water. She looks at me with serious eyes. “Honey, I think it's time you went to the doctor,” she says softly.

  "It’s nothing. I’m fine. I’m just a little queasy,” I say. And I doubt the doctor can prescribe anything for my broken heart.

  My mother sighs, sinking into the chair opposite me. “Sweetheart, you’re more than queasy. You’re pregnant."

  I scoff. But she’s not joking. Her expression is mirthless and grim. "Mom, calm down. There's no way I'm pregnant."

  She doesn’t say anything. She offers no comforting words. She just watches me put the pieces together. I’ve always been good at math, but right now, the numbers aren’t adding up.

  The last time I was with Keeland was how many weeks ago? And my last period was when? And I’ve been feeling sick for how long?

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I feel like I’m having a horrifying out-of-body experience as I rise out of my seat and drift down the hall, slamming my bedroom door behind me.

  Chapter 47

  Apparently my unborn child needs to be registered for childcare right now, or else the world as we know it will crash to an explosive, fiery end. At least that’s what Gracie’s saying on the other end of this phone call.

  Because I wasn’t overwhelmed enough by this pregnancy as it is.

  “So let me get this straight. You want me to sign up my 12-week-old fetus for daycare?” It still sounds ridiculous as I repeat it out loud for the third time. I kick the covers off of my legs and lie back against the pillows on the bottom bunk of the double-decker bed Daniel and I used to share when we spent our summer vacations with grams. It’s hot as hell in this house.

  “It’s not too early, Sammie,” my sister-in-law says sternly. I can imagine the frown lines on her forehead as she speaks. “In fact, it may be too late.”

  I sigh in frustration as I roll onto my feet and pad over to the full-length mirror on the closet door. “Ok...gottcha.” I stroke my hand over my belly.

  Wow, the kid isn’t even here yet and I’ve already failed at parenting. Fun times.

  To be honest, I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’m pregnant to begin with. Everyday, I cringe at the possibility that my baby may have been conceived in the filthy bathroom of Flynn and Murray’s dive bar or on the kitchen counter of my parents’ house or…Ugh! How could I have been so reckless?

  Gracie’s voice interrupts my moment of self-pity. “Have you told Keeland yet?”

  My hands get clammy at the idea of speaking to Keeland again. I’ve avoided his phone calls and text messages since the night that I confronted him with his letter from the corrections board. I’m not ready to face him. I don’t know when I’ll be ready. But eventually, he’ll find out that I’m pregnant and he’ll have questions that he has every right to have answered.

  He’s no longer just the hot guy next door, my childhood crush. He’s the father of my baby.

  “So, you’re just gonna shut him out forever? Because he has a criminal record? Don’t you think that’s a bit — I don’t know — shallow? I mean, you haven’t even given him a chance to explain.”

  I grunt. “You don’t understand, Gracie. So, please don’t judge.” I run my hand over my tiny bulge again. An odd mixture of warmth and anxiety rolls through me at the thought of the tiny, new life growing inside.

  “Well explain it to me, then.”

  I exhale harshly. “The problem isn’t that he went to jail or that he made a mistake. The problem is that he didn't think he could talk to me about it. He hid it from me. How am I supposed to trust that when the going gets tough next time, he won’t hide his problems from me, or worse, disappear into thin air again? He’s broken my heart once. I couldn’t just sit around and let him break it again.”

  She grunts. “Look honey, set your feelings for Keeland aside for a moment, because this isn’t just about the two of you anymore. There’s a baby involved. A baby who’s gonna need as much love as he can get. This baby deserves the chance to have a dad and Keeland deserves the chance to be this kid’s dad. Regardless of how he’s hurt you…During the worst moments, when I feel like I absolutely hate Daniel, I look at him playing with Sebastian, and just for a moment, I fall in love with him all over again. That’s the magic of a baby, Sammie. You have no right to deprive Keeland of that gift.”

  Fuck – I think she might be right. This baby is an innocent party here and I can’t just keep him a secret from his father. “Look — I’ll tell him, okay? I just need time to…process it first.”

  “I don’t know Keeland too well, but he seems like a good guy, a guy who would want to be there throughout this experience. I remember the way Daniel would rub my sore feet and make me weird smoothies to tame my cravings and pick up tiny baby clothes on the way home from work when I was pregnant. Don’t rob Keeland of the opportunity to be there for you and his kid. It’s not fair to him.” It almost sounds like Gracie is tearing up on the other end.

  My mind flips back to the conversation that Keeland and I had the night when he came over to help me babysit Sebastian. I remember him saying how much he wanted a family and stability. I remember the look on his face as he’d spoken about wanting to settle down.

  I wonder if he still wants those things now. With me. Emotions strangle my heart each time I think about it.

  I wonder how he’s doing. If he misses me. The way I miss him. My pride won’t let me call him to find out. I’ve wanted to ask Daniel how his friend is holding up but my brother is so mad at me since he found out that I’m pregnant. He won’t even talk to me, and if he did, he’d probably tell me that Keeland isn’t his friend anymore.

  Damn — I’ve fucked everything up.

  But I’m an adult and I’ve got to fix it.

  My fingers touch the tattoo sitting in the space beneath my collarbone.

  Compassion.

  Maybe I should cut Keeland some slack. Maybe he deserves some compassion.

  “Okay, Gracie. I need to talk to Keeland sooner rather than later."

  I hear her sigh with relief. “It’s the right thing to do, Sam.”

  I know in my heart that she’s right. But I need time.

  Just a few days to clear my head.

  Chapter 48

  Maxwell’s short blond hair is still wet from the shower when he pads barefoot into the room. He tosses a clean bath towel in my direction before fastening his belt buckle. “Look, I didn’t want to say anything, but dude, you seriously need to take a shower. And maybe a shave. You look like a fucking caveman and you smell like one, too.”

  I look up from the couch where I’m laying and glare over at my brother as he starts the coffee maker in the kitchen of his open concept loft. I grumble something unintelligible under my breath. I’m not in the mood for small talk and I’m definitely not in the mood to joke around.

  Yes, it’s been a while since I’ve showered. Yes, I’ve been sitting on this couch almost 24/7 since I got here three weeks ago. But fuck, can you blame me? I just lost the woman who’s holding my heart. She won’t take my calls. She won’t answer my emails or text messages. And I have no idea where the hell she is.

  We finalize the sale of Master Ink tomorrow. I thought I’d feel something – sadness, remorse, nostalgia, maybe. After all, I built that business up to seven figures with nothing but my sweat and my talent and now I’m pawning it off to some rich prick with a trust fund. But I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters because Sammie doesn’t want me anymore.

  I keep beating myself up, wondering if things would have been different if I had just been upfront and told her right from the start. Maybe
if I had told her about my criminal record right from the get-go, she would have been more understanding or at least she would have turned me down sooner and I wouldn’t be hurting so badly right now.

  Maxwell stretches a cup of coffee out to me. “You’re a miserable fuck, aren’t you?” he says as pours himself a cup and sets it down on the granite countertop behind him.

  His downtown L.A. loft is very grownup, for lack of a more appropriate descriptor. Leather seating, dark carpets, high-tech appliances. And the view of the city is insane. I guess that the football thing is paying off.

  “Ya think?” I ask sarcastically before I chug back the hot caffeine in one long gulp, ignoring the agony of my scalded taste buds.

  Maxwell scratches his eyebrow then leans against the kitchen island to slip on his black socks. “See, that’s why I don’t do relationships…Not good for your skin. I’m not about to lose my Neutrogena endorsement over worry lines and crow’s feet. Y’know what I mean?” He leans back against the counter and makes a big show of smoothing his hand over his cheek, waiting for me to laugh.

  I don’t have the energy.

  He sighs. “Do you think you can get it together by tomorrow, bro? We’re going to the lawyers’ office to sign the sale documents and I don’t want you scaring off the buyer with your resting bitch face.”

  “Like I give a fuck,” I grunt.

  My brother grunts back as he buttons up the front of his black collared shirt. “So, are you going back to Reyfield after the sale or are you gonna stick around in L.A. for a bit? Maybe some beach time is what you need.”

  I just shrug. There’s nothing for me in Reyfield since Sammie ran away from me, but there’s nothing for me here, either. So, where am I going after all this is said and done? I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.

  “Okay, Grouch,” my brother says as he rolls back the sleeves of his shirt to reveal his forearms. “There’s leftover Chinese food in the fridge. Help yourself.” He’s slipping into his polished Italian leather shoes now. “I’m off to meet with my team’s management and the head coach. Wish me luck.” Then, he takes another look at my disheveled appearance and scowls as if I’m a bad omen. “On second thought, don’t wish me luck.”

  I don’t even have the vigor or the inclination to say goodbye as he speeds out the door, closing it behind him with a loud bang.

  I sit on the couch staring into the bottom of my empty coffee cup. I could use a good, stiff drink right now. Over the past few weeks, I’ve blown through the contents of Maxwell’s mini bar, though I have a sneaking suspicion that my younger brother might just be plain out hiding the alcohol from me at this point. And the liquor store at the end of the block seems so very, very far away.

  When you’re too depressed to even be a proper alcoholic, that’s when you know that you’ve hit rock bottom.

  I flop back onto the couch cushions and stare at the ceiling. Will I ever feel fucking normal again? Will I ever stop feeling so guilty and fucked up?

  The same questions have been running through my mind for weeks on end. I hurt the woman that I love and now she’ll never have anything to do with me again. I should have told her about my criminal record when I had the chance.

  Just as I’m falling into the now-familiar pattern of feeling sorry for myself, there’s a loud insistent banging at the door. “Fuck, Maxwell. Don’t you have a fucking key?” I yell over my shoulder.

  The damned banging doesn’t stop. In fact, it only gets louder and more insistent. Begrudgingly, I stumble out of the chair and walk around the couch towards the door.

  But when I swing open the door, it’s not Maxwell standing there. Instead, I’m greeted by a powerful, angry fist straight to the nose. The punch packs so much force that it knocks me flat on my ass. “What the fuck, man?” I bark, gripping my bleeding nose as I glare up into Daniel’s hostile face.

  “That’s for fucking my sister!” he snarls, glowering down at me. Then, he rears back like an angry stallion and lands a merciless kick square in my balls. “And that? That’s for knocking her up!”

  I roll over onto my side, gripping my crotch in agony. I see stars flashing before my eyes.

  Wait — did he just say that Sam is knocked up?

  “She’s pregnant?” I grunt through the bloody palm that seems to be holding my nose in place.

  Daniel eyes me like he’s going to tear me to shreds. “Yes, she’s fucking pregnant…and alone, thanks to you, asshole!”

  I lie there on the floor, a bleeding, stinking mess, looking up into the eyes of my best friend. He’s angry, he feels betrayed, and he may not see it this way, but he just delivered the best fucking news I’ve heard in weeks.

  “She’s pregnant?” I mumble again just as fucking tears spill down my face. Fear, excitement, bliss, terror, elation — they all flood me at once.

  “A little late to be crying, don’t you think?” Daniel spews angrily. “You never considered that this could happen while you were FUCKING MY LITTLE SISTER?!”

  He lunges for me again, but I quickly hold up my hands in surrender. My heart is racing, my stomach is churning, but all I can think is, Sammie’s having my baby!

  I push myself into a sitting position and give Daniel an earnest expression. “Look man, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I tried to keep away from her, but the truth is, I love your sister. I’ve loved her ever since we were kids.” Daniel is still giving me hard eyes but at least he’s not trying to attack me right this minute, so I continue. “I never meant to hurt her. And I didn’t mean to get her pregnant, but I have every intention of standing by her side. I’ll do right by her. And by our baby.”

  Daniel’s stiff expression loosens just a little when I tell him that I’m ready to step up to the plate and give Sammie whatever she needs from me. He’s quiet for a moment as he contemplates what I’ve just said. Then, he exhales sharply and stretches out a hand to me. I wipe my bloody palm on my jeans before I reach for his hand and let him help me to my feet.

  “You look like shit, by the way,” he says as he pulls his hand out of my grip. “And you smell like it, too.”

  “These past few weeks without Sammie have been hell, man. It’s been worse than being in jail. I’m not joking. But I’m gonna make this right, Daniel,” I promise and I’ve never been more sincere. “I’ll fight for her. For both of them.”

  Daniel mumbles under his breath. “You’d better, asshole.” Before I can say anything else, he turns on his heel and steps out the door.

  “I will, Daniel. Believe me when I say that I love your sister. I love her.”

  He just keeps walking in the direction of the elevators without uttering another word.

  I close the door behind him and stand in the vestibule feeling completely bewildered, like I just woke up in some alternate universe.

  She’s pregnant with my baby. She’s pregnant with my baby.

  That should freak me out, scare me. But the thought of being tied down by Samantha Trotten, of being domesticated by her, has me grinning from ear to ear.

  Chapter 49

  I adjust the collar of my shirt and pull in a long breath as I set foot on the pathway leading up to the modest, retro-style bungalow. I double-check the address that Daniel texted to me last night. This is it.

  I take one glance back at the cab as it pulls away and the instinct to jump into it and ride back to safety is strong, but I know what I need to do.

  For Sammie. For the baby. For me.

  A woman kneels in the flowerbed at the front of the house, digging away at the mulch with a tiny shovel. As I approach, she pulls back the visor of her wide-brimmed garden cap and uses her hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

  “Keeland?” Mrs. Trotten says as she stands, wiping her hands on her linen pants.

  “Hello, Mrs. Trotten.” I give her my best attempt at a smile as I lean in and kiss her on the cheek just like I did when I last saw her. Only this time, she doesn’t look too happy to see me.

 
“What are you doing here?” she asks throwing a cautious glimpse back towards the house.

  I swallow hard, tugging at the neck of my button-up shirt. Suddenly, it’s a bit hard to breathe. I should have probably worn a t-shirt because the Florida heat has absolutely no chill. But I’m here to have a man-to-man talk with the father of the woman I love – the woman I knocked up – so I had to look presentable.

  “I’d like to speak with your husband, ma’am.” I hold my shoulders back and try to feign self-assurance. I’m wavering on the inside. “He and I have some things to discuss.”

  She purses her lips and contemplates me for a long while before nodding to herself. “Of course,” she says as she sets down her gardening tools. “Have a seat on the front porch.” She heads into the house.