by Naomi West
Carey wanted to jump up from her seat, run to the road as fast as she could, and flag down the next approaching car—taxi or not. Instead, she spoke. “Sure. Let’s do it.”
Ten minutes later, the two of them were walking under the light of the moon, the soft bubbling of a nearby fountain and the light chatter from the restaurant balcony an accompaniment to the sound of their steps on the grass.
“Well, here we are,” said Brady.
“Yup,” said Carey. “Here we are.”
“I hear you spent a summer interning with an artist in Holyoke.”
“Sure did.”
Silence fell as they walked. Carey wasn’t sure how much small talk she could stand. Then, Brady abruptly spoke.
“Listen, Carey—I’m going to be brutally, terribly honest with you.”
Oh, no, though Carey. Here we go.
“I want us to be a couple again. It’s been years since we met, and even now I find myself still wondering why it is that you and I broke up. We were so happy together, weren’t we?”
We broke up because everything I liked about you changed so that you could make money.
She kept those thoughts to herself, of course.
“I don’t know, Brady,” said Carey. “I suppose we just grew apart.”
“Exactly! We grew apart—my thoughts exactly. I decided I want to make more money, and you wanted to pursue your dream of being a, uh, sculptor.”
“Painter.”
“Oh, same thing. But I’ve been thinking. I decided that if it’s possible for two people to grow apart, then it’s certainly possible for them to grow back together again. Right?”
Carey realized there was no way of getting out of this. But she had a thought as Brady stood with her, his face in an expression of wide-eyed supplication: what if he could be the father to the baby? After all, the child was going to need a father, and Carey didn’t trust Owen with the job one bit, not after what she’d seen. Brady, on the other hand, might be a tiresome boor, but he at least had money and stability. And she realized that if she timed things right, she could have him believe that he was the father.
It struck her as a devilish option, but the more Carey thought about it, the more it appealed to her. All it would cost her was the love of the man she’d cared for more than any other in exchange for a life of stultifying stability. With a child in the picture, however, Carey knew that she couldn’t only think about herself anymore. What was love in the face of the future of her child?
“Let me … think about it,” said Carey.
“That’s all I was hoping to hear,” said Brady, his face eager and pleased. “Let’s spend the day together tomorrow. I’ll show you just how good of a decision it would be to get back together with me.”
Then, as though possessed by a wild animal, Brady launched into a kiss that Carey wasn’t expecting. It was so sudden—one moment Carey was looking at the ground in front of her feet, the next Brady’s face was right in front of hers, his thin lips puckered.
Carey dived out of the way, and Brady stumbled forward, falling into the grass.
“What the hell was that?” asked Brady from where he sat.
“Good question!” shouted Carey, shocked from the attempt.
“I just thought it looked like that was what you wanted!” he said, shocked.
Wait, she thought, play it cool. Don’t let him know that the idea of kissing him is enough to make your stomach turn. Don’t scare him off, or the plan will be ruined.
“Um, it was just so sudden,” she said, extending her hand and helping him up. “I mean, maybe we can give this couple thing a try. But you’re going to have to take it slow. And, um, I mean very slow.”
“Fine, fine,” he said, smoothing down his now-wild blond hair. “But what’s the point? I mean, we’ve already done everything together.”
“I just need some time to adjust to it. And if you want this to work, you’re going to need to be respectful of this.”
“Fine!” he said, clearly frustrated. “Then let’s call it a night. How about we meet for lunch tomorrow? I know a lovely bistro in Boston at which I’m sure I can easily get a reservation.”
“Sounds great,” said Carey, eager to get home.
“Then let me call for my ride.”
He dialed up a number on his phone as they made their way back to the front of the country club. As they arrived, a sleek black Mercedes pulled up to meet them.
“Wow, this yours?” asked Carey.
“Why, yes—it is,” he said, a smirk on his face making it clear that he was happy to have impressed her.
They climbed into the back of the car and were soon off. As the driver took them back to Carey’s place, Brady placed his hand on Carey’s thigh, a small smile on his lips. Carey wanted to slap his hand off as though it was a little spider that had crawled onto her skin, but she decided to let him have this, at least.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, dear,” he said, holding the door open for her once they’d arrived.
“Until then,” said Carey.
Once the door was shut, Carey entered the house as quickly as she could. Her parents were seated in the living room, and both of their eyes eagerly shot to her as she entered.
“Well?” asked Mark. “How was it?”
“Fine! Tired! Going to sleep!” shouted Carey as she ran up the stairs.
Once back in her old room, she shut the door and fell onto the bed. Pulling her phone out of her bag, she brought up Owen’s number, a picture of him attached to the profile. She gazed longingly at his face, wishing she had the courage to just call him up and tell him what she wanted more than anything.
But before she could indulge the fantasy for too long, the image of the violence from the other night entered her thoughts like an invader. Tears formed in her eyes. Carey, for the first time in as long as she could remember, felt terribly, terribly alone.
Chapter Eleven
Carey
Two weeks later …
“What do you mean you’re out of the saké roll?”
Brady’s voice cut through the quiet ambience of the sushi restaurant where he and Carey were having lunch.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said the waitress, a young girl who Carey figured she couldn’t have been more than a few years older than, “we had a problem with the order this morning, and we’re out for the day. Can I interest you in the tamago?”
Brady rolled his eyes and scoffed, as though he couldn’t have imagined being asked such a question.
“No, you can’t interest me in the tamago. I want saké sashimi, and I don’t care what it takes for you to get it!”
“Brady,” said Carey, placing her hand on his. “Just order something else.”
He turned his glare to Carey, clearly upset that he’d been interrupted in the middle of his righteous anger. Carey glanced around, mortified to see that the eyes of just about every other table were on her and Brady.
“Fine,” he said, yanking the menu out of the waitress’s hands and flipping through it. “Give me this sashimi platter. This one right here—” He tapped impatiently on the menu. “Am I too out of line to assume that you have all of this in stock?”
“We … do,” said the waitress.
Carey knew the look that the waitress had on her face; it was the stone-still expression that you wore when dealing with a difficult customer, one that a server wore when doing everything it took to hide his or her true emotions at that moment.
“Then fetch it for me, would you? And another one of these,” he said, tapping the side of his whiskey glass with his fingertip.
The waitress nodded and hurried off, and Carey tried to count just how many whiskeys Brady had already drunk, realizing that it had to be no less than three.
“Is that really necessary?” asked Carey. “I worked as a waitress during the summer; customers acting like you are what makes the job miserable.”
“You were a waitress?” he asked, his eyebrows raising in disbelief, his to
ne so shocked that Carey would’ve thought she’d told him that she’d worked as a nuclear engineer. He chuckled slightly.
“What?” asked Carey. “Something funny about that?”
“Just imagining a girl like you from a family like yours working such an undignified job.”
“‘Undignified’?”
“Of course! Running around, taking orders, fetching things for people—not the sort of job that a girl like you should have.”
“And what kind of job should a girl like me have?”
“If it were up to me, you wouldn’t work at all,” he said, a dreamy expression on his face as though imagining their future together. “I’d bring home the money and you’d spend your time with the children. I suppose you could paint or whatever when the kids were at school.”
“Getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?” asked Carey.
Come on, Carey, she told herself. Don’t mess with the plan.
“I mean,” she said, correcting herself. “Maybe someday.”
Brady smiled and reached across the table, taking Carey’s hands into his.
“These last few weeks have been just wonderful,” he said. “And I hope you’ve been as happy as I’ve been.”
“Very … very much so,” said Carey, forcing the words out.
He smiled and gave a quick nod.
“Off to the bathroom. Don’t eat my food if it comes.”
He got up, patted her on the head, and took off.
Carey sighed as he started towards the bathroom, feeling relief wash over her now that she was alone, if only for a few minutes. A buzzing in her pocket caused her to pull out her phone and check the screen, only to see that it was blank.
Damn phantom texts, she thought.
And she knew just who she wanted to hear from—Owen. She’d blocked him, sure, but part of her wished that he’d find some way to get around it, to contact her anyway and rescue her from all of this. But then, just as always, the images from the fight flooded her mind. Then, just as always when she was reminded of her dilemma, she placed her hands on her belly, reminding herself that as hard as this was, it was all for the baby.
Her stomach turned, however, when she realized that she’d been putting off sleeping with Brady. She had to get the timing right if she was going to convince him that the baby was his, and she could only avoid sleeping with him for another few days.
Moments later, Brady plopped into the seat across from her.
“At least the bathrooms are well-kept,” he said, wiping his hands on his pants.
The waitress arrived with the food, placing it in front of the two and hurrying off before Brady could snap at her again.
“Let’s eat!”
***
Sitting in the back of the Mercedes after they were done with their dinner, Carey considered the night ahead of her. She knew that she should just bite the bullet and sleep with him, but the idea of it was like taking some vile medicine that she’d have to simply close her eyes and swallow.
“Let’s go back to my place,” he said, placing his hand on Carey’s leg and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’ve got a great idea of how we can spend the rest of the evening.”
Oh shit, oh shit, thought Carey.
She realized that this was going to be the night, that she couldn’t put it off any longer. They soon arrived at the massive home near the country club where Brady was staying.
“I still can’t believe that the bank is letting me live here for free,” he said, stopping in front of the house and looking at it with pride. “One day, I’ll have a home twice as big as this.”
Before Carey could say anything, he took her by the hand and led her eagerly through the front doors.
As soon as they crossed the threshold into the massive, cavernous house, a sick feeling formed in Carey’s stomach. She realized that she wanted to be anywhere else but here, with Brady. Over the course of the last several weeks, she felt as though she’d seen every facet of his personality, and it left her more certain than ever that he wasn’t the man for her. In fact, she found herself wondering if the man he once was when they were dating so many years ago in high school had been nothing more than an illusion courtesy of rose-colored glasses.
Carey hated how snooty he’d become, how entitled. She hated the way he flashed his money and title around to anyone within earshot, she hated the way he treated service staff like slaves, and she hated the way he clamored for her attention, becoming pouty and insolent like a little kid when she didn’t provide him with what he wanted.
And, most of all, she hated the way he pestered her constantly for sex. He seemed to think that simply because they’d been sexually active long ago that he was entitled to pleasure on demand. The more Carey thought about it, however, the more she knew that she couldn’t think of a person who she’d rather less be intimate with.
However, she knew that if she was going to provide her baby with the life she knew he or she would need, then it was inevitable.
“What a place!” he said, stepping into the enormous living room, the floor-to-ceiling windows of the back wall affording a sweeping view of the nearby lake. “And I get to stay here for free! Can you even imagine!”
“Very impressive,” said Carey, craving the glass of wine that she knew she couldn’t have.
Brady, his limbs heavy with alcohol, grabbed a remote off of a nearby table and pressed a few buttons. A fire roared to life in a large fireplace and sultry, corny jazz filled the air. Another button press lowered the lights. Tossing the remote onto a nearby couch, Brady turned his eyes to Carey, a lecherous look on his prim features.
“I think …” he said, “… I could do with another drink. Something for you?”
“No,” said Carey. “I’m fine.”
He waved his hand through the air as he turned towards the bar.
“What are you,” he asked, “some kind of teetotaler these days? I don’t think I’ve seen you touch a single drop since we’ve been back together.”
Back together? thought Carey. Oh, shit—he thinks we’re dating. But then again, we’ve been spending the last few weeks together; have I been doing anything to make him think otherwise?
“Just not much of a drinker these days,” said Carey, stepping into the living room and wishing the night would already be over.
“I can see that,” he said. “How boring.”
He poured himself a small draw of whiskey, tossed it back, and then poured himself another for sipping. Carey watched this with curiosity. Brady had never been much of a drinker in high school, both of them always avoiding the cheap beer on tap at the few parties they went to, but it occurred to Carey that something had changed in him to give him a real taste for booze. She wondered if there was something about the new life that he led that caused him to drink so heavily. Either way, she didn’t like it one bit.
Drink in hand, he sauntered over to Carey to the beat of the music and slipped his arm around her.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, the scent of whiskey heavy on his breath. “I can’t believe how lucky I am to have another chance with you. And we haven’t even gotten to the … good part of our relationship.”
With that, his hand slipped down along Carey’s collarbone, his fingertips grazing against her cleavage. Without thinking, she shuddered and stepped out of his arms. Once she was free, Carey’s eyes flicked back to Brady and she saw that an expression on his face that was a mixture of outrage and surprise.
“What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice slurring. “I try to touch you and you jump away from me like I’m a damned reptile!”
“Um, I was just a little surprised, is all,” said Carey.
She realized at that moment that she couldn’t put off sleeping with him any longer. He wanted sex, and if she continued to deny him she knew that she’d alert him that something was seriously amiss.
“You’re going to have to get used to me taking you by surprise,” he said, stepping towards her again.
“I love spontaneous lovemaking.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders, resting the glass of whiskey against her skin. Then, he closed his eyes and moved slowly towards her, his lips again already puckered and ready.
Here goes nothing … she thought.
But right at that moment, an idea occurred to her.
“Wait!” she shot out.
“Oh, what now?” asked Brady, his voice lined with frustration.
“I … Um, we need to talk about something. Before any of this happens.”
