Fox (Bodhi Beach Book 1)

by SM Lumetta

  “Damn, Mags, that escalated quickly!” Nora says, though the pride and amusement in her voice is more obvious than not.

  Mom winks at Nora. “I will call his mother again. Roz will join me in putting the smack down on his heinie!”

  Nora and I exchange amused glances and our tittering quickly grows into minor hysterics. Mom watches us with that “you girls” look on her face.

  “Sophie Ann, what happened? You didn’t give me much in the way of details when I, quote ‘stopped Roz from kicking his ass.’ Did you fall in love with him?”

  Nora chokes on her own spit. I forgot to mention that Fox pretty much outed us a few weeks ago just before I found out I was pregnant.

  “Nor, Mom knows the lowdown. Fox and I had Sunday brekkie over at her place and he blabbed. Not directly, but—”

  “But I’m not an idiot. I was kind of wild in my day,” she says, and I can feel a “wild oats” story coming on. “I had a one-nighter with Rob Lowe, you know!”

  The audience is split between “oohs” and “ewws.”

  Nora perks. She lives for juicy gossip like this. “Oh! Tell me. Is it big? Or was it disappointing? Is he a grower? He didn’t seem to be packing.”

  “Nora Bennett, you are dick obsessed.”

  Y’all. That was my mother. My mother called my bestie “dick obsessed.” I know I just repeated myself, but I have to make sure people are paying attention. Now I need an oxygen treatment because I just randomly developed asthma. And incontinence, but mostly from laughing.

  Despite the hilarious non sequitur, Mom is not railroaded off the Fox topic, though it is postponed until we get back to my hotel. Luckily the hotel is able to upgrade me to a suite due to Nora’s smooth talking, even if she did use my hospital stay as fodder for freebies. I’m not complaining. Regardless, the three of us will be much more comfortable this way.

  We do end up ordering room service, as I can’t convince any part of myself to get cleaned up to the point that I will venture out in public for food. It’s bad enough I had to be seen by the cabbie.

  I nibble on my burger and fries—chips, Mom made sure to clarify—as she re-approaches the question.

  “What happened? Why isn’t Fox here?”

  I can’t help that I wince at his name. It’s a very sore point for me right now. I miss Fox. And Flowerkraut. And Cat. We’d become like a little family unit. By accident. And I’ve lost them all. Next thing I know, Mom shoves me over on the sofa and pulls me into a very “mom” hug. By that I mean if I were small enough, she’d pull me into her lap. But I’m not. In fact, I’m almost four inches taller than her, so yeah, that’d probably be hella awkward. Nonetheless, I slouch valiantly so that I can be my momma’s baby girl. It’s comfort.

  “He bailed,” I say finally. I hear Nora sigh. Mom does, too, but I hear the anger in hers. It’s her hackles raising. Ready to fight tooth and nail for her baby. It makes me smile, but then it makes me sad again. If I gave the word, Fox would have an army on his doorstep. It might only be an army of two, but if you knew my mom and Nora, you’d know it was enough.

  “When?”

  “The pee stick was still wet,” I say, and for whatever reason that forces a pathetic giggle out of me. “Wet pee stick.”

  Mom rolls her eyes in a way I can practically hear it, and lightly smacks the back of my head. “What did he say?” she asks.

  I didn’t want to repeat the “no more fucking” line, but I quickly describe his immediate cold shoulder and fast-as-fuck flee. She thinks for a minute before she speaks again.

  “I think he just freaked out,” she says, a little too honest for what I wanted to hear. “You two have been getting busy and all that and now you don’t need him. He’s one of your best friends, your oldest friend. It would make sense if this kind of shift scared him.”

  What she’s saying makes sense, and frankly, I’m irritated it’s so logical. Every muscle in my body locks up with the stress of it. Not because I feel bad for him, but because I’m angry. I sit up and glare at my mother.

  “Thanks for the tip, Mom,” I snarl. “I guess I’ll just go call him now since he did nothing wrong!”

  Standing, I stomp preteenishly across to the table where we left the extra food. I cross my arms, a chip-fry in my paw. I chomp on the end of it and huff as I chew.

  “Baby,” she says, “I’m not saying what he did was right—I just thought you’d want some context, that’s all. And I could be wrong. Maybe he’s just an immature dickhead who wasn’t getting what he wanted anymore. I’m sorry that wasn’t the first thing I said.”

  I maintain a pout for at least four more fries. “Yeah, I know,” I admit, speaking with my mouth full.

  Mom closes her eyes and shakes her head.

  “And I’m sure Mags is up for a proper arse kicking when we get back to California, right, Mom?” Nora chimes in, tipping back her beer.

  Mom laughs, full and hearty. Just that look of sincere emotion on her face makes me smile. “You know it, Bennett!”

  Despite the miraculous mood lift Mom and Nora provide, we don’t make a genuine holiday out of it. The brief stay in the hospital had left me numb and wondering if I’d smile again. Thankfully, neither one of them pushes me to accept things or feel something I don’t. They help distract me and relax with me for a couple of days before we all make the long trek back to Bodhi. We manage to get on the same flight, though my boss—the owner of the production company—heard about everything and insisted on upgrading me to one of those pods. I try to give it to my mom, but she won’t have it. Neither will the airline, apparently. And even in “premium comfort” that such an amazing first class experience provides, I don’t sleep a wink.

  I’m getting closer to California, closer to Fox, and closer to confronting the fact that I am head over heels in love with the man. The man, the idiot, the sweetheart, the imbecile, the lazy ass, the comedian, the friend. All of him. Even the part that ran for the hills when he found out I was pregnant. That part hurts the most. I still love him even though I’ve never felt so abandoned. How the hell does that work?

  I talk to Nora a couple of times during the flight when we meet at the bar. Seriously, this yacht with wings has a bar. An attended bar. Mom joins us as she has trouble sleeping on planes, too. The bartender-flight attendant overhears the gist of our conversations—well, you can’t not; bar on a plane or not, it’s still a plane and thereby compact—and slaps a bottle of wine on the counter.

  “I’m sorry to intrude,” she says, “but I suffered three miscarriages after all medically assisted pregnancies. I know something about what you’re feeling.”

  Mom grabs her hand and in a blink, every one of us is misty eyed. It’s like the worst kind of tear-jerking reality show or sappy TV movie you can possibly think of. The estrogen in this ten-by-ten cubic space could choke a man in one breath.

  “Thank you,” I murmur, nodding and leaning over to hug her. I start to cry, but pull back before I can snot sob on her crisp and clean uniform.

  She smiles. I notice her nametag says Ursula. “This bottle is on me,” she insists, pointing at us so that we know not to argue.

  “Only if you will have one with us, Ursula,” I say. I imagine it’s awkward if people use your first name like you’re friends, but why else do you wear a name tag? Solely for customer tattling purposes?

  She looks around. “I’m not supposed to, but I’ll risk it,” she says with a wink.

  We toast to each other, to life, to being a woman. All that Kumbaya shit, I guess, but it feels nice anyway. Before we head back to our seats, Ursula pulls me aside.

  “The fourth pregnancy,” she says quietly, “was twins. Phillip and Collin. They’re five now.”

  I smile and another tear leaks out. I better suck down a bottle or seven of water. I’ve gotta be insanely dehydrated. “I’m so glad to hear that. Hug them for me. I know hugs from strangers are not creepy at all, ha ha, but since you have to give them for me, it’ll be okay.” Why do I speak
out loud sometimes? It’s ridiculous.

  She smiles awkwardly. “I will. Thank you.”

  I still don’t manage any sleep but I feel less restless.

  When the plane lands, Mom and Nora insist they will be driving me home. I refuse, because I don’t feel like renting a car to drive back out to LAX to retrieve the car I already own. It’s stupid. Mom will drive with me while Nora drives her own back.

  I feel like I have a police escort. It’s like they know I want to drive immediately to see Fox.

  I drag myself down the jetway and into the airport. I’m exhausted and can’t believe I’ve only been gone a little over a week. I also can’t believe I’m not pregnant anymore. As if it wasn’t bad enough I’ve had to go through the stress of realizing my lady parts are trying to close up shop, I also have to go through multiple tries of baking a kid in my oven. That is, ya know, making a kid. Not legitimately cooking a child in my actual kitchen appliance. I’ve said too much.

  I’m so tired.

  But even with the miscarriage a million miles from home and having to go through the experience alone—at least, at first—having my girls show up like that was both a relief and a stress. Stress because I feel guilt over them shelling out thousands of dollars just to babysit my sad ass. Nora insists that she had a million travel miles and paid for one of the tickets with those, but I’m not sure I believe her.

  In any case, I’m relieved to be home. And too anxious to see Fox. They are right on that.

  I haven’t even called him yet, but the urge to hear his voice has only intensified since I first realized what was happening to me and our baby. Our baby. That might be pushing it.

  As I pass a couple reuniting and subsequently making out like one of them just came home from war, I want to cry again. It’s one thing to be hormonal, but this cry on a dime shit is for the birds. Thank goodness Nora sees this and firmly guides me past them quickly before I stare and bawl at the same time. It could get really fucking awkward really fucking fast, and then security might be called… it’d just be a mess.

  Despite the quick-handed intervention, I still find myself wishing Fox is waiting for me in baggage claim, relieved and happy to have me home and in his arms.

  But I haven’t heard from him for more than three weeks. He’s been strangely distant. No, that sounds too nice. Absent. He’s been completely absent.

  In a second, I decide that I’m going to head to The Post and find out what’s up his ass. I can’t go home first because once I sit down I won’t get back up until morning. Between jet lag and recovering from an international hospital stay, I’m surprised I was able to walk off the plane at all.

  Customs is thankfully easy, albeit slow, and I find my car in the garage quickly enough. The combination of things makes me feel optimistic about seeing Fox, and I smile a bit as I make the turn down Middlebelt Road to drop off Mom. There was absolutely no way I was getting out of having someone drive with me. I am exhausted, so I guess that’s the safe decision, too. Luckily for my glutton-for-punishment ass, Mom’s house is even closer to The Post than mine is, so I drive to the bar knowing in my gut that he’s hanging out there tonight. He’s always there on Thursdays.

  As gravel crunches under my tires, I’m clotheslined by overwhelming anxiety. What if he doesn’t want to talk to me? What if telling him everything ruins what we have? I can’t go back if I put it all out there.

  Hold up, I tell myself. You’re here to find out why he’s been avoiding you. That’s all. And maybe to tell him about the miscarriage. Not to mention you don’t have much of anything at all right now. Blow it all up!

  Right, I nod. To myself. At myself. Whatever.

  I know I’m not going to get any more motivated, so I nearly fall out of the car. Before I walk to the door, I straighten myself and take a deep breath. This is probably a bad idea, because I’m exhausted to the point of pain, but I want to try to avoid sleeping for at least a few more hours. I’m going in.

  Inside, it’s deceptively dim—it looks like it should be quiet or at least chill, but it’s more like a melee of dancing and drinking. The patio out back is full, but not super crowded, so I figure he’ll be out there.

  When I first see him, my body warms. The smile that swings onto my face is crooked and only lasts a second. My warm feeling sours, turning into chagrin and foolishness.

  The leggy blonde that sidles up next to him is the epitome of cheap. Plastic tits, enough makeup for a clown convention, and clothes small enough to question whether she’s wearing any at all. It feels like a trick, like this can’t possibly be happening. It’s too cliché! In almost every way! But no matter how many times I blink and rub my eyes, she’s still there, rubbing those literal beach balls on his arm.

  My stomach lurches and I’m thankful that I haven’t had anything since the in-flight dinner. I could probably manage to yak up some water, but that’s neither here nor there. As my body wars with my mind, itself, gravity… I decide this was a stupid move and prepare to hightail it the fuck out of here. But before I can force my feet to move, Fox spots me. He visibly freaks, sporting the guilty eyes. He shoves the blonde away, at least far enough so she can’t hump his leg anymore. I watch his hand jump to his fly to check his zipper and I know. They just came back from the beach. Where they surely had sex. Classic Fox. Classic Stupid Sophie.

  “Sophie!” he calls from only a few feet away, but the music on the patio is still loud.

  “Yeah, hi,” I say, mustering everything I can to sound relaxed and not heartbroken. Not that I am. I mean, I don’t care. Nope.

  “How’ve you been?” he asks.

  I immediately hate him. It’s the most unnatural conversation I think we’ve ever had.

  The audience groans in clear agreement. Every one of them has a stomachache.

  I can’t answer. I can’t fake this. “I’ve been better. I just got back from the UK—”

  “Oh, right. That work trip. Fun time, right? I went to London with Samson once,” he starts, like I don’t know the goddamn college story he’s told a thousand times. God forbid he listens to the rest of my sentence. Whatever. He’s only proving to me he wants nothing to do with whatever I’m going through. Not to mention, I know for a fact I look like hell. Nora confirmed it.

  “Yeah, great,” I say flatly, but he either ignores it or doesn’t catch it. I’m betting on ignore.

  “Good. Are you sticking around for a beer?” It doesn’t sound like he wants me to. Part of me wishes I had the constitution where I could fake it right now just for spite. I have the spite down pat, but I’m minutes from collapsing—especially with this latest fake blonde development. “Oh, wait, preggo. No booze for you!”

  “No, of course I’m not,” I say. My stomach twists and I want to throw up, water or whatever. Maybe I’ll choke down his beer just so I can vomit in his face. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Not to mention, I’m sure you don’t want a cock block hanging around since ‘Bang All of Bodhi Beach’ is back on.”

  Deer in the headlights. “Wh-why, um, what?”

  “Excellent choice, by the way,” I tell him, the venom in my voice shocking even me. “Let me know if you get through all the makeup and keep sharp objects away from those floatation devices up front,” I say as I make the universal gesture for boobs. “You don’t want ’em to pop in your face.”

  “What’s your problem?” He’s genuinely offended and that pisses me off all the more, even though that was my exact intention with the snark and attitude.

  “Did you renew your condom delivery subscription the very moment after I told you I was pregnant? Or did you wait a whole hour? I bet Sluts Unlimited was already banging down your door with a fresh catalog of ass!”

  He huffs an exhale out of his nose like a cartoon bull. “Did we have some other kind of agreement I’m unaware of? Because I thought that was the whole point of the fucking?” His voice is cold. Like, mean cold. I haven’t heard him like this before, and frankly, it’s a little scary. There’s clea
rly a part of Fox I haven’t been privy to, and I’m getting a free peek. Joy.

  “What? No, of course not. As soon as that strip turned blue, you were a free-to-fuck-’em-all man. Clearly.” I tilt my head toward his “date.”

  He pinches his eyes shut for a long breath. “Look, I wish you’d just come straight out and tell me why you’re pissed at me, because I can’t read your mind.”

  I tip my face up to look in his eyes as I step close enough that my teeth nearly nip at the end of his nose. “Even if I explained it to you like a child,” I hiss, my voice slow and unnaturally even. “I doubt it would matter.” Between the diabolical tone and the way my eyes blaze, I feel unstoppably powerful. His face is wide open, eyes nearly popping out, and jaw slack. But I’m too angry and sad to enjoy any of the upper hand I may have.

  He throws his hands up in the air. I turn on my heel and move as quickly as I can through the crowd to get to the door. I get just outside and his hand closes on my arm like a vise. To say I’m shocked is an understatement. That evil little kernel of hope flares in my stomach, like he’s going to confess and beg my forgiveness. I hate when I’m that stupid.

  “Nuh-uh,” he says, his voice all sexy and growly. It makes my eyes water. More. Damn hormones. “You don’t get to walk away. What’s going on?”

  “Like I said, Fox,” I say as I spin to face him. A sanitized confrontational rant comes pouring out. “It doesn’t matter. I haven’t heard from you in almost three weeks. As far as I can tell, you don’t give a shit about me or what’s going on with me. Are we even friends anymore? Doesn’t seem like it. You’re back to whoring, though—excellent work, by the way. I guess that’s that. Right?”

  The look on his face tells me he’s hoping his head explodes. Frankly, I’m kind of hoping that, too. It would be tragically satisfying.

  “What do you want me to say, Sophie? That I’m so sorry? That I’m in love with you from all the hot sex, oh, please take me back? I couldn’t face my feelings so I was drowning my sorrows by nailing model wannabes?”