“Hi,” he responded.
“We can eat in the kitchen if you’d like or . . .” she rambled, still standing behind the door.
“Sounds good,” he said and made his way through the house to the kitchen, placing the pizza on the small breakfast nook table.
“Would you like something to drink? I think I have water and probably some sort of juice. I know it’s not glamorous . . .” Lizzie called out as she entered the room, walking on the other side of the island so he couldn’t see her.
“Lizzie, water’s fine,” he said, turning to look at her, but she hid herself with the fridge door.
He stood, waiting for her to come to the table. She kept her back to him. Her pink dress stopped a little above the knee, her feet bare. From this angle, she didn’t look pregnant. She actually looked quite sexy. He remembered the first time he’d been in this kitchen—the way she’d taken care of him. The way she’d responded to him. The way her face had looked as he’d lifted her onto the counter, the intensity of their lovemaking . . .
Her return to the table broke the memory, replaced by the creation of this new one—the first time he saw her pregnant body. The roundness of her belly, the fullness of her breasts. He felt so jealous of Tom and he wasn’t even there. He’d created that life inside her body. That was Tom’s child growing inside of Lizzie—not his. And he only had himself to blame for that.
Studying her face, Marc noted the weariness there, though even with the weariness, she looked radiant.
“You look beautiful,” he said, giving her a quick hug. Though he wanted to linger, he didn’t want to find out if she didn’t want more.
“You’re a liar,” she said, sitting down with a sigh.
“No, Elizabeth. You do look beautiful.”
She shook her head in protest, her eyebrows raised in disbelief.
“Yes, you look a little tired,” he admitted. “But that adds to it. Pregnancy seems to agree with you.”
She smiled happily. “It does. Most of the time anyway. There are days when it seems nothing agrees with me.” After lifting the lid of the pizza box, Lizzie breathed in. “This . . . agrees with me. Thank you for picking this up.”
“You know it’s not a problem. Friends do that kind of thing. Now eat! I don’t want your child to hate me for letting you starve.”
She chuckled and lifted a piece and brought it to her mouth. He watched her finish her first slice of pizza quickly, nourishing the baby inside of her. He’d never thought about kids with Lizzie . . . or in general. He hadn’t been in a place to even consider it. But in this moment, thoughts of being a father assaulted his mind.
“You must think I’m a pig. I haven’t eaten since early this morning.”
“Why? And by the way, you’re not a pig.”
“You’re right. It’s this child inside of me,” she laughed in sheer joy.
“Now why didn’t you eat today?”
“Excitement and travel. I’m so glad I’m done with traveling. I think about all the time I’ve been away . . . it was a lot . . .”
Marc didn’t want to agree with her, but it had been—he’d missed her, and each time she’d left, it had been just that much harder to handle.
“You didn’t like my travel,” she stated, her eyes locked on him.
“No . . . not all the time,” he said with a shake of his head. “I was proud of you and would never have said ‘me or the job’ but there were times when you being gone was hard for me,” he admitted.
“Why was it hard?”
“Too much time left alone to think,” he said, standing up and closing the pizza box and putting it on the island. Talking to her about this—the reason for his disappearance—was harder than he’d expected.
“Marc . . . don’t do that.”
He busied himself with throwing out his napkin and putting his empty bottle of water in the recycling bin. “Do what?” he asked, playing dumb.
“Don’t run. Talk to me.”
Slowly turning to her, he stayed where he was. “Are you sure you want me to do that? Talk about this? Talk about the reasons why I left you? Do you want to open that box up or do we move on?”
He had thought that talking about things would be the right thing to do. But . . . he needed her to tell him why she wanted to hear it, what it meant to her because he had a feeling that would determine so many things between them . . . and their future.
Pushing herself from her seat, Lizzie made her way to him. If this topic hadn’t upset him so much, he would’ve teased her about her cute pregnant waddle.
“I need to open up that box. It’s the only way I can move on.”
“But you already moved on,” Marc disagreed. “Don’t you see that? You moved on to life with Tom. And this won’t help you move on from his death. So what is it? What will my story give you?”
“It will let me know that you are okay. It will give me insight into what you went through. I don’t have that . . . from you. I deserve that.”
Marc frowned because what it sounded like she wanted was closure.
“I need it because what we have is deeper than friendship.”
Okay . . . maybe he was wrong.
“We have a friendship? I’ve wondered about that these past months. From what I think a friendship is . . . we don’t have that. I really can’t say what we have,” he said.
Lizzie took a step closer and if he wanted to see her face, he needed to look down. After a few long moments, he did and what he saw surprised him—her shimmering eyes. She gripped his hand, tugging him closer.
“Marc, I’m sorry . . . I needed that time. You, out of everyone, should understand that.”
Knife to the stomach, he thought.
“I do understand . . . honestly, I do.”
“So,” she began, her pregnant belly pressing against his cock. He almost groaned but caught himself. “Do you think we can be friends? Like real friends? Or is there too much between us for that to happen?”
He told himself he’d do anything for her, but he just didn’t know if or how it would work out. “I want to, Elizabeth. But I honestly don’t know if we can.”
She sighed sadly. The moment he spoke, he knew she wanted to run. He’d felt it . . . the release of her hold on him, the step away.
Taking both of her wrists, he pulled her to him, closer than before because he didn’t want her to bolt. “But,” he said, pausing to get her attention, and when she looked up, he continued, “I want to try. For the simple fact that I need you in my life.”
Lizzie
“Holy hell, Lizzie! You got fat!” Ollie announced to the world when she stepped out of her Jeep.
Thankfully, Gwen elbowed him in the gut. Her gaze fell from Lizzie’s face to her stomach then back up to her eyes. There was a faint, understanding smile on her friend’s face. Gwen pulled her into her arms and squeezed. As she let her go, Gwen spoke the word that had her burst out laughing. “Whore.”
Lizzie’s demeanor sobered up when she saw Marc on the front step, looking lost in thought. Today would be a hard day and he seemed to be mentally preparing himself for it. She had done that sitting in her driveway for about fifteen minutes before she’d left.
“So, why are you all just standing about outside?”
“Waiting for Mrs. Myers to arrive,” Ollie answered.
“I’ve got a key,” she said, standing in place, looking at Tom’s home and feeling those memories rain over her.
“Yeah, so do I,” Ollie said, mimicking her stance. They didn’t want to go in.
“Tell us about what’s going on with your stomach while we wait,” he said, taking her arm and leading her to the front porch. He sat her down next to Marc, who smiled at her.
Then she told her friends about it—when she thought she’d gotten pregnant, when she’d found out, why she’d kept it to herself, and that it was going to be a boy.
“Holy shit,” Gwen cursed. “A boy?”
“Yeah . . .”
�
�You all right? With the pregnancy? With you?” Gwen asked.
“As good as I can be.”
“Elizabeth,” Marc said, calling her bullshit.
“I’m scared, okay? But I’m also so excited for this. At the same time, I’m heartbroken that Tom won’t be around to meet his son. That my son will grow up without his father. So, am I all right? No. But I’m going to be.”
A loud honk had them all looking up. Mrs. Myers pulled up in Tom’s delivery van. “Hey, kids!”
“Kids?” Gwen said.
“I feel like I’m back in high school when she’d feed us some good ass food after school,” Ollie added.
“So true,” Lizzie agreed.
Mrs. Myers came up to them, gave Lizzie a hug and asked, “How’s my grandbaby?”
“Very well. Sucking every bit of energy from me to grow.”
Tom’s mother smiled fondly at her. “You are relegated to the couch.”
“What?” Lizzie exclaimed, shaking her head. “No. I can’t. I need to be a part of this. I need . . .”
“Just no lifting anything,” Marc ordered, getting up and extending his hand to help her. “Okay? Nothing heavier than a book.”
When she stood up, her eyes were even with Marc’s thanks to the steps she was on. “Okay, I promise.”
The four of them made sure that’s all she did do. She was fine with that. Lizzie was good at supervision and telling people what to do.
They all tried to keep the atmosphere lighthearted but when they all decided to take a much needed break, Lizzie found herself in Tom’s bedroom. As she stood in the middle of the room, her eyes closed, and she felt him surround her. She could still smell him. Walking through his room, her hands lovingly touched his belongings, hugged her favorite articles of clothing.
Lizzie began making piles . . . things to take home for her, things to put in storage for her son, and things to donate. She’d been making good progress until she came upon three shoebox-sized wooden boxes that he’d obviously made. The first one she opened was a whole bunch of ticket stubs to sporting events . . . mostly Cubs games. The second was his memories of her. She shook her head as she flipped through the items; he’d been collecting forever. Their life together as friends . . . and lovers.
The third box she had a feeling about this one, especially since there was a big carved star on the center of it. With her hands on the sides, she paused. This was his memory box of Mia, she just knew, and it simply felt wrong to open it.
She put all three boxes in her pile to take home. Maybe one day she’d give it to Mia.
After she finished going through his room, Lizzie set about bringing the items she wanted to her vehicle. Then she boxed up the rest and went down to see how the other four were faring. They’d pretty much left her alone though she’d felt their concerned eyes on her from time to time.
Standing on the porch, she watched them load the truck, her mind completely blank.
She had no idea how long she’d stood there, though it had to be a long time, Lizzie thought when Gwen told her they were done. The guys went with Mrs. Myers to help her unload at her place and would return to do the same at Lizzie’s.
Time for goodbye, she thought as she headed back into the house.
Lizzie walked through every room, absorbing whatever energy was left. She ended her walk-through in his office—the room that had been him in every way. He’d created beautiful furniture in there, watched his beloved baseball, and made love to her countless times in that room.
“Goodbye, Tom,” she said and walked from the house, her eyes covered in a veil of tears.
Lizzie and Gwen returned to her home and after letting out Foxy, the women unloaded her Jeep, putting the items in her closet. Not too long after they finished, the guys arrived with the other truck and she just had them put it all in her spare bedroom. Furniture Tom had made that she loved that she couldn’t bear to part with . . . like the bed he’d made early on in his career. She’d figure out what to do with all of it later.
“Lizzie, it’s all unloaded,” Ollie called from downstairs.
“I’ll be right down,” Lizzie replied, taking one last look at the room before closing the door. She ambled down the stairs, gripping the handrail. She entered the living room and chuckled when she found everyone collapsed on the sofa, feet on the coffee table.
“Tired?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah,” exclaimed an exhausted Marc.
“Want something to drink? Eat?” Lizzie offered, wanting to do something. They’d done so much today while she’d basically just stood around.
The three of them nodded and mumbled their positive replies. She turned around and went to the kitchen to make a call to have some pizzas delivered, and while they waited, Lizzie brought them out some cold beer. Her friends smiled their thanks, their tired eyes on the blank television.
She stood, wondering what to do next, feeling awkward with them and she didn’t know why. Was it her time away working and being a horrible friend?
“Would you sit down? You’re making me even more tired standing there like that,” Ollie exclaimed, making room between him and Gwen on the sofa. She moved towards them, grateful for their continued friendship. She sat down and Ollie pulled her to him in a quick hug.
“How you holdin’ up, hot momma?” Gwen asked.
Lizzie smiled sadly before answering. “I’m doing okay.”
“Baby treating you all right after this busy day?”
“Yes,” she said, placing her hand on her stomach.
“You’d let us know otherwise, right?” Ollie asked.
“Yes,” she answered, sorry that she’d kept this news from them.
“You promise?”
She nodded at him. “I do. I won’t let what I did ever happen again.”
“Nor will we let you,” Marc finally spoke up. She turned to regard him slumped in the chair, completely relaxed, his feet resting on the ottoman. He smiled at her and she easily returned the smile.
Ollie flipped on the television and started clicking through the stations, waiting for a consensus on what to watch. They ended on a movie station with a mindless comedy. Lizzie was happy that they laughed a lot because it helped ease the tension everyone had quietly endured throughout the day. When the doorbell rang, Lizzie rose to get it, followed by Marc. As she paid for the pizzas, Marc took them from the delivery boy. On her way back, Lizzie retrieved some plates and napkins from the kitchen. Marc plopped the pizza boxes on the coffee table and they dug into the pizza, eating absentmindedly.
When the movie finished, Lizzie excused herself so she could go to the bathroom then changed out of her grimy clothes, putting on one of her many maternity dresses. She hated wearing pants right now . . . more like hated the bending down to pull them up.
“Hey, Lizzie!” Gwen’s voice carried up to her bedroom. “Ollie and I are gonna head out.”
“Okay, give me a minute,” Lizzie called back and smoothed the fabric of her dress to make sure it covered all the good stuff then headed down.
The pair stood in the foyer and Lizzie said goodbye, hugging each of them.
Returning to the living room, she noticed that Marc was absent and called out his name, hoping he hadn’t left without saying goodbye.
“Bathroom,” came his reply. “Be right out.”
Lizzie collapsed on the sofa, putting her legs out along the length of the sofa. A part of her was glad they were gone. She didn’t want to entertain anymore. She just wanted to zone out and chill.
When Marc came back, his hair was slicked back, his face freshly scrubbed.
“I can . . .” he started and she knew he was going to say he could leave.
“Sit,” she ordered, motioning to the sofa.
Lizzie made to move, but he shook his head. He lifted her feet, sat down, then put them on his lap, one hand on her naked calf while the other changed the station to the news. They vegged out as the newscasters reported story after story. They didn’t speak. Mar
c just held her feet, lightly caressing them, the foot rub feeling glorious on her swollen skin. She felt the most at ease she had been in a long time.
This moment reminded Lizzie of all the times when they were a couple doing just this. It had always been so easy to relax with Marc, be herself . . . from the very beginning.
And to be honest, she’d missed this easiness between them. “Marc?” she asked.
“Hmm?” he answered, turning his light blue eyes on her.
Time to build bridges, she thought.
“Uh . . . I never thanked you for being there at Tom’s memorial . . . you know . . . when I sort of broke down . . .”
“You know you don’t have to thank me. Okay?”
“Well . . . I just want you to know that I appreciate it. That’s all.”
“Thanks,” he said, gifting her with that mischievous grin of his. “I do like having that knowledge.”
Lizzie liked giving it to him, liked just being with him, and decided to put herself out there.
Removing her legs from his lap, she sat up a little clumsily due to her enlarged belly and scooted closer to him. “I’m going to ask this again . . . do you think we can be friends, Marc?”
He looked down at her next to him and smiled. “The best.”
She smiled when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and brought her closer. “Good,” she answered, liking this connection, that little by little he was making her feel safe again.
Lizzie
June 18, 2010
Lizzie sat on her balcony, feeling restless. She’d left work early for her thirty-two week checkup. All was good. But now she sat here . . . alone. She didn’t want that and decided to make a call to change it. A call that she’d been afraid to make.
“This is Marc,” came the voice over the line.
“Hi,” she said nervously. Though they talked regularly, they hadn’t really hung out together—alone. With Ollie and Gwen hanging with them, sure. At least every other week. But Marc and Lizzie by themselves . . . another step.
“Elizabeth,” he said, his tone different from when he first picked up. Warmer.
“Hi,” she repeated, chewing on her thumb. Just because she knew it was a step she wanted—needed—to take didn’t mean that it made her any less nervous.
Losing You (Stars On Fire #4) Page 25
