by Amy Daws
“I know!” Leslie adds, “I still can’t get over it, Fin. What the hell? It’s so unlike you. I’ve traveled with you before and you’ve never even needed to check a bag!”
I know I can’t let this question slide again, so I decide to get it over with and see what happens. “Actually, yeah,” I say.
“Yeah, what?” Leslie replies, curiously.
“I’d like to…um…move the fuck in, if that’s okay.” I query, self-consciously, adjusting my necklace and looking around the house to see if any of the other roommates are around to hear this request.
“Blimey,” Frank replies, “I thought you were trying to get up the duff with your bloke back in Chicago.”
“Chicago? What?” I question.
“FRANK!” Leslie bites, “Shut the fuck up, you loud cow! Sorry, Fin. Frank knows everything…he’s my gay boyfriend. We talk—it can’t be helped.”
“What does he know, exactly?” I question, still totally confused.
“He knows you’re trying to have a baby with Brody,” she says, glaring at Frank. “Back in Kansas—not Chicago, Frank!” Leslie finishes, looking at me, apologetically.
It’s like a cold bucket of ice-water has been dumped on top of my head. I’m not prepared for this conversation. I knew I’d have to have it eventually, but I feel sideswiped. I’m still trying to decipher the odd jumble of words that came out of Frank’s mouth. Even if he is Leslie’s gay boyfriend, a little word of warning would have been nice.
Frank interrupts my shock and says the only logical thing anyone could in this moment, “This seems like a chat best had over drinkies. Come along, loves!”
Frank grabs my arm and pulls me out the door and down the concrete steps. I follow them around the corner to a pub just two blocks away. The pub is dark, with old wood and hunter-green carpet all over. It smells like musty beers have been spilled on it for centuries and never been properly cleaned.
“Zoey, three pints of our usual, please. On the double—we got trouble over here!” Frank states, grandly, to the room full of strangers. No one appears to give a damn what this lanky redhead is talking about, so I don’t lose much thought over it.
“Spill, Fin. Now!” Leslie demands, looking at me with earnest eyes.
“Christ, Lezzie, at least let the bitch have a drink first,” Frank replies.
Frank is like no one I’ve met before. His sharp tongue and dry wit are extremely appealing to me. I find people with no filters refreshing; I always know where I stand with them. I think I’ve heard him say more curse words than anything else so far, and I’ve only known him five minutes, but he has a way about him that makes me feel comfortable.
The waitress brings over three large glasses of dark beer; I grab mine, nervously. Do I like dark beer? I’m not sure I’ve ever tried it.
I sip it gingerly at first and immediately taste the chocolaty-coffee richness to it. Yes. Yes, I like dark beer. I take three large gulps, wincing slightly at the lack of coldness as it travels down my throat. Beer in America is ice cold, which makes it so easy to drink. Maybe dark beer isn’t served cold?
Leslie and Frank’s eyes are glaring at me with anticipation.
I can already feel the effects of the beer in my head, so I know it’s time to spill.
“I’ve left Brody,” I say, before losing my nerve.
“What. The. Fuck?” Leslie asks, slowly, her auburn bob framing her face closely as her jaw drops.
“It’s over, we’re done. I’m done. I can’t do us anymore,” I reply, taking three more large gulps of my beer as Leslie and Frank gape at me.
“Wait, you dumped him, or he dumped you?” she asks.
“I don’t know why that matters,” I reply.
“Just fucking tell me, Fin!” she throws at me, angrily.
“I ended it, okay? But it doesn’t matter; it would have ended anyway. There’s no point in continuing things,” I say, as I take another gulp.
Frank clears his throat, “So you’re moving here—to London? You want to live with us?”
“I mean, yeah, if you’ll have me. Er, I mean, if there’s room. But if not, I’ll find another place if I need to.”
“What about your job, Fin? You love your job.” Leslie asks, with a hint of alarm in her voice.
“Well, technically, I’m just taking a leave of absence right now. I have four weeks of paid vacation banked, and then I’m on my own. Val’s company has a sister agency here I’d like to get involved with, but I don’t really know anything about them yet, and I really don’t want to bring it up to her. She’ll probably lose it on me.”
I work as a creative director’s assistant for an advertising agency. They do TV, radio, web, and literary marketing for high-profile clients. I was in the process of being primed to be creative director and take over for my boss, Val, so she can fill the shoes of the vice president who is looking to retire in a few years. It’s an incredible opportunity, and I’ve networked my ass off to get it.
“Well, no shit she’ll lose it on you, Finley! You’re blowing the opportunity of a lifetime by leaving! You’re lucky she hasn’t fired you!” Leslie spits out.
“Val’s fine with it. She understands.” I reply back, “She hired two interns for the fall and is demoting one of the sales executives to help her out for the next couple months. She said I can do copy editing and write from here, and she’ll pay me as a freelancer until I come back.” I pause, “She still thinks I’m coming back. I didn’t have the balls to tell her I’m not.”
Frank looks to Leslie, gauging her reaction. Leslie’s face is covered in disappointment. I can’t stand it.
“You’re a fool for leaving that job, Finley,” she says, shaking her head.
“I can’t fucking stay there, Lez!” I croak, a sudden onset of tears filling my eyes. “I can’t be that girl for him anymore. It was killing me, Leslie! Killing me. I can’t walk around anywhere back in Kansas or Missouri without a baby. You know what it’s like there!”
Leslie makes a motion like she’s going to interrupt me, but I don’t give her the chance, “I can’t give him what he wants, and he won’t want me without it. I know him, Lez, I know us. It won’t be us anymore without creating a mini-us. We are wrecked. I refuse to sit there waiting for Brody to wise up and leave me for somebody more…more…fertile.” I turn my face away and wipe the tears off my cheeks, quickly. “It was only a matter of time, I’m just beating him to the punch. I’m not sure it’s even the life I want anyway.”
“Fuck me. Don’t let the old blokes at the bar see you blubbering, they’ll get all awkward and call a doctor. Brits don’t like emotions,” Frank says, trying to lighten the mood.
I look back at Leslie and see her eyes welling with mine.
“Fucking Americans,” Frank whispers under his breath, looking at the two of us.
Leslie sniffs and reaches her hand across the table, “I wish I knew how to fix this, Fin. I’m ill-equipped!” she says, her voice trembling. “This is a lot different from our problems as kids.”
“I know,” I groan, tipping back the remainder of my beer, savoring the feeling of numbness crawling over my skin.
“Well, fuck it! The flat is yours if you want it,” says Frank. “You’ll get the shit room because it’s all that’s bloody left. But who knows, you’re American, you might think it’s quaint.”
I look at Frank, wide-eyed, as realization sets in that he’s offering a room to me, indefinitely. Thank God. This is a huge load off my mind, knowing I at least have an affordable place to live while I figure my damn life out.
Suddenly Frank stands up on his seat and shouts, “Zoey, another round! We’ve got a new roommate to toast.”
“Get the fuck off that chair er I’ll rip your bloody arse off there myself!” Zoey shouts back at him with a thick dialect I barely understand. Maybe Irish?
“My arse hasn’t bled in years, you wench!” Frank shouts back.
Leslie and I burst into a fit of laughter at Frank’s announ
cement in a room full of strangers.
I think I’m going to like it here. I think I’m going to like it a lot.
CHAPTER FIVE
As the sun creeps in through the white lacy curtains, I grab my head. Ugh. My head. My head hurts really bad! UK beer must be a lot stronger than American beer; I’ve never felt so crappy. I check the time and see it isn’t even 6:00 a.m. Damn it, why can’t I ever sleep in with a hangover? I should be exhausted after all the travel and drinking yesterday.
I look around the room that is to be my home for the foreseeable future. Frank told me I was getting the tiny room and he wasn’t joking. It is super tiny, but has its own personal charm. The room is situated alone on the third floor in the Rapunzel-style tower overlooking the corner. Half of the room is a semi-circle with three large bay windows covered with sheer lace curtains. An old-fashioned radiator that’s been painted white adorns the flat part of the wall. And lucky me, no closet.
This room would be a perfect little art studio. Anything but a bedroom. But all the other rooms are occupied, and the master bedroom on the first floor is off limits for Frank’s parents, so this is what I’m left with. Beggars can’t be choosers. And I would have desperately begged for anything at this point, so long as it gets me away from home—and Brody.
Brody. Just thinking his name hurts my heart. I sit up on the twin mattress plopped unceremoniously in the center of the room. No bed frame, just a lavender fitted-sheet and a big purple comforter. This is what I’m running to? Sure, we had a curb couch, but it was definitely a step up from a tiny circular room with a mattress.
I stand up and look out the window to remind myself to stop moping. I’m in London, for crying out loud. Stop being a pansy ass, Finley. You flew across the ocean to start a new life and now you’re sulking? Enough already.
A skate park with various ramps and rails is located diagonally from the corner. Even with the excessive amount of trash around it, it still manages to look quiet and peaceful in the morning light.
A buzzing sound echoes in my small room. I rush over to check my phone and see my sister’s name pop up on the caller ID.
“Cadence, hey!” I say, excitedly. I slightly wince at the tone of my scratchy morning voice.
“Oh my God, Fin. How is it? Tell me everything! How was your flight? Where are you staying? How’s Leslie?”
“Leslie is good. Different, yet the same. We’re staying in this big old house that Frank’s parents own.”
“Frank, huh? Is he a hottie?”
“Um, not really my type. I’m afraid I’m not really his type either. But he’s a lot of fun.”
“Awesome, awesome. So, what time is it there? I was supposed to be in bed hours ago, but I got interrupted.”
“It’s just after 6:00 a.m.”
“Crap, did I wake you? I need to get a London clock or something!”
“No. Actually, I woke up right before you called. It’s fine. So, what interrupted you, is the baby kicking?”
A slight pause on the other end spiked my curiosity.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, slightly alarmed now. “Is the baby okay?” I feel tension rising in my chest. This is my first time realizing how difficult it will be for me to be so far away from family. If something goes wrong, I can’t be there right away. Booking an international flight isn’t cheap. Most likely, I’ll have to endure my helplessness here by myself.
“Chillax, oh my God. Everything is fine. Mini-George is still baking away in there.”
I release a relaxed sigh. Stop being so dramatic, Finley. I think my nerves are still on edge because of the whole Brody situation.
“I was calling because I had a late-night visitor tonight.”
I pause, waiting for her to finish.
“Brody.”
My heart stops. It literally stops beating for two whole seconds, then I breathe really fast and heavy for a few seconds while attempting to regain my equilibrium. Brody lives in Kansas City, nearly two hours from my sister’s house in Marshall. What the hell was he doing there?
“He’s heartbroken, Fin. He showed up drunk and angry. Seriously angry. George nearly threw him out twice because he wouldn’t lower his voice and calm down. At one point, I thought George was going to punch Brody!”
“Oh my God,” I reply, my heart breaking into a million tiny pieces.
“Yeah, George is protective of his girls. He didn’t take kindly to a belligerent drunk yelling at his pregnant wife, I’m afraid. Luckily, the girls were asleep and didn’t see any of this.”
My heart continues racing as the drama plays out in my head, “Oh my God.”
“At first, he demanded I tell him where you moved, who you were living with, whether or not you were sleeping with someone else. Like, he was angrily shouting and stuff. George stepped in and was able to settle him down. Then he just got really sad. He kept saying, ‘It’s us, it’s us. How could she do this to us?’”
“Oh my God.”
What the fuck is wrong with me? Why did this all have to happen like this? Maybe I should have told him I was moving here.
“Then he just kept begging me to tell him where you are, Finley. I could hardly stand to look at him. He looks so miserable. So incredibly miserable.”
Tears immediately form in my eyes.
“He’s sleeping it off in the living room right now. I told him he was a freaking moron for driving here drunk. He got really nasty again and said I shouldn’t give a fuck about him because you sure as hell don’t. He’s being a total dick, but I can’t help feeling bad for the guy!”
“Oh my God. This is all my fault,” I say.
I curl into the fetal position on my tiny mattress as tears run freely down the side of my temple onto the pillow. I can’t stop picturing him sleeping on their couch with his curly brown hair all rumpled and his big long legs falling off the side. Maybe I should have just told him where I was going? That way he wouldn’t have harassed my family.
But he won’t leave this alone if he knows where I am. He’ll come after me. He loves me. He loves us. An ocean wouldn’t stop him from getting to the bottom of what’s going on, and I refuse to tell him about my infertility.
“You can’t tell him, Cade. You can’t. He won’t let it lie. He’ll come here and demand answers. Right now, I’m the bad guy and that’s okay. It’s my fault we can’t have kids anyway, so let me be the villain. Brody is way too good of a guy to be stuck with someone like me. If he learns the truth, he’ll feel guilty for wanting to end us and he doesn’t deserve that. It’s my fault. My body. My issues. All mine.”
“You have a warped-ass view of this situation, Finley. But I’m tired of trying to convince you otherwise. I promised not to, so I’m keeping my mouth shut. Anyway, everything is fine. I’m sure he’ll leave in the morning before the girls get up, so we won’t have to explain anything about Uncle Brody.”
Uncle Brody. Ugh. Those two words slice into me like a dagger through the heart. My sister is the queen of passive-aggressive comments. She may not be actively trying to talk me out of my decision, but she sure as hell is going to make back-handed comments to get her point across.
“Anyway, this international call is costing me a fortune. I’ll message you on Facebook later and we can talk more, if you want. I need to take my pregnant booty to bed.”
“You can’t message me. I deactivated my account,” I say.
“You did? Why?” she asks.
“Just to be on the safe side, so Brody can’t contact me.”
“You are so messed up, Finley,” she says, flatly.
“I know, Cadence…and hey,” I reply, before she hangs up, “I miss you.”
“I miss you, too,” she responds with a little more sincerity. I can tell she is angry with me, but she promised to let me figure this out on my own.
I hang up my phone and curl up under the thick comforter, sobbing as quietly as I can while my thoughts continue on Brody. This is my worst freaking nightmare. My barren body has tu
rned an incredibly beautiful man into a mess of anger, resentment, and sadness. All because I can’t have kids. Thanks a lot, God.
Over the years, my sadness has turned into resentment of this world around me. It pains me to see so many people have children they don’t deserve. Why can’t I get a teeny tiny break? That’s not too much to ask. If God could just give me one little baby us with Brody, I would want for nothing else the rest of my life.
The sobs seize me again as I think back on each negative pregnancy test. My eyes would play tricks on me as I’d stare at the strip, imagining the second line was popping up to tell me I was pregnant.
Walking the streets of Marshall, or even the neighborhood Brody and I live in, would be littered with constant reminders that my body isn’t good enough to do the natural thing most women’s bodies can.
Going to London maybe looks like I’m running away from my problems, but I don’t care. I need a fresh start away from everyone. Away from Brody.
Brody was it for me; I know I’ll never find anyone better. Deep inside, I know that if I told him the truth, he would love me through it. The truth is, I can’t love myself through it. Looking into Brody’s eyes would be a constant reminder of what I can’t give him. I can’t let him stay with me and wonder when he’ll begin to resent me. I can’t handle the idea of us turning into something ugly.
I sigh as memories of how Brody and I met flutter into my head. I had noticed him on campus before, but never had a chance to talk to him. When he finally approached me in the parking lot of our apartment complex, I was a smitten kitten. We were together nonstop after that. We managed to go out and have fun with all our friends and enjoy our senior year, but the reality was, we were both itching to graduate and start our lives together, away from the college scene. After graduation, we found a house in Kansas City and moved in right away.
Brody landed a great job with a well-known contractor after his awesome recommendation from an internship with the city. Now he’s a commercial construction estimator. He’s outdoors most of the year and drives around to different job sites putting estimates together. His company is always building the next best thing in town and surrounding areas. I got hooked up with Val at the agency, and Brody and I had life by the balls. We knew exactly where we wanted to go with our future. It was easy.
