“I like yours better, Mommy.” David pulls the covers over his head.
A yawn escapes, and I stretch my stiff limbs. Looking over to Brent’s side, I notice it’s empty, and the three of us are squished into my side. “Daddy’s slept in your bed again. Poor Daddy, he’s too big for your little bed, boys.” Their response is more giggles.
A few minutes later, I follow the boys into the living room, turn on cartoons, then head to the kitchen to fetch their breakfast. Brent, wearing only pajama pants, stands with his back to me while sipping some coffee near the kitchen counter. Hearing me enter, he turns his head. “Hey. There’s coffee in the pot if you want some.” His attention diverts back to the opened bills I’ve left for him.
“Thanks, I’m just going to get the boys’ breakfast.”
“Okay.” He remains focused on the letters.
“You slept in the twins’ room again?” I move around him and pour cereal into two bowls.
Momentarily, he looks up. “Yeah, you all looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to disturb you.” I nod. Strategically balancing the bowls and drinks in my arms, I carry the food out to the hungry boys.
Returning to the kitchen, I find Brent holding up the invite. “Have you seen this?”
“Yeah, and Nate called. He’s hoping we will both be there.”
“You hated high school.” He throws the invite on the counter top. “Besides, reunions are about bragging about your achievements, not showing off your failures.”
“Hey.” I walk closer. “Brent, don’t say stuff like that. You are far from a failure. So life didn’t go as planned, but is that really a bad thing?”
“I’m not sure I want to see anyone from high school, Mal.”
I take his hand, and he lifts his gaze. “I get that; believe me. I just thought that a night out might do us some good. Nate’s dying to see us.” He gives a half-grin.
“He and I did rule that school, didn’t we?”
“Yes, you did.”
His grin broadens. “You were so hot for me.” There’s a sparkle in his eye that I haven’t seen in a long time. I inch closer to him and gently run my fingers up his arm.
“How could I not be?” I ask, biting my lower lip while looking up at him. I notice his breathing change as he swallows hard.
“I wanted you so badly,” he says, staring into my eyes.
“And you got me, didn’t you?” His arms snake around my waist as he hoists me to sit on the countertop, then he uses his fingers to push the hair from my eyes. Our lips are about to touch when Grace’s voice sounds from the living room.
“Mom! Dad! David tripped with his bowl, and Troy just shot milk out of his nose!”
“Fuck,” Brent whispers against my mouth. The trance is broken.
“Wait,” I say, reaching for him as he turns away. He expectantly arches his eyebrows upwards. “Maybe we can pick up where we left off?” I plead.
“Okay, David just threw up!” Grace yells.
“I’m thinking not,” Brent says with disappointment. “Which one do you want me to handle?”
“Your choice,” I answer, hopping down from the counter. He shrugs before we follow each other into the living room. Just another day in paradise.
SIXTEEN
The kids are with Iris and Howard, and I haven’t had one of my usual worst-case-scenario thoughts. Often, within five minutes of leaving the children, I’m sure one of them has burned down the house, flooded the bathroom, opened a salon with my sewing shears, or left open the refrigerator and freezer doors. I’ve come home to three of the four, so my concern should be understandable. I’m actually quite relaxed, which makes me focus on how worn out and tired I am during the ride to the reunion. Funny, I always thought the issue was too many distractions, and if Brent and I could just have a little peace and quiet, we would have a ton to talk about. He doesn’t even glance in my direction when I turn to give him a look. He’s mostly tense and maybe a little nervous, but obviously distracted. I touch his hand, and he jumps.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Huh? Nothing. I’m good.” He runs the palm of his free hand down the length of his denim-clad thigh. Even though he’s older now, it’s still thick and hard because he exercises right along with his team. I might sport slightly more than a few extra pounds, but Brent has maintained an athletic physique that very noticeably turns the heads of quite a few women. In our teen years through early adulthood, I battled with the insecurity of knowing my husband could pretty much land any of the women who shamelessly flirted with him. The insecurities faded with time as I saw firsthand how uninterested he was in anyone other than me. I gave up on figuring out the “why” behind it many years ago, because every time I’d ask him, he’d tell me that it was a silly question, and the answer was obvious. It wasn’t to me. Still isn’t. I just let the question remain unanswered as we go about our daily lives.
“You’re nervous. Why?”
He blows out an insecure laugh. “I’m not nervous. What do I have to be nervous about?”
“Exactly.”
“Nate is a huge football star.”
“Yes, and he’s still your best friend.” Brent shrugs at my comment.
“What about the others? I’ll bet they’re all more successful than a washed-up football coach.”
“Hey! I’m proud of you, Brent, and I’m proud of our life together. Are you telling me that you’re embarrassed?”
“You wouldn’t understand, Mallory.”
I set my jaw and flop back into the seat. “I wouldn’t understand. So, that’s a big old ‘yes.’”
“You’re putting words in my mouth.” He shakes his head and bites down on the insides of his lips, something he always does when he’s trying to keep from saying something he knows will set me off.
“Don’t do that. Just say it, Brent, because who the hell knows when we might actually have the peace and quiet to have an actual discussion again.” He turns his head away to look out the driver’s side window for a few seconds before reverting his attention back to the darkened roadway. “Brent.” He’s silent a few seconds more, and I feel my stomach lurch. “I know we’ve been busy and stressed, but I’ve not been unhappy. Is that what you’re trying to hold back from telling me? Are you unhappy with our life?”
After slight hesitation, he reaches over to squeeze my hand. “You’re right. I’m just nervous. Sorry if I worried you.”
I release a pent-up breath. “You have no reason to be nervous. You keep saying that you’re just a coach, but you’re way more than that. You’re an excellent provider, a great father, and you are the bravest person I know. You’ve met so many challenges head on and without batting an eye. You have everything to be proud of, and nothing of which to be ashamed.”
He gives me a partial grin as he pulls the battered SUV into a slot at the high school. “It’s not enough that we graduated from here, and now work here, but we even get to spend the one evening we’ve had free in years here, too. Sick, I tell you.”
“Stop. You won’t care anymore once you see the guys and get a few drinks in you. I’ll be designated driver, so feel free to drink until your liver’s content.”
“What’s this I hear about a designated driver?” Nate yells into the opened window while banging on the roof. “Get out of there, you dumb slug!” Nate fists Brent’s shirt, tugging away until Brent finally releases the latch to open the door. They do the same hand-slapping, fist bumping, and dancing around ritual they’ve done since elementary school, and Brent’s face instantly brightens. “There will be no designated drivers tonight because THIS is our ride!” He points to a stretch limo parked in the area usually reserved for buses.
“But…” I’m cut off with a flick of Nate’s wrist.
“Nope. Don’t even. You two are going to party your asses off in here.” He hooks an arm around my neck and pulls me close. “And then we’re hopping in that there ride which will take us to the Hotel Maison Belle where there is a suite reserv
ed for each of us. The after party will continue there, and you two will be free to scamper off as you please.” His tone is mischievous.
“But…” I’m cut off once again, this time by his arm playfully tightening around my neck.
“I’ve spoken to Iris and Howard, and they are on their way to Fun Land with the kids. Don’t worry. All expenses are paid, and I even hired a sitter to help with the twins. Very reputable with excellent references.”
“My kids are where? Brent?” I plead, twisting in Nate’s grip.
“They’re fine. Iris and Howard are very responsible people, and an extra pair of hands for the twins is necessary. They’ve been begging to go, so I’m not only shocked that you put all of this together without us knowing, but I’m glad you did it, bro. Gets me out of it! Thanks, man.” Brent belly laughs while high-fiving Nate, and I look up from under his armpit long enough to give him a warning glare. “Seriously, Mallory. They’re fine. Let the kids have fun.”
I let out a sigh. “Okay, but I should call Iris…”
“Mallory.” Brent’s voice is stern. He speaks in such a tone often to the kids or to students he’s trying to discipline, but never me, and I’m left stunned and embarrassed. Nate slowly releases his grip on me, and I straighten to full height. “You trust Iris, don’t you?” His tone is much softer this time.
“I do, but…”
“No buts. Being back here with you, Nate. Man, it makes me feel alive again!” Nate grins broadly.
“About time, bro.” He gives Brent a hearty slap on the back.
“GRAYSON!” a deep voice shouts across the dimly lit parking lot. Brent flips around just in time to grab onto the back of the huge guy lifting him off the ground.
“STONER! You no good son of a bitch!” The two men wrestle briefly before Nate jumps into the mix. Before long, a majority of the past high school football team huddles in the parking lot, chanting, singing, and shouting obscenities. I stand off to the side for a while before giving up on waiting for them to migrate indoors and take it upon myself to enter the gym.
Scanning the crowd, it’s just as though I’ve time warped back to the ‘90s. The faces are familiar, but most are heavier than when in high school, have less hair, or even more hair, depending on the circumstances. I scribble my name on a tag, slap it on the upper left of my chest, and move further into the gym to survey the crowd. Why? No clue. The only person from high school I’ve keep up with is Nate. I didn’t like any of them then, so why in the world do I care about them now?
“Oh, my gosh! Mindy!” I turn to see Tiffany, Brent’s ex, before me. “Of course it’s you! You haven’t changed a bit! In fact, isn’t that outfit one of the ones you used to wear to school?” She giggles then sucks some of the fruity yellow liquid in her cup through a light up straw. She looks beautiful in her sequined gown that clings provocatively to all of her well-maintained curves. She must spend all day in the gym. Her teeth are bleached so brilliantly white that they look blue in the dim light of the gym. Her hair is perfectly done in an up do, and the rock on her finger is as big as one of the twins’ fists.
“It’s Mallory, and no. This is new.” I look down at the simple black dress, suddenly embarrassed. I quickly grow upset that it’s less than a minute into this thing, and I already feel insecure.
“Mallory! Of course! I’m so sorry. So, tell me what you’ve been up to since graduation.”
“Wait! I want to hear this story, too!” Whitney, looking every bit as gorgeous as she did in high school dances over to us. Do these women not age? “How are you, Mallory? Still friends with Nate, by chance? Rumor has it he’ll be making an appearance.”
“Yes, he’s here.”
“He always did have such a charitable heart. So sweet of him to keep in touch with you like that.”
“Well, he and Brent are still best friends.”
“Brent? Are you talking about Brent Grayson? My ex?”
I shift my gaze to Tiffany. “Yes, Brent Grayson. My husband.” Tiffany spits her drink all over me before she and Whitney burst into peals of laughter. Covering her mouth, she inhales deeply through her nose.
“You are so funny, Mallory. Were you like this in school? I can’t remember,” Tiffany asks. After wiping the residual liquid from my face, I stare blankly at the giggling women. “Oh look. There’s your husband right there. And there’s Nate!” she says with a squeal. “Damn, Brent hasn’t changed much, has he?” She elbows Whitney who has completely honed in on Nate.
“Huh? No. Neither of them has changed much.” Whitney adjusts herself in her dress. “Let’s go tell them hi, Tiff.”
“Only if Mallory doesn’t mind us talking to her husband.” They laugh again, and I’m so stunned that I remain frozen and silent. No! I’m not the same Mallory from high school anymore! I’m a teacher. A mother. And Brent Grayson’s wife, dammit! I stand a little straighter, pull back my shoulders, and nod my head in the direction of the rowdy guys.
“Follow me.” The ladies do just that and are still giggling when I reach Brent and Nate. The guys stop laughing and look over to the ladies I’ve just brought over.
“Nate, so good to see you,” Whitney says, giving him a timid look through her lashes. “How’ve you been?”
“I’ve been good, Whit. You?”
“Same. Divorced last year, but it’s okay. He was a terrible man. I love watching you play football on TV. You’re really good.”
Nate beams. “Thanks. I enjoy it. Getting close to retiring soon, so I’m trying to make the most of it.”
“Are you married?” She looks around the room. “I’m sure she’d be a supermodel, and I’m not seeing…”
“Nope. Not married,” he answers cheerily. She laces her arm through his and attempts to lead him off. He has none of it and gently untangles himself from her grip.
“What about you, Brent?” Tiffany asks, sidling up to him. Brent gives me a questioning glance. I shrug.
“They didn’t believe me.”
Tiffany drops Brent’s arm like it’s hot. “Wait. For real? You two are married?”
“With four kids ages sixteen to four,” I answer.
“Oh, my god. Brent! What happened?” Tiffany, bringing her fingers to her mouth, asks with sadness in her tone.
“I don’t understand your question,” he says, scrunching his face at her.
“Uh, nothing. Never mind. I… Whitney, I need to freshen my drink. What about you?”
“Can I get you anything at the bar?” Whitney asks Nate.
“Nope, cause I’m going to join you. Let’s go.” He waves for the entire group to follow him, then leans over to speak to the bartender for a second. The balding man nods, reaches under the bar to grab a microphone, and passes it over to Nate.
“Is this thing on? Testing. Testing.” The crowd quiets down. “Hello, everyone. How are you all?” The chants begin, and Nate lets them go briefly before insisting they quiet down. “Thank you all so much! It’s great to be back and to celebrate. Open bar tonight, guys! Drink up!” The crowd roars. He raises his hands to encourage them to quiet down once again. “That being said, anyone partaking in the open bar will be driven home by taxi or private car. That’s the deal. You drink, you don’t drive. Understand?”
Loud applause is met with a near stampede. Nate pulls a few bottles of whiskey from the back table and waves them in the direction of me and Brent. “Go ahead,” I insist.
“You come, too.”
“Nah. Go be with the guys. You’re enjoying yourself, and you deserve a night of fun.”
“But what about you?”
“I’ll be fine. Go on. Have fun.”
“Mallory, this is our reunion.”
“I know. I got what I wanted from it when I saw Tiffany’s and Whitney’s faces when they found out we’re married.” Brent laughs. “Will you do me one favor?” I ask.
“I’m not calling to check on the kids. Iris will call if something is wrong.”
“I know. I got it. I’m re
laxing about the kids. I want you to dance one song with me.”
He smiles. “All right.” One slow song later, and he’s back with the guys. I make a lap around the gym, and finding not a single soul to talk to, I roam the dark hallway to my classroom where I spend the next hour and a half rearranging the furniture. With absolutely nothing left to do in there, I eventually meander back to the gym where it’s easy to see that most of the attendees are sloppy drunk. Brent is probably close to becoming karaoke king, if he hasn’t crossed that threshold already. Two things happen when Brent drinks: he talks A LOT, and he loves to sing. I stop briefly to listen, but I hear nothing but the music from the DJ. A smile crosses my lips. It disappears when I see Brent slow dancing with Whitney. There’s nothing lewd or brazen about their dancing. In fact, they look very much like any random, uninvolved dance partners one might see on a dance floor, but my stomach turns seeing her in his arms. My insecurities overwhelm my senses, and I stumble to the bar for something to help quash the anxiety I’m feeling.
“Something strong. Fast,” I say to the same bald guy who handed Nate the whiskey bottles earlier. Nodding, he lines up six shot glasses and fills them nearly to the brim with a straw colored liquid. By the time he finishes reaching under the bar to deposit a small bowl of lime wedges before me, I’ve knocked back two. Once my eyes stop watering, I turn to observe them again. Bothering me more than his dancing with another woman is the look on his face. He’s happy. Truly happy. It’s a look foreign to me because it’s been years since I’ve seen it.
The song finishes, and they walk off the dance floor to rejoin their friends. Their friends. Not my friends. I never was part of that group. Funny how quickly they come back together after all these years apart. My heart is fighting a battle with my mind, and it’s so emotionally draining that I’m desperate to cut it off. I down the last four shots hoping to go semi-conscious. Instead, I just get very warm and quite unsteady.
The Broken Road to Forever Page 16
