The Leftover Club

by Voight, Ginger

  This was madness. Complete and utter madness. I wasn’t even married this time around. I wished myself good luck trying to explain it to anyone. The Moms would be ecstatic I’m sure, especially Bonnie who could claim being a grandma at last.

  But how in the hell was I going to explain this to Meghan?

  I had to ease into this gently with everyone, starting with Dylan.

  I prepared a home-cooked meal for him that evening, eggplant parmesan, his favorite. I tossed a salad and purchased a bottle of wine for him. I figured he’d need it.

  I was just taking the garlic rolls out of the oven when he walked into the kitchen with a bouquet of flowers. “God, it smells good in here,” he said as he grabbed me for a kiss. “And the food smells delicious, too.”

  I laughed as he nuzzled my neck. “You’re prouder of yourself than usual today. Good day?”

  “Great day,” he corrected as he pulled a vase from the hutch in my dining room. “I spent the whole day at the VA, talking to vets, getting inside their head for the part. They were an incredible group of men and women. But this one guy? His life is this movie. Single dad, the whole bit. We talked for hours. I honestly didn’t want to leave. It was like sitting in a room with Jesse Benoit,” he concluded, naming his upcoming part.

  “Awesome,” I smiled as I brought the food to the table. “Sounds very productive.”

  “How about you?”

  It was the perfect opening, but I wasn’t ready. He was in such a good mood, he was practically dancing in his skin. “It was peaceful. Meghan’s not due back till Sunday. Gives me the weekend to prepare.”

  He chuckled. “Kids are chaos, that’s for sure.”

  The way he said it made my stomach shrink. “Worth it though,” I added.

  He nodded as he rounded the table to face me. “I have to say, I’m going to miss our alone-time.” He captured my lips for another kiss as he lifted me up into his arms. “Guess we’re going to have to make it count.”

  He carried me to the living room and we toppled onto the couch together. He was tugging off clothes before I could protest. “Dinner will get cold,” I said.

  “That’s why God invented microwaves,” he murmured as he nibbled the delicate space on my neck just under my ear. I melted underneath him. I finally gave in and started to undress him as we kissed. He bared my breast and captured it between his teeth. I winced.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, taken aback by my response. Usually I loved it when he did things like that.

  I nodded. “I’m fine.”

  He made up for it by bathing the nipple with his tongue, making me forget all about the pain. He tugged at my jeans until they were a rumpled pile on the floor, then dove in between my thighs to work his magic on me with his tongue. He knew how to make me scream and wasn’t satisfied until I did, bucking against his face as I came hard. After turned me into a puddle of goo, he finally climbed my body and sank inside of me with a grunt. “God, yes,” he sighed as he stroked himself inside of me. “I have a confession to make,” he whispered against my lips. “I don’t know how I’m going to live without you for the next few months.”

  I wrapped myself around him. “Me either.”

  “So come with me,” he whispered.

  “I can’t. I have Meghan.”

  His eyes fluttered closed as he made love to me. “Then tell me anything to make me stay here,” he begged softly.

  My heart lurched. It was the perfect time to tell him. He was practically waving me in like some guy on a runway. Our eyes locked. My breath held. The words echoed loudly in my head, but I couldn’t quite make them exit my mouth. Instead, it came out as a question. “I want a baby?”

  His body fell still as he studied my face. “Are you serious?”

  I nodded. Then shook my head. “I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking, you know? What we talked about in the cabin.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, Roni. I think we can both admit we were a little emotional that day.”

  My hope was starting to flat-line. “Are you saying you changed your mind?”

  He started to stroke again. “I’ll never change my mind when it comes to wanting you,” he promised with a kiss. “I love the way you feel all around me. You’re my home and my family. My past and my present.”

  “Your future?” I asked.

  His brow furrowed and he pulled out. “Where is this coming from, babe? Aren’t you happy with the way we are?”

  “Of course,” I said immediately. “I love you.”

  “And you want a baby,” he said.

  Too late now, pal. “Maybe. I don’t know. Didn’t you?”

  He sighed as he caressed my face. “A baby with you would be the most perfect thing in the world,” he said. But he pulled away. “Too perfect to fuck up, and I think we both know I would.”

  I was on my feet following him to my bathroom, where his robe hung. “I told you I think you’d make an amazing father.”

  He washed his face in the sink before he turned to face me. “That’s because you always saw the best in me. Why do you think I fell in love with you?”

  He turned away, as if he had said too much.

  “We really should eat before it gets cold,” he mumbled as he headed for the dining room. I glanced in the mirror at my naked reflection. I cradled my tummy as I fought back the tears.

  Despite my years as a Leftover and seeing this paradigm play out over and over again, I had made the classic Fenn-deflecting mistake of expecting more.

  I slipped into my robe and headed out to the dining room, where Dylan ate silently.

  “I’m sorry, Dylan.”

  “For what?” he shrugged. “It’s barely lukewarm.”

  “Not about the fucking eggplant,” I snapped as I slid into a chair. “I know you don’t make promises. I’m sorry if I expected them of you.”

  He placed his fork on the table and looked at me. “You’re right to expect promises, Roni. You’re an amazing woman and you deserve to get whatever it is that makes you happy. And if you want another child, you deserve to be with a man who can provide for the both of you so that you don’t have to struggle so much, like our moms did.”

  “That doesn’t matter to me,” I argued but he shook his head.

  “It matters to me, Roni. God, can’t you see that? If I had a kid I couldn’t support… if I proved that bastard right once and for all what a fuckup I am. If I had to ask him for help,” he trailed off, slamming his fist on the table. “That’s not what I want for you.”

  He escaped the table to retrieve his clothes from the front room. I chased him down just as he was stepping inside his jeans. “Maybe this time apart will do us some good after all. Then you can figure out what you want.”

  I couldn’t stop the tears no matter how hard I tried. “I want you, Dylan. I always have.”

  He choked back a tear or two of his own. “No. You want more. I’m not a ‘more’ kind of guy. You know that. You were the only one that did.”

  He was right. I did. And I had forgotten, chasing after some stupid happily ever after Dylan wasn’t capable of providing. “So this is it? You’re just breaking up with me?”

  He gulped hard as he looked at me. “How can I break up with you when we were never together?”

  He grabbed the rest of his clothes and slammed out of the condo. I wilted to the floor with sobs I was finally able to shed. I jumped for the phone when it rang, thinking it might be Dylan. But it was Bryan, probably letting me know he had finally gotten back from England.

  And of course he was. But he could sense something was wrong from my “hello.” “My God, babe. Are you okay?”

  The dam burst and I confessed every sordid detail in one long incoherent torrent of emotion. He could barely understand me. Within an hour he was on my doorstep and immediately took me in his arms. “Oh my God, honey,” he crooned as he stroked my hair. “What the hell happened?”

  I leaned on him as he led me to the couch. Memories of my aborted lovema
king only made me cry harder. I was reduced to hiccupping sobs as I recanted the tale, starting with our trip to Big Bear. Then I dropped the big one. “I’m pregnant.”

  “Oh, Roni,” he said as he pulled me close. “What are you going to do?”

  I reached for the tissue on the coffee table. “I don’t know. It’s lunacy to consider having it, right? I mean, my God. I’m almost forty.”

  He rubbed my back. “Look. Take my advice. Don’t make any permanent decisions based on the emotions of a moment. You have some time to work this out. And you’re not alone, okay? You’ve got me. You’ve got Meghan. You’ve got your mom and your stepdad. No matter what you choose, you have people to support you.”

  I blew my nose. “I notice you didn’t mention Dylan. You think he’s gone for good, don’t you?”

  He sighed. “History isn’t on your side, babe.”

  It only made me burst into fresh tears. He pulled me close and held me. We didn’t even hear the door open or Dylan walk into the room and stood in front of us with a thunderous expression.

  “What’s going on?” he wanted to know.

  Bryan pulled away, and I realized I was still in my robe. It had to look bad, considering he thought Bry and I had been so close in the past. “It’s not what it looks like,” I mumbled, but I darted away from Bry like I was guilty as sin.

  “I’ve heard that before,” Dylan snapped. “I’m usually the one saying it, though. And I’m usually lying.”

  I tugged him by the arm, to lead him into the bedroom. “Let’s talk privately.”

  “No, actually this is fitting. I told you to find someone who could give you more, and just like the good little girl you are, you did. Congratulations.”

  His anger was lost on me, not after he devastated me the way he did. “We weren’t together, remember?”

  He nodded. “Too right.” He glanced at Bryan. “Congratulations, Bry. Be sure to tell me when it’s time to start passing around cigars.” He spun on his heel and slammed out the door.

  Bryan was silent as I sobbed softly into my hands. Finally he stood and walked over to me. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

  “He wants to go,” I said. “Let him go.”

  “Roni,” Bryan started, but I wrenched from his hands and raced to my bedroom.

  33: I Want to Know What Love Is

  May 21, 1988

  When I stepped onto the campus of Hermosa Vista High School for the first time in 1985, I would have laughed myself silly had someone told me that I would have not one, but two dates to my senior prom. I didn’t expect much to change between September of 1985 and May of 1988. I predicted that I’d still wear a two-digit dress size. I’d still have to fend off acne with diligence and dedication (and a medicine cabinet full of products.) I figured I would still have to polish the turd each and every morning to make it okay to leave the house.

  We’d still live with the Fenns and I’d still have a best friend named Bryan Dixon.

  And all those things were completely and irrefutably true.

  Granted, things were a little easier in 1988 than they had been in 1985. As an upperclassman, I no longer cared what the new crop of freshmen or sophomores thought about me. Most of that had to do with Bryan’s newfound confidence. He no longer questioned who he was or the kind of man he wanted to be. He had narrowed his sights on freedom, which was now only a stone’s throw away with graduation. He ruled at parties, and I became queen by default since I was his undeclared “steady.”

  We were connected at the hip, and he was determined to pull me up the social pecking order one way or another.

  Our yearbook contained many photos of our exploits. By the homecoming game, Bryan was just as popular, and as in demand, as Dylan Fenn. By default, all the girls wanted him – and yet I hung on his arm as his exclusive interest.

  It was the life I always dreamed about living. And had it not all been a big fat lie, it might have been the greatest year of my life. I knew it was destined to unravel, which it did around Halloween, 1987.

  That was when Bryan met Max Greene at a boisterous Halloween party at Eleete. By Christmas, my best friend was in love for the first time in his life.

  I couldn’t really blame him. Max was dream come true. He was an actor on a popular soap opera, one-half of a reigning supercouple. He was blonde and beautiful, with dark, expressive eyes and a body without one spare inch of flesh. He also had the kind of intensity that made one flustered the minute he spared a random glance. It was his main claim to fame on the small screen, and Bryan was under his spell from their first dance.

  Their affair heated up throughout the winter, leaving me mostly to my own devices. I was still invited to parties, but since I knew it was by default only, in hopes that the Great Bryan Dixon would accompany me, I generally stayed home. I kept my nose buried in my books as I worked hard preparing for my upcoming college career.

  I had my own sights set on freedom, which included moving beyond the rigors of teen hell known as high school.

  Dylan took pity on me most weekends, dragging me to see movies and a couple of concerts. They weren’t dates, necessarily; at least I never saw them as such. But pretty soon the scuttlebutt around school was that I was two-timing Bryan, the beloved king of the campus, with the other most popular boy in school. And since Bryan’s pat excuse to hang around with the popular actor was as his assistant, it seemed as though I wasn’t getting enough attention from my beloved, so I had moved on to someone else to feed my overweening ego.

  Worse, Dylan experienced his own dip in popularity as a result, despite the fact he was a varsity letterman and held a spot on the school council.

  We talked about it once, during a picnic at our old playground, sitting on the merry-go-round where my relationship with my then-best friend had turned to shit. “Everyone gets their day in the sun, I guess,” he sighed as he spun us around lazily with one foot on the ground.

  “Not everyone,” I shrugged.

  He chuckled. “Infamy counts,” he said. “The way I see it, you’re the most popular girl in our graduating class.”

  I nearly laughed out loud. “That’s because they don’t know the real me.”

  “Who is the real you?” he asked softly, and I arched an eyebrow at him.

  “Are you asking for truth? Or is that a dare?”

  His eyes were dark and deep. “Whichever one gets me an answer.”

  I sighed. “Seems like I’m always trying to be something for everyone. I don’t really know who I am supposed to be.”

  He nodded as if he understood. He reached for my hand. “You know you’ve never had to be anything for me, right?”

  I didn’t know how to take the comment, so I gave a small nod and pulled away.

  He cleared his throat as if embarrassed, and quickly changed the topic. We didn’t speak of anything so serious again until Bryan ditched me the whole week of Spring Break, when he managed to escape with Max to a location shoot in Mexico.

  As far as Bryan’s family and Max’s employers were concerned, Bryan was a volunteer assistant. Only I knew the truth of their relationship. And while I was happy for my friend, I had never felt lonelier in my whole life. I fell into a funk, which prompted Dylan to work overtime to cheer me up.

  We spent much of that week in March in darkened theaters, which was fine by me. We didn’t have to talk, but we weren’t alone. The only time we did talk was when the theater was empty. Then we’d sit way in the back, hunched over our shared popcorn, passing a joint between us, and forgetting about the movie on screen entirely.

  Finally Dylan asked the question I could tell he had been avoiding. “Is everything okay between you and Bryan?”

  I nodded as I shoveled popcorn into my mouth. Bryan’s sexuality was still my secret to keep, under the guise of being his significant other. If I even hinted there was trouble in paradise, his carefully built house of cards would come tumbling down.

  And it wasn’t as though I didn’t trust Dylan to keep the secret
. I just knew I could never betray my best and dearest friend, even to another friend. Those secrets were best reserved for the Leftover Club, of which Dylan would never, ever be a member.

  If Bryan had wanted Dylan to know the truth, he would have entrusted him with it.

  Dylan, however, wasn’t convinced. “It’s just that you both used to be connected at the hip. Now he’s never around.”

  I shrugged. “He’s got a job.”

  Dylan nodded. “He’s lucky. Show business isn’t that easy to crack. But then again, what hasn’t come easily for The Great Bryan Dixon?” he added with a wry smile.

  I sent him a sideways glance. Was that a hint of bitterness I heard? “Same could be said for the Great Dylan Fenn,” I pointed out.

  He laughed. “Great,” he repeated. “Yeah.”

  I was puzzled. Didn’t he know how blessed he was to be who he was? “Things haven’t always come so easily for Bryan,” I told him. “He’s got his challenges, just like everyone else. It wasn’t that long ago he was a dork like me.”

  Dylan laughed. “You’re not a dork, Roni.”

  “Geek?” I supplied with a smile.

  “Not even a dweeb,” he grinned.

  I laughed. “Don’t believe the rumors,” I said. “I’m still the queen geek, reigning over all the leftovers.”

  He scooped another handful of popcorn. “So what, exactly, is a leftover?”

  “You’d never understand,” I told him again. It was my pat answer whenever he questioned me about it.

  “Try me,” he challenged.

  I sighed. “A leftover is the person who is literally left over, chosen at last when everyone else has had their chance at bat.”

  He glanced at the screen, some mindless rom-com we chose simply because we didn’t want to fight any crowds with the new blockbuster release. “That’s funny,” he said.

  “What’s funny?” I asked.

  “What you call a leftover, everyone else calls a soul mate.” My eyes met his, so he went on. “Being picked first is no trick. Everyone wants something shiny and new. But where do you go when the varnish rubs off? Some people spend their whole lives searching through pile for someone who is so awesome, so amazing, just so that they don’t have to look anymore. Nothing else fits because nothing else is supposed to. So the one who is ‘left over,’ is the one who ultimately wins the prize.”