by Amanda Faye
"Yes," sighs Mrs. Belle, her relief palpable. "Exactly. Though we can't change what has already taken place, we need to write the narrative from here on out."
"Narrative," I grumble under my voice, and Susie Q digs her nails into my thigh again. I glance at her and see the waves on uneasiness pulsing from her like sonar. There I go, trying to make it better and only making it worse.
She's right, as usual. Better just to give them their way. Or let them think they're getting it at least. Suzanna's survived this long, a sheep among the lions. Though with the calculations I see going on behind her eyes, maybe it's not so much a sheep among the lion as it is a tiger hiding in sheep's clothing.
I keep my peace, for now, digging into the food on my plate. Suzanna holds her hand on my leg, and I lower my left to cover hers where it sits. Just having her next to me eases some of the tension roiling through my body.
I listen to them talk about press releases and announcements. Changing the annual fourth of July party into an engagement gala. I don't give a shit. It makes no difference to me. If Suzanna doesn't mind, then I don't either. The only thing I care about from this moment on is making sure Susie Q is happy.
"Matt," Alex speaks from across the table. "We're going to miss our t-time. Go get changed, and we'll meet you in the foyer."
David stands from the table, tossing his napkin onto his plates.
"No thanks," I say, taking a look at Susie Q. "I'm gonna pass."
"What?"
He looks utterly bewildered.
"I'm going to pass," I say again, emphasizing my words. "Now that everything is out in the open, I'd rather be with Suzanna."
David looks befuddled, unable to understand why I would willingly spend time with his daughter when I could be golfing with them. Alex rolls his eyes until something snaps in his brain. His eyes widen, his mouth parting before he squints at me in hard anger.
"You and I are gonna talk, Matt," he growls just low enough for only me to hear him. I give him a sharp nod. I owe him that much.
Not today, though. I make a mental note not to be left alone with him for the next couple of days.
Julie is grinning ear to ear, and even Mrs. Belle has a small, almost indulgent smile on her face.
The dining room clears out, and it's just me and Susie Q, left to our own devices.
Susie Q leans back in her chair, both of her hands encircling her china cup filled with coffee-flavored milk.
"Thank you," she says, and my face squishes up in confusion.
"For what? I didn't do anything particularly thankworthy this morning."
"You were here. That's good enough."
"What shall we do today?" I ask, taking a rejuvenating sip of my coffee. "Shall we return to bed?"
She laughs and blushes, bringing her hand up to her hair to smooth it into place. Though she's already perfectly put together.
"No," she laughs, shaking her head. "I need to be able to walk. Let's go into town. I'll go get my stuff."
"I'll come with you," I grin, and she shoves me back in my chair.
"No. You can stay right here. Give me those stupid shoes; I know you only put them on to irritate Daddy. I'll bring you a real pair. Do you need your wallet?"
I lean over in my chair, flicking the flip flops off and handing them to her.
"Yes, please. The keys for a car too."
She leans down to place a kiss on my cheek, then turns and leaves me alone in the dining room.
I don't stay that way for long. Within a minute, my cell phone rings. I don't need to hear the personalized ring tone to know who it is. I'm surprised it took this long.
"Hey Mom," I answer the call, without bothering to check the caller id.
"Hey, honey. Hi, son," my parents reply on speaker, sounding amused more than anything else. I don't prompt or ask what's up. There's only one reason they're calling me.
My mother clears her throat before continuing.
"So, we had an interesting phone call from David and Barbara."
I imagine they did.
"Oh?"
I can almost hear their irritation levels rise at my aloofness. My dad takes over.
"Son, is there anything you want to tell us? You know we love you. We're proud of you, no matter what decisions you make."
See! That's what I'm talking about. My chest swells with affection for my parents, and that stokes the fire of rage I have burning for Susie's.
"I know, guys. I also know that Belle probably lit into you pretty hard. I'm sorry about that. In answer to your question, I don't know yet. Do you trust me?"
They chorus, of course, before I even finish asking the question.
"Then, don't worry. I've got this."
"We're not worried, son. Intrigued more like. I'd bet money you haven't taken little Susie to bed—yet."
Oh God. A shudder runs through me at the thought of my parents discussing my sex life. Of course, they'd be wrong, wouldn't they? The problem now isn't taking her to bed. It's going to be letting her leave it.
My mother is a pediatrician, like me. I joined her practice when I finished medical school. My father was a lawyer—retired now. For all that, though, they're hippies at heart. Worrying about whether their children are getting laid on the regular is just common courtesy in their eyes.
My mother is still talking,
"You know how badly we want grandchildren. If you want to provide us with a few, I'm not picky about how that happens."
"You know, I've wondered how often Angie gets the I want Grandkids spiel."
Angie is my sister. Gay, she and her wife have no desire to procreate. They work boring jobs nine months out of the year, living like poor college students to afford to travel the remaining three.
My dad snorts, which brings a smile to my face, but my mother responds to my rhetorical question.
"Not as often as you, I admit. They've thrown around the idea of adopting a dog though, which we'd get custody of while they're overseas. So that's something to look forward to."
I can't help it. I laugh. Leave it to my parents to equate unpaid dog sitting as grandparent duty.
"Okay. I've got to go. I love you guys. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
A thought occurs to me, and I shout, "Wait," before they hang up on me.
"Yes?" my mother replies, humor lacing her voice.
"Can you overnight me Gamma's engagement ring?"
That catches their attention. Their combined gasps echo through the phone line.
"Matthew Nathanial Taylor! Did you knock up little Susie Q?"
My father sounds horrified.
"I didn't know you had it in you, son."
My mother sounds proud.
"She's carrying my child, yes. I'd like to give her the ring."
I'll give it to them: they jump on board much quicker than the Belle's did. I swear I can hear my mother dancing in the background.
"I can't just put Gamma's ring in a box and give it to the UPS man, Matthew. But I'll see what arrangements I can make to get it to you. I'm assuming it can't wait until you guys get back?"
Could it? Probably. Do I want to? Not in the least.
"Did David sound particularly pleased when you spoke with him?"
Now it's my dad's turn to grunt.
"I'll get it to you, son, if I have to board a plane myself."
Fuck, I love my parents.
"Thank you, both. I mean it. I love you."
"We love you too, son."
I have to wipe the moisture from my eyes when I hang up the line.
Chapter Ten
Suzanna
I can't think of the last time I've had a more enjoyable day. We decided to walk the antiquing district. Matthew and antiques are not two words I'd ever put together. Except for maybe, Matthew does not like to go antiquing.
Matthew is more a barefoot, jeans, and flannel kind of guy.
He's a good sport, however, and even picks up a few records for his parents, and an ancient fertility id
ol for his sister. He seems to think it will be hilarious. I know Angie pretty well. I think it'll end up at a local thrift shop.
It's New York in the summertime, and the humidity is killing me. I can't help wondering if it feels this bad this year because I'm pregnant.
"Hungry?" I ask.
He looks at me, gaze drifting up and down my body.
"Starving," he mumbles, and I feel the blush rise in my chest.
"For food, Matthew. Do you want to get something to eat?"
His smile is goofy as he links our fingers and uses our joined hands to point to an eatery across the street.
"I take it, you're hungry?" he asks as we step into the air-conditioned building.
"I'm always hungry these days. Always. Even when the smell of food makes me want to puke—which is often, I admit—underneath it all, my stomach is rumbling."
A natural smile crosses his face. "One of the mothers told me once that she used to eat mashed potatoes so that she had something easy to throw up again."
Ugh. "Oh, God, please stop talking. Just the thought makes me want to yak."
He laughs good-naturedly while pointing to a table in the corner. It's a seat yourself sort of place, even if the sandwiches cost twenty bucks a pop.
I order a BLT, and Matthew follows me, with two sweet teas on the side. They aren't the same as southern sweet tea, but beggars can't be choosers.
The sandwich is divine, with the bacon crispy, but not burnt. The eggs are fluffy, with enough cheese to taste but not to overwhelm, and with salt and pepper, they burst on my palate. I concentrate on my eating. It's a delicate dance these days—making sure I eat so that that it doesn't make me sick. I'd say my ratio is 70/30.
It doesn't take long before Matt breaks the silence, though.
I watch covertly as he raises his bottle to his lips before saying, "We haven't gotten the chance to talk about things."
I can't help the sardonic smile that graces my face. He has the decency to chuckle, but powers on.
"Not about that, but things in general. How are you handling it, really? The pregnancy, I mean."
I take another bite of my sandwich, more to give myself a chance to get my thoughts in order. How am I doing? About as well as can be expected, I suppose.
"I freaked out at first. I'm still freaking out if I'm honest. Lots of time with my therapist."
He nods in understanding, no judgment on his features.
"You're a careful person by nature. I'm sure, no offense, that this wasn't part of your five-year plan."
Ah, the five-year plan. The man does know me well.
"Yeah, not exactly. I'm not sure how much Alex told you. I'm on, well, was on the pill. I took it religiously, never missed a dose."
"Let me guess, UTI," he muses, a playful look in his eyes.
"Sinus infection, actually."
"Amoxicillin, the ruiner of best-laid plans."
I want to laugh, but the tension of the past few months is building in my chest again. Matt doesn't need to know the details. It doesn't paint me in the best light. But somehow, I want him to understand what a hot mess I truly am. He put himself out there for me.
He needs to realize now the mistake he's made before we get in too deep.
"I had an arrangement with a gentleman from out of town. He'd text me whenever he was around, every few weeks or so, and we'd get together. We'd meet at Lula's. I'd arrive first, have a drink or two to loosen up. You know how well I handle interpersonal relations." At his naughty smirk, I cover my smile. "Besides you apparently. We'd walk the block to the hotel, do our, ummm, business, and I'd be on my way. The last time, we didn't use a condom. No biggie, I thought. I'm on the pill.
"When I missed my period two weeks later, I called. No one answered. He never responded to my texts. I used my, hmmm, resources, and traced the number I had for him to find out it was a burner. Jake Smith doesn't exist."
Anger covers his features. His eyes bulge, and his body leans forward in the seat, his hands clenching in his lap.
I mentally prepare myself for the berating to come. It's no less than I deserve—the loss of Matthew's friendship and the offer of his protection. My father was right: I am a stupid little slut, and I deserve everything that comes to me.
I sit up straighter and let steel line my spine. I may be the weakest of the herd, but I'm still a Belle. I can take it.
"Did Alex use his person thingy to look for him?"
Person Thingy. I love it.
"The investigator on staff? Yes."
He takes a deep breath, and then another, before he says, "If that man ever shows up again, I'll kill him. I'll kill him with my bare hands."
That—was not the response I was expecting.
"Aren't you angry with me?"
He looks bewildered. "Why would I possibly be upset with you?"
"Because I was irresponsible and reckless to start with?"
I feel his scoff of disgust down to my toes.
"No. That is your father speaking. You put your trust in a man, as every woman should have the right to do, and he betrayed you. In the worst possible way. This is in no way your fault."
Isn't it, though?
"I should have insisted he used a condom. We could have gone and gotten some."
He shrugs in a move that encompasses how he feels about that.
"Yeah, okay. You should have used a condom. I'm well aware that ‘it only takes once.’ Then you have the other side of that equation, where doctors tell millions of women every year that 'these things take time.' So, I think that it was a reasonable assumption to discount pregnancy, while on the pill, from one encounter without a condom.
"Either way, you should have been able to count on your partner to hold up his end of the bargain. Every time a man sticks his cock in a woman, he signs a universal contract saying he's aware of his actions. It's as simple as that. The invisible man didn't hold up his end of the bargain."
I don't know if I want to blush or blanch at hearing him say cock, but surprisingly enough, it makes me feel better.
"So," I say, tipping my head to the side, "that's how that happened."
I take another bite of my sandwich, then quickly spit it back out. I've reached the point of return for food.
I can hear him thinking.
"Ask it. I know you want to."
"Okay, I will. You didn't think about termination, knowing the way your family would react?"
I lean back in the chair, pulling my feet cross-legged into my lap. I know it's odd, but the pose brings me peace, even when I'm not meditating.
"I did. I'm not ashamed to admit it. Our parents are right-winged traditionalists, but I'm not. I can't be, doing the job that I do. So yeah, I thought about it. I thought about it hard. I even had an appointment scheduled in Atlanta, under a different name. But then I thought about the job that I have. Most of my families are kind, honest, hard-working parents who are in situations that are out of their control and need extra help.
"I get called in when a kid comes to class in too small, filthy clothes, and the administration fears abuse. When I get to the home, though, I usually see that they aren't being abused but can't afford clean clothes. They aren't being paid attention to the way they need it, because a single mom of three is working two jobs.
"My situation is not ideal, yeah, but I could provide a good home for this baby. Between my income, which isn't great but isn't minimum wage by any means, and the trust fund my grandfather left for me, I can afford to give a child everything they need with love to spare.
"I realized that it wasn't fair to myself to let outside forces make this decision for me. Besides," I admit, and here's the awful truth of the matter, "I don't make friends easily. Dating is hard. That's why, well, I was doing what I was doing. I thought I was playing it safe. I don't tolerate social settings easily. Not that I can't, of course. I just prefer not to. Who knows when, if, I'd ever get the chance again to be a mother."
"You'll make an amazing mom
Susie Q. Hell, you already are. That baby isn't even born yet, and you're already fighting for it."
I can't help the tears that well in my eyes, and I sneak a sniffle when I wipe them away.
"We'll give that baby the best home it could possibly have."
I turn away until I get my features back under control.
"My turn," I say with a grin.
His hand comes up to rub the back of his neck, and he ducks his head to the side before he straightens up and meets my eyes.
"All's fair in love and war, I suppose."
I suck in a fortifying breath before I speak.
"Why in God's name would you want to marry me?"
His ears turn an adorable shade of pink, and he clears his throat roughly.
"The truth?" he questions, and I suck my lip between my lips and nod my head slightly.
"Please."
His eyes close, as if in prayer, before he looks me in the eye.
"Truth then. I've always had a little crush on you."
At my sharp intake of breath, he gives a little one-shoulder shrug, in a what are you gonna do sort of way.
"Even when we were kids, I always admired how you marched to your own drum, refusing to be sucked into the drama of your family. I fell a little in love with you the night of your senior prom. The way you held your head up, white dress flowing around you, descending the grand staircase in the Belle mansion, stole a part of my heart.
"Watching you grow from girl to woman only cemented my feelings. It wasn't a hard decision to throw myself at your feet and beg you to take me. The real question is, why did you say yes?"
My heart is fluttering out of my chest, and I'm moments away from crying. My mouth dries like the Sahara, and it feels like ants are crawling on my skin. I'm not sure what I was expecting. I'm so far out of my comfort zone. I know, though, that that wasn't it.
"I accepted," I breath, and have to pause to gather my thoughts. "I accepted your proposal for too many reasons to count. Mainly though, because I've always loved you too. In a secret, embarrassing, hiding in the closet sort of way."
He starts to chuckle, eyes filled with amusement. Then the chuckling turns to laughing, which converts to tears running down his eyes as he holds his stomach and howls, full-bellied and free. All eyes turn to stare at us, but he doesn't notice any of them.
