by Dana Mason
Mac whistles really low and says, “She’s got a point, Mike. When you’re in high school, your world is pretty small. It’s hard to think about anything beyond the next weekend or exam.”
“I had no problem thinking about the future,” I say.
“I didn’t either,” Kelley says, “but I knew exactly what I wanted. I’d already been working in my chosen career. I was already a member of the dance company. You were playing football… people were already pegging you for the NFL draft.”
“I was clueless,” Mac said. “I didn’t have a plan outside of going to college. I didn’t even know what I wanted to major in until I was forced to pick something.”
As I consider this, I know in my heart they’re right. Rachel’s only plan was to follow me to college. She didn’t even care which college… she only wanted to be with me.
I sit there for a long moment, not sure what to say, but then Kelley finally asks, “How did you guys leave things? Are you going to meet her—your daughter?”
“I told her I needed time to think. I was angry, and I didn’t want to say something I’d regret.”
“That’s smart,” Mac says.
I get to my feet and say, “I should get going. I have three PT appointments tonight, and my sister called to tell me she’s coming into town. She’ll be here on Friday. That means I need to finish unpacking and prepare for house guests. Thanks for the talk, guys.”
“I can’t wait to see Diana and Olivia.” Kelley reaches up and gives me a hug, and as she’s holding me, she says, “Mike, just because I understand why Rachel didn’t tell you about your kid, doesn’t mean I think it’s okay that she kept it from you all these years.”
“I know, and that’s what I’m having trouble with.”
She smiles widely and shakes her head. “Wow… Mike. You have a daughter. That’s so crazy. What’s her name?”
I laugh at the question, knowing how insane it is that I didn’t get my own daughter’s name. Of course Diana and Kelley would both ask the one thing I couldn’t answer, but should be able to answer. “I have no idea. I was too distracted with the news to ask.”
Kelley lifts a brow and says, “Typical man. Call if you need anything, even just to talk.”
“We’re here for you if you need us,” Mac says, reaching a hand out to shake mine.
“Thanks. Seriously. I’ll keep you updated.”
Twenty-One
Raegan
I’m a little afraid of my mom right now—and a little impressed. She doesn’t usually get mad… not like this. I mean, I’ve seen her angry, worried, annoyed—you name it, but I’ve never seen her shout at anyone, much less Uncle Mitch. She doesn’t even curse, really. Once in a while, one will slip, and then she looks guilty and apologizes.
Now she’s crying, and I don’t know what to do, but I’m not so sure she should be driving in this condition. Good thing we don’t live very far.
“Mom, what happened?”
She shakes her head and says, “Life, Raegan. Life happened, and somewhere in the middle, I got lost.”
“I don’t understand, but I’m sorry. Maybe you should stop and ask someone to pick us up. I can call Isla or Annie.”
“I’m fine. I just…” She maneuvers the car into a parking lot and stops. Once the car is in park, she looks over at me with sad eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’m not scared… but I’m a little worried. I’ve never seen you like this. What did Uncle Mitch do?”
“You know, Rae, it doesn’t even matter anymore.” She shifts in her seat so that we’re facing each other. “I’m sorry you had to hear me fight with him.”
I almost laugh but then say, “Don’t be sorry. I like seeing you stand up to him. I wish you did it more often.”
Her brows draw together. “How much of our conversation did you hear?”
“None of it.” I shrug and say, “I just heard you shouting at him that you were using your voice—and I think it’s about time.”
Her face softens. “I know… I’m way overdue, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, Mom. Why do you let him act like you’re some clueless twit?”
“I don’t think he’s that bad, but he does seem to believe that women are inferior to him, and I hate that.” Her eyes drift around the car, then she says, “I’m enrolling you in the afterschool program next year. I don’t want you going to Mitch’s house every day after school any longer.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s not a good influence. He’s not spending time with you, which is why we arranged for you to go there. He just sits on his computer all day muttering about politics and leaves it to Annie to take care of you. Not to mention his attitude toward women isn’t healthy. I should have stopped taking you there years ago.”
“But, Mom, I don’t need anyone to take care of me at all.”
With a deep breath, she says, “I’ll look for some summer camps to keep you busy until school starts.”
“No, I’m too old for summer camp, Mom. I’m too old for an afterschool program. I can stay home, though.”
She rests her head back and says, “I don’t know if that’s a great idea either, but I’ll think of something. Okay?”
“Yeah, sure, but don’t arrange something without talking to me first. I should have a say too.” I feel the need to point this out because she often treats me like I’m a kid who can’t think for myself. As if I need a babysitter or something. “That’s fair, right?”
She reaches in and hugs me. “Yes, babe. It’s totally fair. I’m sorry if I haven’t been giving you the respect you deserve. You’re a brilliant young woman.” She withdraws and lays a hand on my cheek. “You’re a good girl with a good head on your shoulders, and I need to let you be more involved with what’s happening in our family. I promise I will try harder to listen to you.”
“Thank you, Mom.” I’m trying really hard to fight the guilt I feel over my lies about Mike Murphy. I had to do something though, and I need to stand my ground about this summer camp thing, but I’m glad she’s finally listening to me. “I’m sorry if I’ve been mean to you, but sometimes I feel like you don’t see me as my own person.”
“I know.” Her voice comes out like a whine as she fights to keep from crying again. “God, I get it. My mom is the same with me, still. You’d think after all these years, she’d have some respect for me.” She gives me a long look, then says, “Raegan, I want you to promise me that you’ll always use your voice, okay? Don’t let people force you to be silent. Speak out when something is wrong. Tell me if I do something I shouldn’t. Being a girl doesn’t mean your voice doesn’t matter, okay? I want you to promise.”
Her eyes are so sincere, and she really does look miserable. “I do already, Mom. At least I try.”
“I wish I’d had your courage when I was young.” Her brows draw together in a frown, and I feel so bad.
“Mom, you look so sad. What happened today? Just because I’m only thirteen doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me.”
Her frown disappears, and she smiles at me, and it’s a real, genuine smile. “I know, and I appreciate that. I’m not ready to talk yet, but when I am, you’ll be the first person I come to.”
She puts the car in gear and drives the rest of the way home. It’s not until we’re in the house and getting ready for dinner that I realize she could be upset over my dad. I wonder if she reached out yet. Maybe he rejected us, and that’s why she’s so upset, but what does that have to do with Uncle Mitch?
Just as Mom is about to start making dinner, the doorbell rings. She answers it to find a busboy from the restaurant at the hotel. He says something and hands her a bag, then he’s gone.
“Who was that?”
She lifts the bag with a thankful smile on her face. “Isla asked Gerard to send us dinner so I wouldn’t have to cook. Isn’t that sweet?”
“Sweet is right. What did he make for us?”
She takes the first container out
and lifts the lid. With a chuckle she hands it to me. “This must be yours.”
I take it and revel in the smell of fresh, hot spaghetti. “Oh, God. I love his spaghetti with meatballs. Tell him thank you when you see him tomorrow.”
Mom opens another container and laughs. “They know me well. How sweet…” She shows me a full-size cheesecake and I have to laugh too.
“You really did have a bad day.”
With a nod, she opens the next and shows me her favorite butternut squash ravioli. “It’s nice not to have to cook.”
We eat in silence, mostly because I don’t want to say anything to make her feel worse, but I have so many questions. I pull out my phone and check my email. Mike hasn’t responded to my last email. I’m not sure why. At first, he sent back questions, but then he went silent. I know he’s been busy with the opening, maybe that’s why.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: A secret
Did you see my mom today? Did you get confirmation that you have a kid? I ask because she’s really sad. I haven’t seen her this upset in a long time. She won’t tell me anything but that she had a really bad day at work. Please don’t be mean to her, okay? She’s never mean to anyone, and she needs you. Also, did she tell you my name?
Before I can change my mind, I hit send, then put my phone in my pocket and rub my sweaty palms on my jeans. I feel like things are changing and I’m not sure I’m ready for that. If my mom talked to Mike today, I hope he was nice to her. It’s hard to imagine him being mean because he’s been so nice to me every time I’ve met him. I’m going to feel really bad if I forced my mom to make contact with someone who mistreated her or wasn’t good to her.
I didn’t really think about that when I was asking about him. In the past, when she’s talked about my father, she’s only said positive things. Of course, I can count on one hand how many times she’s mentioned him. Would she ever say anything bad? She’s not the type to talk about people like that. She never even badmouths my grandma, and Grandma is horrible to her most of the time.
I quickly peek at my phone again, but there are no new alerts. I really hope Mike answers my message this time. I need to know what happened today and find out if he’s the reason my mom is so unhappy.
Twenty-Two
Michael
As soon as I finish with my last personal training session for the evening, I sink down in my office chair and check my email. Oh, sure, no problem! There are only eighteen new messages since the last time I looked. I sort through the membership requests and file them so my new admin assistant can help with those tomorrow. Then I reply to emails from current members. Every new member has to complete a certain number of PT sessions before they can work out in the open gym or join the classes. I want to make sure everyone has a tailored experience. Also, I want each member’s level of fitness assessed by a coach before they join classes—I don’t want people to get hurt.
There’s a new email from shouldbemurphy. Which is odd since it’s been a couple of weeks. If this is my kid, I have to wonder if Rachel talked to her about me after what happened today and that’s why she’s reaching out again.
I hover over it before I click. What if this isn’t my kid? She’s thirteen… would she have an email yet? I don’t know what level kids are on these days.
I click the email and read it.
Wow. This really is my daughter emailing me. Huh. What do you know? I read it again and feel really bad. I didn’t mean to upset Rachel like that. I know I shouldn’t feel guilty. I’m the one who was lied to; I haven’t done anything wrong. She’s the one who kept my child a secret. Of course, that doesn’t make me feel any better about how upset she is, and the kid is right. She’s never mean to anyone.
When we were young, I remember once calling her a doormat because people would take advantage of her, and she wouldn’t do anything about it. She had an excuse ready for everyone and for every offense. She always saw the best in people.
I pick up my phone and text Rachel.
Me: Are you okay? Should I be worried about you?
It takes her a minute but then I get three messages in a row.
Rachel: Fine.
Rachel: Why do you ask? Did I look that bad when you left today?
Rachel: Should I be worried about you? You’re the one who got big news.
Me: Thought I’d check on you. I know it couldn’t have been easy telling me that after all these years.
Rachel: Thanks for checking on me. It’s actually a relief. Honestly, I’m struggling with what I’ve done. However, those two amazing orgasms you gave me earlier helped a great deal.
I laugh out loud when I read this. My girl has lost some of her shyness—she never would have said the ‘O’ word when we were in high school. Warmth spreads through me as I remember that Rachel and I used to laugh together all the time.
Me: It’s always a good stress reliever, but I’m sure not enough to make this day easier. At least it wasn’t for me.
Rachel: I know, I’m so sorry. If only I could go back in time—fix things.
Me: Honestly, Rachel, I’m not sure what to do… or think. I’m so upset with you for keeping this secret for so long. I’m not interested in holding a grudge, so if that’s what you’re worried about, you can stop, but I really don’t know how to proceed right now.
Rachel: Grudge? No. I know you’re not like that, at least you never used to be. I’m angry, too, at myself. I’m mad that I let this go on for so long. I’ve turned into a horrible person, and I’m not even sure how. I still have so much to tell you and I’d understand if you did hold a grudge. Just don’t let your feelings for me keep you from having a relationship with your daughter.
Mike: I would never do that. I want to have a relationship with her, I just need a few days to get my bearings. That being said, you can stop being so hard on yourself.
Rachel: I'm HONEST with myself. What I’ve done is as bad as anything my mother did. I have so many regrets.
This is Rachel to a tee. She beats herself up to the point of self-loathing. It pisses me off because it’s hard to be mad at her when she’s so damn hard on herself. I’d rather she fought with me. I’d rather she makes a bunch of excuses and tells me it’s not her fault. It’d be so much easier to be mad at her if she didn’t take full responsibility like she’s doing. Fuck.
I glance at my watch and see that it’s after ten p.m.
Mike: Here’s some advice from your personal trainer. Make a cup of hot, herbal tea, then get into bed and read a book. It’s late, and you need some rest. The book will help you get your mind off things, and the tea will help you sleep.
Mike: If that doesn’t work, download some porn from the internet and masturbate while thinking of me. That will always help you sleep. LOL
Rachel: I see you haven’t lost your dirty mind. What makes you think I need porn if I’m thinking about you while I masturbate?
“Nice,” I say as I’m typing out my response.
Me: Whatever works for you, babe.
Rachel: Thank you. I missed you, and even if you decide to hate me for the rest of our lives, I’ll still have the memory of today.
Me: Goodnight, Rachel.
Rachel: Goodnight.
As if I could ever hate her. Yeah, I’m pissed she didn’t tell me I have a kid, but I can’t let that get in the way of having a relationship with my daughter. And I can’t do that if I’m harboring hate for her mother. Rachel was always the kindest person—she was so honest in school, it annoyed me sometimes. She never wanted to break the rules.
Is our daughter like Rachel was when she was young? Is she naive and trusting? Does she make excuses for people who wrong her? Hopefully, she’s too young to have been wronged. Has Rachel tried to give her any street smarts at all, or has she sheltered her too much? Or is she more like me? More leery of people and less likely to trust? This thought almost makes me laugh. I’ve only gotten less likely to tr
ust because of Rachel. She’s made me jaded in my adult life. I don’t want to be hurt again. I don’t know if she’ll ever understand what she’s done to me, and that’s outside of the lie about our kid.
I’m still so shocked. I have a daughter, and it burns me up to know that I’ve missed so much already. I don’t know anything about this girl. She doesn’t know anything about me… at least I don’t think so. But she did find me, and she’s obviously fiercely protective of her mother. That makes me smile. Rachel’s done that much right. What is this girl going to think of me? I look down at myself, at the tattoos. Will I scare her? What kind of crowd does Rachel spend time with? What are her friends like?
The more I think about having a daughter, the more I want to know. But I also don’t want to screw it up. As mad as I am at Rachel, I don’t want to screw that up either… which is why I asked for time.
The anger will pass, I know that. All I can do is get through this, get on with what I need to do and right now, that’s getting this gym open—and preparing for my sister to visit. With that thought, I know I need to get home and get some work done on my apartment.
Twenty-Three
Rachel
Dear Mike,
I’ve just arrived home from the hospital. My dad isn’t doing well. The doctor says he’ll only survive for a few more days. I needed a break, and some time alone. I’ve been there every day for weeks. I don’t know how much more I can take. Watching him wither away—fighting to hang on. And for what? To be in pain? I don’t understand. I told him to let go—I’ve begged him to let go and end his pain, but he insists he needs to be here for me. FOR ME? Jesus Christ! I’m so upset and angry at the same time. How dare he say he’s hanging on for me? He’s never been here for me, not really. Not without an ulterior motive and certainly not without following through with whatever cruel plan my mother had. All either of them has ever done is criticize me and tell me what a disappointment I’ve been.
