by Nikki Ash
And apparently fucking them for four days straight doesn’t either.
“She was very nice. After you left for college, I got to know her a little bit. It’s too bad she moved a few months later.”
“Yeah, I remember you telling me.”
I’ve always wondered why she moved so quickly. I hope she’s doing well. I wrote her one letter from school when I first arrived. Part of me hoped we’d find a way to remain in contact, but I didn’t hear from her for a few months. And when I did, she sent me a painting of my hand on her thigh. Done in muted tones, it was sexy and so lifelike, I could practically feel her skin beneath my palm. There was no note included and at that time, I was a few months into my plan to forget her.
Instead of appreciating the painting and the work that went into it, I was resentful. There I was doing my best to move on with my life and she sent me a reminder of the one thing I couldn’t have. I was tempted to throw it away, but when I spoke to Liz about it, she convinced me to hang on to it for the time being. I placed it in a storage bin and never looked at it again until two weeks ago when I moved into my new apartment.
With the passing of time, I have a new appreciation for the work that went into painting those parts of us so accurately. The careful brush strokes and meticulous details make it incredibly realistic. In my heart, I know she wasn’t trying to hurt me. Maybe it was her way of telling me she wasn’t over us yet either.
“Last week, I saw an ad on TV for the Metropolis Art Gallery and they mentioned Juliet’s art being on display,” Mom informs me.
“Really? Good for her.”
“I guess she’s the new big thing in the art world.”
I’m not surprised. She was always immensely talented.
“You should attend her show. She’d probably get a kick out of seeing how much you’ve grown up.”
Outwardly, my face is void of any reaction, but inwardly, I’m grimacing at my mom’s choice of words. Pretty sure Juliet thought I was plenty “grown up” before. “Yeah, maybe.”
My mom waves her hand like I’m an annoying fly. “I know that when you say maybe, it means no.”
I smile. “Where do you think I got that from? You and Dad were famous for your maybe/nos.”
“Before I forget, I made you some brownies to bring home.”
Stepping over to her, I feel her head, checking for a fever. “Are you sick?”
She raises both brows in question. “Why would I be?”
“I don’t know how to tell you this, but you’ve never really been the mom who bakes their kid treats.”
“Can’t I be that now? Do we have to stay in one lane our entire adulthood?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Did it ever occur to you that your father and I might have regrets about our parenting?”
“You having them, I can believe. But Dad?” I shake my head. “No way. He’s the definition of a hardass father. I can’t see him regretting anything he’s done. That would mean admitting to himself that he might’ve been wrong about something. That’ll never happen.”
“Don’t be so hard on him.” My mom’s reply falls on deaf ears.
“How can you say that to me with a straight face?”
“I love you both,” she says by way of explanation. For the sake of not upsetting her, I’m going to drop all discussion of my dad. His parenting skills might need improving, but he loves my mom and is loyal to her.
“I know you do. I love you too, Mom. You don’t need to bake me treats to earn my love. You already have it. But if you want to try, then make me some chocolate chip cookies. Those are my favorite.” I wink.
“Why did I let you talk me into going to her show?” I say to Liz.
“Because you know I’m right. And deep down, you want to see Juliet.”
“I’m not so sure about wanting to see her. It’s more of a need than a want. I’m always going to have fond memories of her, and I’m curious if the attraction is still there.”
“What if it is? Would you want to pick right up where you left off?”
“I can’t say until I see her.”
“What if she’s married?”
“That’ll put an abrupt end to any thoughts I have about her. I’m not wrecking a marriage.”
“What if she doesn’t remember you?” Liz giggles.
“Come on. Like that’s gonna happen. I may have been eighteen, but I rocked her world for four days and nights. I lost track of how many times we had sex.” Just thinking about it gives me a semi. I discreetly adjust myself and focus on the road. I play our relationship off as just sex, but it was more than that for me. We spoke about our hopes and dreams for the future. I’m glad she’s achieving hers, and while I’m unsure attending her show is the right thing to do, I’ll be happy to personally witness her success.
I luck out when a Porsche pulls away from a curbside space and I’m able to back right in. This is no small feat on Newbury Street—maybe it’s a sign that tonight will go well.
“Are you ready?” Liz asks once we’re standing on the sidewalk in front of the large brownstone that houses the famous Metropolis Art Gallery.
“As ready as I’ll be, I guess.” Heart galloping behind my rib cage, we step inside the well lit gallery. Eyes sorting through the crowd of people, I search for a sign of Juliet.
“Any sign of her?” Liz asks.
“Not yet. But this place is five floors of exhibits, so she could be anywhere. Let’s check out the artwork and eventually we’ll find her.”
She nods. “Sounds good to me. Her paintings are beautiful.”
“They are,” I agree.
We wander through the first floor, which consists of cityscapes, and then move to the second floor. Here we find images of a pregnant woman, but her face doesn’t show. It’s a view of her rounded, naked stomach with two hands resting on either side. It’s painted as if the mother is looking down at her own stomach. As my gaze glides over the details, I wonder if she painted this from experience.
The next image is the back view of a little blond boy and a woman staring out at a harbor. The woman’s hair falls to mid-back in slight waves. While the color is similar, Juliet’s hair was shoulder length and pin straight, which makes me think this isn’t a self-portrait.
“Uh… Emmett. You might want to see this,” Liz says urgently.
Moving over to the next image displayed, I gasp. There’s no question this time that Juliet painted herself. She’s there in full color, every part of her face as accurate as if I were looking at a live version. But that’s not what caused my surprised reaction. It’s the little toddler posed next to her that caught my attention. He appears to be around three years old, and his blond hair sweeps across his forehead. But the most astonishing part is that my face smiles back at me from the canvas—make that a miniature version of my face.
What the fuck is going on?
My brain feels sluggish as I try to muddle through what I’m seeing.
“Jesus. Does this mean you have a kid you didn’t know about? Or is she crazy and imagined one?”
I rub a shaking hand over my brow. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything right now.” I’m shook.
Liz hooks her arm through mine, and I appreciate the strength she’s offering. “Let’s look around some more and see if we can find any clues.” Her clear thinking is welcome. I’m still numb and don’t know if I’m coming or going.
Do I have a son I didn’t know about?
And if I do, why would Juliet keep him from me?
What could be her motivation?
“Breathe, Emmett.” She pats my arm. “You look as white as one of these statues. People might mistake you for part of the show,” she jokes, and her humor is appreciated. If it wasn’t for her, I’d probably have flipped the fuck out by now and demanded to see Juliet.
Moving to the next painting doesn’t offer any clarity. If anything, it makes things more confusing when I see the same boy stretching his arms upward as if he
wants to be lifted from his feet.
“This gets weirder and weirder,” Liz mumbles under her breath.
“Emmett?” I hear my name called in a hoarse whisper.
Slowly, I turn and find Juliet standing before me. I feel disconnected. Like I’m broken apart and none of my parts are functioning at full capacity. My brain feels foggy and my limbs won’t work. I’m frozen in place.
Her green eyes that reminded me of a tropical escape are so large in her petite face. Liz pinches the inside of my arm where her hand rests, snapping me out of my daze.
“Juliet,” I husk her name.
“How are you?” she asks.
“Good. And you?”
“I’m well.” She gestures at her paintings on the wall. “I wasn’t sure this day would ever come.”
“I was sure you’d have all the success.” I smile.
“Excuse me for butting in, but don’t you think it’s time to talk about why you’re painting pictures of a mini-Emmett?” Liz jumps in. And thank God for her because one glance at Juliet and I turned stupid.
“How about we go somewhere a little more private for that discussion?” Juliet suggests.
Fuck me. This can’t be a good sign.
“Sure,” I reply. My eyes meet Liz’s. She looks as nervous as I feel.
“Right this way.” Juliet walks in front of us and we follow. My eyes trail over her frame from head to toe and back up again. The navy blue short sleeved dress flows to her knees, leaving her shapely calves exposed. Her sandy colored hair, longer than before, is full of waves and curls. The view from the back is as stunning as the one from the front. If anything, she’s more beautiful than when we said our goodbyes.
Leading us into an office, she closes the door behind us. “Please sit.” Liz chooses to sit on the small couch to the side of the room, leaving Juliet and I facing one another.
“I think I’m going to stand for now,” I say.
She nods. “You’re wondering about the boy in the paintings.”
“Is he mine?”
“No, he’s ours,” she replies.
I bark out a harsh laugh. “Oh, he’s ours. Which is strange because this is the first I’ve heard that I have a son. Did I miss a phone call? A letter?” Sarcasm drips from my questions.
“No. I didn’t try to contact you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“You were so young. I didn’t want you to throw away your future. I knew you’d leave school and come home, and that wouldn’t have been fair to you.”
“No. You know what’s not fair?” My voice raises. “Being denied the right to know I fathered a son. Being denied the right to be a part of his life. You made choices for me that you had no right to.” Bending over, I place my hands on my knees and drag in a few labored breaths.
“I’m sorry, Emmett. I panicked and tried to do the right thing.”
I straighten up. “By keeping my son from me? My own flesh and blood doesn’t even know I’m his father.”
Chapter Nine
Emmett
“Are you married?” Liz cuts in.
“No, I’m not. Are you guys?” Her eyes bounce between the two of us. She thinks we’re a couple?
“No, I’m Liz, his best friend,” she’s quick to reply.
“I remember you, now. You look different, more mature.”
“Yeah, four years will do that.” Liz smiles.
“Now that you guys are besties, can we get back to discussing our son?” My anger is clear.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything. But let’s start with his name.”
“Emmett. I named him after you,” she says.
“Why would you do that?”
“I wanted him to have something of yours.”
What? How can she say this with a straight face?
“That makes zero sense to me. If you wanted him to have something of me, then you would’ve let me be his father in more ways than contributing sperm.” I hate that I’m the reason her brow is furrowed with hurt, but what she did is unacceptable. She dropped a bombshell on me, and I need to find a way to accept it. How’s that for a fucked-up situation?
“I’m going to step outside and let you guys have some privacy. Take your time. I’ve got plenty of art to check out,” Liz says, hurrying toward the door. She slips out before I can object, and Juliet doesn’t look pleased she left either. Does she think I’ll lose control without Liz to calm me?
“You were about to tell me why you gave our son my name.”
“When I found out I was pregnant, you were already at college and I was alone. At first, I thought it must be a mistake. My husband and I had tried to have a baby and we were never able to conceive. After I’d taken enough tests to convince myself the results weren’t wrong, I went to the doctor and they confirmed I was pregnant. I want you to know there was never a question of whether I was keeping the baby or not. I fell in love with him the moment I knew he existed.”
“Why didn’t you contact me?” I grit out.
“I did. I sent you the painting.”
“You’re right, you did. With no letter included, I figured it was your final goodbye gift to me.”
Her fingers pluck nervously at the beads on her bracelet. “It was my way of starting up a line of communication.”
“You could’ve just called me. You had my number,” I remind her. “By the way, it’s still the same.”
“I did, but I second guessed myself so many times about having that conversation that I couldn’t follow through. You had plans to play for the NFL and I didn’t want to crush your dream.”
“I don’t know if you’re familiar with my football career, but junior year, I wrecked my knee. That was the end of my football career.”
“I bet that was a difficult time for you,” she offers sympathetically.
“It was. If I’d have had a son to focus on, I dare say it would’ve put things in the proper perspective much sooner.”
“I’m sorry, Emmett. I really am.”
“Those are empty words, Juliet. It seems like you’re only sorry you got caught.”
“I can’t make you understand. But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and I was planning on reaching out to you as soon as I felt ready.”
“How long would that have taken? Another four years?” I droll.
“I honestly can’t say.”
“You and I can go round and round about what you did wrong, but what I’d like to know is how do you plan to remedy the situation?”
“I…uh...I guess we can figure out how to introduce you to him.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “You guess?”
“I’m doing the best I can, Emmett. Seeing you tonight was unexpected. I don’t have all the answers.”
“Save it, Juliet. Finding out I have a son was fucking earth shattering. I don’t think you can compare it to seeing me.”
“I’m not comparing them. I wasn’t prepared to figure all the answers out now. I’d like it if you and I could hash out some of the details together. I’ve screwed up so much already. I don’t want to mess this up too.”
“There’s no time like the present,” I say.
“I’m in the middle of my show. Could we please get together tomorrow and come up with a plan for moving forward?”
“I’m sorry this came out during your very important show, but that’s not on me.”
“I realize that, but this show could be life-changing for me and Emmett.”
I study her face before answering. “Okay. I’ll be over for dinner tomorrow night. I want to meet my son. He better be there.”
“Thank you. He will be. Give me your phone,” she orders, holding out her hand. She sends me her address. “Emmett goes to bed at seven. Can you come over at five?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there.”
She smiles at me. “Despite the shitty circumstances, I’m happy you’re here. It’s a little disconcerting to see you so grown up. I’ve been
remembering you as you were. But you look great.”
“I’m glad you’re well, Juliet. And you look beautiful, as always.” It’s painful for me to look at her. Not only because of her deceit, but it also stirs up so many happy memories.
We leave the office and she closes the door behind me. Walking side by side down the hallway, I watch our shadows on the white tile floor. Even with her heels, I tower over her. It’s surreal that I’m here right now. How many times have I dreamed of seeing her again?
How many times my first year of school did I pick up my phone to call her and chickened out?
And now the universe has forced our hand by bringing us together. As scared as I am for what this could mean, in one sense I’m relieved. I know about my son and I’ll be stepping in to help raise him. Things may become increasingly complicated until we sort out all the finer details, but we’ll work through them for our son.
When we reach the gallery area, she pauses and touches my arm. “I’m glad you came tonight.”
“Me too.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Say goodbye to Liz for me.”
I nod. “Will do. Good luck with the rest of your show.”
“Thank you.” She presses her lips together in a small smile before walking off. I’ve barely made it across the room when Liz finds me.
“I thought it was best that I left,” she says. “I hope you’re not mad.”
“No. Why would I be? I’m a big boy and need to deal with this on my own. It’s not your responsibility.”
“I know, but I want to be here for you.”
I press a kiss to her temple. “You’re always there for me.”
“How did the rest of your conversation go?”
“We didn’t kill each other.” I smirk.
Liz hugs my arm. “Don’t hate me for saying this, but I feel bad for her.”
“I know. I do too. She’s been through a lot. I can’t help but feel like I made a horrible mistake by not telling her how deeply I loved her. That could’ve changed everything and there’s nothing I can do to go back and fix things.”
“Well, introducing you to your son is a good start. The rest will take care of itself.” She squeezes my arm.
