by Portia Moore
I let out a deep breath and hold my head. I know that they didn’t have cruel intentions. I know that all of this time they’ve had to have been going through hell, too. I sit down on my bed, and rest my head in my hands.
“What do I do? Where do I go from here?” I ask the people who helped me make every major decision in my life. My mom lets out a deep sigh.
“Th—there’s something else we have to tell you, son,” my mom says reluctantly.
“You need another one of these.” Lisa pours another shot of Tequila in my glass, and I down it before finishing the rest of my story. The room hasn’t started spinning yet, but my head is.
“Right when I thought things couldn't get any worse, they tell me not only did this jerk-off marry someone, but he got her pregnant too, which makes me the father.” I laugh, staring at the empty glass. I don’t usually drink much, but before telling her this story, I told her to pull out the bottle first. Her eyes are wider than they’ve been since I started the story of my life over the past twenty-four hours.
“Whoa, I was going to say this was your last shot, but I think whiskey is in order.” She disappears behind the bar. She replaces my empty glass with the brown liquid from her bottle; it’s the kind my dad pulls out on special occasions. I lift my glass feeling a wide, goofy smile on my face.
“To me being a father!” I say sarcastically, and she bursts into laughter.
“You are the father!” she says with fake enthusiasm. We laugh, clinking our glasses together. The good thing about alcohol is everything that sucks in your life seems hilarious. The sting of the whiskey burns five times worse than the Tequila. I usually only have a beer or two. But tonight, each drink causes each problem I picked up today to disappear.
“I wish I could have been there to see the look on Jenna’s face when your wife showed up,” she says with a giggle. I shake my head. I wish they got along better, since Lisa is my best friend and all, but that’s the least of my problems now.
“She’s not my wife, I think?” I defend myself.
“Technically you and this Cal guy are the same person,” she whispers as if she’s telling me a secret. “So that makes her your wife.” She slaps me on the shoulder. I frown at her. “The good thing, though, is tomorrow you’re going to be way too hungover to care about any of this.” She cackles, and suddenly my body feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. I was sitting upright on the couch but now I’m either lying down or the room has turned sideways.
“What about after tomorrow?” I hear myself starting to slur.
“Ask sober Lisa, drunk Lisa is going to bed,” she giggles as she shifts off the couch. She makes her way to turn off the light before she stumbles to her room. I turn myself on my back and watch the ceiling fan turn. It’s spinning so fast, I could have sworn it was brown, but now it’s black. I look around, and I’m not on Lisa’s couch anymore, but in this huge bed with black sheets. It’s daylight, and sun is shining in on my face. I stretch my arms outward and feel warm skin. I look down and see my hand on a thigh that’s barely covered with the sheet. My eyes trail up the body, and I freeze when I see the girl’s face from earlier. Her eyes are still closed, but her pink, plump lips curve into a seductive smile.
“Stay with me,” she purrs in my ear, her hand trailing up my naked leg. Oh shit! I try to move, but I’m stuck. Her eyes are still closed, but now she’s climbed on top of me. I’ll make it worth your while,” she continues. She smells so good, and she’s starting to kiss my neck as her hand grabs my...
“Christopher, get up!” My eyes open, and my dad is standing next to the sofa, where I vaguely remember falling asleep. Was I just dreaming? It seemed more real than any dream I’ve ever had. I can still feel her lips on me, the smell of her hair, how warm her skin was. I start to sit up but I can’t. Gravity wants my head right here on the sofa. Ugh, my stomach feels like I’m on a roller coaster.
“You think getting drunk is going to solve your problems?” My dad’s voice is loud, and feels like a hammer to my head. He puts his arm around me, pulling my weight up so I’m now in a sitting position
“Where am I?” I ask, unsure. I honestly have no idea until I recognize that ugly blanket Lisa made in high school, and realize I’m still at her house
“Ugh, my head,” I groan. My dad forces a cup of coffee into my hand.
“This, what you’re doing, is not going to be your answer,” my dad says gruffly. I lift the cup to my mouth, but before I can even drink it, the smell makes my stomach churn, and I set it down.
“We’re in a bad situation. Yes. Is it the end of the world? No. But if you become a self-pitying drunk, it will be,” he says sharply, “and whether we like it or not, you’re a father now, so we’re going to have to figure this thing out with this woman. Sooner rather than later.”
He can’t seriously think I’m in any condition to talk to him about the state of, or plan for my life now.
“I just want to sleep,” I mumble, putting the coffee down on the floor, and I lie back down on the couch.
“I’m not sure what your plan is, but if you’re still engaged to Jenna, or plan on being, I suggest you get up and come home. I’m sure she won’t be happy that you’re here, of all places, and you probably haven’t called her since I found your phone in the dirt in our yard,” he warns.
Jenna. Her name makes me sit up.
I’ve told her a thousand times, Lisa and I are just friends, and have been since kindergarten, but she says as long as she has breasts and a vagina, she’ll never trust her.
It takes a minute, but with my dad’s help, I make it out of Lisa’s house, into the truck, and back home to my bed. I ignored the disapproving lecture he gave me all the way home. I think I deserved a night like last night, after all I’ve gone through.
My mom must’ve agreed, since she cleaned my room and tucked me in like I was twelve, then brought me ibuprofen after I managed to hold down a piece of toast. My bed is much better than Lisa’s couch
I wake up, still in my room, but the sky’s dark. The birds are already making noise so it must be early morning. I sit up and see that the clock on my desk says that its 5:11 a.m. I must have slept straight through yesterday. I feel a lot better. My empty stomach is growling, and the smell of bacon coming from down stairs has coaxed me out of my sleep. The splitting pain in my head has been replace by a dull ache.
I pick out a T-shirt, jeans, and boxers, and make my way to the shower to wash the stink of vomit and whiskey off me.
I haven’t talked to Jenna at all. I told her I’d call her after I talked to my parents, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I don’t know what to tell her. I don’t know where we go from here.
I needed a day off from feeling and thinking. But now it just seems like a day wasted. I was sort of prepared to confirm that she was right. To explain to her that what I have is an actual condition, and not some made up crap. Knowing her, though, she’s figured everything out. She may have possibly been willing to stay with me; it wasn’t like I couldn’t get a divorce. I’m not even sure this marriage is even legitimate. I’m sure the girl―Lauren―I have to stop calling her the girl―she’s not some random woman, after all. I’m sure Lauren would’ve agreed to sever ties after realizing I’m not the man she loves.
But a kid, knowing that I have a child with someone else, that’s something I don’t think Jenna will accept, and I can’t blame her. I’d just like to hold onto the memory of me being happily engaged to the woman I chose, and thinking what our kids would look like a little longer.
Well, there wouldn’t have been any kids until she finished law school, passed the bar, and established herself with a firm, but that’s irrelevant now. After I brush my teeth and throw on my clothes, I head to the kitchen. My stomach is already craving the bacon and eggs my mom is frying up. She glances back at me as I sit down at the table. She already has a plate fixed for me. She sits down at the table across from me and pours orange juice in our glasses. I start to dig i
nto my plate, and she clears her throat. I roll my eyes as she takes my hand.
“Lord, we thank you for this food you blessed us to receive, and for our bodies to be healthy enough to receive it. Amen,” she says, and I grunt an “amen” before shoving a spoonful of eggs in my mouth. I’m trying to count the few things I have to be thankful for this morning. But as of right now, I’m not in a thankful mood.
Someone’s screwed up my life, and if God planned my life like this, I’m pretty pissed at Him right now. But since my mom is still here, when she came so close to being gone, I won't voice that opinion to her.
“Is Dad out back already?” I ask, noticing she’s not set plate for him.
She nods. “He wanted an early start,” she says after finishing her juice.
“How are you feeling?” she asks, and I’m not sure if she’s referring to my mental state or the hangover from yesterday. I glance up at her a second before my eyes land back on my plate.
“I don’t know,” I admit honestly. Today, I’m kind of numb. I don’t how to feel or think, but it’s better than being furious or hopeless, so I’ll take it.
“Lauren is going to come here tomorrow,” she says quietly, her voice normal, though the statement is anything but. I let out a deep breath.
“Yeah?” I say. I’m in a daze. Lauren, my wife, Cal’s wife—at this point, whose wife she is doesn’t matter. It’s definitely my DNA in her kid. My mom gets up from the table, opens the drawer, and then sits back down.
“I didn’t get a chance to show you this. You left so abruptly that day,” she says, sliding a picture across the table. Her lips are pressed tightly together, but curved in a smile. I pick up the picture and let out a deep sigh. It’s a little girl, maybe a year old, if that. She has big green eyes and dark curly hair all over her head. Two deep dimples. I involuntarily let out a sigh. She looks just like my baby pictures, only she’s a girl.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” my mom says, not hiding her smile any longer.
Wow. I really have a daughter, and she looks just like me. I never thought my first time seeing my child would be in a picture when she’s been in the world a―I don’t even know how old she is.
“What’s her name?” I ask, resting my forehead in my hand.
“Caylen,” she says quietly. I let out a huff.
“She named her after him, didn’t she?” I say with an angry laugh.
“I—I know this isn’t the best situation, and we never imagined things happening this way for you, but this doesn’t have to be all bad,” my mom says, grabbing my hand and squeezing it. I shake my head.
“I—I’ve missed her first birthday, first word, and first steps. I don’t even know how old she is,” I say.
“We missed yours, too, but that doesn’t make us love you any less. If we’d been there, would that make you love us any more?” she asks with a sincere smile. She’s right. Things could be a lot worse. I have to stop feeling sorry for myself; whether I like it or not, I’m a dad. I’ve always wanted kids. I grew up the only child, and if it wasn’t for Lisa, it would have been pretty lonely.
If it were up to me, I’d have enough kids to start a little league team. Jenna made it clear that wasn’t happening whenever we did start a family. She doesn’t really want kids, but said she’d have one for me. Now she’s probably not going to speak to me again, let alone have my child. I can’t see any woman taking me seriously with something like this. Hi, my name is Chris, and I might turn into a jerk-off any minute, literally. So, this is probably the only kid I’ll ever have.
“Is she going to bring her...Caylen with her tomorrow?” I correct myself.
“No. I believe she’s back in Chicago,” my mom says, taking a drink of her coffee. Chicago. That’s at least a three to four hour drive. I’ve only been there, or remember being there, for a trip during high school. I let out a sigh. How am I supposed to be a parent four hours away?
“How much do you know about her?” I ask.
“Well, not much, Christopher. Dexter told us she graduated from Chicago University a few years ago, and that she was an artist, I’m not sure what kind. She’s originally from Michigan.” She sighs and folds her hands. “He told us that she was a good person.” Dexter’s definition of a good person doesn’t hold much weight with me. “He also said that…that Cal really loved her,” her eyes briefly find mine before glancing at the table. Loved her? He didn’t love her enough to tell her the truth, but my parents didn’t tell me the truth either.
I let out another deep sigh. She’s coming here, and I don’t even want to think about what she’s going to say to me. I have the face of the guy who abandoned her, who left her with a kid. But even with all that, she looked at me with anything but resentment or hatred. Well, that is until I told her I didn’t know who she was.
You can’t get married. You already are married.
I fold my hands together. It’s more like I’ve been sitting on them. Today I need to start to figure this out, with Jenna and Lauren. The woman who should or would have been my wife, who can’t now, because I’m married to a woman I have a child with—a woman I didn’t even know existed before this week.
“What do I tell Jenna, Mom? How do I tell her this?” I look at the little girl in the picture again, trying to get my brain to connect that this is my daughter.
“You can only tell her the truth, and hope that she understands,” my mom says weakly, as if even she doesn’t believe Jenna will understand this.
“And Lauren. I don’t know what she wants from me,” I trail off. “Will she understand that?” I sigh. I don’t even know what I expect her to understand―that I’m not the guy that married her and knocked her up. But I am. I’m still trying to wrap my own head around this.
My mom shakes her head. “I’m sure this is going to be difficult for her, but she led me to believe at least that this is about Caylen. She hasn’t had a lot of time to digest much of this, but maybe enough to try to understand that you aren’t the man she fell in love with,” my mom’s tone is hopeful. I’m not as optimistic.
Love. She loved him. I hate to hear that word in the same sentence as him. It makes him real, and he doesn’t deserve the recognition. If I’m going to figure this out, or make sure the direction of my life isn’t going straight into the ground, I need to start doing something.
“Do you know where she is? Lauren?” I ask.
“I told her about the Ritter Inn,” my mom says, grabbing our finished plates from the table. “Actually, Rose confirmed that she checked in after she left here,” she admits.
“I’ll be back to help Dad before noon,” I say, grabbing the keys to my truck off the table.
“Where are you going this early?”
“I’m going to try to catch Jenna before she heads to school,” I say, heading out.
“Chris. Would you like me to call and schedule something with Dr. Lyce?” my mom asks hesitantly.
“I’ll be finding a new doctor,” I tell her before leaving. My parents lied. I have to forgive them. Dexter lied. I expect that from him. But my doctor? Any doctor that would keep something like that from me, I never want to deal with ever again.
“Good luck, son,” my mom says before I walk out the door. I’m going to need it.
Chapter 22
I pull up to Jenna’s house, and she’s already heading out the door, her big leather bag stuffed to the brim with her laptop, books, and notepad. Her hair pulled up in a tight bun and black shades covering her eyes. She drives all the way to University of Michigan, which is about two hours away. She said she’d rather lose a little sleep than money on room and board since the rent is a lot cheaper here in Madison. Her parents are loaded, but they wanted her to go to their alma mater. When she didn’t, they paid tuition, but that was it.
I meet her at the bottom of the stairs; she adjusts her bag on her shoulder and wraps her arms around herself. I can’t see behind the black tint of her glasses, but I can tell she’s avoiding my eyes.
“Hey,” I say quietly. I see her biting her lip, one clue that she’s pissed off. She has every right to be. I haven’t called her since she’s been hit with a life-changing bomb, less than 48 hours ago. My eyes drift down to her hand, and I’m a little relieved to see she’s still wearing her ring. Doesn’t matter, she’ll probably throw it at me after I tell her what I have to.
“You didn’t call me. You said you’d call after you talked to your parents,” she says just as quietly.
“I know. I messed up,” I say, folding my arms across my chest.
“I didn’t hear from you that night or the day afterward. And now you just show up on my steps?” she asks with a shrug.
“I broke my phone. I got completely tanked that night, and slept all through yesterday,” I admit. I know I sound like an idiot, but I don’t want to lie to her. After all of this, she doesn’t deserve that. I hear her take a deep breath.
“Wow. So you’re drinking enough to sleep an entire day when you usually barely have one beer, and you don’t answer your phone, or call me when you say you will. On top of all that, you leave me in the dark after possibly finding out some pretty life-changing information. Yet, I’m the last to know. I’m your fiancée, Chris! I should be the first to know!”
I feel like a complete A-hole.
“I’m really sorry, Jenna,” I say dumbly, because I sound dumb.
“You’ve been really sorry, Chris. But you being sorry doesn’t help any of this! So what happened, what did your parents say?” she fires off rapidly.
I let out a sigh, and run my hand through my hair.
“DID. That’s what it is, right?” she answers before I can even respond, and I nod.
That’s Jenna. Always a step ahead. I bet she won’t guess what I have to tell her next, though.
“So that woman, Lauren, she’s your wife,” she says with a bitter laugh.
“Well, she’s Cal’s. Cal is the one who married her,” I say, trying to distance myself from the decision as much as possible. She snatches off her glasses, and her glare makes me want to hide.
