“You don’t mean that.”
“I’d tell you to tell your friend I’m sorry, but he doesn’t know I exist.”
I kept staring in the other direction until I heard the door close behind him.
Chapter Thirteen
Ian
Scott’s mom had had a heart attack. She’d been through months of chemo and had been close to getting a clean bill of health. But then out of nowhere this morning, she got up, ate breakfast, and collapsed on the floor while doing the dishes.
Tommy and I sat with Scott in his mom’s living room while we waited for the funeral parlor to come pick up the body. The paramedics had come in earlier, pronounced her dead thanks to her DNR, and covered her.
“I hadn’t heard from her all morning, so I drove over and found her in the kitchen,” Scott said. “I had no idea what to do, so I asked Alexa what to do when someone dies at home.”
Tommy snorted. “Like when Ian was trying to figure out how to change a diaper.”
Scott and I both burst out laughing. Gallows humor.
How many times had we sat like this over the years—Tommy in the arm chair, Scott and me on the couch—waiting for Scott’s mom to either come in with cookies or to yell at us to go out for some fresh air?
My eyes stung. None of this felt real—Scott’s mom, the fight with Erin. Exhaustion weighed down my limbs, and I had been walking through a fog since I deplaned today. Maybe I’d wake up an hour from now, in my own bed, and all of this will have been a bad dream.
“It doesn’t look like she suffered.” Scott let out a sob. “So that’s good.”
I wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close. I had to keep it together for Scott. His mom died, which so trumped my girl problems. I kept reminding myself to hold on to that perspective. Scott had lost the most important person in his life for good. All I’d lost was someone I’d slept with a few times, who happened to be carrying my child.
I let out a sob.
Now Scott wrapped his arms around me, and we cried together.
“We’re all going to miss her.” Tommy joined the hug fest on the couch.
I’d had everything figured out—job, friends, family. No sleepovers, no second dates, no strings. This was what attachments got you—grief. Nothing but tears and sadness and loss. The highs were nice, but the lows fucking sucked.
I’d lost my mom when she decided she could no longer be there for me. I’d been eleven then. I’d had more than a decade to get attached. I’d never give James that opportunity. He’d be fine without me.
And I’d be fine, too. Eventually.
“Guys.” Scott lifted his head off our shoulders. “What do I do now?”
“Well,” I said, straightening up, grateful for a bit of practicality, “you wait for the mortuary to come get her and then you plan the funeral, I guess.”
“I don’t mean now”—he pointed to the floor—“I mean ‘now.’” He waved his arms around. “Existentially. I don’t know what to do with myself. Taking care of her had been my main focus.”
“Get through this week,” Tommy said, “before you start worrying about the rest of your life.”
“There’s always work,” I said. Work never died, and there was always more of it.
“I know this is kind of jumping the gun, and I shouldn’t be thinking of me, me, me on the day my mom died, but”—Scott shook his head—“what about me? What happens to me now? I spent the past few months by her side watching her go through treatment. Who will be there for me when I’m sick?”
“You have us,” Tommy said, squeezing Scott’s arm.
“Tommy’s Mr. Family Man,” I said. “But you know you always have me—single, string-free Ian.”
Scott chuckled. “That’s for sure.”
I ignored Tommy’s eyes, which bored holes into me. My throat had closed up. Backing away from Erin and the baby was the right thing to do. I hadn’t texted her more than platitudes for ten days, and honestly, I hadn’t realized it. My job was number one, and it’d always have to be that way, if I wanted to stay on top.
Which I did.
“Can you picture Ian and me living down in Florida when we’re seventy, like two Golden Girls?” Scott laughed through tears.
“We’ll still be each other’s wingmen.” The thought sickened me. What did I need a wingman for? I’d had no interest in flings since I met Erin. But even before her, my flings had gotten messy. If I kept my focus on work, I’d end up disappointing no one.
“Ian’s going to be a dad,” Tommy blurted. He stared at Scott, though I knew he felt my laser eyes on him. “He knocked up Erin the principal, and she’s going to have a baby in two weeks.”
Scott’s head slowly revolved toward me, like the possessed girl in The Exorcist. “Excuse me?”
After taking a breath to compose myself, I waved him off. “It’s no big deal.”
“You’re going to be a dad,” Scott said, “and that’s no big deal?”
Needing to pace, I jumped up. I picked up one of Scott’s mom’s Lladro statues—a little boy dragging a mailbag full of fucking hearts. I replaced it on the shelf and flicked it angrily. “I’m not going to be ‘a dad.’”
“Either you are or you aren’t,” Scott said. “Which is it?”
I spun toward him, biting the inside of my cheek. I would not cry over this. I would not fucking turn into a blubbering baby about some person I’d never even met, not on the day when my best friend’s entire world had ended. “Not,” I said. “I’m basically a sperm donor. Erin’s fine on her own, and, well, so am I.”
Tommy said, “But you said—”
I cut him off. “A moment of weakness. Erin and I thought about giving ‘us’ a try, and it didn’t work.”
“And now you’re bowing out of your kid’s life, just like that?”
I shrugged, running my finger along the edge of a picture frame—Tommy, Scott, me, and Scott’s mom at Homer’s eating ice cream. I remembered that day like it was yesterday. My mom had been gone about a week, and I’d been a wreck ever since she, Blake, and his Mazda Miata had pulled out of the driveway. But Scott’s mom showed up at my door to take me out and fill me up with mint chocolate chip—sugar therapy. It had totally worked. I’d vowed to Scott’s mom and the guys that this was how I’d parent—I’d give the kid ice cream whenever he felt sad.
Scott’s mom had said it wasn’t the ice cream that made me feel better. It was the company.
I flipped the picture over. I couldn’t look at it anymore. That kid had been naive. Heck, I’d been naive when I told Erin I’d be able to make time for her and the baby.
“When my mom left, it ripped me apart.”
Tommy and Scott stared at me from the couch.
“You guys were there. You know it. I’m heading things off at the pass. I’m a lone wolf, dedicated to my work. I have to keep my head in the game if I’m going to compete with the folks coming up who are younger and hungrier.”
“Or not,” Scott said. “Why not take a break? Step back a bit.” He glanced toward the kitchen. “Life’s too short.”
“Work is my life,” I said, shrugging. Who would I be without it? I’d be no one. “I told Fumetsu I’d move to Tokyo for a bit.”
“What?” Tommy said.
“To beat out Liz Bolton’s group,” I said. “It’s what I had to promise them.”
“You shouldn’t have to do that,” Scott said. “We can find someone else, some other way—”
I waved him off. “I want to do it,” I said. “Work is my priority. Always has been and probably always should be.”
…
Erin
“Erin, put that down,” Katie shouted at me from across the room.
“I’m fine!” I yelled back. “It’s an empty vase for flowers, not a fifty pound barbell.”
Nat snatched the vase from me and whispered. “You shouldn’t even be here.”
“Where else would I be?” I said, as she placed the crystal vessel on the round table nearest us. Cla
sses had ended for the summer, Ian and I were no longer talking, and the only thing on my schedule was waiting for this baby to make his debut. Of course I’d be on hand for the Glenfield Gala setup in our school gym.
I glanced slyly at the open door leading to the hallway. Most of the volunteers had shown up to help before the event later this evening, but not the head of the finance committee. Ian was nowhere to be found. Not that I was looking for him.
“Kind of a low turnout.” Katie set a box of party favors on the table next to us. Maria Minnesota stood on stage, barking orders to the moms and dads who had volunteered their morning to move tables. Most of these people were legit bosses in their professional and home lives. I relished watching an Instagram celebrity give them the business.
“The funeral is today.” Nat tied a black ribbon around a white chair cover. The entire gym floor had been dotted with chairs wearing sheets. Ghost chairs surrounded us.
“I didn’t know.” Ian and I hadn’t spoken in almost a week, not since our fight in my condo. He hadn’t tried to get in touch, and fuck if I was going to make the first move.
“Have you spoken to him?” Nat asked.
I shook my head. Some dude put his arm around Maria Minnesota’s waist and kissed her cheek. She smiled up at him—love. Enjoy it now. It will all go to shit sooner or later. “It’s on him to get in touch with me.”
“His friend’s mom died,” Katie said. “Hate to say it, but I think it might be on you.”
I moved the vase to the exact center of the round table. “I spent ten days waiting for him to text or call while he was in Japan.” That was the most alone I’d ever felt—ever. Even when things had been bad between Dirk and me, even after he’d already moved on to his nurse girlfriend, I’d been okay. I’d numbed myself with food and TV. But not hearing from Ian had turned me into a jealous, fretful goober, and I’d promised myself I’d never be that person. “I’m Dr. Erin Sharpe,” I said. “I deserve respect and consideration.” It had become my motto.
“You do,” Nat said. “But maybe text Ian to offer your condolences. He and Scott’s mom were really close.”
I smoothed out a wrinkle on the tablecloth. “Scott doesn’t even know I exist.” That hurt. My friends and family, my colleagues, heck, Maria Minnesota, knew about Ian and the baby. Had it been easy for me to put that info out there? No. I was a knocked-up, forty-year-old principal who’d had a one-night stand with Glenfield Academy’s golden boy. It embarrassed me to even think about how I got to where I was right now, how I’d completely gone against every one of my guiding principles.
Still, I shared the news with everyone who asked—and even those who didn’t.
“I’m sure Ian had a good reason—”
I cut Nat off. “You’re sure Ian had a good reason?” I barked. “You? The person who told me to steer clear of him from the jump? Now you’re making excuses for him simply because he’s sad?”
Nat reached for my shoulder, and I shook her off. “I called Tommy to tell him I was sorry, and he told me Scott’s mom had been sick for a while, which was probably why Ian had kept the news from him.”
“Since December. That was how long he didn’t tell his best friend that he was about to be a dad. It’s now July, and I’m due any second.” I shook my head. “But Scott not knowing is the icing on the cake. Ian only cares about his work. He will always put his career first. I’ve spent my entire life going after jerks who only cared about themselves. I’m done with that.” I pulled out one of the chairs and sat. My legs had swelled to tree trunks.
“So, you’re okay?” Katie asked.
“I’m fine.”
Nat’s eyes jumped to the door, and a big smile spread across her face. I followed her gaze, half expecting to find Ian there. But it was just Chris.
Nat ran to him and enveloped him in a massive hug, wrapping her legs around his waist.
I had to look away. That kind of all-encompassing passion no longer existed for me. Maybe it never had. I’d gotten three hot nights with Ian and a baby, and I had to stop expecting more.
Chapter Fourteen
Ian
Tommy and I rode with Scott in the procession from Faith, Hope, and Charity in Winnetka to St. Joseph’s cemetery in Wilmette. Scott’s mom had gotten a beautiful summer day for her services. The sun beat down from a cloudless sky and a faint breeze rustled the branches of the trees that flanked her gravesite.
I’d thought about my own funeral somewhat recently. The whole turning-forty thing had been a catalyst. I’d wondered who would show up. I was a guy whom everyone knew of, but not many people really knew. Probably the whole “work first” thing. Who’d take time out of their day to see me off?
Erin? Probably not. Not anymore.
Scott and his mom, however, had inspired the entire North Shore community to come out and pay their respects—fund-raising folks from their church and the Academy, heck, even the mayor had shown up. I spotted Liz, Ja, and Luisa hanging out near the back of the crowd, which actually choked me up, honestly. They really had no obligation to be here.
After Scott’s mom had been laid to rest, my eyes scanned the crowd again—searching for something. An all-encompassing emptiness filled my gut, which made no sense. This was Scott’s mom’s funeral. He was the one who was supposed to feel loss, not me. I had to be the strong one.
But then I saw the blond hair poking out from behind a nearby oak.
No, not Erin.
My mother.
My own mother.
I stepped back, hiding a bit, and took a moment to examine her. We hadn’t been in the same room since…I couldn’t remember. Maybe it had been ten years?
She and my dad were talking, laughing, him in a suit, her in a long, flowing floral dress—sans a bra. She’d become one of those crunchy, braless ladies ever since she moved to Hawaii. She’d pulled her long, graying blond hair up in a bun, and she wore no makeup. This was not the mom from my childhood. That woman had worn business suits and had hair like a helmet. Now she looked like she reeked of patchouli.
I took another step back, ready to make a run for my car. She was here for what? To make amends? Too fucking late for that now.
This woman was a stranger to me, and I owed her nothing.
And the empty pit in my stomach grew. My life fast-forwarded twenty years in the future to some other funeral or wedding or whatever. I’d run into my own kid, and he’d think the same shit about me, that he owed me nothing. He’d look at me like I was a pathetic old man who was still trying to capture his youth with work and women.
And he’d be right.
Then I’d see Erin across the room, and I’d have to leave. I’d have to make up some excuse before ducking out and jumping on a plane to somewhere halfway around the world just to avoid feeling any way at all about it.
With a deep breath, I approached my parents. “Hi,” I said.
My dad gave me one of those one-armed man hugs, which was hardly more than a pat on the back. Then he headed off to chat with one of his golf buddies.
My mom held back. Her eyes watered, and I tried to ignore them. Just seeing her emotion—heck, seeing her, period—had drummed up all kinds of nonsense inside me.
“You’re here,” I said, stating the obvious.
“Scott’s mom and I were good friends…back in the day. And…I wanted to be here for him…and you.”
I stared at the ground, digging a divot in the dirt with the toe of my Sperry loafer.
“Your dad told me about the baby. Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” I said. “It’s, well…thanks.” I had planned for years what I’d say to her if I saw her again. I’d yell and scream and blame her for every mistake I’d ever made. But today, at my best friend’s mom’s funeral, I could only feel sad. Sad that this stranger was my mom. Sad that I was about to take on that outsider parent’s role in my own life.
My mom smiled sadly. There were new wrinkles next to her eyes. “You look more and more like my dad.”<
br />
These were the kinds of things she always said to me when we talked, the things I used to do as a baby, the absolute truths she’d known about me when I was five—that I looked like her dad, that I loved math, that Ryne Sandberg had been my favorite baseball player. These were all still true facts to her, the only facts. She knew me, her son, at the surface level only. She had no concept of my day-to-day life. Our relationship went no deeper than faded memories and banal trivia.
And this was how I’d know my son, too. I’d see him on occasion, weekends, maybe the odd week here and there, and I’d only know the little things, the inconsequential things that anyone who’d been in a room with him five minutes would know.
“Hey, Mom.” My mind catalogued all the things I could say to her, the accusations and guilt trips. Instead I said, “Thanks for coming.” I reached for her, and she hugged me. It was the first time we’d touched like that in years. I hadn’t hugged my mother in maybe a decade, not because she was dead or in prison or separated from me in some legitimate way, but because I’d chosen long ago to shut her out on account of her life choices. She’d tried to make amends many times over the years and I’d thwarted her every attempt.
Like James would probably thwart mine.
She squeezed me tight. “Thank you.” She let me go and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I want to know more about this baby.” She smiled at me under a heavy gaze.
“There’s not much to say,” I said. “The mother and I aren’t together.” I glanced around absentmindedly, always keeping half an eye out for Erin, just in case.
My mom looked so sad, I added, “It’s okay.”
“Can we grab dinner tonight before I take off?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I’m leaving.”
She cocked her head.
“I’m moving. To Tokyo. For work.” My plane left later this evening. After the funeral, I’d head home to finish packing.
“But the baby…?”
“He’ll be fine.” My voice faltered, but I covered with a cough.
“Ian.” She put a hand on my forearm, and I let her. “I know I’m not the one you want to get advice from, but look at your cautionary tale of a mother. Don’t make the same mistakes I did. Don’t work yourself until you implode.” She nodded toward my dad. “Don’t push your love away until it’s so far gone it’ll never come back.”
Knocked-Up Cinderella Page 18
