The Man I Love (The Road Trip #2)

7. Chapter Seven

7

CHAPTER SEVEN

December

Eight Months Earlier

New York

Mr. Montgomery had been like a second father to Sam, yet on Renee’s wedding day he’d disappeared off the face of the earth. He’d attended every school event, every game, volunteered as coach, but when it came time for him to walk his own daughter down the aisle, POOF, he was gone. The mystery of it all had kept Samantha awake at night for months, and hearing about the phone calls today awakened a worry she hadn’t thought about in close to a year.

She remembered standing beside her best friend on her wedding day, watching as her girlhood fantasies seemed to crumble at her feet. Renee had a gigantic heart, and Sam feared that someday a man would break it. She just hadn’t expected it would be Renee’s own father.

Everyone in attendance felt Mr. Montgomery’s absence at the wedding, but the Montgomery family felt it every day since. Whether Tristan and Renee admitted it or not, every birthday, every holiday, every special moment … was different. They all smiled a little wider, trying to hide the fact that his presence was missed. Samantha remembered the same feeling when her grandfather died when she was eight, but that hadn’t been by choice. Mr. Montgomery had abandoned them willingly, and no matter how many tiny pieces the pill was broken into, it was still hard to swallow.

Tristan had filled his father’s shoes that day, taking a role that never belonged to him—the man of the Montgomery household—a burden that still rested on his shoulders to this day. On birthdays he sent flowers. On Mother’s Day he arranged brunch. On his parents' anniversary, he took his mother out to dinner. Tristan had been trying to take the family’s pain away, placing it on his own shoulders and acting the whole time like he didn’t feel its weight.

If his father had called, would Tristan tell her?

She wanted to think so, but in reality she was uncertain.

“He’s dead to me, Samantha,” he’d said to her once. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

A chill ran up her spine as she sat in a New York cafe with her best friend, remembering the last conversation she’d ever had with Tristan about his father.

“Don’t you want closure?” she’d asked him. “Don’t you want to know what happened?” Tristan had come home from work and noticed one of her many Google searches about Mr. Montgomery on her computer.

“No,” he’d said more forcefully than she’d expected. He gripped the bridge of his nose and rose from his seat. “I’m sorry, I—” His jaw tightened, but it was that day she realized the pain he still carried. That day she’d vowed not to get involved and gave up on her search for answers.

A horn blazed outside of the cafe, and Sam jumped, almost dropping the insulated paper cup she’d been using to warm her hands. She glanced down at her phone on the table, her anxious heart beating a little faster. She’d checked her phone at least twenty times since leaving the salon, and still there was nothing from Tristan. That wasn’t like him.

“How’s life?” Renee asked. “How are things with The Gallery?”

“Good,” Sam replied, trying to get her heartbeat to slow.

“We got a puppy.”

“Oh yeah?”

“And Phin got a tattoo across his chest that reads: “I love my mom.”

“Nice.”

Renee snatched the phone off the table. “You’re not even listening to me!” She pouted.

Sam took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus. Renee was right. Sam couldn’t recall a single word her friend had said in the last fifteen minutes. “I’m sorry. It’s just—he hasn’t called.” She didn’t need to say who . They both knew how unusual it was for Tristan to be this quiet.

“He’s probably working,” Renee said, her voice weak and unconvincing.

Sam shook her head. “It’s two o’clock, well past the time he arrives at work. He always calls me when he gets there.”

Renee sat forward and grabbed Samantha’s hand. “Tristan’s a big boy. If my dad calls, I’m sure he can handle it.”

Sam exhaled. “I know.” But she wasn’t sure it was actually the case. Tristan was a big boy, yes, but he was also prone to bottling everything up inside until he had no room to breathe.

Renee leaned forward in her seat, picking up a lock of Sam’s hair and flicking it between her fingers. “I can’t believe you cut it.”

Sam’s eyes squinted into slits. “Your attempts to change the subject aren’t lost on me.”

“Did it work?”

Sam let out a sigh. “It’s different, huh?”

Renee nodded, seeming pleased with herself. “It suits you. Gives you an artist vibe .”

Sam forced a smile “Thank you, I need all the help I can get.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Never mind.” Sam forced a smile and looked at her best friend, pushing her imposter syndrome to the back of her mind. “Do you really think it looks good on me?”

Renee took a sip of herbal tea, her face half covered by a paper cup. “Mission accomplished,” she whispered.

Sam recognized the phrase all too well—the one they’d used since fourth grade when they’d planted a love note in Johnny Snyder’s backpack. It had become part of their own personal language ever since. Trade a PB and J for a package of powdered donuts—mission accomplished. Get a cute guy’s phone number while playing mini golf—mission accomplished. Sneak another bowl of ice cream without Mom noticing—mission accomplished. She mentally added, cutting off most of her hair on a whim to the running list. “I needed this,” Sam said.

“I feel so bad! You moved all the way to the city, and I’ve only seen you three times.”

“No.” Sam shook her head. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

“I’m an asshole,” Renee continued.

“I wouldn’t say asshole—” Sam teased. “Bitch maybe.”

Renee threw a napkin which narrowly missed Sam’s head.

“God, you have bad aim!” Sam taunted.

Renee picked up another napkin but paused, arm cocked, napkin balled and began to giggle.

A waiter walked by, giving them a once over, and Renee burst out in laughter. The sound so wholesome and infectious that it drew every eye and ear of the restaurant.

Sam tried to keep a straight face, but when Renee snorted, it was over. Soon they were thrust into kid-like behavior, giggling and snorting, and holding onto their stomachs. “I’m going to pee my pants!” Renee said, her eyes bulging in a way that made Samantha think she was serious.

Panic filled Sam’s chest, and she picked up the napkin, tossing it to Renee’s lap. “Here.”

“What am I supposed to do with this ?” Renee sputtered, tossing the napkin back on the table.

Samantha wiped her tear-streaked cheeks and squeaked out a reply, “I—I have—no idea.”

Eventually, the giggles ceased, and Renee blotted the tears at the corners of her eyes. With all the stress over the last few months––the homesickness, the pressure of The Gallery and her desire to make everything perfect––laughing with her best friend seemed to recharge her soul.

Renee reached for her tea but paused, glancing over the rim of her paper cup. “There’s something I’ve been keeping from you.” Her tone was mischievous and coy.

That’s not something they did, secrets. In fact, there wasn’t anything they didn't share with one another.

“I wanted to tell you the other day, but Phin made me wait until we were sure …”

Hairs prickled on the back of Sam’s neck, and she sat straighter. “What is it?”

“I’ve been feeling sick… I knew it was possible, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

Sam sat forward, bracing her elbows on the table. “Ren,” Sam urged. “What’s going on?”

“I’m pregnant,” Renee blurted out.

Sam blinked, unsure if she’d heard correctly. The last time they’d talked about kids, Renee had mentioned a two-year hold. “What?”

“I’m pregnant,” Renee mouthed.

Clapping a hand over her lips, Sam half rose from her seat. “Oh my God! What?” She glanced at Renee’s still flat stomach. “How far?”

“Eight weeks,” Renee cried. “I just found out a couple of days ago. I thought I was just tired—I’ve wanted to tell you, I swear. Phin was nervous and wanted to wait. I knew you would cry. Are you mad? Seriously, I needed to tell you in person.”

“How could I possibly be mad?” Sam wiped tears of joy from her cheeks. “You’re having a baby! A baby! Does Tristan know?”

“No.” Renee shook her head. “You’re the first person I’ve told outside of Phin. My mom is going to kill me if she finds out I told you first.”

Sam cupped both of Renee’s cheeks. “You’re going to be the best mom. And I’m going to spoil her rotten!”

“Her?” Renee mumbled.

“Of course it’s a girl.” Sam released her face. “That’s what we planned, isn’t it?”

“We did.”

“Chrystal Ambrosia. Right?”

“Oh my God!” Renee settled back in her seat. “And your daughter …” She searched the air as though the memory lingered in the clouds above them. “Daisy Lou!”

Samantha bit her lower lip. “Daisy Lynn,” she corrected in a dreamy, distant voice, thinking about all the plans they’d made when they were young. Though only one of those plans had lingered into adulthood. The dream of one day being mothers together. They’d live on the same block, spend their mornings drinking coffee and watching their children play through the kitchen window, and chat about everything and nothing for hours.

“What’s wrong?” Renee asked when Samantha was quiet for a full minute.

“Nothing.” Sam shook her head.

“You’re lying.”

“No…” Sam picked at the edge of the table, keeping her eyes averted. She didn’t want to make this special moment all about herself but could already feel herself becoming emotional.

Renee stomped her foot, forcing Sam’s eyes upward. All the doubts Sam had been having since she moved to Brooklyn fell out of her mouth. “I'm not sure I know what I’m doing here.” She picked up her drink and took a gulp, hoping to drown her thoughts with the now lukewarm latte.

“What do you mean you don’t know what you’re doing here?” Rene’s frown grew intense. “You’re making art. You’re making a name for yourself, just like you planned.”

Sam leaned back awkwardly in her chair, then glanced at the street, so jam-packed with cars that movement had ceased in both directions. “I keep questioning if this is what I really want. I love my art, I love The Gallery, but this life? I’m not sure where I fit in.

Renee nodded, appearing to grasp Sam's meaning without much of an explanation. “We’ve both chosen careers that don’t exactly go hand in hand with raising a family on the prairie, now did we?”

Sam cleared her throat, trying to contain her emotions. “I miss Tristan a lot, Ren. I’m not sure if I can do this much longer.”

“It’s been a lot of change for you. I’m sure it will get easier.”

Sam shook her head. “That’s the thing. I don’t know if I want it to get easier. Time is all we have, and I can feel things changing between us. I can hear it in Tristan’s voice, and I don’t like it. He sounds distant, and it worries me.”

Renee squeezed her shoulders. “Worries you how?”

“I don’t know.”

“Go to him then,” Renee said firmly.

“I have work—my studio is full of only half-completed sculptures, and I need to get ready for the gallery opening.”

“You can take a day off.” Renee snatched Samantha’s phone off the table and started typing into the search bar. There’s a flight that leaves out of JFK in two hours.” She showed Sam the screen. I bet if you leave right now, you could make it.

Sam wiped her face, dragging her hand down slowly. “I can’t—you’ve got to be joking.”

“Half of your clothes are still in LA so you don’t even need to pack.” She thrust the phone toward Samantha, where a blue purchase button was forefront on the screen. Sam’s heart pounded as she took the phone out of Renee’s hand. Her finger hovering the glass before she finally pressed the button. “I can’t believe I’m going to do this.”

Renee placed one hand on top of Samantha’s shoulder. “Mission accomplished,” she said with a wink.

Sam picked up her purse and zipped up her hoodie.

“I have two requests.” Renee caught Sam’s elbow and held up two fingers.

“Yeah?”

“Have fun when you get there.” She lowered one of them. “And two...don’t tell Tris about the baby. Phin and I want to tell him in person when he comes to The Gallery opening next month.”