Chapter 35
Bonnie
It’s ten the following morning when I arrive in Dublin, my heart in my throat and feeling tired and washed out. I couldn’t eat anything and was sick all through the flight.
With each passing second, I'm more convinced that what seemed like such a great idea yesterday is the worst decision I’ve ever made. I take a big gulp from the bottle of water they kindly offered on the flight.
Am I so hungry for a mother’s love that I’d take anything she’s willing to offer? Do I really want my mother back in my life? What if we never get along? Am I opening myself up to another source of pain?
For every question that blooms in my heart about this, I long for Ethan. He’s become such an integral part of me, it just feels wrong to make this sort of big decision without having a good discussion or argument about it.
I still haven’t heard from him. I check my messages again. They don’t seem to be delivering. He doesn't even know I’m in Dublin.
As soon as I clear security, the first place I go to is a pharmacy.
The pharmacist, a nice, older lady, takes my order for anti-nausea medication. “Had a long flight?” she asks.
“About seven hours. I just couldn't stop being sick.”
It’s strange; I’ve been on even longer flights and road trips, and I never get motion sickness. Plus, I’ve got a headache, and I feel a bit dizzy.
“Oh, ye poor thin’. Can ye tell me a wee bit about the symptoms ye’ve been havin’?”
I do, then she asks me a few more questions, which I answer. She grabs a few boxes off the shelf then she shows me the options, giving pros and cons for each. I’m feeling too tired to even follow the conversation, I just want the medicine. Then, she asks me a question that makes the fog in my brain evaporate instantly.
“Is there any chance ye could be pregnant, love? We want to be sure the medicine is safe for all circumstances.”
“I—hm.” I can’t say no and I feel a blush color my cheeks.
I’m not on birth control, but we use protection most of the time. Or he pulls out.
Not the first time, though. He’d come long and hard inside me. And I’ve not had a period since then. My periods are light, painless, and last only a couple of days, so they tend to slip in unnoticed. Still, it’s been…two months.
“Oh, shit. I don’t know.” I raise my anxious eyes to meet those of the nice pharmacist.
“In that case, I’ll recommend these ones.” She pushes a box of anti-nausea medication toward me, and then, she reaches for something behind her. “And these.”
They're pregnancy testing kits of two different brands.
“The extra is just in case ye need to confirm,” she clarifies.
Oh, God. We never talked about babies, but I don’t think he’s ready. He’s still trying to get his eyes sorted. And he’s just getting used to having clutter and mess around him.
I’m not ready, either. I should have gone to counseling. And I’ve been holding out on Vancouver, keeping my options open in case it doesn’t work out between Ethan and me.
Which reminds me, the job offer expires today.
If I’m pregnant, it’s a make-or-break between us. If he’s not ready for a baby, then I’ll just go to Vancouver and think about my options. And if he does—Oh, God, if he does—then I’ll stay.
I bring up the email from the Canadian team again and do some quick math. If I still want the job, I only have a few more hours to accept it.
I try Ethan’s number, and it fails to connect again.
It must be around 5 a.m. in New York. That’s way too early to call Jordan, so I send him a text asking if he’s heard from Ethan, then I leave the airport and head to Twiggy’s apartment.
The first thing Twiggy does is envelope me in a bear hug.
“Bonnie, yer so fucking strong. Ye inspire me, lass. I'm taken aback how ye upped and left everythin’ to come see yer mam.”
I take a deep breath. “Thanks, Twiggy. I needed to hear that because I’ve been telling myself I’m all kinds of a fool for even entertaining this.”
“No, Bonnie, it’s yer call and yer choice. Ye get to decide if ye forgive her or not. She’s yer mam.”
I nod, bolstered by his reassurance. I’m feeling a bit more settled as the anti-nausea seems to have worked wonders. “Is she here yet?”
“Aye, she got here late enough last night and bunked down in the spare room. Don't know if she got a wink of sleep at all. She's been in bits, givin’ herself a hard time.”
Nodding, I let Twiggy take my backpack off me as I slowly make my way to the guest room and rap twice on the door.
She opens the door, and I see that Twiggy didn’t lie. Her eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, her face red and blotchy, eyes swollen almost shut. When she sees me, she crumples to the floor. I catch her on the way down.
“Goodness, Siobhán, I'm not worthy of this at all. Ye've come all the way from New York, and it’s not even been a day yet.”
Her build is slight, like mine, so I’m able to support her weight. I help her back to the bed. “Ma, you’ll make yourself sick. Please stop crying.”
“I can't, Siobhán. I just can't. The regret's eatin’ me up. It's no excuse, I know, but it feels like I've been under a spell these past years. Me little one. Me dear heart. Can ye find it in ye to forgive me? I’ve no right to be in yer life, but give me a chance to show ye how truly sorry I am. Please.”
I’m already in tears, too, and I look back to Twiggy for some help.
For hours, Ma, Twiggy, and I cry, we talk, and, to my utter surprise, we even laugh. It was cathartic to be able to tell her about the darkness, struggles, and pain.
My mother’s regret is palpable, and it’s hard for her to hear about those years on the street while she was steeped in self-righteousness. Twiggy does most of the talking, as I don’t think I would have been able to say much.
It’s too hard going through those emotions again, and by evening, I’m feeling very raw and vulnerable. I can't say I forgive her yet. It's going to be a very long, very rock road to forgiveness but I'm open to try.
We get her to eat some tea and toast and finally get her to sleep around four in the afternoon.
“Ye did good, Bonnie,” Twiggy says as we shut the door.
“You think so?” I ask.
“Aye. Look, ye're some woman. So fierce and kindhearted. Not many would let her back in the way ye have, with no holdin’ back at all."
We planned that she would come to New York with me. Beyond that, I’m not sure. I resolve to take things one step at a time. It feels weird taking all these steps without Ethan in the loop.
I still haven’t heard from Ethan since yesterday. None of my messages are going through. I just can't deal with another emotional beating right now.
Twiggy pulls me into the kitchen. "You look wrecked, love. Bet you've not had a bite all day."
I shake my head. Remembering the anti-nausea medicine—and oh, crap! I need to take a pregnancy test and speak to Ethan before the deadline.
“Any word from yer fella yet?” Twiggy asks. He knows I’ve been trying to reach Ethan all day.
I shake my head. I’d earlier admitted to Twiggy that Ethan was more than just my boss when he just wouldn’t let the Rolls-Royce matter rest the last time I visited for Nan’s funeral.
I check my phone to see that Jordan has replied to say he's 'on it.'
“It’s been a whole day. It’s so unlike him, Twiggy. He checks in with me every few hours, even when we’re in the same city. He should know that I’ll drive myself insane worrying about him. I can’t even imagine anything happening to the man I love, Twiggy.”
“Don't be worryin’ now, Bonnie. He'll be in touch, ye'll see."
“Okay,” I say, trying not to cry. Twiggy fixes some sandwiches and forces me to swallow a few bites, then I take another anti-nausea pill.
"What about yer da? There's got to be some law against the doings in that Sect,” Twiggy says, changing the subject. “Might not be against law the pure muck they're peddlin’ to people, but I'd wager since they're up to dodgy dealings with offshore accounts and sneaky trips abroad, there's likely a bit of financial fraud in there.”
“Financial fraud? I’d say a definite yes. Twiggy, people sold houses and cars to live in shacks. And the Sect never invests in capital projects or charity. Well, except for clothing giveaways. So, where’s all that money taken off the pious members going to? It’s lining the pockets of a select few, which my father happens to be a part of. By choice.”
“And if that's the case, and we bring it to light, ye know the craic, yeah?" Twiggy asks with a soft tone.
“Imprisonment. If they’re found guilty on those charges.”
“Can ye handle that, love?”
I scoff. “Can I live with sending my father to prison? The man who shackled my mind and almost destroyed my life with his harmful and false teachings, plus those of my mother and countless others as well? The man who made us live in poverty while he was off gallivanting two months out of the year on exotic vacations for the past twenty years? For fuck’s sake, some of the clothes I wore had holes in them! I used to patch the damn things.”
I take a calming breath. “So, Twiggy, the answer is fuck yes. Every single one of them should be locked up.”
“Smashin’. Because the shit show ends now.”
“What will you do?”
“We'll just drop a few hints here and there, let the papers sniff it out. Guards and the fraud squad will be on it like a rash.”
That’s probably the best thing I’ve heard all day. Although it’s not nearly enough to begin to address the damage, it’s a good start. “Sounds like a good plan, Twigs”
I drag my heavy feet towards the master bedroom, which Twiggy has vacated for me tonight in favor of the couch.
The moment my head hits the pillow, I grab my phone and start scrolling through my phone for any messages I might have missed since yesterday. Maybe Ethan sent me an email. It might be that there’s a glitch with the network that isn’t letting the calls connect. At least an email would deliver. I’ve not really had time to check for updates since before Sabrina’s baby shower, which seems like a lifetime away.
I wonder what my friends would think of my mother. They’ve never heard me speak about her, and then, all of a sudden I’ll have a mother who lives with me?
I think about Vancouver. I have maybe a couple of hours left before the offer is no longer good. They probably already think that I don’t plan to take it.
I should have asked for an extension to the deadline. I’m too ashamed to admit the reason I didn’t do it was because I thought Ethan might ask me to marry him. I felt it was at the tip of his tongue many times. Once or twice, I almost asked him myself, but I’d sworn I never wanted to hear the awful word “no” from Ethan again.
If I let the offer go, and Ethan breaks my heart…I’d have nowhere to go, no safe haven to hide away and lick my wounds. I can’t even think of that outcome.
Jordan's text arrives.
Jordan: Luke says to tell you not to worry. He's been in touch with Ethan. He's okay.
That does nothing to reassure me. I worry that Ethan has somehow gotten hurt. Maybe his surgery didn't go well. If he was fine he would be calling me himself.
I toss and turn, unable to shut off the millions of thoughts and scenarios playing in my head.
There’s a soft knock, and Twiggy pokes his head into the room. “Hey.”
I look up at Twiggy’s voice.
“Did I wake you? I know yer shattered.”
“No, come on in, Twiggy.” I sit up, grateful to no longer be alone with my thoughts.
He sits on the edge of the bed. “Ye look right stressed.”
“Oh, Twigs, I’m going through a literal wringer, and my head is clouded with thoughts. I just can’t relax.”
“Ethan?” he asks.
“His dad says he's okay, but I've not heard from him. His phone is off. I can’t even handle thinking that he might not be okay. But the odds aren’t looking very good at the moment Twiggy.” My voice is wobbly, and I’m struggling not to cry.
“Did he mention where he was headed?”
“He had meetings in Berlin, then a medical procedure in Munich. It’s for his eyes,” I explain.
He nods thoughtfully, and I know he wants to say something. “Siobhán.”
He knows something. “Aw, fuck no,” I wail. “Twigs, please, I can’t bear it, don’t tell me.”
“He’s alright, love. He’s just not in Munich. He’s not even in Germany.”
“What do you mean he’s not in Germany? Where is he?”
“I didn’t want to say anythin’, but I see yer worried sick and—”
“Where the fuck is he, Twigs?”
“He’s in Prague as we speak, love.”
“Prague?”
Where the hell is that even? Somewhere in Europe, it must be. Maybe he’s got another business meeting…
Twig taps on his phone for a minute, then shows me a photo. “Ye know this woman?”
Recognition hits. She’s very beautiful. Long, blonde hair, exotic eyes, and you could cut glass with those cheekbones. I swallow a wave of nausea. “I’ve seen her from somewhere.”
“Might’ve been on social media or the telly? She’s Elsa Larsson. A Czech runway model.”
“Okay? I don’t know any runway models.” I wait for the rest of the awful news to come.
“He’s been at her place since yesterday.”
I release the breath I didn’t realize that I was holding. I know the question is stupid considering Twiggy’s line of work. What used to be my line of work as well, but I have to ask. “And how do you know this?”
“I hacked a few cams, one right by her street it picked up somethin' about half an hour ago. Both of them goin' in her house."
I keep my breathing even. "How did you know he would be with that woman?"
I started keepin’ tabs on her a few weeks ago after spottin’ a pic of both of them. I knew ye and Ethan were an item, and I wanted to sniff out what the deal was, so I set up some alerts from paps and tracked any shots of yer boyfriend and Elsa.”
I feel too warm all of a sudden. I need to stop listening, but like an addict for pain, I want to hear it all. So, I breathe through the cramps and keep listening silently.
“It’s not their first meet-up, either. They’re sneaky about it. Met-up a few times in Munich and once in Stockholm. It's just mostly blogs and pap alerts. This is the first time I’ve done any hackin' so don't know if he goes to her place a lot,” he continues. But if you want me to do proper diggin' just say the word love."
“I see. No, I think I've heard enough.” She's blonde.
“Er, there’s a wee bit more. She has twin babes. About eight months old.”
I throw off the blanket and leave the bed.
“Bonnie, I’m not sayin' they’re Ethan’s, but—”
“I’ll hazard a wild guess. Midnight black hair, right?” I grab my backpack.
“Bonnie…”
“I need the bathroom, please.” I push him out of my way, rushing to the adjoining master bath just in time to dry heave into the sink. Nothing comes up. Must be the anti-nausea doing a phenomenal job. Still, I can’t stop gagging and hiccupping. After it becomes obvious that nothing is coming up, I close the door softly, shutting out a concerned Twiggy, and get the test kits out, tearing through them with my teeth.
I pee on both at the same time, my heart pounding.
The next few minutes of pacing confirm what I already knew in my heart.
I’m pregnant.
And his Czech model already has his twins. No wonder he’s so good with Lily Rose. He’s a father. His twins are eight months old. He’s not going to want another baby now.
I’m such a fool.
Collapsing on the bathroom floor, I can’t hold in the sobs.
I don’t notice when Twiggy pulls me from the bathroom floor, holding me until my hiccoughs stop.
He takes in the test sticks on the sink and the two pink lines on each of them.
“Bloody hell, Bonnie. I’m so sorry, love.”
“No, Twigs, thank you.” My eyes are heavy, and my heart feels like it’s been raked over coals, then run over by a Mack truck. Repeatedly.
I love Ethan Hawthorne, so much that I know I’m liable to do whatever he tells me to do, whether it is in mine or the baby’s best interest or not.
Oh, fuck.
I’m such a fool. And here I was, thinking his blondes were the guinea pigs, not knowing I was the ultimate experiment. I’m so far from the women he’s been attracted to in the past, it’s laughable to think he’s suddenly changed. I was the idiot who begged and pushed him until he took what I so willingly offered.
“There’s something I need to do.” I disentangle myself and calmly head back into the bedroom.
I find the Xi-Gen email and accept the offer.
“I’m going to Vancouver. Tomorrow,” I inform Twiggy.
“Wait, what?” he blurts out.
“I just accepted a job offer. I’ll start ASAP. I’m not going back to New York.”
“What about yer things? Are ye goin’ there with the clothes on yer back then?”
“My friends in New York will send me anything I need, and I’ll buy the rest.”
“And what about yer mam, Bonnie? Ye just told her yer taking her to New York!”
“Well, I don’t see that she has that much of a choice in where we go. Now I’m taking her to Vancouver. She can either come with me or stay in Dublin with you.”
When Twiggy sees there’s no getting through to me, he throws his arms up in resignation. Then, he starts to make plans with me and finds us flights. My mother takes the news of the change of plans surprisingly well. I suppose it doesn’t matter one way or another to her. She’s still getting on a plane and going somewhere unknown.
I spend the next day in bed, heartsick, nauseous and retching, in spite of the anti-nausea tablets. By the afternoon, my mother comes right out to ask if I’m pregnant and I don’t bother denying it.
Just before we board the Vancouver-bound flight later that evening, I send Ethan what I know will be the last text he’ll ever get from me.