Chapter 19
“Babe, I’m here,” I call out as I burst through the door of the condo.
The TV’s paused on a still frame of Renee Zellweger’s face, and I roll my eyes. Bridget Jones’s Baby is now Amani’s favorite pregnancy movie. I’ve endured a lot of movies I would’ve never agreed to watch, but she says she’s manifesting. I’ve dutifully sat through about a dozen cheesy pregnancy rom-coms. And I’m becoming quite skilled at sleeping with my eyes open.
I push open the bedroom door, but the bed is empty. The comforter is bunched up and crumpled, with half of it lying on the floor. “Amani, are you in the shower?” I ask as I knock on the bathroom door, but I don’t hear the water running.
“Do not come in here,” she groans.
Now, I’m worried. When I enter the bathroom, she flushes in a hurry. Amani crawls out of the nook that hides the toilet and scowls at me. “What did I just say?”
“Oh, poor thing.” I drop to the floor with her, securing my back against the nearest wall and pulling a weak Amani into my arms, her back to my stomach. She’s pale and cold, yet sweating. “Why didn’t you tell me it was a bad day?”
The hormone injections have been grueling. Liv had morning sickness during the first trimester. It wasn’t pleasant by any means, but Amani’s nausea has rendered her near immobile, and she isn’t even pregnant yet. It’s a side effect from all the drugs and synthetic hormones they are pumping her up with.
“It isn’t,” she groans. “Believe it or not, this is mild.”
I wipe a bead of cold sweat from her forehead. “Why haven’t you told me it’s been this bad?”
“Chase needs you, and I wasn’t trying to take up all your time. All I do is sit on the couch and watch movies with brief intermissions to puke my brains out. I’m no fun to be around right now.”
“You should’ve told me,” I mumble. I rack my brain, trying to remember our phone conversations. Was there any sign she was this sick? I’ve spent most of this summer with Amani, but for the past few days, I had work to do. While Cici is handling the PR nightmare that is Kayla’s pregnancy, I’ve been working on the redlines of Chase’s filming schedule and promotional tours. It’s been days of back-to-back meetings. Too exhausted to think after endless meetings, I’ve been crashing at my home in Hollywood, unable to make the drive every night to Elm Community.
“Maybe you should stay at my place when I can’t make it out here.”
She shakes her head. “Traffic is awful up there. I like it here. All my stuff is here. The ocean view helps when I feel crappy.”
“Okay. Do you want to get up?”
Her frayed, messy bun rubs against my neck as she shakes her head. “I think it’s best I stay within crawling distance of the toilet. And when did you start wearing so much cologne, by the way?”
“I’m not wearing cologne.”
“New soap?” she asks, sniffing aggressively. “It’s a little…musky.”
“No, same soap. That’s just you and your new bloodhound nose. Do you want me to shower?”
Turning her head, she smirks at me. “And how are you going to wash the scent of you off?”
“Good point.”
“I’m sorry,” she says and exhales. “I’m already so fucking uncomfortable, and it’s only the beginning. Do you think it’s going to get worse? My mom said she threw up every day for about six months. Apparently, that stuff is hereditary.”
“I don’t know. Liv’s morning sickness was short-lived, so I’m out of my wheelhouse here. But while we’re on the subject, if you got that sick, who would take care of you in Denver?”
It’s the question that’s been on my mind for a couple of weeks now. I know I told Amani I only wanted to meet the baby once it was born, but it doesn’t seem like that’s enough anymore. We’re well past feelings. I’m trying to plan a future that I’m not quite ready for. But what’s the alternative?
“My friends would.”
“Your friends all have full-time jobs, families, responsibilities. I know they’d be there for you, but who would go through it all with you, you know?”
“What’re you saying, Adam?”
Squeezing her shoulders, I look around the bathroom, expecting to see the ghosts of my past filling this condo, but they’re all gone. Images of Amani have replaced all the painful memories of my failed marriage. I picture Amani putting on her makeup, shower sex before I leave for work, the time she styled my hair with her fruity-smelling hair products. How quickly this shell of a condo has turned into a home.
“Would you consider doing the pregnancy here? With me? So I can take care of you and the baby?”
“Hmm,” she exhales. “Maybe. But don’t you think you’re becoming too emotionally involved? You said you weren’t ready for a baby, but you’re acting like a dad. What do I do with that?”
I laugh and rub her arms, which feel warmer now that she’s been sitting in my embrace. “You roll with the punches, maybe? You be patient with me and know I’m doing everything I can to get there as quickly as possible.”
“I’m not rushing you, Adam.”
“I know,” I say. “Thank you for that.”
“Hey, what was so important, by the way? You texted me and told me you had a big ask.”
Oh shit.My brain went blank when I saw Amani sick and pale, crawling away from the toilet. “My dad is having a good day. Alex is stuck in surgery all day, and I’m headed up to Piermont.”
She spins fully in my arms this time, her eyes perking up. “That’s been three good days in three weeks. Adam, that’s fucking incredible. Why are you here? Go. Don’t worry about me. Spend the day with your dad.”
I love that she knows what this means to me. The look of enthusiasm on her face is pure and genuine because she’s the only one who understands. Maybe because, for the longest time, she’s the only one I’ve let in.
“Come with me,” I say. “If you’re feeling up to it. Do you want to meet my dad?”
Amani’s mouth falls open. “But I thought he thinks you’re still—”
“I’ll have to explain it all to him. And fair warning, he’ll probably be upset for a little while, but he always bounces back. I really want him to meet you.”
She covers her mouth and exhales, forcing her breath through her fingers. “I…wow. This is big, right? This is more serious than going Facebook official with our relationship. Actually, no. If we did that, then I’d have to tell my friends.”
I narrow my eyes. “You still haven’t told your friends?”
“Adam, we’re in the most bizarre situation. We’re dating but just while I’m here. You’re helping me have a baby, but not your baby. What the hell do I tell them?”
Smirking, I inform her, “You just tell them you’re dating a new guy who has a great sense of humor, is super smart, knows all the best restaurants, and has an enormous cock.”
She flashes me a small, wicked smile. “Three out of four of those things are very true.”
“I—what? Which thing is untrue?”
Bracing herself against my shoulder, she rises. “I’d love to meet your dad. Let me shower and brush my teeth really quick and then we can go. I’ll bring a puke bag for the car.”
Moving much quicker than I thought she could in her condition, she strips off her tank top before starting the shower and heading to the bedroom, likely for a towel. I’m still sitting on the ground, pondering her prior statement.
“Amani,” I call after her. “Which thing is untrue?”
* * *
Hand in hand, Amani and I enter Piermont and stop at the receptionist’s desk. A brunette woman with a pixie cut is examining a clipboard with a confused look on her face. I wait for a few moments and politely clear my throat. “Good afternoon,” I say.
Clutching her chest, she nearly falls out of her chair. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there. How can I help you?”
“Two visitor passes. We’re here to see Dr. Clay Montgomery.”
“Your names, please?” The receptionist begins clicking away at her computer furiously.
“I’m Adam, his son. This is Amani, my guest. And by the way, my brother Alex should be here late this afternoon. He’s finishing up in surgery.”
She nods and pulls out a permanent marker from her desk drawer and scribbles our names on two visitor passes. She spells Amani’s name wrong, but neither of us corrects her. I normally shove these passes in my pocket before I find a trashcan anyway.
“Okay, Dr. Montgomery is in his room, I believe. It says he’s with a guest for lunch today.”
“I’m his guest for lunch today,” I say, my jaw ticking. “Who’s already here?”
She shrugs with a look of innocence on her face. “For privacy purposes, the system doesn’t tell me who, just that someone has already checked in.”
Huh. Strange. I pull out my phone, half expecting a text from Alex saying he finished up in surgery early and will meet me here, but I have nothing of the sort on my phone.
“Okay then.” I give Amani a clipped smile. “I guess it’s about to be a party.”
She squeezes my hand as we walk down the corridor, banking left to their private dormitories. “Adam,” Amani says softly. “Fix your face. You look pissed.”
I stretch out my jaw, easing the tension. “Sorry, I’m a little protective over my dad. As far as I know, he only asks for me and Alex. I don’t love the idea of someone sneaking in behind our—”
I stop mid-sentence when I smell it.
Simultaneously, my mouth waters and my heart stops. I’d know that smell anywhere. Roast. Mississippi Mud Roast. My dad’s favorite dinner. The smell of so many of my childhood family dinners.
I come to an abrupt halt outside of my dad’s door and Amani is jerked backward, her hand still weaved in mine. I hear the muffled voices. My dad’s excited chatter and a woman’s laughter. A laugh I haven’t heard in twenty years. But I still recognize it clear as day.
“My mom is here,” I say simply.
“Oh.” Stepping in front of me, Amani searches my eyes. “Is that good or bad?”
“Bad. Very bad. I don’t want to see her. I can’t believe she had the audacity to come here.”
“Oh, Adam,” Amani says, grabbing my other hand now, nudging me backward into the wall. “You look so upset.”
I try to steady my breaths, one by one. Outside of Liv, my mother is the last person on earth I’d want to see. How everyone else could move on so easily, I don’t understand. Alex is letting her spend time with Carson. She’s apparently cooking for my dad. Has everyone forgotten how she turned her back on her family? Or just me?
“Do you want to stay or go?” Amani asks.
“I don’t know. On one hand, I don’t want to miss a day with my dad. On the other, my mom is… I don’t know. She’s been trying to reconnect for years, but I haven’t responded. She doesn’t deserve to…” I exhale, fumbling over my words, unable to convey the medley of emotions I’m feeling. “I don’t normally talk about this stuff.”
She releases my hands and sits down on the cold tile next to my feet. Crossing her legs, she pats the space next to me.
“The floor is filthy, Amani. Get up, babe.”
“You will not catch herpes from the floor. Plus, the cold is good for my nausea. Sit down.”
Somewhat reluctantly, I slide down the wall and join her on the floor. I hike one knee up and Amani rests her elbow on it, then her chin on her arm. She stares at me with her big green eyes, decorated by those sweet freckles. I feel a bit better if I keep my gaze on hers.
“You never wear makeup these days,” I say.
“Is that a complaint?” she asks with a smirk.
“Hardly. It’s a compliment.” My smile feels weak, but I’m trying. I’m distracted again when I hear my dad’s thunderous laughter at something my mom must’ve said. Fuck. He sounds genuinely happy.
“Adam, remember the day you caught me screaming in my car and you made me open up and talk about it?” Turning my gaze forward, I nod. “Well, payback is a bitch. What’s going on?”
“I’m not screaming, though,” I protest.
She traces my jawline with the inline of her thumbnail. “They’re silent. But you’re screaming. I can tell.”
I inhale deeply, the aroma of the salty, tangy roast filling my lungs. God, it smells good. Even I have to admit, my mother was, and apparently still is, a phenomenal cook.
“Everyone seems to have moved on, except me. How come my brother and my dad aren’t as angry as I am? She left all of us.”
“I’m kind of working on this theory about myself, which maybe will help you too. May I share it?”
Dropping my knee, I wrap my arm around Amani and pull her into my lap. She curls in her legs, making herself a little ball in my embrace. I kiss the top of her head, breathing her minty-smelling shampoo. “Please. Help me.”
“I think I told you how bad the haters and trolls were getting to me on social media. Everyone goes through it on the internet. But other influencers seem to laugh it off and let it roll off their backs. I, however, let every asshole comment pierce my heart, and the culmination of years of harassment and sideline bullying sent me to the edge of anxiety and depression. Pretending like I didn’t care? That part pushed me right over.”
“Are you telling me you’re still sad?” I ask, wondering if this is turning into Amani’s plea for help.
“No, I’m trying to tell you why it affected me so much.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I was living in this delusion, that if I said the right things and did the right things, I could control the outcome. Some people are nasty and cruel because they are. Some people leave us because they do. It’s as simple as that. No matter how hard you dig your heels in and try to stop it, the world is going to keep spinning.”
“Hmm,” I murmur. “Wise, definitely. But what does that mean?”
“It means that you have a twisted way of blaming yourself for things, Adam. Liv didn’t cheat on you because you were a bad husband. Your mom didn’t leave because you weren’t a wonderful son. Sometimes life is about making mistakes, and learning from the consequences.”
How can Amani know what I’m thinking, if I don’t even know? Have I been blaming myself for the actions of others all this time?
“A mother is the biggest part of a little boy’s life. She should’ve been helping me with homework, packing lunches, teaching me how to treat a woman. Where was she when I graduated with honors—both times? She was supposed to hold me and tell me what to do when I found out my wife’s baby wasn’t mine. There were so many times she failed me.”
“Her punishment was missing out on you growing up, Adam. That’s such a shame, and I promise you it wrecked her. The guilt probably ate her up alive. But you’re not a little boy anymore, and she will continue to fail you if you don’t admit what you really want.”
“What do I really want?” I ask.
“It makes sense to be angry and to punish her until the end of time. No one would blame you. But how does all that anger feel?”
“Heavy,” I admit. “I think…I miss her. But I’m not ready to let it all go and forgive her.”
Amani straightens her leg, then rises. She stretches her arms over head before smiling down at me. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready to. Baby steps.” She points to the door with the “Montgomery” name placard. “But maybe we can start with lunch because whatever they’re eating smells fucking divine.”
“It’s my mom’s Mississippi Mud Roast. She usually serves it with homemade mashed potatoes and a big dollop of this special white cheddar sauce she makes.”
“Adam, this may be the hormones talking, but I will abandon your ass in this hallway, walk in there, and make myself a hefty plate. But once I’m finished stuffing my face, we can leave, and I will resume being your loyal girlfriend.”
“You were just throwing up not two hours ago, and now you’re about to ditch me to go wolf down a roast?”
She shrugs. “Pretty much.”
“This is good foresight into what your pregnancy is probably going to look like.”
She laughs as she holds out her hand as if she could pull me to my feet. I take her hand but do most of the work, hoisting myself up.
“What do you want to do, Adam?”
What do I want to do? Maybe Amani’s right. It’s time to let it go and move forward. “I think I want to continue your food education by introducing you to the world’s best pot roast.”
She claps her hands together in glee and I highly suspect it has more to do with lunch than anything else. Rasping my knuckles softly against the door, I call out, “Dad, it’s Adam. I brought a friend.”
“Come in!” he bellows. “We have plenty of lunch to share.”
I smile at Amani one more time. “Well, I brought you to meet my dad. You ready to meet my mom, too?”
I open the door, Amani trailing right behind me.