Chapter 23 #2
“I didn’t believe it was this bad,” Petra says as she and Lauren walk into my bedroom, where I’m rolling each individual piece of my winter clothing as tight as I can and putting them into the three suitcases spread across my bed.
“I told you so,” Sierra says.
“Jackson,” Lauren says, “you can’t really be leaving.”
“I am. I have to. I literally can’t do this anymore,” I tell them. “I no longer have a job. Nate won me over and promised me forever, only to disappear again. And my mom is going through chemo. It only makes sense to move home with my parents for a little while.”
“But it’s only been two days since you lost your job. You’ll find a new one,” Petra insists.
“And there has to be a reason Nate went back to Europe without telling you,” Sierra insists. She doesn’t say what she knows I’m thinking—he’s had days to call and explain himself. Send me a text. Anything. And yet, there’s been no attempt at contact. There’s no way to misunderstand his intentions.
“I will never find another PT job after resigning for a breach of contract,” I say, dropping another sweater into my suitcase.
Then I look over at Sierra. “And if Nate truly cared about me, he wouldn’t have flown back to Europe without telling me.
His absence is like history repeating itself all over again. ”
Lauren bursts into tears, and when we all look at her in alarm she sits down on the velvet chair in the corner of my room, covering her face and bowing her head while letting her red hair hang forward like a curtain.
“What’s wrong?” Sierra asks, kneeling next to Lauren.
“Nothing. I’m so sorry. I’m being stupid and selfish and need to get my emotions in check,” she says, but her voice is breaking on every other word like she can’t get her sentence out through the tears. “Just ignore me.”
“Pfft, ignore you,” I say. “Why in the world would we do that?”
“Because I’m being ridiculous. I have no reason to cry right now, you’re the one going through hell.” She looks up, her face splotchy and apologetic.
“Lauren, what’s really going on?” I ask.
Lauren’s dark blue eyes sweep over the three of us. “It’s just, I always envisioned that when I had babies, all their aunties would live close by, and now I don’t know if you’re even coming back,” she says, her eyes focusing in on me.
“Are you . . . planning for the future, or are you already . . .” My mouth drops open as her pale skin is overtaken with a deep blush and she nods. “Lauren! You’re going to be a mom?”
I think all three of us must launch ourselves at her at the same time, because suddenly we’re a squealing, crying, cooing, laughing heap on the floor at her feet.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Lauren says through tears, but sounding happier than I’ve seen her in a while.
“Things were a bit touch and go for a while. There were some complications and I didn’t know if this pregnancy was going to last. But now there are two baby girls in here. ” She rubs her belly.
“There are so many things we need to know!” I say, as it occurs to me that this is why Josh wasn’t really paying attention when they sublet their condo to Nate, and why Lauren wasn’t involved in that process.
And this is why she didn’t come on our girls’ weekend to Big Sky—she didn’t have the flu, she was sick because she was pregnant.
“It’s a really long story,” she says, but we insist she tell us and she relents, sharing details about the fertility treatments and almost losing this pregnancy.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were going through any of that?” Petra asks once we’re caught up on all the details. “We would have all wanted to be there for you. You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.”
“I wasn’t alone,” Lauren says, a small smile on her lips. “I had Josh.”
“Yeah, but guys aren’t always awesome with the emotional ups and downs of stuff like that. You should have had your girls by your side too,” Petra says with her trademark ferocity.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” Lauren says. “I didn’t want to have to explain every up and down, over and over. The idea of keeping people updated on what was going on just seemed so emotionally overwhelming.”
“We get it,” Sierra assures her, giving Petra the side-eye. “It’s totally up to you when you want to share your personal secrets.”
“Speaking of,” Lauren says as she looks at me, “Nate?”
I sigh as I disentangle myself from my friends. They already know we got back together, and that he left me again when things got tough. I suppose it’s time I give them all the details though, maybe then they’ll understand why it’s better if I go back home for a while . . . or maybe forever.
I sit on the bottom bunk in the bedroom where I spent almost every weekend of my entire childhood.
My parents’ condo at Blackstone has been remodeled almost from top to bottom, except this bedroom.
It looks just like it looked when I was a teenager, with the exception of some new bedding on the bunks Sierra and I used to share when she spent every weekend with us during ski season.
On my phone, I look over Marco’s post one more time.
He wants to be one thousand percent sure I’m happy with the wording before it goes live.
A public declaration of our “breakup” with assurances that we parted ways amicably.
A dissolution of our fake relationship. Given that everything real in my life has also dissolved recently, this feels more than a little ironic—like a fake final nail in a real coffin.
My old life is gone, and I’m still trying to figure out what my new life will look like.
It won’t involve Nate, obviously, since he’s still MIA.
Or not actually missing this time, just not missing me apparently.
And given that Annie called yesterday to tell me she’d heard a little rumor that I was back at Blackstone and no longer working as a physical therapist for the National Ski Team, my future no longer includes the possibility of working at Danforth either.
She’d clearly heard about Nate and me being involved, even though thankfully she didn’t seem to know about the photos, because she said, “I hope this means that you and Nate are finally happy.”
Sometimes the ski world is cruelly and claustrophobically small.
Jackson
This looks fine.
Marco
Are you sure?
Jackson
I’m positive.
Marco
Are you sure YOU are okay?
Jackson
I will be, eventually.
Marco
If you want me to kill him next time I see him, I’m willing. I might even be able to make it look like an accident.
I do smile at that. It might be the first smile I’ve had in the week and a half since I arrived back at my parents’ place.
Even on Christmas, I couldn’t bring myself to celebrate—I was a miserable guest, but my parents gave me a lot of leeway, knowing how heartbroken I was. How heartbroken I still am.
Jackson
Don’t do anything stupid. Just kick his ass on the slopes. That’ll be enough.
Marco
Okay, Bella. If you need anything, let me know. Christian and I are always here for you.
Jackson
I know. And I love you for it.
Marco
I head out the door of my bedroom, planning to find my mom and see if she wants me to make her some tea or get her some food.
She’s been so weak since I’ve been back and it’s been emotionally draining to watch her frail form hobbling around the condo.
It’s like reliving the worst memories of my childhood, when she was fighting breast cancer the first time and the chemo almost killed her.
But she was twenty years younger then, and wasn’t on her second recurrence of cancer.
I feel selfish even thinking this way, but I just cannot lose her now. Not after Nate, and Ms. Juarez.
But as if she’d anticipated my plans, she’s sitting on the couch wrapped in a faux fur blanket with a mug of tea in her hands. She nods toward the mug on the coffee table, which I assume is for me. It’s still steaming.
“I was just about to call you out here,” she says. “It’s like you read my mind.”
“How are you feeling?” I ask as I take a seat on the opposite end of the couch, facing her.
Her white-gray hair is up in a ponytail, but the craters beneath her eyes don’t look as hollow as yesterday and she’s got a little of her color back. “A little stronger today. It’s always the worst a few days after the treatment. I’ll be fine in a couple more days.”
I let my eyes sweep across the living room, admiring how my mom has remodeled the place.
It’s been a slow process of small updates here and there since my dad retired, and this is the first time I’ve been here since my mom decided everything was finally finished.
Her interior design eye is still strong even though she only dabbles with work lately.
The place looks like something out of a magazine, and it’s kind of a shame that they live here full time because I bet they could rent it out during the winter and make a killing.
I tell my mom as much, and she just shakes her head slowly. “But then we wouldn’t be here enjoying it, would we?”
“I guess not. So where’s Dad today?”
“At the mountain,” she says, reaching over and setting her mug on the marble coaster next to mine.
“Does he normally go to the mountain every single day?” This week between Christmas and New Year’s is one of the busiest of the year, so I’m not sure if this is his normal routine or he’s there more right now because it’s so busy. Or if he’s there because I’m here.
“He goes most days. But if what you’re really asking is if he’s there to avoid you, then the answer to that is also yes.”