Chapter 16
Kevin
I can’t believe I’ve woken up with her in my bed. In my arms. This dedicated, amazing, gorgeous, sexy woman who has agreed to be my friend.
Gotta stop thinking about this being a bed . But I’m not ready to get up just yet. Need things to…calm down a little first.
“So ‘Andi’ is short for ‘Andrea’?” Oh, dangerous, bringing back those memories while we’re…right here at the scene of the…events of that night.
“Andrea Valeria Salazar.” She pronounces it “ahn-DRAY-uh.”
This would be the time for me to bring up breakfast again but god help me, I can’t make myself leave this bed just yet.
She’s quiet, watching me from behind those dark eyes, her smile fading.
“It’s a beautiful name. All of it.” I catch a wavy lock of her hair and wrap it around my finger, then unwind it again when I remember that’s not a friend gesture. “Are you Latina?”
She tips her head in a half nod. “Gram was. My other grandparents were white. Gram didn’t even teach my mom Spanish.”
“Oh yeah? Why not?”
She settles in like she’s willing to stay a while too. “When she first came to North Carolina with her family, she was young and they were poor and didn’t speak any English and she saw how people looked down on them. She learned English as fast as she could in school, but…” She shakes her head. “I think it was a really tough adjustment. When she started high school, she found work as a part-time nanny for a wealthy white family, after school and weekends and vacations, and she memorized the way they talked. Tried to erase her accent. Or, I guess, replace it with a North Carolina one. I mean, she was still a little brown girl, but…”
Her mouth quirks up in a half smile but it’s bittersweet and fades quickly too.
I stay quiet and nod, hoping she’ll keep talking.
“She married a white boy right after graduation. They had my mom not long after, but he was…not somebody it would have been good for her to stay with. So she left him and moved to a different town to get away. His family didn’t want him with her anyway, and he wasn’t any kind of dad, so nobody even kicked up a fuss when she took my mom and divorced him.”
“That must’ve been rough for her and your mom.” Her skin looks impossibly smooth. My fingers twitch, remembering.
She nods. Shrugs. “Yeah. Well. Rough in some ways, easier in others. Gram was tough. And smart. And stubborn. She raised my mom to speak the English of the wealthy family she’d worked for, hoping people would treat my mom better. But later with me, Gram said she realized knowledge is power, so she made sure I got every kind of knowledge she could provide, including Spanish.”
I’m about to ask more but she presses her hand to her belly. “Oh my god. I am so hungry . You ever suddenly realize you’re so hungry you feel half-sick? Is your offer of breakfast still open?” She sits up and swings her legs over the side of the bed. Heads for the bathroom.
“Yes, ma’am.” I’m decent now, just barely, so I head to the kitchen.
It takes us almost no time to whip up a feast of bacon and eggs and toast. Andi eats most of a little carton of yogurt while we’re cooking and then says she’s too full to eat anything else, but I fix her a small plate with a bit of everything and she nibbles at it as we sit in the dining room playing gin rummy and debating which sport is the most fun to play and which is the most fun to watch. It’s the kind of thing I never thought about before. Usually I’d just agree with what everybody else says, but Andi won’t accept that. She teases and prods and badgers me into thinking about it, and before I know it, I’m practically arguing with her.
I mean, she’s trying to convince me that kickball is the most fun to play.
What a ridiculous woman.
What a fun, silly, entertaining, gorgeous, sexy, ridiculous woman.
I could learn to like arguing, if it’s always like this.
Way before I’m ready to say goodbye, she says she has to leave.
I don’t like it but I get it. If I’m not careful, I’ll scare her off, wanting too much. I’ve already claimed most of her weekend. Tomorrow’s a workday for both of us. And I’ve got some grading to do.
Still, I stop her as she’s reaching for the front doorknob. “Will you come run at the high school tomorrow?”
She’s back in her swimsuit and cover-up, her hair twisted into some kind of loose, sexy knot. She gives me a lazy smile over her shoulder. “No, I’ve got to drive to Asheville tomorrow after work. Annual meeting for North Carolina women’s crisis center directors. Two days. I won’t be home till Wednesday night.”
I try my best not to give her what my sisters call “Kev’s Puss-in-Boots eyes.” Mainly because they say it with a fair amount of mockery. If it worked, I’d use it for sure.
***
Andi
All the way home and all through my packing, my thoughts are full of him. His big warm body so solid behind me—still on his own side of the bed—when I woke up. His eyes smiling into mine. His thoughtful answers last night to my questions about his breakup. His gentle teasing…
This weekend was so unexpected.
Seems I don’t want a casual occasional-hookup thing with him after all. I want a…companion, of sorts?
Being with Kevin is so… easy . Even out of my element at his apartment, I was perfectly comfortable. He made it clear I was welcome for as long as I wanted to stay. We had fun together; we talked… I could have happily stuck around longer if I hadn’t had to come home to get ready for my trip.
I’ve never spent that much time with a lover. Usually I’m ready to say “see ya” after a couple of orgasms. But Kevin’s company is addictive. His teasing, too.
I snort, remembering, as I fold a sweater into my little roller suitcase, him talking about protecting his virtue and telling me last night to keep my hands to myself because he needed his rest. He was letting me know, in the sweetest way possible, that he didn’t expect anything—that he really just meant sleep. Dammit.
The man’s got some serious communication skills.
He’s got a giant heart and I’m going to have to treat him with the care he deserves. I’m liking our budding friendship a lot. My stomach drops at the thought of wrecking that by pushing for sex when I don’t want to be in a relationship.
I add another pair of slacks and extra underwear and my toiletries bag and zip-close the suitcase. Roll it to the garage door so it’ll be easy to grab in the morning. Then I fix myself a cup of tea and settle with it in Gram’s chair, thinking about how Kevin is messing with my ideas of what I want and don’t want.
Wondering whether there’s a chance I might actually want more than sex from a man someday.
It would have to be an impossibly good man for that to happen.
***
Work Monday goes fine until the mail brings a plain white envelope addressed to me in block letters. Inside is a note in bold, aggressive block print. It says SEND THEM HOME BITCH OR ELSE.
Some people have no manners.
It’s not signed, of course, but I call the police like I always do with threatening mail. They come down to pick this one up for fingerprinting, but that never seems to help. They ask if I know who it’s from and I tell them no. That’s mostly true. I’m not sure. They ask for a list of current shelter residents, and again I say no, as they knew I would. Our client confidentiality rules don’t permit that.
Thing is, if the writer is who I think it is, I couldn’t send his family home even if I wanted to. Which I will never, ever want, no matter what happens. That sick fuck is a danger to his entire family—not just those little girls. There’s not a doubt in my mind he’d kill his wife and disappear with those babies if he ever got the chance. Which is why they are somewhere far away now, and nobody here, including me, knows where. And nobody knows I helped.
I tell Pattie at the desk and send an email warning the staff to be extra careful, and I remind them all that I’m going to Asheville and won’t be back in until Thursday. And after work I’m a little more cautious scanning the area and the parking lot and checking my car, and I drive a roundabout route to the highway to make sure no one follows me to Asheville.
I generally enjoy these annual gatherings. The staff of the Galway center is great—knowledgeable, supportive, dedicated to the cause—but there’s something next-level about being with other directors who understand not just the issues and the dynamics but also the level of stress that comes from keeping the whole operation afloat. From knowing that lives really do depend on your ability to do your job well.
It’s also fun to stay in a decent hotel in a downtown area with plenty of good restaurants and interesting things to see within walking distance. I’ve made plans to have drinks and dinner with some of the others who live close enough to get here in time, but I’m so exhausted as I wheel my little suitcase off the elevator and down the long hall to my hotel room that I decide to squeeze in a tiny nap before I meet up with them.
The smell hits me when I open the door. Kind of mildewy? But the room is cute and has everything I need, including a great view of downtown Asheville, and I’m too tired to go back down that hall and downstairs to ask for another room.
It’s probably not strong enough or bad enough to qualify as a stench, anyway. Maybe I’ll get used to it. I’ll just…take my nap, and maybe when I wake up I won’t notice it any more.
I set my phone timer, undress and crawl between sheets which smell faintly, comfortingly, of bleach, and that’s my last thought before I wake up an hour later to the gentle tones of the alarm.
Really, I could just stay here in this bed and sleep the rest of the night. Text my friends and tell them I’ll see them first thing in the morning. Tempting. I sit up and pick up the phone…and I’m hit with a wave of nausea so strong I’m out of bed racing for the bathroom.
There’s not much in me to throw up, so it’s mostly dry heaves. I feel better after a few minutes. Why is my body acting like this lately? Could I have been poisoned by whatever I smelled earlier? But…I haven’t eaten since breakfast. And realizing that makes me simultaneously ravenous and queasy again. Maybe I just need food.
I’ve often forgotten to eat, or eaten irregularly, and sometimes it makes me cranky but it’s never made me vomit . Is this a sign I’m getting old and my body is changing? That would totally suck. I’m only in my thirties, for Christ’s sake.
Or maybe… Could it be related to low blood sugar, somehow? Or…diabetes? I don’t know much about that. I’ll have to look it up. Because online health searches do so much to help people feel better.
I splash my face with cold water. Fetch my toiletries bag from my suitcase so I can brush my teeth. Try not to touch the back of my throat with my toothbrush.
Maybe I’ve got some kind of virus. Or maybe I need some stronger stress-relief techniques. Maybe my new friend Kevin will generously agree to help me work it out in bed.
I’m kicking myself for my mind always going straight to sex when a text comes through from him: You get to Asheville okay? Gonna have a wild night out?
I text back: Ha! Just dinner with friends
Nope, I don’t think wildness or staying out late is going to happen for me this week. I’ve never been so tired for such a long stretch. Weeks now, seems like.
Maybe I’m anemic. Does that cause nausea?
I am overdue for my annual exam anyway, so on the way down to meet the others, I pull up my doctor’s scheduling app and am able to grab an appointment for Thursday afternoon. I can’t keep up with my responsibilities if I’m not at my best.
***
Three days later I am in an obscenely thin cotton gown at my doctor’s office. She’s already typed my answers to the basic questions into the little monitor on the counter. Now she swings around to face me fully. “So…your sheet says you’ve been tired lately? Nauseous? Any other symptoms?”
I shake my head. “Well, my appetite’s been a little weird. One minute I’m starving and then after three bites I’m full. And…I’ve been smelling weird smells nobody else seems to notice. Is that a symptom of anything?”
“Not sure.” She makes another note on the monitor. “Fatigue and nausea are common symptoms of a lot of things. Have you been doing anything different than usual?”
I shake my head. “Just a real quick business trip to Asheville. Most of the symptoms started before that.”
“How about food or exercise or sleep or exposure to chemicals—anything different there?”
I shake my head again. “Can’t think of anything, no.”
“Have your periods been any heavier than usual?” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out one of those little lights they shine in your eyes.
I barely notice. The air has gone very still around me and I’m paralyzed. Periods.
Last period I had came unexpectedly at the surprise birthday party Rose threw for Sabina.
In late July.
It will be October in two days.
I’ve always been irregular, but nothing like this.
“Andi, you okay? Steady now.” Dr. Willis is on her feet, gripping my arm firmly. “What are you experiencing?”
“Doc, if I were”—my voice comes out rusty and I have to clear my throat before I go on—“pregnant, would these symptoms fit that?”
“Yeah. Let’s check, shall we?”
Forty-five minutes later, I walk out of there so dazed I almost forget to scan my surroundings. My purse rattles when I toss it onto the passenger seat of my car—the sample bottle of prenatal vitamins, percussion to the echo of Doc Willis’s voice saying, “Andi, I’d say you’re about two months along.”