Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
DEENA
In the first week of September, I got a photo message from my brother. Riley and Corey smiled at me from the screen, their thumbs hooked into their backpacks as they posed in front of their home. The first day of school.
My baby kicked me so hard I jumped, and the laptop that had been resting on my thighs went tumbling to the ground. I swore, then laughed, then rubbed the spot he’d kicked.
“Guess you’re trying to tell me something, huh,” I said, and grabbed my phone again. Before I could second-guess my actions, my brother picked up my call. “Hope I’m not bothering you,” I said. “Great picture.”
“They just got on the bus,” my brother said, and I could hear the pride in his voice. “People don’t lie about it, you know. They really do grow up quick.”
My throat tightened, and I smoothed my hand over my belly. I still hadn’t told him or anyone else about the baby.
“How are things with you?”
“I’m…okay,” I said. I was going to leave it there, but I remembered how mad Brooks had gotten when I’d snapped at him for asking about my business. He’d been so mad that I’d shut him down. What would happen if I assumed the best of him?
The truth was, I was sick of being alone. I was scared of the future, of all the changes that were about to happen.
I took a deep breath and took a tiny, terrifying step.
I cracked the door open on my life and let Brooks see a sliver of the real me.
“Work is kind of crazy. I picked up this huge client a couple of months ago—a company that does medical device sales—and things haven’t slowed down since. My revenue has doubled.”
“Holy crap!” Brooks exclaimed. “That’s amazing.”
Despite myself, a smile curled my lips. “Kind of, yeah,” I said.
“I know you probably won’t believe me, but I’ve always admired you, Deena.
” I could hear a car door open and close, and then the quality of the sound changed.
He’d just gotten into his vehicle. “You were always so driven, and it’s paid off.
I don’t know anyone else who could have done what you did with your business and your life. ”
“Brooks…”
“No, I mean it.”
I chewed the inside of my lip for a moment, my emotions rioting inside me. It felt so good to hear that from him, but a part of me didn’t believe him. He’d been right about that. Finally, I settled on saying the only thing I could: “Thank you.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re so annoying.”
“If you were here right now, I’d give you a noogie.”
I winced instinctively at the thought of his knuckles rubbing on the top of my head. “Okay, well, bye,” I said pointedly.
He laughed, and his engine started. “You coming home for Thanksgiving?”
“Probably not.”
He laughed harder. “Stacey’s trying to convince me to take the kids up to visit you before the baby gets here. Maybe we’ll come to you for the holidays.”
I glanced down at my belly. That would certainly be interesting. “Mom would kill you.”
“That wasn’t a ‘no,’” he mused. “I’ll tell Stace.”
My heart hammered. This was my big brother. I’d spent so many years trying to follow him around, then grew up and pushed him away. Maybe there was a middle ground. Maybe we could have a relationship, as adults.
But I’d need to let him in. Get to know the man he’d turned into. Let him get to know the woman I’d become.
My hand slid over my belly. Fear hammered against my ribcage with every thump of my heart.
“Actually, Brooks,” I said, then cleared the rocks from my throat.
“Yeah?”
I lost my nerve. “You on your way to work? I’ll let you go.”
The sound of his engine cut out. “No. I’ve got time. What’s up?”
This was uncharted territory. I’d spent so many years pushing him away that I didn’t know who he was or if I could trust him. But the alternative was a lifetime like the past couple of months. Survival. Agony. Despair.
“I’m pregnant,” I whispered. “I, um…yeah.”
“Holy shit,” Brooks said. “Congrats! I mean, are you—are you happy?”
The baby punched against my hand, then kicked at a particularly bruised spot on my ribs. I grunted and stood up, breathing heavily. “I…think so,” I finally replied. “Yes.”
“And Cal?”
“That’s…complicated.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“You want me to punch him in the jaw?”
“No. Yes. No.”
Brooks let out a short, sharp breath.
“I’ll figure it out,” I told him.
He hummed, letting the point drop. “When are you due? I need to talk to Stacey. We’ll book tickets—wait, I can tell Stace, right?”
My laugh was watery. “Yeah. You don’t need to come up here.”
“She’ll insist,” Brooks replied. I could hear the smile in his voice. “She’ll want to stock your freezer and do your laundry.”
“She’s pregnant too,” I pointed out.
“Doesn’t matter. What’s your plan, then?”
“Don’t have one.”
“That’s not like you.”
I huffed. “No. I guess it isn’t.” We were quiet for a beat. Millions of words remained unsaid. We were siblings, and we hardly knew each other. “I’ll let you get to work,” I finally said.
“All right.” The engine started up again. “Good talking to you.”
“Yeah,” I said, half-surprised to find out it was the truth.
We hung up, and I clutched my dark phone. Maybe there was a future where we had a relationship. Maybe he wasn’t the enemy. Maybe there were people in my life who cared about me, and being open with them didn’t mean giving up my independence. Not everyone was like Cal.
As if my thoughts had summoned him, his name lit up my screen. My hands began to tremble, and I stared at the ringing phone until it went silent again. Breath left me in a rush.
It was one thing to think about building a better relationship with my brother.
He lived in a different state, and he would always be my brother.
It was another thing entirely to think about Cal.
Even holding the ringing phone had felt like cradling a live bomb.
Even speaking to him was dangerous. He was suffocating and addicting, and I wanted him as badly as I needed to stay away from him.
Then my phone buzzed with a message.
CAL
I was hoping to talk to you, but I understand if you don’t want to. Call me anytime in case you change your mind.
I blinked at the message, reading it half a dozen times. That didn’t sound like Cal. There were no demands. No barked orders and clicked fingers. He was opening the door and letting me decide what would happen.
It was a trap. My heart squeezed, and I clicked my phone off.
I worked up the courage to tell my mom about the pregnancy a few days after my conversation with Brooks.
She was ecstatic, and I pretended I was too.
She asked me about a wedding. I panicked and told her I had to go—a work emergency had come up.
She was so happy I’d bagged a rich man, she didn’t even tut at me for it.
Her support made me feel worse than every conversation where she’d badgered and berated me.
I could only imagine the mountain of derision and disappointment that would bury me when she found out Cal and I were no longer together.
When I hung up the phone, I buried my head in my hands and cried.
I read more pregnancy books. I listened to podcasts. I visualized my labor. I learned how to meditate and told myself it was okay to be terrible at it. I researched everything I could about birth plans and made a detailed one for myself.
I worked. I put my head down and hustled to get more clients. I squirreled away all the money I could, grateful that my debts were gone and I had a cushion. I would need it.
Life went on.
In the dead of night, when I twisted and turned and lamented the fact that I wasn’t allowed to sleep on my back or stomach, I thought of Cal.
I wondered what he was doing and if he was thinking about me, then lambasted myself for being so pathetically predictable.
I thumbed through my contacts and thought about how good it would feel to hear his deep voice in my ear.
But I didn’t call.
What was the point? We were all wrong for each other.
I needed to do what I’d always done: pull myself together and carry on. I’d figured out how to apply and pay for college all on my own. I’d started a business and made it work through sheer force of will. I’d made mistakes, gotten into debt, but I’d figured out how to get out of that too.
I would get through this too.
Cal texted me three more times. He told me he was talking to someone about his control issues. He told me he had set up a college fund for our unborn child. He told me to call him when I was ready.
I wasn’t ready. I would never be ready.
I was in love with him, but being with him meant part of me dying. It meant bending to his intractable will. It meant shrinking, giving up my business, and living life on his terms.
Speaking to him would only make things more difficult. I had a lawyer now, and we’d already spoken about custody and child support. There was no point in opening the door to him. Deep down, I knew I was too weak to resist him entirely. It was safer to stay away.