Twisted

  I didn’t think it was possible for a person to be any paler than Drew was when he first got here, and still be alive. But I was wrong. Because his face just got whiter. About two shades.

  “What baby? What are you . . .” He scrutinizes me, trying to see the answer before he asks, “Are you . . . pregnant?”

  Kind of makes you wonder just how hard Delores hit him, huh?

  “Of course I’m pregnant!”

  He takes a step forward. And his face looks like one of those theater masks, horror and hope side by side. “Is it mine?”

  I don’t answer right away because I’m so surprised by the question.

  “Who . . . who else’s would it be?”

  “Bob’s,” he says matter-of-factly. Like he actually believes I know what he’s talking about.

  “Bob?”

  “Yes, Kate—Bob. The guy who means everything to you. Obviously you’ve been fucking him, so how the hell do you know the baby’s not his?”

  I flip through my mental Rolodex, looking for a Bob, trying to figure out why in God’s name Drew thinks I’d be fucking him. “The only Bob I know . . . is Roberta.”

  That takes the wind right out of his sails. “Who?”

  “Roberta Chang. Bobbie—Bob. I went to school with her. She’s an ob-gyn. You saw me go into her office the night you followed me. That’s how you knew . . .”

  His eyes widen, thinking. And then he shakes his head in disbelief.

  In denial.

  “No. No—I saw you with a guy. You were meeting him. He picked you up and hugged you. He kissed you. He had food.”

  It takes me a moment to process his words, and then I remember. “Oh—that was Daniel. Roberta’s husband. He lived with us in during undergrad too. They just moved to the city a few months ago. I told you about them.”

  Drew’s expression is unreadable. Then he takes a hand and rubs it down his face—hard—like he wants to scrape off skin. “Okay, just . . . go with me here for a second. When you wrote the name Bob in your calendar, you were talking about Roberta, who’s a woman and a baby doctor that you went to school with in Philadelphia?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the guy that I saw you with, in the parking lot, is her husband and also an old friend of yours?”

  “Yes.”

  His voice is tight. Strained. “And you think we’ve been fighting this whole time because . . . ?”

  “Because you don’t want me to have the baby.”

  Have you ever seen a skyscraper demolished? I have. It implodes. From the top down, so as not to damage the buildings beside it. And that’s exactly what Drew does. Right in front of my eyes. He crumbles.

  His legs give out and he falls to his knees. “Oh, God . . . Jesus Christ . . . I can’t believe . . . fuck . . . I’m an idiot . . . so fucking stupid . . .”

  And I go down with him. “Drew? Are you all right?”

  “No . . . no, Kate . . . I’m so far from all right, it’s scary.”

  I grab his hands and his eyes meet mine. And just like that—it all makes sense. Finally.

  The things he did.

  The things he said.

  It all falls into place like the last piece of a mosaic.

  “You thought I was having an affair?”

  He nods. “Yeah.”

  The world spins and I’m barely breathing. “How could you think that? How could you ever believe I would cheat on you?”

  “There was a guy’s name in your calendar . . . and you lied . . . and I saw you hugging that man. How could you think I wouldn’t want a baby? Our baby?”

  “You told me to have an abortion.”

  His hands tighten around mine. “I would never say that to you.”

  “You did. You told me to end it.”

  He shakes his head and groans. “End the affair, Kate. Not the baby.”

  My chin rises defensively. “But I wasn’t having an affair.”

  “Well, I didn’t fucking know that.”

  “Well, you fucking should have!!”

  I tear my hands from his and push him on his shoulders. “God, Drew!” I stand up, needing to get away from him, because it’s all too much. “You can’t treat people like this! You can’t treat me like this!”

  “Kate, I’m—”

  I whirl around and point a finger at him. “If you tell me you’re sorry, I will kick your balls up into your eye sockets, I swear to God!”

  He closes his mouth. Smart move.

  I push my hair out of my face. And pace.

  Am I supposed to feel better now? Because it really was all just a mistake?

  If a house gets destroyed by lightning, do you think the owners are cheered by the fact that the lightning didn’t mean to strike their house?

  Of course not.

  Because the damage is already done.

  “You ruined it, Drew. I was so excited to tell you . . . and now whenever I think about it, all I’ll remember is how horrible this has all been!” I stop pacing. And my voice trembles. “I needed you. When I saw the blood . . . when they told me I was losing the baby . . .”

  Drew reaches for me, still on his knees. “Baby, I don’t know what you’re saying . . .”

  “Because you weren’t here! If you’d been here then you’d know, but you weren’t! And . . .” My voice cracks and tears blur my vision. “And you promised. You promised you wouldn’t do this . . .” I cover my face with my hands, and I cry.

  I cry for every second of useless pain. For the crevasse that’s still between us—and for the stupid choices that created it. And I don’t mean just his. I’m a big girl—I can take my share of the blame.

  Drew may have pulled the trigger, but I loaded the gun.

  “Kate . . . Kate, please . . .” He holds his hand out to me. “Please, Kate.”

  He looks shattered. And I know, then and there, that I’m not the only one who’s suffered.

  Still, I shake my head. Because do-overs only exist in playground games. Real life doesn’t have take-backs.

  “No, Drew.” I turn my back on him and walk toward the car. But I only make it a few steps before I pause and look back.

  Can you see him?

  On his knees, his head in his hands. Like a man waiting for the executioner.

  When I think of Drew, two words always stand out: passion and pride. They’re ingrained. Who he is. Arguments, work, love—it’s all the same to him. Full steam ahead. No hesitation, no holding back. And Drew knows what he’s worth. He doesn’t settle; he doesn’t compromise. He doesn’t have to.

  “Why are you here?” I whisper, so low I don’t know if he’ll even hear me.

  But his head snaps up. “What do you mean?”

  “You thought I cheated on you?”

  He grimaces. “Yes.”

  “You thought I could be in love with someone else?”

  He nods.

  “But you came . . . for me. Why?”

  His eyes drift across my face. It’s the way he looks at me in the morning, when he wakes up before I do. It’s the way he watches me, when he thinks I’m not looking.

  “Because I can’t live without you, Kate. I don’t even know how to try.”

  I was in advanced placement English in high school. For weeks, we analyzed Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë. In most of it, Heathcliff is the villain. He’s ruthless, often cruel. And as a reader, you’re supposed to hate him.

  But I never could. Because in spite of all his despicable actions, he loved Cathy so much.

  Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you. . . . I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!

  Some of you are going to say that I should’ve punished Drew more. But he’ll do a better job of that than I ever could. Others are going to say that I should’ve made him work for it more. But we all know that he would have.

  And sometimes, forgiveness is selfish. We give it not because it’s earned, but bec
ause it’s what we need. To find peace. To be whole.

  I can live without Drew Evans. I know that, now. But if given the choice?

  I won’t ever want to.

  There’s only a dozen steps separating us, and I run every one of them. I throw myself at him, and he catches me. He wraps his arms around me and holds me so tight, I can’t get air in my lungs. But it doesn’t matter. Because Drew is holding me—who needs to breathe?

  “I’m sorry, Kate . . . God, I’m so fucking sorry.” He sounds forlorn.

  And tears well up in my eyes. “I didn’t think we’d ever . . . when you said . . .”

  “Shh . . . I didn’t mean it. I swear on Mackenzie I didn’t mean any of it. I never wanted to . . .” He buries his face in my neck, and his regret leaks from his eyes and soaks into my shirt.

  I press closer against him. “I know, Drew. I know you didn’t.”

  His hands run through my hair—they caress my face, my arms, my back. “I love you, Kate. I love you so much.”

  Last year, Drew and I went to Japan. One day we stopped in a bonsai tree shop. They’re kind of strange-looking, don’t you think? With their stunted trunks and twisted branches. The shop owner told us that it’s the knots and twists that make them strong, that keep from splintering even during the harshest storm.

  That’s what Drew and I are like.

  His lips touch my forehead, my cheeks. He holds my face in his hands, and I frame his with mine. And we kiss. Our mouths move in sync—fierce and bruising, tender and slow. And all the rest, every injury, every harsh word, melts away like snow in the sunlight.

  They don’t matter. Because we’re together. We’ll find our way.

  Drew presses his forehead against mine, then his hand covers my stomach. His touch is reverent and his voice is awed. “Are we really having a baby?”

  I laugh, even though the tears are still falling. “Yeah. We are. Do you really want to?”

  He wipes the wetness from my cheeks. “With you? Are you crazy? It’s one of the few fantasies I have left. I’d have twenty kids with you—give those freaky Duggar people a run for their money.”

  I laugh again, and it feels so good. So right. I lay my head on Drew’s shoulder. His face rests against my hair, breathing it in.

  And then he vows, “It’s okay, Kate. We’re gonna be okay now.”

  And I believe him.

  Chapter 16

  I don’t know how long we stay like that, on the ground quietly clinging to each other, but when we rise the sun has moved low in the sky, beginning its descent into dusk. Drew convinces me to leave my car here, that we’ll come back for it later. He’s worried that I’m too exhausted, too emotional to drive safely. For once, I don’t argue with him.

  As he drives us back to the diner, he keeps one hand on the steering wheel and one hand on me—my thigh, my shoulder, or softly entwined with my own. And it’s reassuring. Wonderful. I’d hoped for this moment, wanted it more than I ever wanted anything else.

  To have him here, with me—loving me—after I’d honestly never thought we’d be together like this again.

  It’s like a movie. The reunion. The reconciliation. The happy ending.

  The only problem is, in real life, there’s no theme song that plays afterward. No rolling of credits. In real life, you have to deal with what happens after the reunion. The fallout from the things you said, the consequences of the things you did, that almost destroyed it all.

  That still could.

  That’s why we watch movies like that—because real life is just never that easy.

  And it’s not that I’m not deeply happy in a way I can’t fully describe. Despite what I said earlier, there is warm comfort in the knowledge that Drew’s words, the stripper, all stemmed from a terrible misunderstanding.

  It’s the prayer of every person who’s ever been told heartbreaking news. Your son was killed in a car accident, you have stage-four cancer. The hope is always that the bearer got it wrong. A misidentification. A misdiagnosis.

  A mistake.

  But what happens after the “mis”? After you’ve accepted tragedy as truth, or blown your life savings because you thought you only had weeks to live? What do you do then?

  You step forward. You rebuild. You climb your way up from rock bottom with the determination that not only will life go back to normal, but that it will be better, sweeter.

  Because hindsight is more than 20/20. Perspective doesn’t just change how you look at things, it changes how you feel. And once you think you’ve lost it all, you value every moment infinitely more.

  We pull into the parking lot of the diner and walk through the back door into the kitchen, hand in hand. Like two teenagers who didn’t just stay out past curfew, but stayed out all night, scaring everyone who cares about them nearly to death.

  My mother stands at the counter, furiously chopping raw carrots with a gleaming knife. It’s not difficult to guess she’s imagining the carrot is something else entirely. George sits at the small table beside Billy. Dee Dee’s on the other side of him, her cell phone at her ear.

  When she spots us, she says in a low voice, “They’re here. I’ll call you back.” And ends the call.

  My mother’s head jerks up. She slaps the knife down and turns to face us. Then she zeroes in on our joined hands and glares at Drew.

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve, showing your face here again.”

  Drew takes a resigned breath and tries to answer, “Carol—”

  My mom cuts him off at the knees. “I don’t want to hear it! You don’t get to talk.” She points at me. “I realize my daughter is a grown woman, but to me? She’s my baby. My only baby. And what you’ve put her through is inexcusable.”

  He tries again. “I understand—”

  “I said you don’t get to talk! There’s nothing you can say that will make this better.”

  “Kate and I—”

  “Shut up! When I think about how she looked when she got here . . . What makes you think you can just waltz back into her life, after the things you said to her? After what you did!”

  Drew keeps his mouth closed.

  And my mother yells, “Well, don’t just stand there! Answer me!”

  I’ve always thought of my mother as calm in the face of chaos. Rational. That image is now totally blown.

  Drew opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Instead, he turns his baffled eyes to me. And I come to the rescue. “Mom, it was all a horrible mistake. Drew didn’t know about the baby.”

  “You said you told him about the baby—and his reaction was to hire a cheap stripper!”

  And my newly retitled boyfriend thinks it’s a good idea to point out, “She wasn’t cheap, believe me.”

  I dig my fingernails into his palm to shut him up.

  Then I explain to my mom, “No, he didn’t know. He thought I was talking about something else. It was a misunderstanding.”

  Dee Dee interjects, “Now there’s a song I’ve heard before. That tune’s starting to get real old.”

  I roll my eyes. “Not now, Dee.”

  My mother folds her arms and taps her foot. “I won’t have him under my roof, Katherine. He’s not welcome here.”

  And this is why you should never complain to your family about your significant other. They don’t know him like you do, and they sure as hell don’t love him like you do. So they will never—ever—forgive him like you will.

  Even though I can see where my mom is coming from, I’ve kind of got a lot on my plate at the moment. And she’s really not helping the situation.

  “If that’s the case, then I won’t be staying here either.”

  My mom looks shocked and her arms drop to her sides.

  And Delores says, “Hey, Moron—” Drew looks her way. “Yes, you. This is the part where you’re supposed to say you don’t want to come between Katie and her mother. That you’ll go stay at a hotel.”

  Drew snorts. “Guess I’m not that chivalrous. I’m staying with Kate
. Where she goes, I go.”

  Dee smirks. “Aww, it’s like Jack and Rose on the Titanic.” She raises her hand. “Who else is hoping Douche Bag ends up the same way Jack did?”

  I ignore her and stay focused on my mother. Whose voice turns imploring. “It’s been an emotional day, Katie. You need space, distance, so you can think clearly.”

  I shake my head. “No, Mom. I’ve had all the distance I can stand. Drew wants this baby. He loves me. We need to talk, to work things out.” I glance at Dee Dee. “Without audience participation.”

  Then I turn back to my mother. “And this wasn’t all his fault. I made mistakes too.”

  Like many mothers, mine is hesitant to acknowledge her child’s shortcomings. “Is that what he told you? That this is your fault?”

  “No, it’s what I know. Part of this is my fault, Mom.” I sigh. “Maybe it’d be best for everyone if Drew and I do go to a hotel.”

  Stubbornness is apparently hereditary, because then she says, “No. I don’t want you at a hotel. If you want him to stay, then I won’t object. But I don’t like it.” She glares at Drew. “You just keep away from me, if you know what’s good for you.”

  Then she stomps out of the room.

  George stands up. “I should go talk to her.” Before he leaves, he turns to Drew and holds out his hand. “Glad to see you, son.”

  Drew releases my hand to shake George’s, which morphs into a back-slapping man-hug. “Good to know someone is, George.”

  George smiles and follows after my mother.

  Then Billy stands up in front of us.

  If you look closely, you can actually see Drew’s chest puff out—like an ape in the jungle wild, preparing to fight to the death over the last banana.

  “Got something you want to add, Warren?”

  Billy looks at Drew. And then dismisses him, turning his gaze toward me.

  “I told him you’d be at the park because I knew it was what you would’ve wanted.”

  I smile kindly. “It was. And I appreciate that you did. We both do.”

  I nudge Drew with my elbow. He just shrugs, noncommittedly.

  And Billy says, “You don’t need him, Katie. It’s that simple.”

  “I love him, Billy. It’s that simple.”