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 misiden-tification. 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 to 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 partici-pation.”
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, non-committedly.
And Billy says, “You don’t need him, Katie. It’s that simple.”
“I love him, Billy. It’s that simple.”
he holds my gaze another moment, then shakes his head and raises his hands in surrender. “For the record? You two need buckets of therapy, like yesterday. Trust me, I know dysfunctional when I see it.”
I nod once. “We’ll keep that in mind.”
Drew scoffs, “Whatever.”
Delores stands up next to Billy and addresses Drew, “I’m gonna enjoy watching you try to claw your way out of the shitfilled septic tank you’ve dug for yourself. That’s going to be better than anything I can think of to do to you.” She adds as an after-thought, “And if it’s not . . . I’ll have to get really creative.”
Don’t be too disappointed in Dee’s lack of retribution. Like the true friend she is, she respects my choices, even if she doesn’t agree with them. She knows when to back off and let me handle things.
Or . . . she’s just biding her time.
Dee pulls me into a hug and says in my ear, “Don’t let him f*ck his way out of this one. Multiple orgasms are just a Band-Aid, not a cure.”
I chuckle. “Thanks, Dee.”
She turns to Billy. “Come on. Let’s see if Amelia can stop doing the dirty with Sherriff Mitchell long enough to make us some dinner.”
Billy grimaces. “Way too soon to joke about that.”
They walk out the back door, leaving Drew and me on our own.
I run my hand up his bicep. “George isn’t the only one who’s glad to see you. In case I didn’t say it earlier . . . I’m really happy you’re here.”
Drew smiles tenderly and touches my cheek. “I know.”
We go upstairs to my room, and I close the door behind me. I walk around the bed and slip off my shoes, pushing them under. The shades are drawn, and I turn on the bedside lamp, casting the room in a warm, dim glow.
“It may take some time for my mother to understand everything. She probably won’t be very nice to you in the meantime.”
Drew sits on the edge of the bed and shrugs. “I’m not concerned about your mother.”
“No?”
“She loves you. She’ll fall in line when she realizes I’m what you want. That I make you happy. Accomplishing that is really my only concern at the moment.”
We’re silent for a few seconds. I sit on the bed next to Drew, tucking my feet under my legs. Drew rubs his palms on his thighs.
Thinking.
Then he speaks what’s obviously on his mind. “So . . . has Warren been here the whole time?”
Although Drew spoke with Billy before he came to find me at the park, I’m guessing his presence didn’t fully register until now.
“Billy came home to visit Amelia. he stopped by the restaurant a few days after I came home.”
“And you two have been . . . hanging out?”
I know where he’s going with this. Like an expert lawyer, setting up his cross-examination with a witness he’s trying to trip up.
Laying the groundwork, building up to the question that will blow the case wide open.
I look down at my bed, unable to meet Drew’s eyes. Feeling guilty, even though technically, I shouldn’t.
Drew’s habits aren’t the only ones that die hard. Like always, procrastination is my friend.
“Is this a conversation you really want to have right now?” I ask him.
he chuckles harshly. “For the record? This isn’t a conversation I want to have ever. But it’s better to get all the shit out of the way now.” he shakes his head slightly. “What did you do, Kate?”
My head snaps up. And I feel insulted—defensive—at his implied accusation.
“What did I do? You’ve got some set of balls, asking me that question.”
he shrugs. “I think they’re pretty impressive, thanks. But my balls aren’t the topic of this particular discussion. Did you f*ck him?”
“Did you f*ck the stripper?”
“I asked you first.”
That brings me up short. And I’d probably laugh, if this all wasn’t so sad.
In a resigned voice I tell him, “No. No, I did not f*ck Billy.”
Drew blows out his held breath. And his voice softens. “Me neither. I mean . . . not Warren . . . I didn’t f*ck the stripper either.”
I stand up from the bed. “Did you want to?”
Given Drew’s past preference for variety, I think it’s a fair question. The way I see it, this was his chance to relive the days when diversity was his norm.
“Not even a little.”
he slips a finger into the belt of my jeans and pulls me between his open knees. his hands rest on my hips as he looks up at me.
“Do you remember that awful chick flick you made me watch last year? The one with the guy from The Office?”
he’s talking about Crazy, Stupid, Love. I nod.
Drew continues, “And at the end, how he said ‘Even when I hated you, I loved you.’”
I nod again.
“It was like that. It was never about what I wanted—it was what I thought I had to do. It was always all about you. You were in my head, in my heart . . . even when you weren’t there anymore . . .
you were still f*cking there.”
There’s never going to be a good time to say it. Lying or not telling him isn’t a possibility.
“Billy and I kissed.”
his hands grip my hips tighter. The words hang in the air, like a heavy stench.
When he doesn’t respond, I insist, “It didn’t mean anything.”
Drew smirks bitterly. “Sure, it didn’t.”
“I was hurt. And confused. It was only a few seconds. And it wasn’t about desire or attraction. It was just . . . comfort.”
Drew moves me to the side and stands up. Then he starts to pace sharply. Every muscle in his body is drawn tight and contracted. “I told you this would happen. All this time, I f*cking told you. That f*ckface has just been waiting for the opportunity to sneak his way into your pants again.”
“It’s not like that, Drew. It was innocent.”
The image of Drew’s salacious kiss with the stripper slams to the forefront of my thoughts. And my anger is right behind it. “It wasn’t anything like what you did. What I had to watch you do.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“I’m not trying to make you feel better! I’m trying to explain what happened. So we can put it behind us and move on. That’s what you want, isn’t it ? Isn’t it?”
The desperation in my voice must have gotten through to him.
Because he stops pacing and looks at me for several moments.
his blue eyes show warring emotions of indignation and begrudging understanding. With the desire to give in to a fury that will serve no purpose—a fury that Drew must know he has no right to feel.
he blows out a breath and sits back on the bed. “Yes, that’s what I want.”
I smile sadly. “Me too.”
he doesn’t look at me, but stares straight at my bedroom door.
“It was just a kiss?”
“Yes.”
“No second base? No sliding into third?”
I roll my eyes. “No.”
Tensely, he nods. “Okay . . . okay. That evens things out, I guess.” he’s quiet for a moment. Then he says firmly, “I don’t want you talking to him again. Ever.”
“Drew—”
“I mean it, Kate. I don’t want him calling the apartment or emailing you. I don’t want you meeting him for a goddamn lunch date or girls’ night out.” his eyes burn into mine as he pleads, “I want Billy Warren out of our life. Permanently.”
I close my eyes. Because I knew this was coming. And don’t think I don’t understand how Drew feels. Maybe you even agree with him.
But choosing between Billy and Drew isn’t an option. Maybe it’s selfish, but I need them both. Drew is my lover, the love of my life, the father of my child. But Billy is my best friend—right up there with Dee Dee.
“he’s my friend.” My expression is stoic, telling him without words that I won’t give in. Not about this, not this time.
his jaw clenches. “how can you ask me to do this? how can you f*cking expect me to see him and watch you talk to him and not obliterate him?”
I take Drew’s hands in mine, holding them tight. “If you and I decided to not be together anymore, I still wouldn’t be with Billy again. Ever. And he wouldn’t want to be with me.
“And when I first came here, I believed you didn’t want this baby. And I didn’t think I could have it alone. Billy made me see that I could. And more importantly, he helped me realize that I wanted to.”
Drew turns away.
I cup his face in my hands and bring him back to me. “If Billy hadn’t been here for me, there’s an excellent chance I would’ve had an abortion before you came. Think about that. Think about what we would’ve lost, Drew. And that I never would have been able to forgive myself—or you. I owe him for that. We owe him for that.”
he closes his eyes tightly. I don’t really expect him to agree with me. It’s a hard pill for any man to swallow, especially a man like Drew. But he listened. And I can only hope that he’ll think about what I said and realize that my life—our life—is better with a friend like Billy in it.
The fact that he’s not actively disagreeing with me is enough for now.
he rubs his eyes wearily with the palms of his hands. When they drop, he asks me a question. And there’s despondent curiosity in every syllable. “Why didn’t you just tell me, Kate? When you first thought you could be pregnant. Why didn’t you say anything?”
It’s something you’ve been wondering about too, isn’t it? None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t kept my suspicions to myself.
If Woody would’ve gone right to the police . . .
“I was . . . stunned. Scared. I didn’t even know how I felt about the possibility of being pregnant and . . . I wasn’t sure how you would feel about it. I needed time to process it. To accept it.
To—eventually—be excited about it. And I was. After my appointment with Bobbie, I was happy. I was coming home to tell you . . .
but . . . it was too late.”
Drew tells me, “I tried so goddamn hard not to jump to conclusions. Again. When I saw a guy’s name in your calendar and then you lied about where you were going . . . I was really pissed.
But then I cooled off and I thought, maybe it was good thing.
Maybe you were going to buy me something, or plan a surprise.”
“And instead of asking me, or waiting to see what the surprise was, you followed me?”
“I couldn’t just sit there. I had to do something. And then I saw you, in the parking lot, looking so happy to see that son of a bitch.
I never thought you’d cheat on me. I didn’t want to believe it, but it was right there in front of me.”
“My grandmother used to say, ‘Don’t believe anything you hear, and only half of what you see.’ ”
Drew snorts. “She was f*cking genius.”
I’m willing to accept the part I played in the situation, but I don’t have a martyr complex. So I ask, “If you thought I was cheating on you, why couldn’t you react like a normal guy? Punch a wall or get drunk. Why do you have to come up with these diabolical schemes, like some super-villain from Batman?”
he shakes his head and touches my hair. “When I thought I saw what I saw . . . it was a nightmare. It was hell. Nothing God or Satan could ever dream up would come close to feeling as awful as that.”
“I can relate.”
“And I just wanted it to go away. The f*cking crushing pain.
Even for a little while. So, after I bought the bottle of Jack, I went to this gentleman’s club me and the guys used to go to in the old days. She was just . . . there. And you know what they say—the best way to get over someone is to get on top of someone else.”
“Nobody says that, Drew.”
“Well, they should. Anyway, I got the idea that if you saw me with someone else, you’d realize what you were losing. And then you’d . . . stop . . . and come back to me. Plead for mercy. Beg my forgiveness. I had it all planned out.”
Dryly, I reply, “Yeah, that worked out well.”
“I said it was a plan—I didn’t say it was a good plan.”
he turns somber. “When you walked out . . . I went a little insane. I just couldn’t believe . . . that you didn’t pick me.” And he sounds so broken, so unlike the man I’ve lived with for two years.
Guilt- and grief-laden tears fall from my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Drew pulls me into his arms. his lips rest against my neck as he professes, “I’m so sorry, Kate.” Then he pulls back and wipes my cheeks. “Please don’t cry. I don’t want to make you cry ever again.”
I sniffle and rub the wetness from my eyes. “That first night, after dinner at your parents’, what would you have said if I’d told you then?”
A small smile tugs at his lips as he imagines the wonderful what-if. “I would’ve gone to the pharmacy, no matter what time it was, and I would’ve bought one of those home pregnancy tests.
Or ten! And I would’ve sat at the table with you while you drank a gallon of water so we could use every frigging one.”
I chuckle tearily, because that sounds about right.
“And when they all came back positive, I would’ve lined them up and taken a picture with my phone so we could text it to your mom and my parents, Matthew, and Alexandra. And then I would’ve picked you up and carried you to the bedroom, and I would’ve spent the next few hours wearing us both out. But it would’ve been slow, gentle, because I probably would’ve been worried about hurting you. And then, after, when we were lying there . . . I would’ve told you I can’t wait for the next nine months to go by.” his beautiful blue eyes shine with tenderness and passion. “Because I just know we’ll make the best kind of babies.”
With a laugh, I brush his dark hair off his forehead. Then I lean forward and seal his sweet dream with a kiss.
And he asks me, “If I’d been alone in the apartment that night, what would you have said? how would you have told me?”
My eyes fill up with tears again, and I get up from the bed and take the tiny baby T-shirt from my dresser drawer. I hold it behind my back as I move to stand in front of Drew.
I say softly, “I would’ve sat you down and told you that when I started working at the firm, I never expected to meet someone like you. And that I never expected to fall in love with you. I really never expected you’d love me every bit as much in return. And then I would’ve said that the greatest things in life are the ones you never expected. And then I would’ve given you this.”
I place the shirt in his hands. he unfolds it slowly, and as he reads the words, his lips curve into an elated, proud smile.
his voice is rough with emotion as he says, “That’s really, really good.”
he sets the shirt aside. Then he pulls the covers back from the bed. he grasps the hem of my shirt and lifts it over my head.
Undressing me, baring me to him. My jeans go next, and I stand before him in my beige lace bra and underwear. I unbutton his shirt slowly. My hands skim his shoulders and chest, reacquainting myself with the body I missed so much.
But there’s nothing sexual about it. When Drew is clad only in boxers, he turns the lamp off and we climb under the covers. I’m so looking forward to a good, deep sleep. Finally. I see the same weariness in Drew.
Emotional exhaustion can be more draining than any of those sixty-day insanity workout programs.
Drew lies on his back; my head rests against his chest. he kisses the top of my head as he smooths the hair down my back.
My voice is small as I ask, “Do you still think I’m perfect?”
“What do you mean?” he asks in a sleepy voice.
I lift my head to look at him. “You say it all the time. When we’re at work, when we’re making love—sometimes I don’t know if you even realize it. You tell me I’m perfect. After everything now, do you still think that?”
I know I’m actually far from perfect. No one is. But I’m not interested in reality—I just want to know if his opinion of me has changed. If in his eyes, I’m less than I was.
he touches my face, tracing my lips with his thumb. “I still think you’re perfect for me. Nothing’s ever gonna change that.”
I smile and lie back down. Then, with our limbs entwined, we fall asleep.