I spoke briefly of Cole and how he and Preston had been my friends growing up. All this time and I’d been so afraid to mention Cole’s name, had thought it would open the wound to speak of him at all, and yet I found it was the opposite. Talking about him to Rosa felt like a slow stitching inside as if something was being gently pulled back together—something that was still thin and delicately woven, but no longer torn wide open.
I told her hesitantly, and with some amount of shyness, that I hadn’t known I was pregnant until a few months after Cole had died. I’d gone to Preston, so terrified, so filled with grief not only for Cole’s death but for the fact that Preston hadn’t reached out to me at all since the night he’d dropped me off at my apartment. I confided in her how each day had stretched emptily into the next.
“Oh, Annalia, sweet girl.”
We’d sat on his front porch swing and I’d told him I was pregnant. I was already almost four months along by the time I’d gotten up the nerve to tell Preston.
I . . . I’m pregnant. I know you’re probably not very happy about that.
An unplanned pregnancy was never cause for celebration, I supposed, but I was well aware that the timing for mine was particularly terrible. Preston had stared at me in shock and some type of dawning horror that sliced at my heart and made me flinch and look away. That look had made me unconsciously put my hands to my belly as if to comfort the baby inside, to let him know that he was wanted, at least by me.
But then Preston had taken my hands in his, and though his were shaking, he’d told me I’d have to move in with him, that he wanted to look after me. And it’d given me a sad kind of hope because I’d thought it would be an opportunity not only to help him through his grief, but for us to get closer, to form a family, to reclaim what we’d had for one sweet moment in time. To rekindle the true and pure friendship we’d shared for years. And God, I wanted to be looked after. I needed it, was desperate for it. Surely his mother would warm to me. I’d convinced myself everything would be okay. Reality had proven to be far more complicated than my own wistful dreams.
“Oh, cari?o, that must have been so hard. Didn’t you have anyone to talk to? Anyone to help you navigate the rocky path of new motherhood? You’re so young, mi amor. You must have felt so alone. Alone and scared and heartbroken.”
Emotion welled up in my chest so fast, so suddenly, that I barely managed to choke back the sob that accompanied the deluge. All I could do was nod as more tears gathered and fell down my cheeks. Rosa smiled softly and hugged me to her side. “What about your own mother, Annalia? Where is she? Was she any help?”
I let out a groan that sounded like the mixture of a laugh and a sigh. “God, no. But . . . she’s lived a hard life, too.”
Rosa sighed softly. “I’m sorry.”
One of her boys leaned out the sliding glass doors and called his mom, telling her dinner was ready. It jerked me back to reality. I felt embarrassed and exposed. I’d shared far too much with someone who was a virtual stranger and . . . my boss. I’d been out of line. She’d asked me with such sincerity to tell her about myself, but I was certain she hadn’t expected that much detail. I hadn’t said too much, but I’d certainly shared more with one person than I ever had in my life.
I wiped the drying tears and felt the heat that had risen in my cheeks. “I—”
“Thank you for trusting me with your story, Annalia. We women need each other. For whatever His reasons, God deemed it appropriate to strap me with a wild band of male hooligans who I can barely understand half the time. It is so nice to experience the softness of a daughter and talk of the things I know.”
I was so overwhelmed with gratitude and appreciation for her unbelievable kindness and the love she’d shown me, though she hadn’t really known me at all before tonight, that I could barely speak. “Thank you,” I managed and by the look in her eyes, it seemed like enough.
“Now come on,” she said. “I can only imagine what those boys concocted for dinner. Let’s just hope it’s somewhere in the same arena as enchiladas.”
I laughed and followed her inside. Alejandro had just arrived and when he saw me, a knowing look came into his eyes and he smiled warmly at me and then at his wife. He took her in his arms and kissed her mouth, and I smiled at the blatant show of affection as the boys muttered sounds of disapproval.
We linked hands as Alejandro said a blessing and then dug into the food. And I would always remember my first real taste of familial love as having the flavor of slightly burned cheese enchiladas. Darkness fell over the yard outside as laughter filled the room, and even though it had started as one of the worst nights of my life, I felt a warm glow in my chest and the lightness of having shared a piece of my heart and of being embraced for it. Embraced.
Not shunned. Not ignored. Not gossiped about. Not ridiculed. Not demeaned. Not passed over.
Embraced. Welcomed.
Make a fuss, mi amor, she’d said. I wasn’t sure how to do that yet, but I would work it out. I would work it out.
After saying goodbye to everyone and thanking Rosa again, she drove me to my car and I drove home. When I arrived and shut off my engine, I heard my cell phone beeping from the glove box where I’d left it and took it out to find several texts from Preston and a few missed calls. Surprised, my heart quickening with apprehension, I scrolled through the texts. They simply asked me to call him back. There was a voice message, and I listened to it, holding my breath as his deep male voice began speaking:
“Lia <sigh> I’m sorry about tonight. <rustling and pause> We need to talk . . . about the baby and about . . . us. I hope you’ll call me tonight. If not, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow at Hudson’s party and we’ll figure on a time then. <long pause> I hope you’re okay.”
I sat back, leaning my head on the headrest and closing my eyes as pain radiated through me. We need to talk . . . about the baby and about . . . us. It was glaringly clear to me what the talk about us would entail. He was dating Hudson’s nanny. The agony of seeing them together gripped me, but I breathed through it. I’d left, and I had to accept that Preston was now seeing someone else, even if he did still have a protective streak where I was concerned.
Had he really ever been seeing me anyway? Had we ever really been a couple or had I simply moved in with him, had his baby, and then . . . Mostly, that’s how it felt. Except for that night in the rain . . . except for that . . . but only for a moment that was far too brief. Because in the end, it had been nothing more than sex. I’d recognized that then and I knew it now.
I let out a shuddery-sounding sigh. I had to rebuild my life . . . once again. It would be painful to see Preston with someone else, but I could manage it. Tracie seemed like a nice girl, and she obviously cared for our son. Hudson was most important, the one I would fight for. I could put my own feelings and needs aside—I’d have to. It was my only choice.