The Revelation (29 page)

Josh’s blue eyes darken to sapphire. “No, don’t.
I’ll bring one from a bakery. No reason to make him think I’m a
pain in the ass right from the get-go.” He bites his lip. “So, hey,
now that I’m coming up to Seattle next weekend, how about we check
off one of your fantasies while I’m there? There’s one specifically
I think I could pull off better in Seattle than here.”

My heart is absolutely racing. “Great,” I squeak
out, trying not to sound as thrilled as I feel. “Sounds good.” I
cross my arms over my chest and quickly uncross them. Crap. I
suddenly don’t know what to do with my hands.

“Cool,” Josh says. He turns back around to face the
drinks on the counter. “Just let me know the date so I can put it
on my calendar.”

“Yeah, I will,” I say, my heart pounding in my ears.
“Colby’s birthday is the fourth. Not sure if we’re doing it on his
actual birthday or another night. I’ll let you know.”

“Cool. Sounds good. Assuming I don’t have a work
commitment that night, of course.”

“Oh, of course.”

Josh lets out a long exhale and then glides across
the kitchen and hands me my drink. “Here you go, Party Girl.” He
flashes a megawatt grin, relieved of his earlier inability to
maneuver his mouth into a smile. “I added just a
touch
of
cranberry to the soda for you. Hope that’s okay.”

“Great.” I take a sip. “Yummalicious. What else is
in there?”

“The tiniest splash of grapefruit juice, just to
take the edge off the cranberry.”

“Oh, kinda like a Sea Breeze plus soda.”

“Exactly.”

“I like it. Thank you.” I take another sip. “Ooph.
That’s a strong drink.”

“Go big or go home, I always say.” He winks. “Come
on, PG. Let’s go chill out in the living room.”

Kat

We amble out of the kitchen, drinks in hand, into
the living room—and I settle myself onto the black leather couch
while Josh chooses some music for our listening pleasure.

“So how long have your parents been married?” Josh
asks, fiddling with his laptop.

“Thirty years this August.”

He looks up from what he’s doing, obviously
astonished. “Wow. That’s crazy.”

“Yeah. Pretty crazy.”

A song begins playing through Josh’s sound system—a
male vocalist backed by an acoustic guitar.

“What is this?” I ask, somewhat surprised by Josh’s
song selection. I’d have pegged him to play us something with a
thumping beat.

“James Bay,” he says. “‘Scars.’ Jonas had it on the
other day when I was with him in New York and it slayed me. I
bought the guy’s whole album on the spot and every song is
phenomenal.” Josh sits down next to me and puts his hand on my
thigh. “This James Bay guy sings with his soul.”

“That’s a great description.”

Josh sips his drink and listens to the music for a
moment. “So, thirty years, huh? Are your parents happily
married?”

I’m shocked he’s asking questions about my family.
“Definitely,” I say, my skin suddenly buzzing.

“Even after
thirty
years?”

“Well, I’m sure they’ve both wanted to murder each
other more than once over the years. But, yeah, they’re still
totally in love. More so than ever, I think. I like being around
them—they’re nice to each other. They still laugh at each other’s
jokes.”

“Wow.” He looks deep in thought.

I take a deep breath. I shouldn’t ask the question
rolling around in my head—I really shouldn’t. But I can’t help
myself. “So, are you gonna be like Reed, you think? Are you gonna
ride off into the sunset alone and unencumbered by messy human
emotion?”

Josh looks taken aback by my question. “Uh, wow.” He
makes a weird face. “Is that what Reed said? I didn’t interpret it
quite that way.” He makes a face. “But, um, yeah, I don’t really
envision myself getting married, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I sip my drink. Why did I just ask him that? I
really didn’t need to hear him say that so starkly, even if I
already knew that’s what he’d say.

“I don’t have anything against marriage, mind you,”
Josh continues. “I’m totally happy for your parents if it works for
them—kind of in awe of them, actually—I just don’t see the logical
point of marriage as an institution,” he continues. “I mean, if you
wanna be with someone, be with them. If you don’t, then leave. No
need to get a piece of paper from the government that forces you to
stay if you’d rather go.”

I sip my drink quietly, listening to the music,
wishing I could rewind time and un-ask the question. If I were my
own life coach, I’d be slapping myself across the face right now
and shouting, “Fucking idiot!”

“You disagree with me?” he asks, studying my
face.

“No,” I say. I sip my drink. “I most certainly do
not
disagree.” I really, really should leave it at that.
Definitely. That would be the wise thing to do.

“But?” he prompts.

“No ‘but.’ I don’t disagree with you
in
concept
one little bit.” I sip my drink again. Damn, that’s a
strong drink. And, damn, I wish I hadn’t asked Josh about marriage
of all things, for crying out loud. I’m truly an idiot, not to
mention quite possibly a masochist, too.

“
But
?” he repeats.

“But...” I say, drawing out the word. Oh hell.
Keeping a lid on every frickin’ thought that flashes into my head
isn’t my strong suit, especially when it comes to Joshua William
Faraday. “
But
watching my parents through the years—the way
they’ve stuck it out through thick and thin and how strong they are
because of it—how strong our whole family is because of it—I think
there’s a bit more to marriage than just, you know, ‘I can’t leave
your sorry ass because that goddamned piece of paper forces me to
stay.’” My cheeks burst with color. Why am I saying all this?
“
But
,” I continue, trying to appease the shrieking voice
inside my head telling me to press the eject button, “I definitely
hear you—marriage certainly isn’t for everyone.” I clear my throat.
“I’m not sure it’s for me, honestly. I was just saying it’s worked
out well for my parents.” Oh God. I wish I could jump into a time
machine, go back to three minutes ago, and say, without elaboration
or qualification, “Oh, I totally agree. One hundred percent.”

Josh makes a face I can’t interpret. “Maybe marriage
might
make sense for people who want to have kids.”

There’s an awkward pause. Did he just backtrack? Are
we meeting in the middle? Hmm. I do believe we are. Which therefore
means I should leave it at that. But, oh God, I can’t. “Well,
actually
,” I begin, ignoring the warning bells going off in
my head, “if you think about it, marriage makes
less
sense
if you’ve got a kid with someone.”

He looks at me like I’ve just shouted, “Justin
Bieber for President!”

“Because,” I continue, pissing off my internal life
coach even more, “whether or not you’ve got a piece of paper from
the government, once you have a kid with someone, that person’s
gonna be in your life forever and ever, regardless. I think it’s
more meaningful to
choose
to be with someone just because
you want to make a life with them, not because you plan to make
them a vessel for your mighty spawn.”

There’s an awkward silence.

I seem to have rendered Josh (and myself)
speechless. What the
fuck
am I doing? If I were my own life
coach, I’d be throwing my hands up in disgust saying, “You’re
obviously completely un-coachable.”

James Bay’s voice fills the room for a very long
moment.

“That’s kind of the flipside of what my dad always
used to drill into Jonas and me,” Josh finally says. “He was
obsessive about it, actually.” He puts on a booming, paternal
voice, clearly imitating his father: “‘Boys, when you’ve got
Faraday money, women will try to trap you into marriage with an
‘accidental’ pregnancy right and left—every goddamned time you fuck
one of ’em. Don’t you dare let me catch either of you
ever
making an accidental Faraday with a woman unworthy of our name or
I’ll get the last laugh on that gold digger’s ass and disown you
faster than she can demand a paternity test.’”

My jaw drops. What the fuckity fuck?

“That’s why I’ve always been obsessive about wearing
condoms,” Josh continues softly. “Way before I’d ever even gotten
to second base with a girl, I was already freaking out about
unwittingly creating an ‘accidental Faraday’ with some random woman
who was ‘unworthy’ of my name and bank account.”

I clutch my stomach. I feel physically sick. What
kind of father says all that to his young sons? Preaching safe sex
is one thing, sure, I get that—especially when you’ve got a
kajillion dollars to your name, I suppose—but a father conditioning
his pubescent sons to think every girl out there is a gold digger
and telling them he’d
disown
them if they ever knocked
someone up is pretty fucked up, if you ask me. “Your dad sounds
like he was a real peach,” I mumble.

“Oh, you have no fucking idea,” Josh says between
gritted teeth.

A sudden panic rises up inside me. “Josh, I’m on the
pill—you know that, right? I would never, ever do that to you—”

Josh looks ashen. “Oh, God, I know that. I didn’t
mean—”

“I’d never, ever try to
trick
you into
anything. In fact, we can go back to using condoms, if you want,
every single time—”

“Kat, please. Stop. I know you’d never try to trick
or trap me. I’m sorry I said—”

“We can use condoms,” I persist. I’m totally
freaking out.

“Kat, please. Pretend I never said anything. I
didn’t mean to imply...” He takes a deep breath and shakes his
head. “Jesus, my dad is the gift that keeps on giving, isn’t he?
Listen to me, Kat, I know you’d never do that to me. The only
reason I felt comfortable enough to tell you the fucked-up shit my
Dad said is because I know you’d never do that.”

Oh, jeez. I’ve never been so relieved not to be
pregnant in all my life. Last week, after losing sleep for two
nights over that birth control pill I’d missed, I finally traipsed
down to the all-night drug store and bought myself a pregnancy
test. And when I peed on that little stick and it came back with
only one little pink line, I let out the longest exhale of my
life.

“I’m definitely not gestating an accidental
Faraday,” I say, trying to sound light and bright but obviously not
succeeding. “I’m a
mill-i-on-aire
now, remember? I don’t
need to trap you for your stinkin’ Faraday money.”

Josh runs his hands through his hair. “Kat, please
forgive me. I was just telling you what my dad said because... I
don’t even know why I said it. I certainly wasn’t implying you were
trying to trap me in some way or that you’d even
think
of
doing that. I think I was just trying to reveal one of the many
ways I’m fucked up to you—trying to explain why I might be
unusually high-strung or weird about certain things.” He shakes his
head and exhales. “I think I was just trying to... you know... take
a stab at...
emotional intimacy
.” He makes a face that says,
“I guess I still suck at it.”

I chuckle. I can’t help it. He’s so frickin’
cute.

Josh exhales. “The truth is I’m actually pretty
fucked up, Kat. I’m just really good at hiding it.”

I grab his hand. “No you’re not, Josh. Not at all.”
I grin. “You’re actually
horrible
at hiding it.”

He bursts out laughing and all tension between us
instantly evaporates. He grabs the back of my neck and pulls me
into him for an enthusiastic kiss. “You’re awesome, Kat,” he
mumbles into my lips. “So fucking awesome.” He pulls back and looks
into my eyes for a moment, his blue eyes sparkling. “I’ve never
told anyone about all that. My dad was so fucked up, you have no
idea—he said the craziest shit all the time. Sometimes, looking
back, I can’t figure out what shit was normal father-son stuff to
say and what shit was just, like, you know, totally out of line. It
all jumbles together.”

“I’m glad you told me. I really like the Josh who
can’t hide he’s fucked up.”

“But your family sounds so normal. You must think
I’m a ticking time bomb of crazy.”

“Oh, please. My family has its crazy, too. Not
necessarily in the same league as your father, but crazy
nonetheless. And, hey, why would I care if you’ve got crazy in your
family? Since I have zero desire to make a Faraday with you, I’ll
never have to worry about passing your crazy-genes on to my
offspring.”

Josh bristles. Shoot. I shouldn’t have said he has
crazy-genes. That was pretty insensitive, given what he’s been
through with his father and brother.

“You have
zero
desire to make a Faraday with
me?” Josh says.

I’m astonished.
That’s
what offended him?

“Not even a little bit?” he asks, shooting me a
charming smile.

“Not even a little bit,” I say. And it’s the
truth.

“Well, shit, Kat,” he says, pouting. “I’m genuinely
offended.”

I throw my hands up. “You’re
offended
I don’t
wanna make a baby with you? What the
fuck
? Do you have a
split personality?”

“Quite possibly. I do have crazy-genes, after all.”
He makes a “crazy” face.

I chuckle. “I thought you’d be thrilled I don’t want
to make a Faraday with you.”

“Well, yeah, sure, from a practical standpoint, I’m
elated. But from an evolutionary standpoint, I’m deeply offended.
You should be chomping at the bit to snag my fabulous genes, crazy
or not. Look at me. I’m an ideal sperm donor.”

I laugh. “Oh, really? You’ve got a pretty high
opinion of yourself, huh?”

“I’m saying from an
evolutionary standpoint
.
Our only purpose as a species is to reproduce. There’s no other
reason for existence. You’re born. You reproduce. You die. That’s
the game of life—finding someone to give you hearty spawn so you
can live eternally through them.”