Wet (21 page)

She juts her hands on her hips and gives me a look so harsh that it makes me wither inside.

“Awesome response, Paul, to make me feel even better in my state of hysteria. That was epic. Thanks for the suggestion that I do Tinder hook-ups while pregnant. That’s so appreciated.”

Sheesh.
“I didn’t mean you should do hook-ups!”

Holy mother of all hormones
! Someone hand me a shovel, so I can dig myself deeper into this hole.

She’s riffling through her handbag and then pulls out her phone and starts tapping at the screen.

“What are you doing?” I yell. I’m losing my damn patience with this woman.

“Tinder.”

I can feel my fury burn all the way up to the tips of my ears. “Put your phone away, Elle,” I growl.

“No.”

She starts walking in the opposite direction so that I have to shut down the engine and jump out of the car.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Get in the car!”

She takes several steps toward me with that diva walk she did when we first met, but rather than opening the door to get back in she points at me.

“I’ve changed my mind about you, Paul.”

I let out a long sigh. “Yeah?”

“You aren’t good.”

I freeze in place as she stares me down. Is she fucking serious with this? This feels like more than just hormones gone haywire. Her expression tells me that she’s beyond pissed off and ready to draw blood.

“You’re a bad man.”

“Really? So now I’m bad?”

She shrugs half-heartedly like she’s undecided but she’s also not taking it back. Doesn’t she know that she’s gone way too far? I’m pretty sure I deserve more than this hormone-driven shit show.

She may not really mean it but she’s hit my sore spot. She could’ve taken a dull knife and carved a hole in my chest and it would’ve hurt less. Is it my turn to get dramatic back because I feel like I can’t breathe? I’ve tried so hard to be what she’s needed me to be, so what the hell? She’s the last person I expected to knock me down, and bring into question what I’ve feared about myself all along.

I turn and look away, staring down the deserted street. Everything looks colorless and I shiver even though I’m not cold.

What can I possibly say to her? I glance back to see if she has any remorse for what she’s said, but she’s already halfway down the street. My heart sinks down low. It’s hard keeping it suspended in my chest when she’s taken part of it with her.

Her words echo over and over.

If I’m a bad man, then I do what a bad man would.

I let her go.

Chapter Twelve

THE WRAPAROUND

O
n Tuesday Ma calls and I steel myself as I pick up the phone. Ma’s got stellar skills for knowing when something’s up.

“Hey, Ma.”

“How’s my boy? Are you having a busy day?”

“Yeah, super busy.”
So can we get off the phone now?

“And how’s our Elle?”

Our Elle?
Oh, it’s more serious than I thought. They’re attached to Elle and her baby now, so how do I tell them that Elle went nuts and decided I’m not good enough to be an uncle anymore?

I can’t handle the onslaught, so I lie.

“She’s good. She really enjoyed dinner the other night.”

“Yes, she was so sweet about it when she called the next day to thank me.”

I desperately want to ask how she sounded but it would give me away.

“She told me how kind you’ve been to her, and what a wonderful man you are. It made me proud, Paul.”

“She said that? Really?”

“Indeed she did. You sound surprised.”

“I guess I am. Sometimes I make her mad.”

“No!
You?”
she says in a highly exaggerated tone.

“Okay now,” I warn.

“You know what? She also said that she doesn’t know how you put up with her.”

“Sometimes it’s not so easy.”

“I know, but I still told her not to be so hard on herself. When you’re pregnant everything becomes emotional and dramatic. Things will calm down.”

“Will they?”

“Yes, they will.”

“So I’m wondering, how did Dad deal with this with you?”

“He just let me be, have my fits and then he would bring me flowers. Why don’t you take Elle some flowers tonight? Nothing like flowers to smooth out the rough edges.”

“I’m not her husband, or even her boyfriend.”

“I know that, but you’re her close friend, aren’t you?”

My mom is clairvoyant and I sense she knows Elle and I had a blow-out. It would be creepy if it weren’t so cool. Either she’s psychic or Elle told her so.

“Got it. Thanks, Ma.”

“You’re a good man, Paulie.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“I do.”

The florist seems to understand completely. I sense I’m not the first man asking for an apology bouquet.

“Let’s make this happy!” she says enthusiastically as she meanders, collecting stems from tub after tub of colorful flowers.

I nod absentmindedly when she shows me the assortment she’s gathered. I don’t even ask the price. If this warms up Elle to me, it’s priceless.

“So what did you do?” she asks as she winds ribbon around the wrapped flowers.

“I’m not sure,” I reply honestly.

“Well it can’t be that bad if you don’t know why. I bet this will fix it.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.”

When I arrive at Elle’s place her car is in the driveway but she doesn’t answer the door. Wondering if she’s napping again, I go through the side gate to check to see if the back French doors are open. To my surprise I find her kneeling on her lawn messing around with the sprinkler head. I’m immediately bothered.
What? I’m not good enough to fix her sprinklers anymore?

I move a little closer and then stop to watch her. Her tongue is poking out the side of her mouth as she twists the head and pushes on it, then pulls it back out to study it.

“What are you doing?” I call out.

She looks up with wide eyes and her mouth agape. Her attention then shifts down to the flowers and she sits up straight. “Fixing stuff. What are
you
doing here?”

“Oh you know, I happened to be in the neighborhood . . .” I give her a crooked smile.

“Are those for me?” she asks in an unsteady voice.

I’m tempted to tease her and say that
‘no, these are for another woman,’
but then I remind myself that that kind of humor got me in this trouble in the first place. So instead I hold the bouquet out in front of me. “Yes, they’re for you.”

Instead of smiling her lower lip quivers and she blinks rapidly. “I don’t deserve any flowers, I should be giving you flowers.”

I watch a tear skate down her cheek and I shake my head.

“I don’t want flowers, Elle. I just want us to get along. Besides, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

She gives me a soft smile and I feel a surge of relief and genuine happiness to see her again. It’s just been a few days but I’ve missed her a lot. I step right up to where she’s working and hand her the flowers.

“They’re so beautiful. Thank you,” she says as she accepts them. I kneel down to examine what she’s working on. Lying next to the sprinkler set-up is a mangled head. It looks like someone went after it with a machete.

“The gardener again?” I ask.

She nods. “I don’t know how he even does it. Like we talked about last time, he must have some seriously repressed anger issues.”

“I’ll say.” I pick it up and examine it before glancing over at her. “So speaking of anger, are you still mad at me?”

“You? No! I’m mad at myself.”

“Well, if you’re not mad at me, why didn’t you call me?”

Her gaze drops down. “It’s complicated.”

She keeps twisting the new sprinkler head in her hands so I take it from her, and screw it in place. “Done.”

I stand back up and brush off my jeans, before offering my hand to her. “You got any beer inside?”

“Sure,” she says and I follow her into the house.

We’re sitting at her kitchen table. I’m nursing my beer and she’s taking tiny sips of her chamomile tea. I finally ask the big question but this time I have to get an answer. “So why didn’t you call me?”

She casts her eyes down and folds her hands in her lap. “I was embarrassed and I’ve been building up the courage to call. All that stuff I said to you was so stupid.”

I nod. “I agree.” When I smile she play punches me in the shoulder.

“I was kind of crazy, wasn’t I?” Her eyes roll back and forth to emphasize her point.

“Not just kind of,” I answer, giving her my best, startled, wide-eyed look.

“How crazy?”

“Mmm, somewhere between wacked out and bat-shit.”

“Nice.”

“So did you get it out of your system? Are we okay now?”

“I think so. You know, it was really big of you to come by here and bring me flowers.”

“I’ve been worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were okay. Besides there’s a good game on this weekend and I was hoping to watch it with you. I love how you yell at the television.”

“So I can yell at the TV instead of you?”

“That’s the plan.”

Releasing a long sigh of relief, she rests her chin in her hand. She looks deep in thought and her expression gets somber again.

“I’m a mess,” she says softly. “I’m still stunned by all of this. My marriage ending was nothing compared to the shock of this unexpected pregnancy.”

She’s never talked much about her marriage and it makes me curious. “How long were you married?”

“Eleven years.”

My eyes grow wide. “Wow.”

“I know . . . and by the end I was so unhappy that I was relieved it was over.”

I scratch the back of my neck. “That’s a long time to be married if you were unhappy.”

“Oh, it wasn’t always that way. When I met Daniel I was young and naïve, while he was self-assured and commanding. His protective demeanor made me feel safe. I never had that growing up, and I craved it desperately, so in the early days I was really happy as we started to build our life together.”

“What happened to change things?”

She stares out the window for a moment and then her focus shifts back to me. “The best way to describe it is that I gradually grew into myself. I became more confident and independent, and he didn’t like it. Eventually he started to try to control me by undermining my confidence, and once he realized he couldn’t lord over me anymore, he belittled and shunned me.”

I can feel my blood pressure rise as my temples pulse. “What an ass.”

She nods. “So I left our marriage feeling angry and with a fierce determination that I could take care of myself. Unfortunately, I also left with my faith in relationships destroyed. Looking back, I think Tinder appealed to me because I felt in control and could ask for and get what I wanted from men with no complications.” She lets out a bitter laugh.

“What?” I ask.

She waves her hand over her belly. “Could anything be more complicated than this? Obviously I’m still naïve, and now I’m floundering.”

“I know this has been a rough time, Elle. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“It’s just that I’m so overwhelmed. The universe dealt me an unexpected hand that’s changed my entire life. Every single day from now on is different than what I’d planned.

I nod. “That would freak anyone out, believe me.”

“Freak out or not, I’ve got a little life to look after, and the only thing that I know for sure is that this baby deserves more than me—more than knowing their life is the result of contraception failure and a dad who couldn’t give a shit about them.”

Reaching over the counter, I take her hand and squeeze it. She doesn’t let go of me but instead holds on and winds our fingers together.

“You aren’t giving yourself any credit. You make it sound like you’re unfit to be a mother.”

“Aren’t I? I think I’m horribly unfit.”

“Hell no. To start with, you aren’t a crack whore . . . so major points for that.” I give her a big thumbs-up with my free hand.

“You always say the sweetest things.”

“I know, I have such a way with words. But seriously . . . you’re an amazing woman. So smart and spirited . . . you’ve got such a big heart. This baby is so damn lucky.”

“How can you say the baby’s lucky?”

“Because you care so much. You’re making changes in your life so this kid will have the best chance. I admire your courage and determination.”

“Oh, I’m not that brave.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Paul, you don’t know what I’m like inside. I lie in bed and I worry about everything. How will I know what’s the best thing to do?”

“Best thing? Like what?” I ask.

“Like I was reading that it would be beneficial for the baby to sleep with me—that it soothes them.”

“Sleep in the same bed? Aren’t babies supposed to sleep in cribs? I mean that sounds dangerous. I, for one, flop around like a beached walrus. What if you roll over on them in your sleep?”

“Exactly! And I’ve never changed a diaper, let alone bought one. Hopefully there’s a YouTube video about how to do that stuff. As for baby food . . . it’s a mystery to me. I checked it out at the grocery store and it looks like space food. Then I can’t even, with the car seats . . . I’m realizing that figuring them out requires a degree in engineering. And I overheard two women talking last week about how getting into pre-school is harder than college for God’s sake. Then there’s the books!

“What about books?” I ask.

“Well, what do I read to the baby that won’t terrorize them? I had bad dreams for years over Hansel and Gretel. Cannibalism isn’t cool, you know?”

She’s starting to make
me
nervous. Her eyes grow wide as she remembers something else.

“Did you know that some kids get seizures from playing certain video games? My God! How will I know what to do?”

“Isn’t it like anything in life? You learn one thing at a time. What about talking to other moms. Do you know any?”

“Well, none of my friends have kids yet. We’re all career women.”

“Then we’ll go find you some mom friends.”

She gives me a lopsided grin. “We will? And where do we find these mom friends?”