The Trouble With Before (13 page)

But when I don’t say anything, in her head, I’m giving her permission to keep pushing the limit on things, as if she’s testing me to see how far she can go. The thought of being her boyfriend scares the living shit out of me. I love that she’s crazy, but to tell me—with a completely serious face—that she’d cut my dick off and throw it in the ocean if I used it with someone else is sort of terrifying. Before I dropped her off at the train station, she asked if I’ve thought about staying with her when I get to Chicago. Why would she ask me that? I never stay with her when I visit now. I always stay with Chris and Lauren. Questions like that make my dick soft.

Then I get home, and Lisa, the last person I expect to act like an overemotional female, starts crying and acting all weird when I try to comfort her. And I’m not sure if it’s my fault, since I’ve never really comforted a girl before. I just did what I thought Chris would do. I hate to see Lisa cry. She’s not a crier, she’s the smartass, she’s the girl who talks first and thinks later. That girl is a mess right now, and I don’t know if I’m the right person to get her back together again.

Ever since she walked through my door yesterday, she’s been the Lisa from before, the one girl I can talk to and hang out with without her expecting anything else, the one person who can tell me if I’m being an asshole, which I usually am, or if I’m right.

I knock on the door to her room. I hear music playing, most likely from her phone since the guest room doesn’t have a radio or TV. “I got food. It’ll be in the kitchen.”

I know she’ll be out soon. If there’s one thing Lisa and I did together, it was eating, and since my fridge is basically empty, I know she has to be starving. Lauren can kill two large pizzas by herself since she’s pregnant, so I’m guessing Lisa won’t be able to resist a fresh bucket of KFC. I fix up a plate and park in front of the television.

I hear Lisa walk into the kitchen and say, “Oh thank God.”

I can’t help but smile. When she comes in, her hair’s been pulled to the top of her head and a cami shows off her flat stomach and boobs and the shorts Hillary left her show off her legs. I have to concentrate so the food doesn’t go down the wrong pipe. I don’t know how girls are, but if I were a jealous girl, I wouldn’t give a girl staying with my guy little shit like that to wear.

“You really read my mind with the chicken.” She stuffs a leg in her mouth as she sits on the couch across from me, totally oblivious to the reaction she just caused. “I haven’t had fried chicken in, like, six months.”

I look at her in complete shock. “Are you serious?”

She shrugs. “Yeah, Brett was really into eating healthy.”

“So since Brett didn’t like fried chicken, you stopped eating fried chicken?” I ask, and she frowns.

“Well, I sort of lived with him and thought it would be pretty rude to stuff myself with hamburgers and French fries while he was eating baked fish and asparagus,” she counters, adding an eye roll for good measure.

I can’t help but smirk. At least this is the Lisa I’m used to. “Have you heard from him?” After I ask, I realize that maybe I shouldn’t have, seeing how emotional she’s been.

But she only shakes her head before eating a spoonful of potatoes. “I don’t really expect him to. He made things clear about how they would be.” She doesn’t sound sad or as if she’s on the verge of crying, thank God. Her tone still doesn’t stop me from wanting to go kick Brett’s ass. “What about you and Hillary?”

She gives me a knowing smile, and I fight not to roll my eyes.

“What about us?” I ask evenly.

She sort of laughs and shakes her head.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She sounds amused, shaking her head.

“It’s obviously something, unless pregnancy makes you laugh for no reason like a lunatic.”

She looks at me and smirks. “Well, it just seems like not a lot has changed. That’s all.”

I give her a look to keep going.

She lets out a sigh. “You’re still a commitmentphobe.”

“Shows what you know. Hillary’s my girl-my giiirlfriend,” I say to shut her up.

She looks at me blankly for a second then busts out laughing again. “You can’t even say girlfriend!”

I throw a pillow at her.

“Suck it up. You’re obviously not the only one in the room who is clueless about healthy relationships,” she says with a twinge of sadness in her voice, and I try to think of something funny to say before she bursts into tears. She laughs again. “I’m not going to cry, Aidan.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, because cold beer and KFC is not a night for anybody to cry on.”

“I wish I could have a beer,” she says, throwing her head dramatically back into the couch.

I command my eyes to stay on her face and not glide down her long neck and shoulders to the cleavage that’s busting from her top.

“Do you think I’d be a bad mother?”

My eyes widen in surprise. Her tone is contemplative, not as heavy as the question is, but I realize that Lisa doesn’t ask me serious things like that. She sort of just tells me what she’s going to do and waits for my response. Even before she set off to California, she never asked me if she should do it.

“Well, there’s my answer.” She chuckles.

“No, I mean, come on, if I thought you would be a bad mom, I wouldn’t have wanted you to stay for Willa,” I say too quickly.

She turns toward me and her eyebrow arches. She looks as if she’s going to say something, but her eyes dart to the TV. “I ran into them yesterday,” she says casually.

“Who?”

“Willa and Will.”

I sit up then. “What happened?”

“Willa saw me and ran over and asked me why I was here. I was basically like a total idiot. I didn’t know what to say.” She covers her face as if still embarrassed. “After everything, she doesn’t hate me. I abandoned her, and she’s not even mad at me. They looked perfect. Like I used to imagine them, father and daughter, as if he’s had her from the day she was born.”

I frown and rub my jaw, trying to keep my anger from coming to the forefront of my expression. I still think Mr. Scott needs a good punch to the face and kick in the balls for his part in all of this, but from seeing him with Willa, I know he really loves that little girl. I look at Lisa, the girl I’ve known for years, the only girl who has ever seen me at my worst, and wonder how things got like this for her. In high school, we were kind of like siblings who tolerated each other because of our mutual friendship with Chris, but when you’re around someone so long, you can’t help but grow attached to them.

Last year, I always thought that if maybe I had talked to her more, hung out with her more, if she had been able to trust me and tell me about her crazy plan to sleep with Mr. Scott, maybe I could have stopped her, talked some sense into her and told her what a really fuckin’ stupid decision that would be and how it would mess everything up. Then again, I had just been a horny senior trying to sleep with as many girls as I could, then my dad moved us away the last half of my senior year. That completely sucked balls, but even with all of Dad’s stupid decisions and inconvenient deployments, he never left me or abandoned me.

“He wants to talk to me.”

I look at her and can’t help but swallow hard. “About what?” I try to hide the frustration in my voice, but the way she eyes me, I guess I didn’t do a good job.

“I guess he wants to know what I’m doing here. What it means . . . he probably just wants to make sure I’m not here to try to take Willa back or cause trouble, since that’s what I do
so
well.” She chuckles at the last part.

“You are quite the little troublemaker,” I joke to ease the tension.

She rolls her eyes playfully.

“You haven’t talked to him at all since you left?”

“No, I just thought it’d be weird, or too much. I don’t know . . . I figured it’d be easier to talk to Ms. Scott . . . I didn’t want to cause any problems between them, you know, making Ms. Scott think that something was going on with me and him after everything. But then I realized that she had really forgiven me . . . or she’s doing a hell of a job at faking it. I don’t know, but a part of me thinks that she understands me . . . or gets what I did. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.” She lets out a deep sigh.

“No, I get it. I don’t know how she does it, but whenever she mentions you, it’s never with resentment or bitterness. I think she really cares about you,” I say.

She looks down guiltily. “So you think she’d want another kid?”

Her tone and expression indicate she’s joking, but I still look at her as if she’s lost her mind.

“I’m only joking,” she says, rising from the couch.

She stretches her arms over her head and her shirt rises, showing her toned stomach, and I have to remind myself that this is Lisa. I can’t believe she’s had a kid before and might be having one again.

“I’m going to call it a night,” she says through a yawn. She heads out of the living room, but before she leaves, she stops. “Thanks, A. For everything.”

“What are friends for?” I say with a shrug.

Her smile widens, and it looks as though a weight has been lifted off her shoulders.

LISA HAS BEEN
here for three days, and Grams will be back tomorrow. Thankfully Lisa hasn’t had any more of those emotional crying spells, and she bought clothes that actually cover up her best assets. I don’t know how I feel about that though. I didn’t realize how much I liked seeing tits and ass in the morning. Well, I knew I liked it, but I didn’t ever think I’d like seeing Lisa’s.

Hillary’s been calling every day twice a day and it’s getting really annoying, but she’s been surprisingly nice and over sharing about the weird things Lauren’s body’s been doing as she gets larger and apparently more like the devil right now. That explains why I haven’t heard from Chris or Ms. Red. I bet she’s been keeping both their hands full.

“Morning,” Lisa says, bouncing into the kitchen. She has on an oversized shirt, some skinny jeans, and a black pair of flip-flops instead of the trademark pajamas she’s been wearing.

“You’re up and sunshiny today.”

She grins and grabs an apple off the table. “I figured it’s time I stop slopping around your house eating all of your food and get out and do something.” She takes a bite of it.

“That a girl,” I say, tipping my coffee cup to her. I haven’t seen much of her the past few days since I’ve been traveling to different junk shops, picking up parts for the shop. “What’s on the plan?”

She takes another bite of her apple. “A doctor’s appointment,” she says casually, but I can tell she’s nervous.

“Oh.” I wonder what type of appointment it is. We haven’t talked much about her situation and her plan, but even an idiot like me knows that each day that passes makes her situation more urgent.

“I just want to go and confirm things. See what all of my options are,” she rattles quickly; it’s clear to me that she’s still undecided and nervous as hell.

“You want me to go with you?” I regret it as soon as the words leave my mouth. The last place I want to be is some stuffy gyno office talking about women’s stuff, but it seemed like the right thing to do to ask.

Her eyes widen in surprise. “You’d really be cool to go?”

“Um, not really, but if you want somewhere there, I don’t have much else to do until later,” I admit.

She looks at me curiously and says sheepishly, “I-I would like the company if you won’t pass out or anything.”

“Okay.” I nod, and she looks at me strangely.

“Okay,” she repeats with several blinks.

“YOU ARE THE
worst driver in the whole state,” I tell her as I get on my knees and pretend to kiss the ground.

“But did you die?” she asks sarcastically.

“I think we came pretty close.”

She gives me the middle finger as we almost bump into a soccer-mom type exiting the clinic and looking at us distastefully. I follow her inside, then look at the bright yellow walls and pictures of babies and smiling women plastered everywhere. She walks up to the desk. I stand behind her, not really knowing what to do and feeling completely like an idiot.

She turns around and grins at me. “You can go sit down.”

She laughs before turning back to the receptionist. I walk over and sit in one of a dozen empty seats. A pregnant lady and her husband are sitting on the other side of the room, his eyes glued to his iPad while she fingers through a magazine. On the opposite side of the room is a pretty cute girl—about a seven and a half—with short brown hair, matching brown eyes, and a decent rack. Her smile is flirtatious, then I remember if a chick is sitting in here, either she’s pregnant or has an STD. Or do girls go to the lady doctor for reasons other than that? I glance at the magazine rack. It’s all home and baby stuff.