Twisted (21 page)

baby . . .”

Drew reaches for me, still on his knees. “Baby, I don’t know

what you’re saying . . .”

“Because you weren’t here! If you’d been here then you’d know,

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but you
weren’t
! And . . .” My voice cracks and tears blur my vision.

“And you
promised
. You promised you wouldn’t do this . . .” I cover my face with my hands, and I cry.

I cry for every second of useless pain. For the crevasse that’s still between us—and for the stupid choices that created it. And I don’t mean just his. I’m a big girl—I can take my share of the blame.

Drew may have pulled the trigger, but I loaded the gun.

“Kate . . . Kate, please . . .” he holds his hand out to me.

“
Please,
Kate.”

he looks shattered. And I know, then and there, that I’m not

the only one who’s suffered.

Still, I shake my head. Because do-overs only exist in play-

ground games. Real life doesn’t have take backs.

“No, Drew.” I turn my back on him and walk toward the car.

But I only make it a few steps before I pause and look back.

Can you see him?

On his knees, his head in his hands. Like a man waiting for

the executioner.

When I think of Drew, two words always stand out: passion

and pride. They’re ingrained. Who he is. Arguments, work, love—

it’s all the same to him. Full steam ahead. No hesitation, no holding back. And Drew knows what he’s worth. he doesn’t settle; he

doesn’t compromise. he doesn’t have to.

“Why are you here?” I whisper, so low I don’t know if he’ll even

hear me.

But his head snaps up. “What do you mean?”

“You thought I cheated on you?”

he grimaces. “Yes.”

“You thought I could be in love with someone else?”

he nods.

“But you came . . . for me. Why?”

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his eyes drift across my face. It’s the way he looks at me in the

morning, when he wakes up before I do. It’s the way he watches

me, when he thinks I’m not looking.

“Because I can’t live without you, Kate. I don’t even know how

to try.”

I was in advanced placement English in high school. For

weeks, we analyzed
Wuthering Heights
by Emily Brontë. In most of it, heathcliff is the villain. he’s ruthless, often cruel. And as a reader, you’re supposed to hate him.

But I never could. Because in spite of all his despicable actions, he loved Cathy so much.

Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad!

only
do
not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find

you. . . . I
cannot
live without my life! I
cannot
live without my soul!

Some of you are going to say that I should’ve punished Drew

more. But he’ll do a better job of that than I ever could. Others are going to say that I should’ve made him work for it more. But we all know that he would have.

And sometimes, forgiveness is selfish. We give it not because

it’s earned, but because it’s what we need. To find peace. To be

whole.

I can live without Drew Evans. I know that, now. But if given

the choice?

I won’t ever want to.

There’s only a dozen steps separating us, and I run every one

of them. I throw myself at him, and he catches me. he wraps his

arms around me and holds me so tight, I can’t get air in my lungs.

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But it doesn’t matter. Because Drew is holding me—who needs to

breathe?

“I’m sorry, Kate . . . God, I’m
so
fucking sorry.” he sounds so forlorn.

And tears well up in my eyes. “I didn’t think we’d ever . . . when you said . . .”

“Shh . . . I didn’t mean it. I swear on Mackenzie I didn’t mean

any of it. I never wanted to . . .” he buries his face in my neck, and his regret leaks from his eyes and soaks into my shirt.

I press closer against him. “I know, Drew. I know you didn’t.”

his hands run through my hair—they caress my face, my

arms, my back. “I love you, Kate. I love you so much.”

Last year, Drew and I went to Japan. One day we stopped in a

bonsai tree shop. They’re kind of strange-looking, don’t you think?

With their stunted trunks and twisted branches. The shop owner

told us that it’s the knots and twists that make them strong, that keep from splintering even during the harshest storm.

That’s what Drew and I are like.

his lips touch my forehead, my cheeks. he holds my face in

his hands, and I frame his with mine. And we kiss. Our mouths

move in sync—fierce and bruising, tender and slow. And all the

rest, every injury, every harsh word, melts away like snow in the

sunlight.

They don’t matter. Because we’re together. We’ll find our way.

Drew presses his forehead against mine, then his hand covers

my stomach. his touch is reverent and his voice is awed. “Are we

really having a baby?”

I laugh, even though the tears are still falling. “Yeah. We are.

Do you really want to?”

he wipes the wetness from my cheeks. “With you? Are you

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crazy? It’s one of the few fantasies I have left. I’d have twenty kids with you—give those freaky Duggar people a run for their money.”

I laugh again, and it feels so good. So right. I lay my head on

Drew’s shoulder. his face rests against my hair, breathing it in.

And then he vows, “It’s okay, Kate. We’re gonna be okay now.”

And I believe him.

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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 any-

thing 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

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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 heartbreak-

ing 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 trag-

edy 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 car-

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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!”

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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.”

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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.