Twisted (23 page)

he turns somber. “When you walked out . . . I went a little

insane. I just couldn’t believe . . . that you didn’t pick me.” And he sounds so broken, so unlike the man I’ve lived with for two years.

Guilt- and grief-laden tears fall from my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Drew pulls me into his arms. his lips rest against my neck as

he professes, “I’m so sorry, Kate.” Then he pulls back and wipes my cheeks. “Please don’t cry. I don’t want to make you cry ever again.”

I sniffle and rub the wetness from my eyes. “That first night,

after dinner at your parents’, what would you have said if I’d told you then?”

A small smile tugs at his lips as he imagines the wonderful

what-if. “I would’ve gone to the pharmacy, no matter what time

it was, and I would’ve bought one of those home pregnancy tests.

Or ten! And I would’ve sat at the table with you while you drank a gallon of water so we could use every frigging one.”

I chuckle tearily, because that sounds about right.

“And when they all came back positive, I would’ve lined

them up and taken a picture with my phone so we could text

it to your mom and my parents, Matthew, and Alexandra. And

then I would’ve picked you up and carried you to the bedroom,

and I would’ve spent the next few hours wearing us both out. But

it would’ve been slow, gentle, because I probably would’ve been

worried about hurting you. And then, after, when we were lying

there . . . I would’ve told you I can’t wait for the next nine months Twisted_1P.indd 191

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to go by.” his beautiful blue eyes shine with tenderness and pas-

sion. “Because I just know we’ll make the best kind of babies.”

With a laugh, I brush his dark hair off his forehead. Then I lean

forward and seal his sweet dream with a kiss.

And he asks me, “If I’d been alone in the apartment that night,

what would you have said? how would you have told me?”

My eyes fill up with tears again, and I get up from the bed and

take the tiny baby T-shirt from my dresser drawer. I hold it behind my back as I move to stand in front of Drew.

I say softly, “I would’ve sat you down and told you that when

I started working at the firm, I never expected to meet someone

like you. And that I never expected to fall in love with you. I
really
never expected you’d love me every bit as much in return. And then I would’ve said that the greatest things in life are the ones you never expected. And then I would’ve given you this.”

I place the shirt in his hands. he unfolds it slowly, and as

he reads the words, his lips curve into an elated, proud smile.

his voice is rough with emotion as he says, “That’s really, really good.”

he sets the shirt aside. Then he pulls the covers back from

the bed. he grasps the hem of my shirt and lifts it over my head.

Undressing me, baring me to him. My jeans go next, and I stand

before him in my beige lace bra and underwear. I unbutton his

shirt slowly. My hands skim his shoulders and chest, reacquainting myself with the body I missed so much.

But there’s nothing sexual about it. When Drew is clad only in

boxers, he turns the lamp off and we climb under the covers. I’m

so looking forward to a good, deep sleep. Finally. I see the same

weariness in Drew.

Emotional exhaustion can be more draining than any of those

sixty-day insanity workout programs.

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Drew lies on his back; my head rests against his chest. he kisses

the top of my head as he smooths the hair down my back.

My voice is small as I ask, “Do you still think I’m perfect?”

“What do you mean?” he asks in a sleepy voice.

I lift my head to look at him. “You say it all the time. When

we’re at work, when we’re making love—sometimes I don’t know if

you even realize it. You tell me I’m perfect. After everything now, do you still think that?”

I know I’m actually far from perfect. No one is. But I’m not

interested in reality—I just want to know if his opinion of me has changed. If in his eyes, I’m less than I was.

he touches my face, tracing my lips with his thumb. “I still

think you’re perfect for me. Nothing’s ever gonna change that.”

I smile and lie back down. Then, with our limbs entwined, we

fall asleep.

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When my eyes open the next morning, it’s early. Gray light

seeps through the curtains, but the sun hasn’t risen yet.

And the space beside me is empty. I’m alone.

For one horrible, irrational moment, I think it was all a dream.

Drew’s coming here to Greenville, our reconciliation—just a vivid

delusion brought on by too many Lifetime television miniseries

and Julie Garwood romance novels.

Then I see the note on the end table.

Don’t panic. Went downstairs to get coffee and breakfast. Be back
ASAP. Stay in bed.

Relieved, I turn on my back and close my eyes. I know from

experience that if I get up too quickly, the nausea will hit with a vengeance. I don’t mind the morning sickness so much anymore.

Sure, no one enjoys heaving their intestines out, but in a weird way it’s reassuring. Like my body’s way of telling me we’re A-OK. All

systems go.

Ten minutes later, I rise slowly and slip on my robe. Then I

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make my way downstairs, following the scent of fresh brewing

coffee.

Outside the rear kitchen entrance, I hear Drew’s voice.

Instead of going in, I peek through the crack near the door hinge.

Drew’s at the counter, whisking flour in a stainless steel mixing

bowl. My mother sits stiffly at the table in the corner. Looking at bills, punishingly pushing the buttons on a large calculator. her

face is stern, angry—hell bent on ignoring the other person in

the room.

I listen and watch, catching the end of Drew’s story. “And I

said ‘Two million? I can’t bring my client that offer. Come back

when you’re serious.’”

he glances at my mother, but there’s no reaction. he goes back

to whisking and says, “It’s like I was telling Kate a few weeks ago—

some guys need to learn when they’re beaten.”

My mother slaps a bill on the table and picks up the next one

in the pile.

Drew sighs. Then he puts the bowl on the counter and sits

down across from my mother. She doesn’t acknowledge him at all.

he thinks for a moment, rubbing his knuckles against the

scruff of his chin. Then he leans toward my mother and says, “I

love your daughter, Carol. Like . . . I’d-take-a-bullet-for-her kind of love.”

My mother snorts.

Drew nods. “Yeah, I get it. That probably doesn’t mean a whole

hell of a lot to you. But . . . it’s true. I can’t promise that I won’t screw up again. But if I do, it won’t be as epic as my most recent clusterfuck. And I can promise I’ll do everything I can after to

make it up to Kate . . . to make it right.”

My mother continues to stare at the bill in her hand like it has

the cure for cancer on it.

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Drew sits back, gazes toward the window, and smiles a little.

“When I was a kid, I wanted to be my father. he always wore these

awesome suits and he went to work at the top of a huge building.

And he always had everything together, like the whole world was

at his fingertips. When I met Kate . . . no . . . when I realized Kate was it for me, all I wanted to be was the guy who made her happy.

Who surprised her, made her smile.”

For the first time, my mother looks at Drew. he returns her

stare and tells her in a determined voice, “I still want to be that guy, Carol. I still think I can be. And I hope, one day, you’ll think that too.”

After a moment, Drew stands and goes back to making break-

fast at the counter.

I wait, watching, as my mother continues to sit at the table,

silent and unmoving. Isn’t that what every parent wants to hear?

That the singular goal of the person their child loves is to make

them happy? I can’t believe she’s not moved by Drew’s words.

She says, “You’re doing that wrong.”

Drew stops whisking and turns to my mother. “I am?”

She stands and takes the bowl from his hands. “Yes. If you stir

too much, the pancakes will be heavy. Too thick. You need to mix

it just enough to blend the ingredients.” She gives Drew a small

smile. But it’s enough. “I’ll help you.”

Slowly, Drew smiles back. “That would be great. Thank you.”

Yep—cue the warm and fuzzy. My heart melts just a little.

Because every girl wants her mother to see the good in the man

she loves.

I breeze into the kitchen. “Morning.”

“Morning, honey. how are you feeling?” my mother asks.

“I’m good. Really good.”

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I walk up to Drew, who kisses me softly and wraps an arm

around my shoulder. “What are you doing up? Didn’t you get my

note?”

“I did. But I wanted to see what you were up to. how’s it

going?”

he winks. “We’re getting there.”

We stay in Greenville for another day before taking a late-night

flight back to New York. First thing Saturday morning, we step

over the threshold together into our apartment.

I glance around the living room as Drew puts our bags in the

corner. The apartment is freshly cleaned, sparkling, and smells of lemon-scented furniture polish. It looks exactly the same as when I walked out a week ago. Unchanged.

Practically reading my mind, Drew offers, “I had the cleaning

people come by.”

I look down the hall toward the bathroom. “And the bonfire?”

We’d talked about Drew’s foray into pyromania. he said he’d

burned a few pictures, but there are copies. Nothing was lost that can’t be replaced.

Kind of poetic, don’t you think?

Somberly, I tell him, “Drew, we need to talk.”

he regards me cautiously. “No conversation in the history of

the world that started with that phrase has ever ended well. Why

don’t we sit down.”

I sit on the couch. he takes the recliner and swivels to face me.

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I get right to the point. “I want to move out.”

he rolls my words around in his head as I brace myself for the

argument that I know is coming.

But he just nods slightly. “You’re right.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, of course.” he looks around the room. “I should have

thought of this before. I mean, this is where your worst nightmare came true. Like the
Amityville Horror
house—who the hell would want to live there?”

he’s taking this much better than I thought. Until he contin-

ues, “My sister has a great real estate agent. I’ll call her right away.

We can stay at the Waldorf if you want, until we find a new place.

In this market, it shouldn’t take long.”

“No, Drew—I said
I
want to move out. Alone. I want to get

my own apartment.”

his brow furrows. “Why would want to do that?”

You’re probably wondering the same thing. I’ve been thinking

about it, planning it out in my head, since I decided I wanted to

keep the baby, with or without Drew. Because there are different

kinds of dependence. I’ve always wanted to be financially secure,

and now I am. But I’ve never been emotionally independent. On

my own. And at this point in my life, it’s something I want.

If only to prove to myself that I’m capable of it.

“I’ve never lived by myself. Did you know that?”

Still bewildered, he says, “O-kay?”

“First year of undergrad, I lived in the dorms. Then Dee, Billy,

and I and a bunch of other people got a place off campus. After

that, it was always me and Billy or me, Dee, and Billy sharing a

house or an apartment. And then, I moved in here with you.”

Drew leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What’s

your point, Kate?’

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“My point is, I’ve never not had someone to come home to.

I’ve never decorated or bought a piece of furniture without con-

sulting someone. I’m twenty-seven years old, and I’ve practically

never slept alone.”

he opens his mouth to argue, but I go on, “And . . . I think

you made a valid point about us rushing into things. We went from

a weekend hook-up to living together overnight.”

“And look how great that turned out! I know what I want, and

I want you. There was no point in waiting, because—”

“But maybe there
would’ve
been a point in waiting, Drew.

Maybe we would’ve had a stronger foundation to our relation-

ship if we had just . . . dated . . . for a while before moving in together. Maybe, if we had gone slower, none of this would’ve

happened.”

he’s annoyed. And a little panicked. he’s trying to hide it, but

it’s there.

“You said you forgave me.”

“I have. But . . . I haven’t forgotten.”

he shakes his head. “That’s just chick-speak for you’re going to