I woke to the sound of birds chirping. Rolling over, I glanced at the clock. It was 9:00 a.m. I looked around my bed, wondering how I’d gotten here. The last thing I remembered was Anthony rubbing my feet and me confessing the shit storm that led me here.
Oh, crap, I must have fallen asleep while he was rubbing my feet. I ran the tops of my feet over the covers, remembering how good it felt. I hadn’t had anyone take care of me in forever. It felt nice to be cared for, even in a small, simple way. And he was on my team. It wasn’t just me and baby girl anymore. I felt like a weight had been lifted.
He must have put me to bed. Crap. I lifted the covers to check and make sure I still had on my tank top and yoga pants. Whew. Still good.
But he’d put me in bed and I’d slept through it all. Wow. I must have been really relaxed or either zonked out tired from baking all of those damn cookies.
I was feeling great after that foot rub last night, so I decided to head out for the day, hoping the fresh air would do me some good. I even took the time to dress nice, throwing on my one pair of maternity jeans that were still comfortable and a nice maternity top. Light makeup and a brush through my hair and I was off.
I walked the streets near my apartment in a daze, breathing in the crisp air and appreciating the subtle beauty that was North Carolina in the winter. Almost spring. It was cold today, but there were small, white flowers budding on the streets that lined the sidewalks. I could picture myself staying here. Living in North Carolina. The summers were hot as hell, but if the winters were this mild it would be worth it. Plus, Anthony was here and he’d become quite the friend over the past few weeks. And with the baby’s future surgeries I’d need to be here, near him.
I was walking past a building that looked ancient, and I couldn’t help but notice a display of guitars in the front window. I stopped and looked up. Mo’s Music, the sign read, and I couldn’t help myself. I pulled the door open and the musty, earthy smell of instruments hit me. I breathed them in deep, feeling at home for the first time in months. The music store was filled with every instrument you could imagine, from clarinets to guitars, and I walked around for an hour, running my hands over pianos and drum heads alike. I thought I might like to work in a place like this one day when I was able to. It wasn’t the dream, but it could work.
Along the back of the store there was a small clothing section full of all kinds of music apparel. I scanned the racks, knowing I really couldn’t afford anything. A small rack to the side caught my attention and I smiled as I picked up the tiny scrap of cloth on it, grinning from ear to ear. It was black and covered in white music notes and treble clefs. It was a little of me and a little of him and his kids would love it.
“That’s a nice one.” I heard a deep, gravelly voice from behind me and I turned to find an older black man standing behind me, gazing at the bow tie in my hand. He had to have been in his eighties, but you could tell he was a musician through and through. He wore a black suit, white-collared shirt, the top buttons popped. He had on a black fedora hat with a white stripe around the middle of it. He was too cool.
“I think so,” I said, looking back at the tie.
“For your man?”
I faced him, the bow tie clenched in my hand. “I’m sorry?”
“The tie. Is it for your man?”
I laughed awkwardly. “Oh, no, I don’t have a man.” And then I could have slapped myself in the face. Here I am almost eight months pregnant and I’m all like no, I don’t have a man. Why didn’t I just say yes and move on?
He looked down at my stomach and back at me. “That’s a shame. Your daddy, then?”
I shook my head. “Nope, don’t have one of those either.” And I was on a roll today.
“Well, now that’s even more of a shame. So, who’s the tie for then, Ms…?”
A name. He wanted my name. “Oh, Kelly. Just Kelly, no Ms.”
“All right, Kelly. Who are you getting the tie for?”
“A good friend.”
He nodded and smiled as he put his arm through mine, leading me on a slow walk through the store. Damn musicians, they always charmed me. Even at eighty years old the man had me smitten in two seconds flat.
“What’s he play?”
I grinned. “He doesn’t.”
He chuckled. “I’m Mo.”
“Nice to meet you, Mo. This is a pretty nice place you have here.”
He looked around, obviously impressed with his business. “It is. I’ve been here almost forty years.”
“Wow.”
“So you’re the musician then?” he asked with a wink.
“Sure am.”
“What’s your pleasure?”
We paused next to a huge drum kit, and I motioned toward it. “That. I mean, I play a little of everything, but the drums, they’re my jam.”
Shaking his head, he laughed. “A little thing like you. I would have never thought. I’d figured you for flute, maybe piano.”
“I hear that a lot.”
He let go of my arm. “Well, you’re welcome to give the kit a try if you want. The drumsticks are just over there.” He pointed behind the kit.
I looked the kit over lovingly, ran my hands over the snare head, thumped the top of the high hat, and tapped the cymbal with a knuckle. No, I didn’t need to be playing the drums. I needed to be focusing on the baby.
“I think I’m good. I’ll just take the tie.” I moved toward the register and Mo followed me.
I checked out and Mo walked me to the front door and opened it for me. “You come back and see me now, Ms. Kelly.”
“I promise. I will.”
“Maybe you’ll play the drums for me next time.”
I smiled. “Maybe. Your store is beautiful.” I took one last look around.
“Thank you,” he said as I passed by and out the door, but before he closed it, he said, “Tell Dr. Jackson I said hello.” And then he was gone.
I was left here standing on the sidewalk confounded. It was like Anthony knew everyone in this damn neighborhood and they all so obviously adored him. It was the tie. That’s how Mo had known most likely. Damn Anthony and his innate ability to make everyone love him. He annoyed me. It made me think the world of him.
On the walk home, I stopped at a gift shop and picked out a pretty box to put Anthony’s tie in. Once in the house, I set about wrapping the gift and making lunch. I thought of maybe making a lasagna and salad for dinner, and then I’d give him his present. We’d watch TV and eat snacks.
I guess I was preparing a thank you dinner. Anthony had done a lot for me since I’d been here. He didn’t have to help me like he did. I’d come to the decision that he was seriously a nice guy. Maybe what had happened those years ago was just a fluke. I didn’t know what I’d do without him now. He was my only friend here and he seemed to know it, since he kept me company almost every day. I would’ve been lost without him.
I was just sitting down with a sandwich and a glass of iced tea when I heard a knock at the door.
Grunting, I went to the door, thinking that soon someone was going to have to roll me there. Baby girl was getting big and, in turn, so was I.
I looked through the peephole. I didn’t want to be kidnapped and feed into Miranda’s pretend drama. Two teenagers were standing outside. I opened the door.
“Can I hel—”
I didn’t even get to finish my sentence before they barreled in.
“We’re here to deliver the drums.” I thought I heard one mutter. Sure enough they started to set up a drum kit right in the living room, but I didn’t order any drums.
Out and in they went, carrying pieces of the kit, and all I could do was stand here and stare. I didn’t understand.
“But I didn’t order any drums,” I finally managed to squeak out.
“Are you Kelly Potter?”
I rolled my eyes. Not this again. “Yeah,” I said simply, deciding not to kill the messenger, or in this case the delivery guys. Nope, I’d kill the responsible party. Anthony.
When all was said and done a freaking beautiful, phenomenal, amazing, drum kit stood in the middle of the living room like a beacon of light in a dark, dark world. And I wanted to play the hell out of it, but I wouldn’t. Because it was going back.
I gazed longingly at the handmade DW Performance Series 7 Piece Kit. Yes, I knew my drums like some people knew their cars and this kit, well, it was the Corvette of drums.
Damn him.
I fired off a text to Anthony. I’d never so much as thought about texting him before, but he’d programmed his number in for me weeks ago under the name Doc. It had made me smile at the time. Now I wanted to strangle him.
Me: I’m going to kill you dead.
Doc: ?
Me: Don’t pretend you don’t know why you’re going to die!!
Doc: Short stack, you wanna kill me at least 7 times a week.
Me: But this time I’m really gonna do it.
Doc: ?
I didn’t appreciate his cuteness. Now wasn’t the time.
Me: Stop trying to be cute!
I was always fighting smiles when it came to this man.
Doc: How am I being cute?
Me: I don’t know how you do it but I want you to stop!!
Doc: You think I’m cute.
No, I didn’t think he was cute. I thought he was beautiful. Inside and out. Which made it damn hard to resist him.
Me: I want you to come get these drums!
Doc: Oh, the kit arrived! Awesome!
Me: Not awesome. Very not awesome. I don’t want them!!!
Doc: That’s a lot of exclamation points there, bite size.
Me: !!!!!!!!!
Doc: How can you not want them? It’s an awesome kit. Mo cut me a fantastic deal.
It was really a shame because now that adorable old man with the amazing store was going to have to die, too.
Me: We will talk when you get home.
I sent it before I thought about it. Home. I’d said it like we lived together. Like we shared the same space, but we didn’t. Did we? When had I started thinking of Anthony as my home? My pulse picked up along with my breathing. He scared me. This gentle man with hands so tender hundreds of people trusted them to hold their babies’ hearts and he frightened the hell out of me.
Doc: Nothing to talk about. You’re keeping the drums. Doctor’s orders.
Anger soothed my fear like a balm. He couldn’t just throw out doctor’s orders anytime he demanded I do something. I mean, he did it, but it wouldn’t work.
Me: You can’t just throw out doctor’s orders whenever you want and expect me to comply!
Doc: And yet, I just did.
Me: !!!!!!!!!!
Doc: ? ;)
Bastard. Gorgeous, caring, thoughtful damn bastard. I didn’t care how sweet he was. How bossy he could be. I wasn’t keeping the freaking drums.
I threw the phone on the table. I was done arguing with him especially since he was being cute again.
Throwing myself on the sofa with a huff, I noticed the bow tie sitting there. I turned my eyes to the drums and then back to the bow tie again. He’d made my gift look like poo. I couldn’t give him this measly tie now.
I got up off the sofa and hid the beautifully wrapped gift in the kitchen in the junk drawer where it belonged.
He was going to save my baby’s life. He’d found me a place to stay. He bought me a fucking drum set.
I’d bought him a damn bow tie.
And then I thought of all he’d really done for me. Spending every waking moment he wasn’t at work or in surgery with me. Sparring with me every day. Laughing at my ridiculous jokes. Taking me to dinner. Watching romantic movies with me on the couch. I got it now. He’d been distracting me from the raw deal that life had given me—a sick baby.
And it had worked. I’d forgotten how terrified I was before him. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how I depended on him. And not just for his medical expertise. For everything.
In my mind my life was severed into two distinct pieces. BA and AA. Before Anthony and After Anthony. Before Anthony, Kelly Potter was terrified, cold, homeless, sad. And After Anthony, she was happy, so, so happy. She was warm and fed, and she just knew her baby girl was going to make it. And it was all because of him. Doc.
But what happened in the third piece? Ya know, the AAA. The After, After Anthony. When he was gone and I was alone again. Because it would happen eventually. When we didn’t need him anymore and he was done with us. And the very thought of not having my Doc hurt me to my core, and I realized how deep I was and how very, very stupid I’d been to depend on him for so much.
Because the AAA was coming and when it did, I’d be crushed. And I didn’t have the luxury of being crushed. Not with a sick baby. Not when I needed to face the reality of not being able to depend on Anthony. No, this had to stop. I couldn’t let it continue. This playing house. This thing we were doing. This game. Because whatever game we were playing, it was dangerous, as games of the heart usually are.