Chapter Twenty-Six

It’s amazing how long a brunch can last. Theoretically, it shouldn’t take more than half an hour to shovel eggs, pancakes and bacon down our collective throats. But Matt’s parents linger for almost two hours. They linger over their food. They linger over their coffee. They linger over conversation. Emma laughs at every word out of Steve’s and Melodie’s mouths, as though they were God’s new gift to standup comedy. I’m ready to crawl into a hole because it’s either that or drive a pair of ice picks through my ears so I don’t have to hear her grating laugh.

My head is pounding so hard I can barely think. My stomach isn’t thrilled either, since I was forced to eat a few bites of food. It’s really hard to rearrange your chow for hours while people linger.

I excuse myself, ostensibly to freshen my makeup, but it’s really to take a little break from the company. Matt’s great, of course, but everyone else is a bit much. I still can’t decide what Melodie and Steve think of me, but it’s obvious they like Emma from the way they smile and nod at her. But then who wouldn’t? She’s less beautiful than Google Images would have you believe, but she’s still pretty, young and sophisticated. Okay, her laugh is annoying, but maybe that doesn’t bother Melodie and Steve. There’s no rationale for taste—I mean, some people want pet skunks.

The bathroom is blissfully quiet, but my head still throbs—a residual throb, undoubtedly. Maybe it’s a sign that I’m about to start my period, but I know better. I never get a headache during this time of the month. Gritting my teeth, I run some cold water over the pulse points on my wrists, but it doesn’t help much. What wouldn’t I give for a hot bath with extra bubbles!

Home is screaming my name, but I don’t know of a graceful way to get out of here. I don’t want to ask Matt, in case he thinks I don’t like his parents. He did say he loved his mother.

One more hour. After that, I’ll tell Matt I have to go because I have an afternoon outing with the girls. If I must, I’ll go shopping to cover my lie. God, I’ll even repeat the run of hell with Sammi.

Girding my loins and pasting on a smile, I leave the bathroom and quietly make my way back to the dining room. Emma’s voice is carrying into the hall, and my jaw tightens.

“Did you really have to go for a girl like that?”

Cuz a snob like you is better? I think cattily.

She continues, “If you really wanted, I could’ve given you the baby you need.”

Wait. I stop. Who needs a baby?

“We would’ve had to be married first, but I’m not thinking marriage at the moment,” Matt says dryly.

Baby…marriage… What?

Emma laughs like what Matt said is hilarious, except he wasn’t joking.

The baby you need.

Then I remember how Emma hinted about Matt needing to marry soon when she crashed our lunch date at Pearl China. Was she trying to imply she’s pregnant…?

No. She can’t be, based on what I just heard. So what the hell is she talking about?

Steve adds, in the mildly indulgent tone of a teacher reminding an earlier lesson point to a lazy student, “No marriage and baby, no trust fund until you turn forty.”

There’s a trust fund?

“And who has the time to waste until they’re forty?” Emma asks.

“Someone who doesn’t need the money, obviously,” Melodie says tartly.

Thank you, Melodie. Maybe she’s not so bad after all…except who doesn’t need money?

“Everyone needs money,” Emma points out, as though she’s read my mind around the corner and through a doorway. “Five million is a lot to sit on for years and years. Don’t you agree, Matt?”

My jaw drops. Five million dollars? Matt is going to come into that much money if he’s married and has a baby?

Oh my God. Why didn’t this come up during Sammi’s digging? Don’t tell me this time she used a hand shovel. She normally uses an excavator.

Emma continues, “There’s no guarantee that girl of yours is going to marry you, much less want to have your baby.”

What the hell. Is she saying Matt’s with me only for money?

Of course! He is too good for you. You know that, my mind whispers, and I swear the blood in my veins goes colder than ice.

“I’ve done the whole rodeo with marriage, and I’m willing to do it again plus have a kid or two with the right man.”

I almost throw up in my mouth.

She suddenly gasps. “Unless you’re trying to do it in reverse order—get her pregnant, then marry her.”

Get her pregnant, then marry her.

The words pound into my head with such impact that I feel like my skull’s exploding.

I’ve never provided my own condoms with Matt because I trusted him. And now my period’s late. And coffee and food are making me feel bad.

Shit. I know enough about what happens when you get pregnant to be aware that nausea comes when a bun starts occupying the oven. I don’t think what I’ve been experiencing is nausea per se, but it could be a very minor version…a cellular-sized version.

But I’m on the pill.

Which is only about ninety-one percent effective, according to the CDC’s effectiveness with typical use statistics, my mind whispers. Just in case I’m not freaking out enough.

“Emma.” Matt’s voice is mildly chiding.

Is he annoyed because Emma called him on it? And how come Emma knows about this money thing, but I don’t? She’s his ex. I’m his girlfriend.

Aren’t I?

“I know you’ve been spending money to help the family of that guy who keeled over at your old firm,” Emma says. “There’s no way your new company’s paying you enough for that plus your living expenses.”

“I helped raise money for his funeral, not to support his elderly parents for life.”

Emma’s voice grows shrill at Matt’s explanation. “Do you really want to wait until you’re forty to touch the money that’s rightfully yours? Or get that unmotivated, lazy girl to marry you and give you a baby? You know if the mom’s dumb, the babies are dumb too! I read an article about it. You deserve better than her! We’d make the smartest, most beautiful babies.”

Blood crashes around in my head, roaring and frothing like storm waves against a cliff. I can’t digest, I can’t think. My purse strap slides down my arm, and I realize I’m shaking. I hug myself, suddenly chilled.

Going back into the dining room and confronting everyone there seems…beyond me at the moment. They’re acting and talking like I’m a means to an end—Matt getting his money. But that’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Stuff like that happens in books and movies. People don’t actually try to get others pregnant or whatever for money anymore. Not people like Matt anyway. He’s civilized. Educated. Sweet Darlings Inc. pays him well, I’m sure. He doesn’t need the five million dollars.

But…

Why has he been so nice to me? So perfect? I’m not pretty like Emma, accomplished like my cousins, or sophisticated and well put together like so many people at the firm.

What I am is young, naïve and inexperienced. Is that why he targeted me? Because he could tell that about me at a glance? This may be a marathon, but our relationship milestones seem to be happening at a faster pace than usual. It only took him like a week to convince me to sleep with him. And if he’d just given us a few more weeks and asked me to marry him, I’d have said yes. If he’d asked me to have his baby, I’d have said yes to that too…

My heart thunders.

I’ve fallen for him. Hopelessly. Pathetically.

And realizing that right now is salt on a fresh, open wound.

I hear voices. They’re talking, but garbled through the roar in my head. Spots swim in my vision. I have to get out of here before I start hyperventilating and lose it.

My hand clenched around my purse strap, I sneak out of the house. Nobody notices. Why should they? I’m nothing. Just a tool.

The early autumn air is refreshingly cool against my skin. I try to draw it in, but my lungs are too constricted. I plod several blocks before I realize I have no idea where I’m going. Even if I did, McLean is too far from Dulles to walk.

And logically it makes sense I get a ride. But not with Matt. He’s probably busy. No. He is busy, no probably about it.

I call for Lyft. A car shows up in a few minutes, and I ask the driver to take me home, while he stares at me like I’m a black plague carrier.

He starts off after handing me a couple of Kleenex. Only then do I realize I’ve been crying.

The drive is quiet, which sucks because the words from earlier fill the silence.

I could’ve given you the baby you need.

Everyone needs money.

Five million.

I’m willing to do it again plus have a kid or two.

Get her pregnant, then marry her.

Matt never once told her to shut up. Does that mean he honestly considered getting me pregnant so he could play the hero and manipulate me into marrying him? Or that he’s not at all opposed to marrying Emma and having a baby with her if I’m too much work?

God, I feel so stupid.

I tip the driver generously, since he didn’t try to chase after a cheating girlfriend or hit on me or anything crazy like that. And because he gave me more Kleenex so I could blow my nose and dry my face as well as possible. I look like shit in my compact mirror, but on a scale from one to ten—ten being what the hell happened to you?—I’m like a three, which means I can probably go in and blame my condition on the headache. The last thing I need is to alarm my housemates. Or have them asking me questions.

As I step inside home, sweet home, my phone rings again. It’s the fifth time. Or sixth. I don’t remember. I lost count after the second time, and right now I have bigger things on my mind than giving a damn about who’s calling, much less answering anything.

“Oh my God, you need to sit down,” Sammi says.

Jesus. Do I still look that bad? “I have a headache,” I mumble, stumbling across the hardwood floor and plopping down in an armchair. Then I notice something…

Sammi’s pale. So is Michelle. An alarm goes off in my head.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“You know the pharmacy where we get our prescriptions filled?”

“Yeah?”

“The manager there got arrested,” Sammi says like it’s the most horrible thing in the world. “We just saw the news.”

I should probably look sufficiently curious. Maybe even drum up some concern. But right now, that man getting arrested is so inconsequential, I can’t even. “Okay.” I shrug.

“It’s not okay!” Michelle screeches.

I wince. “Why not? What’s the problem?”

“The reason he got arrested is he switched birth control pills with placebos!” Michelle is shaking, then places an unsteady hand on her forehead. “A whole bunch of women are pregnant because of him!”

Oh my God. Oh my God!

All my blood seems to drain from me. I’m so dizzy, I feel like my head is about to fly away like a balloon. No wonder my period changed after graduation. I wasn’t on the pill at all.

“Tell me you’ve been careful,” Sammi says.

“Condoms have a nineteen percent failure rate when you measure effectiveness in typical use.” My voice is faraway and fleeting.

Michelle squints at me. “What?”

“That’s what the CDC says.” The pill I relied on is about as effective as water against pregnancy. If Matt wanted to get me pregnant…

I’m late.

I could be pregnant too. Just like my mom was with me.

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

I jump to my feet, shove hands into my hair, clench my fingers until my scalp hurts.

Five million dollars. Money. Marriage. Baby.

Or wait until he’s forty.

All the things I overheard jumble in my head until I feel like I’m about to faint. What little food I had at Matt’s parents’ churns, and I run to the bathroom. I make it just in time.

Everything comes back up.

I wait until my breath settles and start to get up, but my belly isn’t finished with me. I start heaving again, and it takes two more bouts before I’m really finished finished.

I think.

Sighing hard, I close my eyes and sit there, just in case. I need a pregnancy test ASAP. Maybe two. I’m sure they can tell by now. If I am pregnant…

Don’t think about that.

I might not be pregnant. Maybe Matt didn’t do anything. Maybe he is one of those rare people who really couldn’t give a hoot about five million bucks. Or babies, or any of those things that get people really excited. I mean… Alexandra doesn’t care that much about money, even when it’s millions. But then she’s worth at least a billion.

Matt isn’t worth a billion, my mind reminds me, in case I forgot.

I feel a warm, soothing hand between my shoulder blades. “Hey, you all right?”

Every cell in my body tenses at Matt’s voice. How the hell did he get inside?

On cue, he says, “Sammi let me in.”

The knot in my belly tightens. I used to love it that he seemed to know exactly what I was thinking all the time.

Now I hate it. He can read me like a book. He can tell how pathetic, needy and naïve and stupid I am. And I resent my lack of sophistication—something all my cousins have. I may be Alexandra’s granddaughter, but I’m nothing like the rest of my family.

I pull away, shrugging his hand off me. “What are you doing here?” My voice comes out in a croak. Wincing, I stand, ignoring his offer to help me up, and rinse out my mouth.

Stuffing his hands into his pants pockets, Matt watches me, his head tilted. “You were gone for a long time, so I went looking for you. When I couldn’t find you I tried calling, then texted Sammi to see if she’d heard anything. She told me you’d come home looking like hell.” His dark eyebrows pinch together. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Speechless, I stare at him. Is he serious? When was I supposed to barge in? Before or after Emma offered to marry him and have his baby?

“Never mind. I should’ve known you weren’t well enough for the visit. We should’ve cut it short.”

“Right,” I spit out. “Before Emma said she’d marry you and have your baby so you can get your money.”

A small muscle near his left eyebrow twitches. “Jan…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because there’s nothing between me and Emma. I was never going to marry her or have babies with her. We dated a few years ago, but were completely incompatible.”

“She seems to disagree.”

“Which has nothing to do with me.”

“But what she said is true about the money, isn’t it? You have five million dollars.”

“Which is in a trust from my grandparents. I can’t touch it anyway, and I don’t plan on spending a penny of it.”

“Why not? It’s a lot of money.”

“They left one for me and one for Olivia, so we’d never have to do work we don’t believe in just to survive. But I don’t need it because I’m making a good living doing exactly what I love doing. So my plan was to donate half of the trust to causes I believe in and give the other half to my kids in the future so they can have the same freedom I had. Trust me, Jan. You shouldn’t worry about the money. It was never a factor in any of my life decisions.”

Put that way, it’s so logical. Too damn logical. Just like he’s too damn perfect. “You really want me to believe the money had nothing to do with anything?” Before he has a chance to answer, I plow on because the fact that my period is late is drumming in my head. “You honestly never wanted me pregnant?”

The muscles in his jaw bunch together. Thoughts cross his gaze, but they’re totally opaque. If I were the one thinking, Matt would know everything going through my mind. And that infuriates me more.

“Why can’t you answer me?” I yell.

“Yes,” he says, his voice entirely too calm. “I would love to have that future with you—share a home, have children and grow old.”

It’s such a lovely vision—the kind I would’ve swooned over. And that is so damn unfair. He sounds like an adult while I’m like a lost, panicked child inside. My hands shake, sweat slickening my palms.

“But not unless that’s what you want too,” he adds.

“Right. The moment I walked through that door”—I point—“I learned the pill I’ve been taking is a placebo.”

He takes a moment to process this, then frowns. “Well…okay. So? We used condoms.”

“Yes. Ones you provided, and my period’s late.” My voice rises to a screech.

His features freeze for a moment until sudden fury blazes in his eyes. The pulse in his now blotchy neck visibly throbs as he grates out, “What the hell are you implying?”

“What do you think?” I say, because I can’t figure out what I’m trying to say. My stomach is churning again as though it wants to heave one more time, except there’s nothing left. Uncontrollable emotions break over me, one after another, hitting me like perfectly executed punches until I’m barely standing. “You’re too perfect, always knowing just what I need to hear and telling me exactly that. I should’ve known something was up when a guy like you pursued a girl like me.”

“If that’s what you thought, why the fuck did you come to my place, asking me to be your first?”

Because I was falling for you. “Because you were conveniently next door,” I say instead. The truth is too humiliating.

He regards me for a moment, completely frozen. Then he turns so quickly I can barely follow and his fist connects with the wall, leaving a dent. The sudden bang stuns me, and I almost jump. His shoulders heave as he breathes in harshly, and a taut moment passes before he faces me again. His mouth tightens, then curls into a derisive line. “You’re such a chickenshit.”

It takes a moment before the insult registers. “How dare you.”

“You’re too damn blind to what others see in you—beautiful, smart, hard-working and vulnerable. You’re so busy worrying about what little flaws you have that you can’t appreciate the whole beauty of yourself.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up. Even Michelangelo’s David is flawed if you want to nitpick.”

“I’m not Michelangelo or the David!” I yell out like an inane fool. But I can’t process what he’s saying, not really. Thoughts are spinning in my head like tornados, churning everything around, and it’s all I can do to keep myself together.

“No, you’re not!” He flings an arm out, then his hand tightens into a white-knuckled fist as he pounds his chest. “You’re a woman I’ve fallen for, except you’re too insecure to let this play out! You’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for me to find a reason why I can’t possibly love you!”

“You don’t love me. You like things about me. You…you said…”

The look he gives me is sad. Disappointed. Why can’t he be just angry? Why is he looking at me like I’m the one who failed us when he’s the one who hid a five million-dollar secret? “I love everything about you. I love you. But I’ve been trying to give my heart to a woman who can’t accept it. Won’t accept it.”

He’s not making any sense. Why is he saying this now? I don’t get it. “That’s not true. You don’t know enough about me. The money—”

He raises a finger in warning. “Don’t even go there!”

And I shut my mouth because even though I’m barely rational, I can sense he’s about to break.

“If I just wanted money,” he hisses in a furious voice, “I would’ve definitely gotten you pregnant and married you, not because I’m greedy for the five million, but for your inheritance.”

“What inheritance?”

He laughs, but it’s mocking. Ugly. “You’re one of Alexandra’s heirs. You’re due one fifth of her money because whatever your mother was going to get is going to go to you.”

That can’t be… He has to be wrong. He has to be wrong about everything. This is about him and his trust fund and his need to marry and have a baby and my period being late… “Why would she… No way.”

“Like I said, you just won’t accept how others see you or feel about you.” He shakes his head. For some reason, he looks heartbreakingly sad. Like one of Shakespeare’s tragic heroes. Or maybe it is my heart that’s breaking. “What a waste.”

A sense of impending doom prickles over my skin. I know I can stop this—somehow—if I can just… I don’t know what, but I know I could make the horrible sensation go away if I—just… “Don’t make this about me,” I blurt out.

He inhales deeply and slowly. “I’m not making it anything. It’s a hundred percent about you.”

He’s withdrawing, reining in the anger and disillusionment—I can see it as though those emotions are color-coded in a bright neon red and funereal black. They’re both inside him, festering. Seething. Just because the air around him isn’t pulsing with light doesn’t mean things are okay.

My mouth dries. “We aren’t finished,” I say. “You still have a lot to explain.” Except I think he’s said everything he wanted to, even if I haven’t processed much of it. But he has to explain…and convince me…to what? I don’t know what outcome I want, but this… This is killing me.

“Yes, we are. I have nothing more to say to you, Jan.” He takes a step back. And it hurts, like I’m being sliced into ribbons.

But I can’t stop him either. So I watch him walk out…every step a shard digging into my heart.

When the door closes behind him, my knees buckle.