Liam

I couldn’t watch her any longer. When the first tear slid down her cheek, it prompted a few of my own to fill my eyes. I’m not an emotional man, and I’m not soft-hearted—far from it. But something about Lourdes transforms me into something better. She brings out parts of my personality that I never knew existed. I’ve never felt so possessive or protective of another person in my life. Lourdes makes me strive to be a better man, and she gives me hope for a better life.

I’ve been floating in an ocean on my back, staring up at the sun for over six months, thinking that this is my destiny: the fame and the money minus the love and family. I’ve never been in love and my family was a joke, so it seemed like a pretty fair trade . . . until now. Now that I’ve had a taste of what love might be, I want it all. Lourdes is my long-awaited island paradise in an ocean that has held me captive long enough. She’s saving me, giving me a place to rest. She is my shelter, a place for me to call home, and she has no idea.

I pull up to my house and cut the engine in the cool, dark garage. It’s been a perfect day, and now I have to ruin it. I need to call Amira and tell her we’re pregnant and find out how her father is doing. It’s been so peaceful here in the house since she left. I don’t dread coming home anymore. I instruct the car to call Amira and sit while it rings. She’s always been one to wait until the last possible ring before she picks up, like she’s so busy she hardly has time to speak to anyone.

“Amira?”

“Liam,” she says, out of breath. Probably working out again.

“How is your father?”

“This isn’t a good time, Liam. Can I call you back?”

He must still be alive. She’s not freaking out or asking about the baby, and I don’t really give a shit about her father anyway. I was just making small talk.

“No, Amira. I’m busy later. I called to tell you we’re having a baby. Lourdes is pregnant. That’s it. I’ll let you go.”

She’s quiet on the other end of the line on the other side of the world. No more heavy breathing, no more anything, just quiet. Maybe she’s covered the phone or pressed mute.

“Amira, I don’t have time for games. I’m hanging up now.” I hear shuffling and movement.

“Wait, Liam, no, don’t hang up. She’s really pregnant? Like with your baby?”

“Yes, Amira, with my baby. What’s going on with you?” I ask. She sounds almost frantic or panicked.

“I . . . I just didn’t think it was going to happen so fast. I figured it would take a few tries.”

“Well it didn’t, so if you need to hang up, just call me later.”

“He’s not doing well, and nobody will tell me what’s going on with his will. He actually instructed his lawyer not to speak to me about it if he ever got sick or unresponsive. Can you believe that shit?”

“I thought this wasn’t a good time to talk, Amira.”

“Oh no, I’m good. I was just distracted. So when is she due?”

“March fifteenth.”

“Oh.”

“Amira, you’re acting weirder than usual. What’s your deal?”

“Nothing, Liam. Shit, I’m having a fucking baby. I just wanted to know when it’s coming. Is that all right with you?”

“Yes, fine. When are you coming home?”

“I don’t know. I can’t leave until I know what’s going to happen. Besides, everybody here thinks I’m some great daughter for coming all the way from the U.S. to be with him when he’s sick and shit. If I up and leave, I’ll look bad.”

“Since when do you care if you look bad?”

“Since now, Liam. Shut up. I’ll be home when I’m home.”

“Fine, I was just checking. I don’t really care.”

“You don’t care when your wife is coming home?”

“You’re not going to be my wife for much longer, Amira, so no, I don’t care if you ever come home.”

“Wow. A little touchy there, aren’t you?”

She’s pressing my buttons in the way only she knows how. She likes to play this back and forth power trip game with me, and I’m so over it.

“Goodbye, Amira,” I say, hanging up the phone. She’ll probably send me a slew of nasty texts now, but I’d rather delete those than listen to her talk for a second longer. I have no idea how I’ve put up with being married that woman for five minutes, let alone seven months—almost eight now.

I get out of car and go inside. I need to run. It’s been nice having the gym to myself lately. I strip off my shirt and jeans, changing them out for a pair of black basketball shorts and a new pair of running shoes—not Adidas, but new just the same.

Our gym is pretty elaborate as far as home gyms go. Amira’s a workout fiend, and she has the best of the best of all kinds of equipment. Our house is built into a hill, and half of the rooms on the west side, including the gym, face a sharp drop-off. Floor to ceiling windows make you feel as if you could walk off the side of a cliff into a forest of trees and rocks. Beyond the trees, the city sprawls out for miles. It’s one of those views people pay a fortune for, and I did. I’ve never had much time to enjoy them, though I don’t work out with Amira. She’s hypercritical. The few times I tried, she kept telling me, You’re not in the correct position. or You need to run another mile. Not to mention, her personal trainer is always here, and I can’t stand to listen to that guy and his shallow knowledge bank about smoothies and protein powder. Working out is literally his life. How does someone live such an unbalanced existence?

We have a sound system in the house that could rock it off its foundation and into the valley below if anyone turned it up as far as it will go. Amira comes close, sometimes blasting it so hard the neighbors complain. I’ll bet they’re enjoying the hiatus as much as I am. Well, maybe not quite as much.

I put on a playlist of my favorite house music and run. I run every day, usually outside, but I need to think about my next move, and I don’t have time to be mindful of other pedestrians and cars, so it’s the treadmill for me today.

Lourdes is pregnant with my baby.

For almost a mile, that’s all I think about. I turn up the speed and the incline. Sweat is dripping down the middle of my back, my feet are pounding to the beat of the music, and I’m having a baby. Lourdes is going to take classes online during her pregnancy. She needs to stay near her obstetrician here in LA, and it will keep her from skipping an entire year of school to have the baby.

I need a divorce lawyer. I want everything ready to file as soon as possible. I hate all the unknowns right now. When is her dad going to get better? Is she still in his damn will? How long will he make Amira suffer after we have the baby before he gives our divorce his blessing? How long will Lourdes wait for me?

That last question is the one that messes with my head the most. I’ve come to care for her deeply over the past two months. I can’t imagine my life without her. She has high aspirations in life, and I don’t want to hold her back waiting on something that could take a long time to happen. She’s smart as a whip, and she is going to be an incredible lawyer someday. I’ll do anything in my power to help her achieve that goal, including stepping aside if she needs me to, but God, I hope she won’t need me to.

My muscles burn and my lungs feel like they’re going to explode when I glance down at the control panel and see I’ve run six miles. I feel better. Running is like meditation. It calms my nerves and gives me focus. I switch to a cool-down and dial Steve to see if he knows of a good divorce lawyer.

“Hey man, what’s up?”

“I need a lawyer. You know of any kick-ass divorce lawyers?”

“Aw shit, you’re finally doing it? What about her pops? Isn’t he gonna make your life miserable if you give him back his little girl?” He chuckles. Steve hates Amira almost as much as I do.

“We have a plan,” I say.

“What kind of plan, dude? And who’s we? You and Amira, or that hot chick you’ve been hanging around with lately?”

I almost go off the end of the treadmill, but I catch myself with the bars and lift up to place my feet on either side of the belt. He means Lourdes. People must be talking, and why wouldn’t they?

“All three of us, actually,” I say, drying my face off with a towel with my free hand.

“Man, you gotta give me more than that. Come over for dinner tonight, bring the hot chick, and fill me in.”

He’s going to find out what’s going on eventually. I may as well get it out in the open. I’m going to need my friend’s support through all of this.

“Yeah, ok. Be researching a good lawyer for me, though, and that ‘hot chick’ is Lourdes, and she has a son. Is it cool if we bring him with?”

I can see him shaking his head as he chuckles again. “Man, you can’t do anything the normal way, can you? Sure, bring the kid. You know how we roll—the more the merrier and all that shit.”

“Okay, so we’ll be there around seven if that works for you.”

“Yep, be ready for a Carnivorous Celebration of Celebrity Separation!”

Kevin likes to title even the most minor of events. “So in other words, we’re having a barbeque?”

“Yeah, man, a meat party to celebrate you finally getting off the bitch train.”

“Right. Okay, Steve. See ya at seven.”

“Later.”

As soon as we hang up, I dial Lourdes.

She answers in the cutest groggy voice. “Hello.”

“Hey, did I wake you?” I ask.

“Mmm, gosh, I guess so. I must have fallen asleep on the couch with Toby. I’ve been exhausted lately.”

“You’re growing a human. You have the best excuse.”

“Yeah, but I don’t remember being this tired when I was pregnant with Toby. Maybe it’s because I’m older.”

“Could be, but if you’re concerned, we should ask Dr. Clover to be on the safe side.”

“I’ll bring it up at the next appointment if it’s still bothering me.”

“Good, I’ll remind you. Hey, a buddy of mine asked me over to barbeque tonight. Do you and Toby want to be my plus one and two?”

She yawns, and I hear her shuffling around, probably trying to get out from under Toby.

“If you can stay awake long enough, that is,” I tease.

“Sure, sounds fun. What time?”

“I’ll be by around six to get you.”

“We can come to you if your friend lives in your area.”

“No, I want to pick you up.”

“All right, suit yourself. We’ll be ready and waiting at six then.”

And I know she will be. Lourdes is a very prompt person. She likes to organize and plan ahead. Some would call her a control freak, but I just call her smart and prepared.

“Did you like the song?” I ask.

“Yes, Liam, it was beautiful. You left me crying in the doctor’s parking lot, though. That wasn’t nice.”

“Why were you crying? You didn’t drive like that, did you? I’d never forgive myself if something happened because of m—”

“No, no, stop. I didn’t drive until I got myself together. It was beautiful, and I’m hormonal. That’s all.”

“Hmm, hormones. I forgot about that. I’ll stick around next time.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No problem. Listen, I’ve got to shower and take care of a few things at the club before I pick you up, so I’ll text you when I’m coming, okay?”

“Okay, bye.”

“Lourdes.”

“Yeah?”

“I still want to kiss you.”

“I still want you to,” she whispers, and I disconnect, leaving her with that thought. I don’t want her to stop thinking about it. They say anticipation is the hottest aphrodisiac. We should be downright explosive when it finally happens.