Chapter Twenty-One
Lauren
“RACHEL AND I are going to a movie. You don’t mind, do you?” I ask Noah over the phone.
“Not at all. Go and have fun.”
“Thanks. Can you let the dogs out too?”
“Already did.”
“Thanks again, Noah. Are you and Colin still hanging out?”
“No, he had to cancel. Something about Jenny wanting to renovate their living room.”
“Ohhhh, right. They’re tearing out the carpet for hardwood.”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
Is it weird I feel bad about going out when Noah is at home with the dogs? “Go to the bar or something. See your other friends.”
“You’re telling me to go to the bar?”
“Yeah. I trust you. Just be home when I’m home because I need a back rub.”
“By back rub, you mean sex, right?”
I laugh. “Possibly.” But not really. My pelvis is all kinds of sore and swollen tonight. The joys of pregnancy, right? “I miss you.”
“I miss you too, baby. Have fun.”
“You too.”
I hang up and put my phone in my purse. Rachel and I went to lunch, then shopping, and now are going to see a Nicolas Sparks movie that I know Noah wouldn’t enjoy. We arrive early, get popcorn, and prime seats in the back.
“You are seriously the cutest preggo ever,” Rachel tells me when I rest the bucket of popcorn on my belly.
“I don’t believe you but thanks.”
“Really, I mean it!” she laughs. We’ve been friends since eighth grade, and though we don’t get to see each other very often anymore, things are the same between us. I’m as comfortable around her now as I was then.
“What’s your man doing tonight?”
“Hanging around the house. Roles have been reversed tonight,” I laugh. “I’m usually the one at home on weekends, though he’s been at home with me pretty much since we found out.”
“It’s still weird to see him like this. We both had huge crushes on him, remember?”
“Didn’t most girls have crushes on him in high school?”
“Very true. I’m glad it’s working out like it is though.”
“Me too. Because this went from a clusterfuck to pretty much working out. Even with the whole vet school mess.” I sigh. It’s been eating me alive since I got that letter, but Noah is trying so damn hard to make me feel okay about it, I decided to drop it.
“Don’t take offense,” she starts and pushes her short blonde hair back behind her ear. “But I know you remember the same Noah I do. I’m glad he was able to go cold turkey on the drinking and partying.”
I nod. “Honestly, I didn’t have faith in him.” I shake my head. “I have a confession, actually. I haven’t told anyone either. When he asked me out on our first date, I agreed because I thought it would be a disaster.”
Rachel hikes an eyebrow. “You have the weirdest sense of logic. Maybe you got used to all those horrible first dates people set you up on or something.”
“I mean I expected it to be a disaster and for that disaster to prove to me he wasn’t fit to be a dad so I could cross off us ending up together. I feel bad now, since he’s been the total opposite.”
Rachel nods. “Makes sense. And you should have just asked me. Of course it would have worked out. Don’t you know my best friend is awesome? Noah would be a fool to not be with you. You’re fucking hot, even when pregnant.”
I smile and shake my head. “We need to hang out more often.”
*
I pull my knees up and roll over, trying to get comfortable. Three pillows are in use around me, holding up my stomach, under my back, and under my head. I reach over and grab Noah’s. He’s not using it anyway. It’s one-thirty and he’s not home yet, nor is he answering his phone.
I’m not worried. Not yet at least. I told him to go to the bar. I told him to have fun with his friends. And that’s what he’s doing.
I also told him I trusted him.
And I do.
But each minute that ticks by and he’s not calling me, saying he’s coming back, makes me question that trust. I don’t think he’d cheat on me. Even before, Noah wasn’t that kind of person. It was one of the reasons he never settled down, he told me. I don’t know much about his parents’ divorce, but I do know several affairs took place before they split.
I doze off, waking at three. I grab my phone, certain I’ll see a missed call or text from Noah. My background image of Vader looks back at me. What the hell, Noah? Where are you? I call him, get his voicemail, then call right back. Voicemail again.
Unease grows and now I’m thinking he’s dead on the side of the road. Stupid, dangerous motorcycle.
I flop back down, getting a little pissed. I was up late last night after dinner, and now I’m up late again and need to get up early tomorrow for the shower. And so does Noah, because he said he wanted to go with me.
Five whole minutes go by before I call him again. If he’s not dead already, he’s going to be when he gets home. Voicemail again. I turn on the TV, unable to sleep. Exhaustion hits me around three-thirty, yet I can’t turn my brain off to sleep. I call Noah again, and he answers, but all I hear is background noise. Loud music, muffled voices.
“Noah?” No reply. “Noah!”
I’m fairly positive I hear his voice before the line goes dead. At least he’s alive, right? Well, alive for now, because I’m pretty sure I’m going to fucking kill him in his sleep tonight. If he ever comes home.
I lay down, trying to take solace in the fact he’s alive and still at the bar, but it doesn’t work. I’m mad he made me worry, mad he didn’t come home to spend time with me, and mad I’m going to be tired in the morning. I’ve been constantly tired since I got knocked up, and this isn’t helping.
I close my eyes and the phone rings. It’s Noah.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Lauren, it’s Joey. Again. Your man is drunk as a skunk. Again.”
I sigh. “I’ll be there to get him.”
Joey gives a grunt in rely and hangs up. I toss my head back against the pillow, not wanting to get out of bed. I throw on a T-shirt and yoga pants, and step into flip-flops. I get super tired as I drive to the bar, which only enhances my anger.
Pregnant lady rage is a real thing.
I park in front of the bar and call Noah but get no answer. I cut the engine and wait. There are still quite a few cars here. What the hell do people do at bars for that long? Don’t they have lives to get back to? And how much money is wasted buy drink after drink for hours on end?
I should have opened a biker bar and not had to worry about school and student loans.
Five minutes and eight calls later, Noah still isn’t out. Angrily muttering to myself, I get out of the car and walk to the bar. I can smell the cigarette smoke already and take one last deep breath before pulling the door open and stepping inside.
Noah is sitting on a barstool, eyes fluttering, talking to some guy who looks just as drunk. He blinks when he sees me then gets up, stumbling. He’s fucking wasted.
I grab his hand and pull him outside.
“Hey, baby,” he slurs. “I missed you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Get in the damn car.”
“Want me to take you out back and rock your world?”
I shake my head. “I’ll pass.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Car. Now.”
He makes a face and trips over his own feet. This is the Noah Wilson I remember from our youth. It takes him more than one attempt to buckle himself in. Tired and cranky, I don’t talk on the way home. Noah wobbles his way inside and falls onto the couch.
“Get up and shower. You smell like an ashtray.”
He grumbles in response and doesn’t move. I cross my arms. “Noah, get up!” I tug on his arm. “This is pointless.”
He groans. “I don’t feel good.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“I think I’m gonna puke.”
Oh god. That’s another thing I do not want to deal with. I go to him and help him up, practically dragging him to the bathroom just in time for him to heave into the toilet. He slumps against it, retching. I’m fucking pissed, but I can’t leave him like that, not when he could choke.
It takes great effort, but I get him stripped from his stinky clothes, and drape a blanket around his shoulders. He throws up once more then lays on the bathroom floor. I get into bed but can’t sleep out of worry I’ll wake up and find Noah dead of alcohol poisoning or something.
He’s passed the fuck out when I check on him. Finally feeling he’s okay, I get back into bed for a few hours of sleep.
*
“Where is Noah?” Mom asks the next day. People are just starting to arrive for the baby shower that she’s hosting at her house. Our baby shower. That Noah isn’t at because I couldn’t get him to wake up this morning. He swatted his hand in the air and mumbled something incoherent. I gave up and left in tears, fixing my eye makeup in the car.
“He’s not feeling well,” I say, feeling like it’s a lie. Noah isn’t feeling well, but it’s because he for some reason got wasted last night. “He said it feels like the flu so he’s staying away and will be here later if he feels better. He’s napping now.” Dammit. I’m a horrible liar. I tend to overcomplicate things.
“Do you think you’re coming down with it? You look a little ragged today. Ragged, but beautiful.” Mom puts her hand on my stomach. “The flu is no fun when you’re pregnant. I got it twice when I was pregnant with Katie.”
“I think I’ll be all right.” I only look ragged because I’m tired. I text Noah to see how he’s doing and to tell him to get his butt over here. His mom will be here soon and I don’t want to lie to her, because she’ll probably know it’s a lie. Noah is her son, after all. She might not have been the best mother, but she knows him.
The shower starts, and I’m temporarily distracted. Then it’s time to open gifts, and I’m missing him. I don’t like sitting in front of people, opening presents. It’s awkward. What if I don’t like what someone got and they can see it on my face?
I send him another text and actually get a reply. He’s waking up and will be on his way. Thank goodness. I just need to stall for about fifteen minutes and I won’t have to open presents alone. How can I buy time? I can spend at least five in the bathroom, maybe? I don’t want people to think I’m pooping. That’s just as awkward as the gifts.
“Are you okay?” Rachel asks me when I sneak away from the living room into the laundry room. “What are you doing in here?”
“Uh, taking a minute.” It’s the truth. I plan to take at least ten of these minutes. “Just feeling overwhelmed with everything.” Another truth, but it feels so wrong to blame my unease on Ella.
“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it? Seeing all the baby stuff makes it that much more real, I bet.”
“Yes, that’s it. I just need like five minutes to chill.”
“Take the time you need. I’ll tell Katie and she’ll distract the crowd.”
I smile at my best friend. “Thank you.” She gives me a hug and leaves to find my sister, who’s able to stall for ten minutes. I text Noah again, and he doesn’t reply. Maybe because he’s on his way? I can only hope.
Another ten minutes go by and I can’t get out of presents any longer. I sit on the couch and open them one by one, holding everything up for my guests to see. It takes forever to open everything. And Noah still isn’t here.
The party dies down, until only Rachel and my sisters are left to help clean up. Jenny hasn’t said one word to me but I’m just too tired to worry about it right now.
“Sit down,” Mom tells me when I help toss paper plates. “Put your feet up. You look tired, sweetie.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I go into the living room and lay on the couch, feeling like I’m to the point of exhaustion where I just want to cry myself to sleep.
*
Once the house is clean, Mom and Dad help load stuff into my Jeep. Ella is sitting low in my ute and I’m waddling as I walk, carrying bags of clothes to the door for Dad to grab. The last parcel is in my Jeep when Colin pulls in the driveway, here to pick up Jenny and eat whatever is left over. Noah is in the passenger seat. Oh, right. His bike is at the bar and his Charger is still parked at his apartment. I wonder what he told Colin when he picked him up.
I stand in the threshold of the door, waiting for Noah to get in the house.
“Your mother already left, and you missed the baby shower.” I say each word slow and quiet as soon as Noah is in earshot.
“I know. I’m sorry,” he says and tries to hug me. I might be acting childish, but I turn and walk away.
“Oh, Noah!” Mom says. “Glad you’re feeling better. Lauren said you thought you had the flu.”
“Yeah … the flu,” he mumbles and comes inside. “Do you need help with anything?”
“No,” I snap. “We got it all without you.”
Katie narrows her eyes, watching and noticing something is off. Dammit, she’s too observant. I make myself appear relaxed, and take Noah’s hand. Yes, I’m pissed at him. So incredibly pissed. But I don’t want the others to know. Not yet at least.
We stay and talk about babies and parenting with my family for a bit, then leave when Rachel does.
“You told everyone I had the flu?” Noah questions, getting into the driver’s side of the Jeep.
“What else was I supposed to say? The truth? You were shit-faced drunk, puking in the bathroom all night.”
“I’m sorry,” he says slowly. “And thanks for not telling them.”
“Oh, you’re welcome.”
Noah lowers his head, sighing, and pulls onto the street. A few minutes pass before he speaks. “I only got drunk because I was stressing about you and Ella.”
“Like that’s supposed to make me feel better? I’m exhausted, Noah. You have no idea how bad my back hurts every day. I cannot do this. I can’t work and deal with pregnancy symptoms, try to have a life, and take care of you. There’s no way I can go back to school with two people to take care of. I was up worrying you were going to choke to death on your own vomit. You promised me this wouldn’t happen again, and here we are—again. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice…” I look away, tears in my eyes. Why can’t he see this is the last thing I need? “You missed our baby shower. Don’t you care? If not about being there for me, then for Ella?”
I put my hand over my stomach, feeling our baby kick up a storm. I don’t think she likes hearing her parents arguing, even if she has no idea what is going on.
I hate it.
I hate feeling like we’re not enough. I hate being afraid to raise my daughter on my own. I close my eyes, pushing out tears that roll down my cheeks. It’ll be better in the end. Yeah, it’s going to suck and be hard as hell, but I’d rather be a single mom for as long as it takes than be in a relationship that’s full of disappointment and hurt. Ella deserves better than that. She deserves to see her mom happy, to see what a healthy relationship looks like.
Noah parks in front of my house. We unload the gifts in silence, putting everything in the living room.
“I can help organize the nursery,” Noah offers.
“No,” I say shortly. “I just want to lay down. Please go.”
“Lauren,” he starts.
“Stop,” I say, holding up my hand. I can’t hear what he has to say, because I might cave. My heart is threatening to overrule my head right now, and I can’t have that. My worst fears about Noah have surfaced, and this proves how much he isn’t ready to be a father. “Please go, Noah.”
Noah looks at me, brow furrowed with hurt. His jaw tenses. “We don’t have to—”
“No!” I turn away, tears streaming down my face. “Go. I’ll call you when I’m in labor. Just leave.”
I can feel his eyes on me, waiting for me to say something. I want to. I want to tell him it’s okay and he can have a second chance. I want him to hold me, kiss me, tell me he’s sorry and it won’t happen again.
But he already said that. And here we are. Again.
He takes a breath and turns to leave. “Bye, Vader,” he says softly and pats the German Shepherd on the head. My heart breaks as I look at Noah, knowing that there is no way this is going to work.