Ripley
I move up and down the aisles of the grocery store, getting all the ingredients for the baked ziti I’m making tonight for Brock. For his seventeenth birthday, we had him and his mom over for dinner, and I made ziti and homemade garlic bread. He absolutely loved it, and I ended up making it for him quite a few times.
Last night, Alex helped me make an apple pie, which is also one of Brock’s favorites. I’m totally plying him with his favorite foods before I destroy any chance of us having a happily ever after. That, of course, is the worst-case scenario. My stomach has been on fire since last night as I think about it and how I’m going to tell him.
The story of Alex is one that starts out like a nightmare, but the end result—my son—makes it a happy ending. I went through so much and struggled with every decision I made. I’ve got no regrets now, and no matter what, my son will always know how much I love him, and that everything I do, I do for us.
Jessica picked Alex up right before I left, and my child is getting spoiled. She told me they were taking him to a movie, to that damn place with the talking mouse that I hate, and then I’m sure they’ll buy him a toy because they do every time. I hope they know that what goes around comes around, and when they have their first baby, I plan on spoiling it completely rotten.
I get in line at the checkout and unload my groceries. After I pay, I take my bags out to my car and load them up. On my way home, I drive through my favorite coffee shop and grab a skinny vanilla latte.
My plan once I get home is to prep dinner and stick it in the refrigerator, straighten up the house, and then start to get ready. Once I’m home, I unload all the groceries and then get to cooking.
I’m just sticking dinner in the refrigerator when there is a knock at my back door. Fuck, I think to myself. I know who that is and I don’t want to deal with him right now, but he’ll keep knocking until I answer. Before I do, I grab my can of pepper spray out of the junk drawer. Am I worried about him? Not really, but I’m not taking any chances. I stick it in my back pocket so he can’t see it then push open the door. “Hey Tim.”
“Hey Ripley. Sorry to bother you.” Ugh, stop talking to my breasts—which, by the way, are completely covered. “I wanted to see if Alex wanted to come out and help me do some yard work.” Like that would ever happen.
“That’s nice of you to ask. He’s actually not home right now.”
“Okay, well maybe another time? If you want to hang out and have a beer later I’ll be around.” Like that will ever happen.
“I actually have plans, but thanks for the offer. See you around.” Thankfully, he accepts my answer and walks away. I shut the door, lock the deadbolt, and start cleaning.
I’m swiping on some lip gloss when I hear my doorbell. Shit, he’s on time. I look myself over in the mirror—I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard so I decided on dressy casual. I’m wearing my favorite pair of jeans that are faded and worn in spots to where holes almost appear, and I paired that with a royal blue cami covered by a loose, blousy black tank top. My hair is in desperate need of a cut and way too long to leave down so I braided it loosely. I’ve never worn a lot of makeup so I just added some bronzer, powder, mascara, and lip gloss. I place a hand over my queasy stomach; my nerves are getting the best of me right now.
The doorbell rings again and I take off down the stairs, skidding to a stop at the bottom. I take a deep breath and pull the door open. “Hi.” I push the screen door open and stand back as he enters. His woodsy scent follows him through the door and I shut it behind him.
We stand in the middle of my living room, both of us unsure of what to say for some reason.
“You look beautiful.” Brock’s words cause me to become unstuck and I move toward him, throwing my arms around his waist and hugging him tight. A shuddering breath leaves me and he pulls back enough to look into my eyes. “Are you okay? You seem distracted.”
“I’m fine, I promise.” I watch him lift his nose to the air. “I made your favorites.”
“You made me your baked ziti?”
“I did, and Alex and I made you an apple pie.” He grabs me and pulls me to him, kissing my lips slowly, sweetly.
“I can’t wait to try it,” he says before I have him sit on the couch. A startled laugh slips past my lips as he grabs me around the waist, pulls me onto his lap, and pushes my braid back over my shoulder. “How’s Alex?”
I love it that he’s asking about my boy. “He’s great, happy to be spending the night with his aunt and uncle.” Without a second thought, I rest my head on his shoulder and wind my arms around his neck. I snuggle farther into him when he wraps his arms around my waist and we’re both silent, but I can swear I hear his heartbeat. My hand travels down his chest until it rests right over his heart.
God, I missed this—those quiet moments where you don’t really need words, you just needed to be in the moment with that other person. I’ve only ever had those quiet moments with Brock; those were ours, and I just couldn’t share them with anyone else.
“I still can’t believe you’re a mom. He really is a good kid. You can just tell that he’s a good boy.”
I place my lips against the underside of his chin. “Thank you for saying that. I want to tell you about him, about his father, you just have to bear with me and be patient. It’s not an easy story and honestly it’s really difficult to talk about, but I want you to know.” I stand up. “Give me a few minutes to get dinner ready and then we’ll eat.”
In the kitchen, I take a deep breath before pulling the ziti out of the oven and sticking the garlic bread in. I pull the salad out of the refrigerator and toss it a little bit. The table’s already set so I put the salad bowl down and then load up our plates.
“Wow that looks great. Can I help with anything?”
“Nope, just have a seat.” I grab him some iced tea and me some water then set them on the table. Once the garlic bread is done, I set it on the table and join him.
Conversation is light and superficial while we eat, and I’m grateful for that. I know Brock’s enjoying the meal because he’s shoveling it in, but then again, he’s always had a healthy appetite. It tastes like sawdust to me, but I choke down each bite as my knee bounces rapidly under the table.
After we finish, he helps me clean up before I shoo him back into the living room. “Are you ready for pie now?” I holler, wanting a little more time to decide what to do. I want to tell him and get it over with, but I’m scared—scared of how he’s going to react, scared of what he’ll think of me.
Brock meets me in the mouth of the kitchen and holds out his hand to me. “Not yet. Come here baby. Let’s talk.” It’s not lost on either of us that my hand is visibly shaking as I place it in his. He pulls me toward him, wrapping his arms around me. “Why are you shaking?”
He leads me into the living room and I feel like my body is stiff, as if my joints are locked up. My breath leaves me in little pants, and as soon as I sit down, it feels like someone is sitting on my chest.
“Rip?” He gets down on his knees in front of me. “Hey baby, slow breaths, okay? Do you have panic attacks?”
“Not . . . for a long . . . time. I have . . . pills . . . in my bathroom.” He disappears upstairs and returns, holding out a little orange pill—my Xanax, which I hate taking. They make my head feel like it’s full of marshmallows, but I take it with a sip of Brock’s tea and swallow it down. Brock grabs me, pulls me into his lap, and hugs me tight to his chest, and I feel my heart start to slow down as well as my breathing. He makes soft soothing noises until I feel my eyes drift shut.
Brock
I feel it the moment Ripley falls asleep in my lap. I hate that whatever she was going to tell me caused her so much panic. God, do I even want to know about Alex? As I hold her, every worst-case scenario runs through my mind, each one worst then the last. With her still in my arms, I lean forward and snag the remote for the TV. After turning it on, I turn the volume down.
After watching part of a documentary, I pause it and stand up with Ripley in my arms. I carry her up the stairs to her bedroom and lay her down before covering her in her blanket. She mumbles something as she pulls the blankets up to her neck.
“What baby?” I lean down.
“He drugged me.” I freeze at her soft, slurred voice as she struggles in my hold, and I grab her and hug her tight, wanting to protect her from whatever is going on in her head. “Please s-stop.” My stomach turns violently. What’s happening? Is she reliving it?
I brush her hair out of her face. “Baby you’re safe. I’ve got you.” She’s semi-awake, but obviously she doesn’t know what’s going on. I don’t miss the tear that slides from her eye, and I gently wipe it away. “It’s okay baby. You can tell me.”
“Don’t do this to Brock,” she whimpers. Oh fuck, who hurt her? “Let me go.”
“Ripley, you’re safe. You’re okay. No one will hurt you, I swear to God.” I swallow the lump in my throat as I watch the tears spill from her eyes.
I stroke her hair gently and feel my world implode at her next words. “Stop Mr. James!” I fly up from the bed and it feels like my insides are shriveling up. A buzzing starts to fill my ears as I walk woodenly to the doorway, turning back to look at Ripley, hearing her soft snores. I want to smile right now, but I can’t find the strength to do it.
I sit heavily on her couch and hang my head, roughly running my hands through my hair. My thoughts are running a mile a minute, and I constantly come up with the same answer. Ripley’s phone dings from its place on the coffee table. I reach out and pick it up, and I see it’s from Jonah. With a swipe of my finger, I open the text.
JONAH: Did you tell Brock? How’d it go?
I hit the call button and wait impatiently for Jonah to answer.
“Ripley?” he says as a greeting.
“Who the fuck is Alex’s dad?” Deep in my soul, I know the answer.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He disconnects before I can say anything, and I set her phone down.
While I wait, I pace like an animal in a cage, and that’s what I fucking feel like. I feel like I need to be locked up right now, because it’s possible that I could kill someone tonight. I move to the bottom of the stairs, wanting to go to Ripley, to wake her up and make her tell me, but I don’t. I’m not sure I could hear the words come from her mouth. If I did, it’s possible I would kill my father and not think twice about it right now.
I make up my own scenario in my head as I rip my fingers through my hair. Bile sits in my throat and I want to punch something so bad. I want to tear shit apart, annihilate everything. The sound of keys in the door pulls me from my thoughts, and Jonah steps inside. I advance on him quickly and slam him against the door. “Tell me,” I bark in his face.
The pain that crosses Jonah’s features makes my stomach roll. “Yes, it was your dad. Alex is your half-brother.” I turn, and with an inhuman sounding roar, I slam my fist into her wall again and again until Jonah grabs me and my back hits the door. “I know you’re hurting so fucking badly right now, but think about Ripley. What do you think it would do to her to see you like this right now?” He lets me go but doesn’t move. “I’ll never forget that night. I’ll never forget the hysteria in her voice when she called me to come get her.”
Jonah’s eyes fill with tears. “Thank God I was in town that night and got to her right away. She was hiding behind the motel where he took her. An older homeless man stood as her guard and had his coat wrapped around her shoulders. Her lip was split and I could see some bruising on her arms. She refused to let me take her to the hospital so I took her to a hotel to clean her up and take care of her. I’m the only one who knows who it was. Her parents knew she was drugged, but she begged me not to tell them, so I didn’t.”
“Why did she keep Alex? Why didn’t she terminate the pregnancy?” Why would she want to carry a child that was conceived the way he was? Why have those constant reminders?
“She was going to terminate. Hell, she was at the clinic, already in the back. I had taken her because I didn’t want her to go alone. She was back there for a really long time, and I started getting nervous until finally the doctor came out and got me herself. On the way back, she told me Ripley had been in the stirrups and before the doctor could even start, Ripley started to cry and said she couldn’t do it. They had her in one of their counseling rooms and their social worker was talking to her, getting her set up with an OB.
“Ripley didn’t tell me why she backed out of it until we were back at her parents’ house. I remember she whispered so quietly, ‘I just couldn’t do it. I want this baby, it’s a part of Brock.’ Her parents couldn’t know that part, but they knew she decided to keep the baby. She loves that little boy with everything she has.”
My eyes feel wet and I don’t want Jonah to see, but his eyes look the same. I have to get out of here. I need to be outside so I can breathe; I feel like I’m suffocating. “Can you stay with her?”
“Where are you going? Please don’t go after that man. He doesn’t know about Alex and hasn’t seen Ripley since that night. That would open wounds Ripley’s worked hard to close.” He implores, “Please don’t do that to her.
I nod and before he can stop me, I’m out the door and in my truck. I don’t look at the house again as I pull away. I’m not sure what to do or how to process this. It hurts worse than any hit I’ve taken from that man or any hit I watched my mom take. I just can’t fathom that my dad hated me so much that when he saw the opportunity, he went after Ripley, the only girl I’ve ever fucking loved.
What I want to know is why? What did I ever do to that man except exist? No wonder I was drawn to Alex, he’s my half-brother . . . fuck me running. I pull up in front of my father’s house, and it’s completely dark. He’s either passed out already or at the bar. It takes all my self-control to not march right up to the door and kick it open. I’d give anything to wrap my hands around the motherfucker’s neck and squeeze until there’s nothing left.
I sit for a while before I decide it’s time to go. I need to put some distance between me and everyone else for right now before I do something I regret. Ripley will understand. She has to.