Author's Note: Soooooo…I didn't mean to put this on the backburner for like, six months, but my old computer all but exploded (with all my in-progress fics on it…which of course were not backed up because I IZ KOLLIGE EDUCATED AND YEAH) and then "Starling" came along and ate up a lot of my time. I also moved again (which is never fun or easy), and my job's kept me pretty busy lately. But I didn't forget about this fic!
(Or 'Starling', which I am dying to finish, but haven't had the time between everything else going on in my life lately.)
Special thanks to Jay-Ell-Gee for her help, pitch-perfect sense of humor, and overall awesomeness.
I.
Five bites into a burger that should taste like grease and heaven, Drew pushes his plate away and settles himself with tearing off smaller and smaller bites from the bread basket, dunking them in olive oil and swallowing them slowly. His stomach rebels at the thought of taking another cheesy, ketchup-covered bite, and every time he looks over at his mother sitting across the table from him, he pushes the plate further away from him.
Leave it to Audra to ruin a perfectly good cheeseburger.
Beside him, Bianca's taken maybe four bites of her sandwich. Mostly she's been nibbling at the rye bread edges, only taking a bite when she thinks someone is actually looking. She won't look at him, and he can practically feel the tired frustrating coming off her in waves.
Lola, it seems, is the only one who isn't choking on her dinner. Between games of Fruit Ninja with Adam and trying to dump the entire salt shaker on the tabletop, she's snatching fries off Adam's plate, her cheeks smeared with ketchup. The sight makes him smile. At least someone's having fun.
His dad takes a bite of his steak and points at the screen above Drew's head.
"Jays are winning," he remarks.
Drew nods. Adam does, too, but his mom just gives his dad a look, and his dad goes back to slicing his meat and eating quietly, and Drew grits his teeth in the tense silence.
Lola looks at Adam's plate and points.
"All your fwyes are gone!" she says.
Adam frowns. "No!" He points to Bianca's plate. "What about those?"
Lola giggles. "Those not your fwyes!"
"They're not?" Adam says, arching his eyebrow. "Well whose fries are they? I thought they were mine!"
Lola shakes her head. "They Mommy fwyes!"
Bianca grins out of the corner of her mouth, and even his mother is smiling as she takes a sip of her wine glass.
Adam shrugs. "Oh, well," he says, and takes a handful off Bianca's plate. He ignores her indignant "hey!" and her hand as it reaches out to slap his away from her plate.
Lola's face screws up, her cheeks puffing out.
"No, Adams!" she howls. "Mommy fwyes!"
Audra glares at him. "I told you not to wind her up," she hisses.
"Relax, Mom," his brother says. Then, more quietly, "someone needs to."
Doesn't escape Audra, of course.
"What was that?" she says.
Adam's ears turn bright red. "Nothing," he says. "Just saying. Everyone can stop choking on their food and take a breath every now and then."
"Yeah, like that'll happen," Drew mumbles.
Audra looks at him, eyes narrowed. She does that famous head-tilt that means she's smelling blood; the one that used to scare him shitless when he was a kid. He steels against it and glares at the table.
He catches a glance at Bianca's barely-touched food, and wonders if that's all she's going to eat. She needs to eat more; the doctor told her that, the last time they went. Bianca snapped back that she'd be fine to eat and gain more weight, so long as she didn't keep barfing her guts out every time she tried to eat something. The medicine he gave her didn't really help; the last time they ate dinner with his family, Bianca puked up the chicken his mother cooked, and Adam joked that the baby was a vegetarian.
Instead of eating her food, Bianca just aggressively pokes at it. He wonders if he should say anything, then figures he better not, if he wants to avoid getting stabbed with a dinner fork.
A wise move, he decides, when he sees her spear a piece of broccoli and nearly break the stalk in half.
He'll be happy when this whole thing is over – though he bets not nearly as much as Bianca will be. All the sickness, all the weird emotions, all the insane mood swings. Bianca rarely ever cried, before she got pregnant.
He once heard her crying in the living room, trying to hide it over the rush of the sink. They were late on their electric bill, and Bianca was behind on her midterm portfolio. He knew she would just angry and embarrassed if he asked her about why she was crying – and he was never good at figuring out why, or with dealing with it, anyway. So instead, he snuck out of the house and brought home a bottle of her favorite wine and a frozen pizza, two things guaranteed to cheer her up.
"I'm pregnant, Drew," she said when he came back. She'd stopped crying, but her eyes were still red-rimmed and angry-looking. "I can't drink."
He held the pizza box out to her, waving it under her nose. "There aren't any rules against stuffed crust, are there?"
She'd taken a slice, but ended up throwing it back up an hour later, and after rinsing the smell out of her mouth, she crawled into bed and buried herself under the covers right after she put Lola to bed. It was eight-thirty.
Drew had picked up one of her notebooks as he cleaned up the kitchen. Pages and pages of her handwriting, words he didn't understand for classes he'd never take. In the margin of one there was a date and time scrawled – 3:30 14 September – and when he turned the pages, he found not notes but a list of names:
Rebecca
Olivia
Samantha
Stella
Danielle
Nicole
He'd stayed up until two in the morning typing out the rest of her notes, and when she woke up the next morning he handed her a bagel and said, "I like Samantha."
A stab of guilt goes through him when he remembers why she's been crying, as of late. He takes a huge bite of the burger instead, and hurries to catch a blob of ketchup from falling off his chin and onto his shirt.
Lola giggles when he wipes ketchup off his face.
"Your face is silly," she says.
Drew leans across the table to her.
"Oh, really?" he says. He crosses his eyes, sticking his tongue out. "Does Daddy look silly now?"
Lola squeals.
"Why your face like that?" she demands, pointing at him.
A small smile goes across his mother's face, and even Bianca grins.
Drew catches Adam's eye for a moment. Adam stares back, expressionless, but then turns to Lola.
"Daddy likes being silly," he tells her, ruffling her curls. "Daddy's just a big ol' poopface. Right?"
Lola bursts into another round of laughter at the word "poopface", but Adam just looks at him, like he's trying to tell him something without actually saying it.
Drew always hated this game. For some reason, he always gets it wrong.
Like right now. Adam's face shouldn't look like he's mad or something, but it definitely does.
Drew turns on the most charming smile to his brother. "How's Jess, Adam?" he says sweetly.
Adam scowls.
Bianca looks up from her barely-touched plate. "Did you guys decide to take that trip?"
Drew looks at her. What is she talking about? He looks back at Adam, who apparently understands exactly what Bee is talking about.
Adam shakes his head. "No. Turns out she has something that week. Some family thing. A cousin getting married or something." He shrugs. "It'd probably be better if we went sometime in the summer, anyway. It's apparently the off-season down there, so less tourists."
"Wait," Drew says. "What trip?"
Adam raises an eyebrow at him. "Nothing," he says coolly.
Drew's face heats up, and he looks down at the table, absorbed in picking the seeds off the top of his burger bun.
"I thought you guys were going to do that bed & breakfast thing," Bianca asks.
"We were," Adam sighs. "But then Jess read this article about apparently there's a bigger chance of getting bedbugs at a b&b, so that put an end to THAT idea."
Bianca smiles. "Paranoid much?"
"I didn't know you guys were planning a vacation together," Audra says.
Neither did I, Drew thinks.
Adam shrugs. "We thought about it, but…"
He pauses. Drew remembers the conversation earlier in the car, and wonders if THAT'S the reason this mysterious trip fell through.
Adam runs a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes. "Jess has a lot going on with her family right now, and needs to deal with that. So we figured, you know, when things die down. Less drama."
"Is everything okay with her mom?" Bianca asks.
What? Drew looks at her, but Bianca ignores him.
"I don't know," Adam says. "She doesn't really tell me. I tried emailing her sister, just saying, 'hey, hope things are okay', but she didn't tell me anything, really."
His brother sigh, letting his head hang down. "I hate having no fucking idea what's going on."
That makes two of us, Drew thinks.
"Language," Audra warns. She's helping Lola dip pieces of her grilled cheese sandwich in ketchup, and keeping her from knocking over the candle in the middle of the table.
Drew keeps picking at his food, going over the idea over and over again. Adam and Bianca, having all these conversations behind his back. Talking about stuff that isn't the stuff they talk about when all of them get together as a family. When do they get all this time to talk, if Adam lives an hour away and Bianca's in school all the time?
Bianca knows all this stuff about Adam that HE doesn't. Why does Adam talk to Bianca about stuff he doesn't mention to Drew? It freaks him out.
No, it doesn't, he amends. It doesn't freak him out. It doesn't make him feel angry, either. Just…weird. He didn't know Adam and Bianca, like, talked behind his back about stuff. They have this whole secret relationship or something.
Drew stops himself. Secret relationship. He sounds so paranoid. Bianca would laugh in his face if he brought that up.
Still. He couldn't remember the last time Bianca mentioned that she talked to Adam. Or Adam mentioned that he talked to her.
Bianca takes a small sip of her water.
"Sounds tough," she says.
Adam laughs bitterly. "Yeah. I wish she'd just TELL me, already. I mean, I've only been dating her two and a half years."
Bianca opens her mouth, then closes it again. She looks down at her plate, dapping the corners of her mouth free of imaginary food.
"I know it sucks big time," she says quietly, "but try not to get mad at Jess."
She fiddles with the napkin in her hands, staring at the flickering candlelight in the center of the table.
"I mean," Bianca murmurs, "I get it. It's hard to admit you've got shit going in your life sometimes. You just want things to be normal."
She looks up at Drew briefly, almost like she wants to say something. Then she looks back looks down, staring at her full plate. Drew watches her hands twist the napkin, not looking back to him, and wonders what just happened.
"Okay," Adam argues, "and that would work if I was just some guy in her life. But I'm not. I mean, we're getting engaged, I live with her, I've gone on vacation with her family…like, we're talking about having a baby together!"
He shakes his head. "Why is it that she feel like she can't talk to me about shit like this?"
"Not so loud," Audra warns again.
Light bulb.
What if, Drew suddenly wonders, the reason Bianca and Adam don't tell him about their talks is because they talk about him? If Adam tells Bianca all this stuff about Jessica that he doesn't share with Drew, then Bianca must share some stuff with Adam about what goes on in their marriage – stuff that Adam never brings up with Drew.
Drew's face suddenly feels flushed. He looks at Bianca, but Lola has her attention, wanting Bianca's help coloring the kids' placemat with the broken crayons the waiter provided.
What could Bianca want to talk about that she doesn't discuss with him? What doesn't she want him to know?
And why doesn't she want him to know it?
II.
Right before Lola started sleeping through the night, Bianca thought she was going to leave Drew.
At the time, they were living in the guest room at Audra and Omar's house. They had six dollars in their checking account, and the alternator on Bianca's car had just given out. Drew's hours at work were being cut, and Lola was sick. She coughed and cried and shuddered all night, and nothing anyone could do would soothe her.
It wasn't something she necessarily planned, or imagined. It was just a thought that came to mind whenever she woke up to feed the baby, or changed her millionth diaper of the day, or tried unsuccessfully to stop Lola from crying and tugging on her ears.
Just walk out the door. Walk down the streets, without a baby or a husband. Walk, and keep walking.
Somewhere. Anywhere.
Then Lola ended up in the ICU for an infection, and there was nowhere to walk except up and down the hospital hallway. There was no one except Drew to keep her from screaming her head off at the doctors and nurses who poked and prodded Lola's tiny baby body with needles and made her yell like someone was torturing her. There was no one except for Drew to stay awake with her all night beside the little crib in Intensive Care holding her hand, and just be there, to feel the hell they were both drowning in.
When Lola was released, it was as if some sort of bubble had popped. They treated each other like visitors who just happened to be taking care of the same baby. He would bring home diapers without being asked, and she listened to Audra and tried to sleep when Lola did. Drew got up with the baby when she cried at night, and she let herself leave the house and walk around the neighborhood, letting the cold wind clear her head, and kept walking until her legs ached and feet were sore.
It stayed like that for a while – the two of them dancing around each other, talking but not really, strangers who knew each other very well. Then they moved out of Audra and Omar's. Lola started sleeping through the night. She re-enrolled in school. Drew got more hours. They made ends meet. She didn't think about leaving him, and she hadn't since.
Across the table, Lola is reaching for the slice of pepperoni and olive pizza on Adam's plate. Adam is trying to stop her, and the two of them are laughing like they share a private joke. When Adam sees her over Lola's curly head, he grins at her, and whispers something to Lola.
"Does Mommy have seafood?" he says.
Bianca arches her eyebrow. "What?"
"Mommy likes seafood," Adam says again. "Right, Lola?"
Lola nods, then opens her mouth, exposing a chewed lump of grilled cheese.
Adam smiles at her, and it's so stupid and goofy and gross that Bianca has to smile back.
Lola looks pleased with herself. Adam does, too.
Audra's mouth quirks. "Nice thing to teach her," she remarks.
Drew tenses again. Bianca does, too, a headache blooming on the side of her temple when she does. She rifles through her bag for aspirin, but doesn't find any. Shit.
Instead of looking at Drew, she focused on the flickering candlelight. Watches Adam letting Lola take a bite of his pizza, Omar watch the game on the TV above them, Audra swirling the remains of her wine in the glass. The smoke curling in the dimness, the shadows cutting across their skin
"How'd the study group go?"
Drew ignores her, going straight to the fridge. He flings the door open with more force than necessary, rattling all the jars on the shelf, and takes out the milk, drinking straight from the carton.
Bianca grits her teeth. "Want a glass for that?"
When Drew acts like he doesn't hear her, she looks down at her textbook and mutters, "Guess not."
Drew slams the milk back in the fridge, still not looking at her. Bianca looks over at Lola, who doesn't notice anything.
"Daddy!" she squeals, holding out her arms to him.
Drew makes himself smile. "Hey, Princess."
He kisses the top of Lola's head and ruffles her hair, then stomps out of the room. Bianca hears the door to their bedroom open and slam shut, and she waits a minute before going after him.
She finds him leaning over the bathroom sink, the faucet running while he stares at the water swirling in the porcelain.
"Everything okay?" she says, though she can tell by the tense way he's bunching his shoulders that it's definitely not.
Again, Drew acts like he hasn't heard her.
Bianca folds her arms over her stomach, staring at the steam fogging up the mirror. "Did the study group go okay?"
One shoulder twitches.
Bianca sighs. "If it didn't go okay, I can help you look over your notes…"
Drew's hand comes down on the countertop, harder than either of them expected.
"Could we please," he mutters, "just talk about anything else?"
Bianca sighs. "Okay," she murmurs.
He finally warrants her a look. "Did Lola eat?"
Bianca rolls her eyes. "No. I let her starve."
Drew scowls. "Whatever," he mumbles.
Bianca sighs, running a hand through her hair.
"Did something else happen?"
In the mirror, Drew's face twitches.
"No," he says drily. "Nothing happened. Unless you count failing every single one of those stupid fucking practice quizzes and not being able to remember equations and whatever the fuck x is."
He throws his hands up in the air. "Like, who gives a fucking shit! None of it even matters! Jesus Christ, I do NOT fucking CARE!"
From the kitchen, Bianca hears a chair squeak, and the tiny sound of feet on the tile floor.
"Keep your voice down," she hisses, peering into the hallway.
Drew glares at her, but Lola's footsteps go to the main room, and soon they hear the TV turn on and a cartoon theme song playing.
Drew rolls his eyes and leans against the mirror. "Fucking shit," he mumbles.
"Oh, shut up," she snaps. "So you failed a practice quiz. Whatever."
"A ton of practice quizzes," Drew argues.
"Then I'll help you take them!" Bianca says. "Tonight, even. We can sit down together and I'll talk you through them, if that's what you want!"
Drew slams his hand against the sink handle, switching the sink off abruptly.
"What I want is for everyone to get off my back about this pointless BULLSHIT!" he demands.
Drew looks like he's about to say something, then bites it back just in time. Instead, he balls his fists into hands, and grits his teeth so hard she's surprised his jaw doesn't crack under the pressure.
"I'm doing," he grounds out, every word an effort, "the best. That. I. Can."
She shakes her head. "Really? Because it looks like giving up."
"No, you don't get it!" he says. "I already failed this class twice, I failed all the homework, I fucked up on all the practice quizzes…"
"So take the quizzes again!" Bianca shouts. "And keep taking them until you get it!"
"I'm never gonna GET it!" Drew says. "No matter what I do! I'm gonna be forty and still taking this FUCKING goddam class, and I will NEVER pass!"
"You would if you just TRY!"
"I DO care!" he shouts, pointing to her. "I do; I AM fucking trying!"
Bianca stares back at him, his face twisted in fury and frustration. For some reason, all the fight deflates out of her at that moment, and all she can do is stare back at him, the expression sliding off her face.
"Okay," is all she says.
Her lack of effort seems to make him angrier.
"I am trying!" he repeats. "Jesus Christ, I'm sick of fucking SAYING it!"
Her expression doesn't change. "Okay," she repeats.
Drew glares at her for a moment before turning away, sighing in disgust. Bianca walks out and lets the bathroom door swing shut behind her. A minute later, she hears Drew lock it behind her.
She sees Lola sitting on the couch, flipping through the channels. Bianca runs her hands over her face, bracing herself against the closed bathroom door. For some reason, she's out of breath, and can't seem to get it back.
Audra has been watching the two of them silently, her face in the shadows of the dimly lit restaurant. Bianca can't quite look at her mother-in-law as she roots through her bag for an aspirin that isn't going to be there.
"You need something?" Audra asks lightly.
Bianca brushes her hair behind her ears.
"I was just…" she starts, then sighs. "Just looking for a pen."
Audra raises one eyebrow, and Bianca can tell she knows she's lying, but she takes another bite of her salad instead of asking any more questions.
Beside her, Drew rummages in his coat. After a moment, he pulls a pen out of the inside pocket.
Bianca stares at it without taking it from him.
"Thanks," she sighs.
Drew sets it on the table in front of her without a word. She lets it sit there a moment before slipping it into her purse.
Audra takes another sip of wine.
Omar peers at the menu. "Anyone want coffee?" he asks.
Drew takes a bite of his burger. Bianca stares at the congealing vinaigrette pooling on her plate.
Across the table, Adam gives the two of them a look.
"Hey, Lola," he says, "wanna watch the babies?"
He pulls Audra's iPad out of her purse and turns on Netflix, already starting up an episode of The Rugrats. Bianca would smile at that if she could; she didn't know people still watched that show.
Lola's eyes light up when the theme song starts to play.
"Yeah!" she says as she straightens in Adam's lap. "I wanna watch the babies, Adams!"
Adam smiles at Bianca over the top of Lola's head and runs a hand through her dark curls. Bianca feels too overwhelmed to smile back, so she just nods her head.
While the theme song plays on, Lola looks up at Adam like she's studying him.
"Adams," she says, her voice low and serious, "I was a babies once."
Adam and Omar burst into laughter. Even Drew smiles, and Audra grins into her wine glass.
"Did you notice she does that?" Audra remarks.
Bianca looks over at Lola, absorbed in her cartoon as Omar points to something on the screen for her. "Does what?"
"Adds an 's' onto the end of her words. And she doesn't say her 'r' sounds much, either."
Beside her, Drew tenses like a clenched fist.
"What's your point," he says, "Mom?"
Bianca finds herself holding her breath as Audra skims him over with her eyes, then turns away from him to look at her instead.
"Bianca," she says, "did you think about sending her to speech therapy?"
"Therapy!" Drew says before Bianca has a chance to respond. She can practically see the smoke coming out of his ears. "Are you serious, Mom?"
"Drew, don't," she says raggedly.
But he ignores her, turning the full force of his anger on Audra.
"Lola doesn't need therapy," he growls. "She doesn't need anything. There's nothing wrong with her!"
"Drew," Omar says, "turn it down. Now."
"It's speech therapy, Drew," Audra replies as the both of them ignore her husband. "It's just to help her out."
"She doesn't need help; she's not stupid." Drew says the word like it's a curse, practically spitting the syllables out.
Lola turns to look at him, her eyes wide. For the first time all night, she's still and silent.
"Daddy?" she says hesitantly. Her eyes look glassy in the candlelight, and her lower lip juts out like it does right before she's about to cry.
Bianca knows the feeling.
"Andrew," Adam snaps, a warning.
"What's next, huh Mom?" Drew argues. "Advanced classes? University fast-tracking? Academic scholarships?"
Lola lets out a wail at his angry tone, and starts hiccupping on her tears.
Adam glares at his brother.
"Shut the fuck up," he hisses, putting his arms around Lola and shushing her against his shoulder.
"Drew" Omar says, his voice low and angrier than Bianca's ever heard from her always-level-headed father-in-law, "people are staring."
Bianca realizes he's right – people ARE listening to Drew's raised voice. A million years ago, she would have turned right towards them and asked if they were enjoying the show before telling them to go to hell. Now, all she does is run a hand through her hair and try to hold back the need to strangle him with her bare hands.
Drew doesn't seem to notice the people watching them – he only has eyes for Audra.
"She's three years old," he tells her coldly. "Give her a few years before you tell her she's a total fucking failure, okay?"
Audra couldn't have looked worse if Drew actually slapped her. Her face turns red, then completely drains of color. And then her eyes actually glaze over, and for one horrible, horrible second, Bianca is sure Audra will echo her granddaughter and burst out crying in the middle of the restaurant.
Bianca's hand comes down on the table, and she feels the impact all the way to her elbow. Shoving Drew out of the way, she grabs her purse and marches out of the restaurant, ignoring Adam and Audra calling for her to stop.
"Where Mommy go?" she hears Lola cry out, but Bianca doesn't hear the reply. She all but runs out the restaurant door, nearly barreling into a couple walking in who give her a startled look. She rushes past them, stumbling through the tiny gravel lot and fishing in her purse for her car keys.
"Bianca!"
She can hear him running after her, his feet crunching on the gravel. "Bianca, wait!"
She ignores him, trying to hurry to the car, until he reaches out and grabs her arm.
"Let GO of me, Drew!" She yanks her arm back and whirls around to face him.
"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" He scowls. "Audra just pissed me off!"
She shakes her head. "Oh, like you weren't LOOKING for a reason to jump down her throat."
Hurt slashes across his face. "She's the one who started the whole thing! It's not my fault she makes it her job to judge every little thing we do and make us feel like fuck-ups!"
Bianca rolls her eyes. "Whatever," she says, fishing for her car keys. "You need to get over yourself."
She expects Drew to follow her to the car, but instead she hears him yell, "You always take her side!"
Something inside her snaps.
"Because you do this every fucking time!" She stomps toward him. "Can we not have minute where you aren't trying to start a stupid fight!"
She shoves him in the chest, beating against his shoulder with her fists.
"Audra is my family too! And you can't even try to care about that, because you're so fucking stupid!"
His face drains of color when she says that, and she turns back around, marching towards the car.
"You let her ruin everything!" he shouts across the parking lot.
Bianca turns to him one last time. "Go to Hell!"
She flings the car door open, pulling out of the parking lot so quickly the tires squeal. New rain starts to beat lightly down on the windshield as her throat tightens, and when she realizes she can't see the road she pulls over into a gas station parking lot to calm down. She beats her arms on the steering wheel until she accidentally hits the horn, and then she lets herself yell out in frustration before forcing herself to take a long, slow breath.
The baby is kicking like crazy inside her. Bianca wonders if she's feeling everything Bianca is, all the tension and anger and unbelievable frustration. That makes her take another deep breath, and close her eyes to let some of the energy drain away. After a moment the urge to let out another scream passes.
Bianca leans back in her seat, reclining it just a bit. The radio is set to one of Drew's pre-sets, an oldies station, and Foreigner is running at a low hum through the car. She switches the station to a country song, something she's never heard before and would ordinarily never listen to, but for some reason finds it weirdly calming. She leaves the volume low and lets the steel guitar wash over her.
Outside, the rain is still falling at the same easy pace. The reflection of the streetlights through the rain-covered glass turn her windshield into a galaxy, and she traces the pattern of rain drops until they disappear.
From inside her purse, Bianca's phone buzzes. She closes her eyes and waits a moment, hoping it'll stop. When it just keeps ringing, she picks it up and realizes it's Audra calling instead of Drew.
She stops just short of answering it, and wonders why she doesn't. The phone keeps ringing, and Bianca turns it on silent. She sends a text to Audra to let her know she's all right, and then throws it on the backseat.
The country station is still on the radio, as the steady rain falls outside. A song about a lonely train is playing as the raindrops glimmer like damp stars on her windshield, smeared and shifting constellations that dazzle the road below; like she's walking over the night.
III.
Drew watches Bianca drive away in a squeal of gravel and rain. For a moment, all he can do is stand in the parking lot with his hands balled into fists.
Behind him, he can hear footsteps, and Adam appears at his side, his face furious.
"What the hell, man?" he demands.
"Screw off," Drew mumbles, pushing away from him.
Adam doesn't take the hint.
"So that's it?" he shouts. "You're just letting her take off?"
Drew ignores him, marching through the parking lot. His jaw aches from grinding his teeth.
It isn't fair. All Audra did was fucking pick them apart the entire goddam dinner, and Bianca sticks up for her? When all she did was tell them that their kid was already fucked up at three years old, AND needed therapy? When she basically told them they were failures who screwed up their kid's entire life?
Of course Lola could never measure up to Audra. No one ever did. Nobody was ever good enough. All she ever saw was how everyone else couldn't do what she wanted. All she EVER saw was how people failed her.
Drew's hands ball into fists at the thought. It's one thing to call Drew dumb – like Audra hasn't done that his entire life. But to say that about his daughter?
And, on top of ALL that, calls him a shitty husband?
Fucking Audra. She ruins everything.
Behind him, Adam is still yelling.
"You're being a total shithead, you know that?" He reaches out and grabs Drew's shoulder, trying to stop him.
Drew finally whirls around. "I said BACK OFF, Adam!"
He stands up straight and towers over his brother, for full effect. Maybe he should give Adam a piece of his mind, while they're apparently going to duke it out. Like HE wasn't being a total shithead, too, not even bothering to stop Audra from picking him apart.
Goddamit, why was everyone so determined to watch him get chewed up and spit back out? Did they all think he was as useless as she did?
Instead of hitting him, Adam glares back stonily.
"Fine." He pushes Drew back. "Keep being an asshole. But I wouldn't go back in there if I were you."
His brother storms off, leaving Drew standing in the middle of the parking lot. His arms are doing that stupid swinging-at-their-side thing again, and he doesn't know what to do with them. He shoves them in his pockets, but they stick out stupidly, and he doesn't know what else to do with them except let them fall, useless and pathetic.
It takes him a minute to figure out it's raining. A car horn honks, and Drew realizes that it's honking at him, to get out of the way. He takes a few steps toward the restaurant, then remembers his mother and doesn't want to take another step.
Why do things always end up this way? Why is it always so fucking messed up?
His hands curl into fists again. He knows why.
Audra.
Turning the thought over, Drew can only get angrier. Why does everyone always stand with Audra on this, when all she does is sit there and judge every fucking move he and Bianca make? Why does everyone thing he doesn't have a right to get mad, when she tells them they're shitty parents who screwed up their kid? How is he supposed to act when Audra has his low paychecks, his twice-failed accounting course, his past-due notice on their apartment, and Bianca's unhappiness to back up her claim that he's as useless and terrible as she makes him out to be?
How is any of that supposed to NOT make Drew angry?
Drew sways in place for a moment, not sure what to do with himself. Around him, the rain still falls.
He promised when he proposed to Bianca that he would take care of the both of them.
Strike One: His wife was sick and miserable, and he couldn't make her feel any better.
He promised when Lola was born that he'd never do anything to hurt her; she'd never be a fucked-up mess like he was.
Strike Two: His kid apparently needed therapy; clearly, he was such a terrible parent that he already screwed up their kid before she even started preschool.
He promised when he held Bianca's hand and looked at Lola in her glass cradle in the ICU three years ago that he'd never fail his family ever again; that no matter what happened, he'd save them from it.
Strike Three:
They were broke, practically homeless, living off of financial aid checks and his laughable salary, the new baby they couldn't afford was tearing Bianca apart from the inside, everyone in the entire universe understood accounting except him, and he was doomed to be a drop-out forever.
Everything his mom thought about him was basically true.
No wonder Bianca didn't take his side against Audra.
The rain comes down, but he feels hot – too hot to be standing in winter wind with rain coming down. Drew shifts from foot to foot on the uneven gravel. He should probably move at some point – or else people would wonder why he was standing in the middle of a parking lot with his huge arms swaying and his face beet red like he was some doofus. But instead he stands there, toeing the gravel with the edge of his shoes. The darkness out here feels good; felt right. Even the dimness of the restaurant feels too bright for him. Even the candlelight was too…pure, somehow. Too good.
The dark and sketchy parking lot felt better for him – the crunch of footsteps, the harsh call of the wind, the rain like needles stabbing him like he deserves.
IV.
"Knock knock."
Before she can say anything or look up from her laundry, Adam pokes his head in the doorway. "Don't worry, it's just me."
She stares at him for a long moment. "Where's Drew?"
"Back at the restaurant."
She raises her eyebrows. "He doesn't have the car."
"I know." Adam shrugs. "The way I see it, he wants to mess everything up, he can find his own way home. My parents can drive him."
She scoffs. "That'll be a fun ride."
Adam shakes his head. "Serves him right."
Bianca agrees with him, but doesn't say so. Instead, she takes the clean dish towel she pulled out of the dryer and folds it on top of her round stomach, then places it in the cabinet next to the dishwasher. "Just another night in the Torres-DeSousa house," she mumbles.
Adam reaches around her and grabs one of the towels, helping her fold. "Yeah. I'd say we were all out in fine form tonight."
Bianca pauses mid-fold, running her fingers over the rough, overwashed texture of the dishrag.
"How bad do you think everything's fucked up now?" she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
She doesn't really want the answer to that, but Adam says, "I dunno. I mean, if I had to rate it on a scale of, like, 'one' to 'Katie Matlin Attending Your Wedding'…"
He pauses for a laugh, but when Bianca bites her lip and looks away instead, his face softens.
"Bianca," Adam says. "We all know he's being a jerk. No one's mad, okay?"
When she doesn't answer him, Adam sighs and looks at the boxes stacked in the corner.
"Is there anything you need me to do?" he asks quietly.
At that, she almost lets out the tears she's been holding back fall. What can he do? Hire movers? Win them the lottery? Find a time machine?
She mentally slaps herself. Get a fucking grip, already.
"You can wrap the glass," she says finally.
Adam nods. "Will do."
He grabs some of the clean dishrags on the kitchen table and starts wrapping their glassware in it, gently placing them in the boxes. Bianca just watches for a moment, wondering if she should go over and kiss her brother-in-law.
"You know," Adam says casually as she watches him, "I've been known to wrap some serious glass. In fact, I'm the best damn glass-wrapper around."
She arches an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to be a euphemism?"
He gives her a sideways grin, which she can't help but return.
"I was going for something like, 'wrap it, don't tap it," he says, and Bianca groans, swatting him with a dishrag, "but I don't think it would have worked as well as it did in my head." He rolls another glass into a dishrag and holds it up for her. "I guess you'll just have to admire my craftsmanship."
"I've noticed," she says drily. "You're so careful wrapping all our junk."
Adam smirks when Bianca realizes what she just said.
"Well," he says, his eyes glinting, "it's always important to be careful wrapping your junk." He looks pointedly at her swollen belly. "Or so people tell me."
He snickers at his own joke while Bianca rolls her eyes.
"For the record," Adam says when he stops laughing, "that was WAY better than where I was originally going with this."
They both laugh, but his face turns serious when he places the last of the glasses in the box.
Bianca watches his hands stop moving for a moment as he pauses, staring at the glass in his hand. It makes her look away from him.
She folds the final towel and sets it into the drawer, pausing before shutting the drawer.
How could he not resent the hell out of her and Drew? All Adam and Jessica want is to have a normal family together. They'd be great parents. But no matter how badly they want it, it's going to be nothing but a struggle. Meanwhile, she and Drew can't help but get knocked up with kids they can't even afford.
And where do they end up? Practically homeless, broke, and needing Adam and his family to pick their asses up off the ground. Again.
Their whole lives would fall apart in a second if it weren't for the Torreses, and everyone knows it.
"He always has to do this," she mutters. "You think he'd know better by now."
Adam rolls his eyes. "Yeah. But, again – idiot."
Bianca shakes her head. "It's not even that."
Her voice drops down to a whisper, and she looks up at him. "We wouldn't be anywhere without you guys."
Adam shakes his head. "You guys have survived this long. You're doing something right, most likely."
Bianca ignores his flippant tone. "It's true, and you know it."
She sighs, then winces as a jolt of pain runs through her back. She leans against the sink, hanging her head and breathing through it.
"Whoa," Adam says worriedly. He takes a step closer to her. "You all right?"
When he hesitantly puts a hand on her shoulder, Bianca looks up at him.
"You know I'm right," she giggles, sounding weirdly stoned. Something about the pain is making her loopy. Or maybe that's the lack of sleep talking. "Drew and I would be totally fucked without you guys."
Adam grips her shoulder more tightly. "You say that like we're gonna put you guys out on the streets."
She turns to him. Adam doesn't have to bend to be eye-level with her. They're almost always the same height.
Dimly, deliriously, she remembers ballroom class, putting her arms around his neck and his hands on her waist. Prom, spinning around under the sliver lights as they laughed, watching them twinkle off their skin. The glint and the glimmer, and it felt like music, like everything was suddenly lighter and more free than it had been in months.
"We're not going anywhere, okay?" he tells her. "Drew tried to do that years ago, and we're still here." He looks her in the eye. "You're family, too."
Bianca has to look away from him; she's always had trouble when he looks at her like that – as far as she can remember, as long as she's known him. Something about the hope there, the surety. It's not ever been something she understood, or experienced.
She wonders how Adam, of all people, can hold onto that.
"Plus," he adds, "My mom would chain herself to a comet before she stopped talking to you or the kids."
She makes herself meet his eyes, and tries to feel the reassurance there. It's the same kind that's always been there.
Maybe he stays hopeful because he's had so many disappointments, she thinks. Maybe it's the best thing he can do. Either that or drown in it, and what could does that do anybody.
"You better be there, too, A.T.," she manages to reply.
The old nickname makes him smile.
"You kidding?" he arches an eyebrow. "Where the hell would those girls BE without Uncle Adam?"
V.
The ride home from the restaurant was nothing short of torture.
When he came back inside and realized that his brother had left with their only other car, his dad told him curtly that he'd need to ride home with them. Drew opened his mouth to argue, then realized he didn't exactly have other options. He didn't have money for a cab, and he was fairly positive Adam or Bianca wouldn't drive all the way back here to pick him up.
He ended up sitting in the backseat with Lola, watching Go Diego Go with her on his phone's little screen while Lola chattered. In the front seat, his mother sat completely still and stony, not saying a word to anyone. His dad didn't either, so Drew just stayed quiet and stared out the window.
When they get to his place, he unhooks Lola from the car seat and carries her inside, not looking at either of his parents as they trail behind them. When he gets to the door, he realizes he doesn't have the car keys – Adam took them – so he has to wait until his mother uses the spare she has on her set of car keys to unlock the door to his own home.
The house is already dark when they go inside, and the bedroom door is shut with no light coming from underneath the door. Bianca doesn't come out, but his mother slips into the bedroom quietly and lets the door click behind her.
"Lola needs a bath," Drew says, to no one in particular.
His dad shrugs. "You want me to take her?"
Drew nods, and his dad takes Lola into the bathroom. Drew stands there, staring at the bedroom door staring at him, the blank wood of the closed door staring at him like some sort of accusation.
It's dark when he gets home, and a light snow has already started to fall on his shoulders. He doesn't care so much about it, mostly because he's stopped feeling much of anything.
The lights are turned off when he steps inside the house, and he can see their bedroom door is already shut, the lights turned off. He stares at the closed door for a long moment, wondering if she locked the door on him. He places his hand on the knob but doesn't turn it, and instead presses his cold forehead against the door. Closes his eyes, and all he can see is Bianca's face, streaked with tears, and the anger in her eyes.
"Well, guess what. You married a fuck-up."
"I married an asshole I can't count on for shit!"
"Daddy!"
A sharp wail startles him. He turns around to find Lola standing in the hallway, her nightshirt askew and face red with tears, whimpering as she tries to catch her breath.
He bends down to her height. "Come here, baby," he murmurs, lifting her into his arms. "What it is?"
Lola's legs wrap around his middle as she clings to him, pressing her tear-soaked face into his neck.
"Come lay down with me," she wails.
She pulls back, looking at him as she blinks the sleep and fresh tears out of her eyes. She looks scared, and exhausted, and pleading, and he already sees himself trying to make room among her stuffed animals, holding her until she falls asleep in his arms.
"What is it?" he repeats, even though it doesn't matter.
Lola grips him harder, a shudder rippling through her as she cries into his collar.
"It's okay," he murmurs, rocking her gently. He glances over his shoulder at the still-closed bedroom door, then carries Lola to her rumpled pink bed. "It's okay, shhh."
"I married an asshole I can't count on for shit!"
When Lola's sobs finally die down, Drew stays with her, running his fingers through her hair. The night closes in around him, and he just sits in Lola's narrow little bed, listening to her breathe. He closes his eyes, letting the darkness press on him as the shadows creep by.
"What are we doing?"
Drew blinks. "Huh?"
His dad's reflection peers at him in the mirror of the bathroom.
"What are we doing?" he asks again, holding up a bottle of shampoo. "Hair wash, or just soap?"
"Oh." Behind his dad, the faucet is running. Lola sits in the water, playing with one her Barbies, making it dive off the ledge.
"Yeah," he murmurs. "I guess."
In the mirror, his dad raises an eyebrow. "Which one?"
Drew glances at his father's expectant reflection before he turns to the closed bedroom door.
VI.
The door creaks open. Bianca holds still underneath the covers, trying to look sound asleep, but relaxes slightly when she hears the light footsteps on the hardwood floor.
Not Drew.
The footsteps turn and the door handle rattles again, but Bianca sits up and says, "Is everything okay?"
Audra turns around.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I didn't mean to wake you up. I just wanted to check on you."
"No, it's okay." She leans against the headboard, trying to ease the ache in her back. "I was just lying down."
Audra's hand is still on the door handle.
"I'm so sorry about Drew," Bianca says.
Audra holds her hand up. "Bianca, don't –"
"I shouldn't have run out on you guys, but it had nothing to do with you." She shakes her head. "He's being awful, and I'm SO sorry."
Audra looks away. "You don't need to blame yourself for my son," she says.
Bianca stares at the duvet, bunching it up between her fingers.
"I don't know what I did to make him hate me so much," Audra mutters, almost to herself, "but apparently it's worth him kicking me out of my own family."
"He didn't kick you out," Bianca replies.
Audra shakes her head. She hesitates a moment, then comes over and sits on the edge of the bed, skimming the bedcovers with her palm.
"Be honest with me," she says quietly. "Do I need to take you to a doctor?"
Bianca shakes her head. "Audra, I'm fine, seriously..."
"You just don't seem fine," Audra argues. "You're exhausted, you're sick all the time…" she laughs bitterly. "And Drew certainly isn't making things less stressful for you."
Bianca winces, this time not from her back pain.
"He's trying," she mumbles.
Audra just shakes her head.
"You just…" she begins, then bites her lip. She runs her hand over the bedcovers, brushing over the wrinkles, and fiddles with a loose thread.
"I'm just so worried about you two," Audra whispers.
Her hand reaches over, and slides on top of Bianca's.
"You know," she says after a long moment, "the reason I wasn't happy when you and Drew got married had nothing to do with you. It's not that I thought you shouldn't be with him, or that I didn't think you loved him enough, or anything like that. I just…I couldn't support the fact that your lives were going to be so hard."
She closes her fingers over Bianca's. "I never wanted this to happen to you," she murmurs.
Audra squeezes her hand, and the two of them just sit there in the silence and shadows. From the other side of the door, Bianca can hear water running from the bathtub, and a shrill burst of giggles as Omar murmurs something she can't hear over the rush of the faucet.
"We'll get through it," Bianca whispers. "It'll get better."
Audra almost smiles.
"You sound like Drew," she says, shaking her head. "He's always thinking things just one day magically get easier."
Bianca smoothes the covers over her legs, staring at the pattern. What other choice does she have?
She closes her eyes a moment. Cut the crap, she scolds herself.
Bianca stares at her hand in Audra's, the glint of their wedding bands. She's still wearing the engagement ring Audra gave her, the one that belonged to her grandmother. The white opal glows like moonlight on her finger. Audra gave it to her when she turned twenty-one, at the baby shower before Lola was born. Audra had tears in her eyes when she gave it to Bianca, and said, "I'm glad I still have a daughter to give this to."
"I'm really glad you're here," Bianca says, her voice low and gravelly. There's a feeling like a fist in her throat that she can't swallow away.
Audra looks away a moment before she answers. When she looks up, her eyes are dry, but her mouth is tilted downward, like she's holding something back.
"Well," she says, her voice sounding tight, "that's good. Because I don't want to go anywhere."
Bianca grips her hand. "Don't," she whispers.
Audra leans forward and puts her arms around her. Her hand comes up and ruffles the back of Bianca's hair, and for a moment, she just sits there and lets Bianca rest on her shoulder.
"I'm not," she says fiercely. "I won't."
VII.
The kitchen is dark and empty, but there's the case of beer sitting in the corner, untouched. He grabs himself one and heads outside into the dark rain, standing by the stairs. He watches as the rain falls onto the roofs of the cars below, and follows the bob of headlights on the highway below.
The beer isn't cold and it makes his empty stomach fizz, but it doesn't matter much to him. He stands on the hallway deck of the apartment building, feeling the cold air hit him like a fist. He can hear the highway all the way from here; funny how whenever it rained, the road always sounded closer and louder, the whoosh and roar of the engines magnified on the slick asphalt.
Bianca's asleep, and she hadn't said goodnight to him. Lola was bathed and ready for bed, and his parents are heading out soon. He'd be alone in the home with his family, with nothing but the rain and the highway to signal the passing hours.
The wind blows more silver rain into his face. It's damp and chilling to the bones out here, but inside isn't going to be any warmer.
He swirls the rest of his beer in the bottle, then downs it in one gulp. No point in standing in the freezing rain any longer, unless he wants to sleep out here.
All things considered, it's not the worst idea.
He shoves the front door open so hard it bangs against the wall inside. Shit. Hopes he didn't wake up Lola. Or Bianca.
There's a noise from the kitchen, like glasses clinking. He peers into the kitchen, but instead of Dad, he sees his mother, picking dishes off the shelves of their cupboards and neatly wrapping them in clean dishrags to set in the moving boxes lining the countertops.
Audra looks up when he steps inside, and Drew hovers in the doorway, not sure if he should turn tail and head to the bedroom. Then he remembers that Bianca's in there, and the last thing she wants is to see him. He wonders if he should just take his chances and pretend to go around the corner for a gallon of OJ.
Before he can decide, Audra looks away from him, focusing on the floor.
"Dad's with Lola. She wanted him to tuck her in."
Drew nods, staring at the floor. His hands rest on his hips when he feels stupid letting them swing.
His mother avoids his eyes. She stares in the open dishwasher, grabbing a blue mug and examining it for imaginary cracks.
"Do you have any more dishrags?" she says after a moment. "These coffee cups need to be wrapped."
Drew keeps his eyes on the tile, following the blue and white pattern.
"No," he says. Is that a sauce stain? He should probably mop that up.
When he finally looks up, she's staring at him. She meets his eyes briefly, but then her eyes dart back to the dishwasher rack.
"We have newspaper," he says. His voice sounds like he's going through a tunnel.
His mother nods. Drew goes into the family room and grabs the mess of today's paper unraveling on the coffee table, and before he knows what he's doing he stands on the other side of the dishwasher and begins putting away the plates while his mother slowly and carefully wraps the coffee cups.
Drew finally thinks he understands the meaning of the phrase "silence is deafening", because this is officially the LOUDEST silence he's ever heard. Not just because of the crinkle of the newspaper and the sound the plates and cups make when he stacks them in the cabinet, but because he knows his mom is just dying to say something to him. Instead, though, she takes out her words and frustration on arranging their silverware in the empty liquor store boxes, occasionally polishing imaginary dust off them with the hem of her shirt.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his mom take a deep breath, turning a cup over in her hands a few times.
"Do you guys need any more of these?" she asks quietly.
Drew stares at a meat sauce stain rimmed on the edge of a plastic bowl. "Coffee cups?" he asks.
"No. Boxes. Do you have enough?"
"Oh." Drew swallows. "Yeah. We have enough."
Audra takes another bit of the newspaper and wraps the mug in her hands.
"Because if you do," she says after a beat, "Dad still has a bunch from when his office moved. So, if you need more…"
"I got enough," Drew says quickly.
Audra pauses, half-reaching into the dishwasher.
"Okay," she murmurs.
Drew stares back into the cabinet, drumming his fingers on the countertop. He should move Lola's Nemo cup to the front. She always wants to drink out of Nemo. It's her favorite. And nobody ever drinks out of those heavy glass cups. They usually just use the blue ones; they don't break in the dishwasher, like the glass ones always do.
"If I need more," he says, "I'll go back to the liquor store." He pauses. "You and Dad don't need to come all the way out here for that."
His mother shrugs one shoulder, barely.
"Well," she says, "if you need it…"
Drew takes Lola's sippy cup with the frog lid out of the top shelf of the dishwasher and dries it off with his t-shirt. He passes it from hand to hand, like tossing a football.
"It's okay, Mom," he mumbles.
She doesn't look at him, just keeps trying to rearrange the contents of the moving boxes.
From down the hall, Drew can hear Lola giggle in her bedroom as his father tucks her in. He wonders what that means for Pop-Pop versus what Drew does when he's the one putting Lola to bed. Lola always asks for him to do it. He even has his own tickle routine – holding the blanket over her as Lola squirms and wriggles in anticipation, and he creeps closer to her singing "tuck, tuck, tuck…TACKLE!". Then he tickles her until she screams. The whole routine ends up with Lola bursting into loud peals of giggles while Drew kisses her face.
He can't hear what his dad is saying to Lola, but he doesn't hear her screaming and giggling. Whatever Pop-Pop does when he tucks her in, it can't be as good as when Daddy does it. Drew's fairly sure of this.
That makes him try to remember how Dad tucked him in when he was little. Did he ever in the first place?
When a loud ripple of laughter echoes down the hall, he and Audra both look up. Drew strains to hear what his dad is saying, but all he hears is him laughing along with Lola.
For some reason, it bothers him that he can't remember if his dad ever tucked him in when he was little. He can't imagine why Dad wouldn't have.
His birthmother? No, probably not. Definitely not. She left in the middle of the night when he was a baby. Nobody had heard from her in twenty-three years. Someone who leaves her baby sleeping in a crib all alone and then disappears forever doesn't tuck her kids in.
Someone had to have done it though, right? If not his dad, then who else?
His mom is looking down the hallway.
"You know," she says, "I was thinking…when it gets closer to the baby being born, your dad and I could take Lola. That way, you guys wouldn't have to figure out what to do with her"
He glances over at her, and she looks back down into the box of coffee cups.
"Just thinking," she says, almost like she's saying it to herself, "one less thing to worry about it."
Drew keeps his eyes focused down the hall. Lola isn't laughing anymore, and he can barely hear his father.
"Yeah," he says, still focused on the low murmur of Dad's voice. "We'll think about it."
If Dad didn't tuck him in, maybe Drew's aunt Kristina did. They lived with her and Uncle Tony for a while, right after his birthmother left.
"We could always take her for a weekend," Mom says. Her voice is still low. "If you ever need. Bianca really looks like she could use a break."
Drew can feel the tips of his ears turning red.
"We got it," he says, his voice clipped. "Okay, Mom?"
Audra blows out a loud breath. Then she pauses, gripping the edge of the countertop. "I'm just trying to help, Drew."
"Yeah, well," Drew says before he can stop himself, "help by not telling me you think I'm a shitty husband and father."
Audra slams the dishwasher shut. "Oh, stop it," she snaps.
He whirls around to face her.
"You think I don't know she's unhappy?" he demands. "You think I can't tell Bianca's exhausted and miserable and stressed out?" He shakes his head. "I'm not that fucking stupid, Mom."
Audra narrows her eyes at him, then looks away.
"I don't even know why I keep trying anymore," she sighs.
"I don't know, either," Drew replies.
She slams the last of the newspaper down on the countertop and puts her hands on her hips. Drew finds himself taking a step back, almost a reflex. It's something he remembers well from when he would wilt under her stare, from a kid to a teenager, right up until he packed up and moved in with Fiona.
It's been a few years, but he can feel himself actually shrinking under that stare.
Her hands clench and unclench, and she shakes her head.
"I know you hate me," she says slowly, "but I am still your family. And Bianca, and Lola, and that baby are, too. They're my family."
Her voice wobbles a little on that last word, and she bites her lip. For a second, Drew's horrified to think he sees actual tears in her eyes, but before he can be sure, his mother blinks and turns away from him.
"And I HATE," she continues through gritted teeth, "that I can't say anything to you anymore. Because I'm so scared you are going to cut me out of their lives forever, and I will never see them again."
Drew scowls. "Don't be so dramatic."
His mother's face is full-on Scary Mom Mode.
"Says the guy who ran away to Vegas and got married at seventeen," she bites back.
He makes himself stand up as straight as he can. He doesn't always remember that he's actually taller than she is.
"And it drives you NUTS that you couldn't stop us," he argues.
Audra lets out a dry laugh.
"Stop you from what?" she asks. She gestures around the semi-packed kitchen. "All of this?"
She shakes her head as another bitter laugh escapes her.
"Is this what you wanted?" she asks, almost smiling. "Because you're right. I didn't stop you."
He opens his mouth, then realizes he has nothing to say. His mom looks away, and Drew realizes he's once again just standing there, with his hands still hanging stupidly, only now his mouth is hanging open, so he looks even stupider than usual. Everything about him feels wrong, like he has no idea how to hold himself anymore – how to move his own limbs without looking like some fucking idiot, or how to even stand in his own home. It's like he's too big for the air.
He wonders when his own fucking house started feeling like this to him – when it suddenly felt like things were pushing him out – but all he does his rub a hand over his jaw and stare at the spot on the tiles he needs to wipe up.
He needs a dishrag.
"I don't…" Audra suddenly begins.
Then she stops. She looks over at him, then they both look away at the same time.
His mother stares at her hands.
"I don't think you're a bad husband," she says. "Or a bad father."
Drew runs his hand on the countertop. "Okay, Mom," he mumbles.
He opens the cabinet where Bianca usually keeps them, but there aren't any folded in there.
"I don't," she repeats.
His mother looks up again, and this time doesn't look away.
"I know you love them," she whispers. "I know you'd do anything for them."
She looks back down at the floor, her hands on her hips. She has a dishrag in her hands, and she's bunching it nervously in her clenched fist.
"I just want you to know," she finishes, "that I would do the same for you."
Drew sways on his feet for a moment. He presses against the countertop, and suddenly remembers where all the dishrags went.
"I know, Mom," he says. His tongue feels thick and dry, the words choking out of his mouth.
His mother sniffs, like she might be swallowing back tears. It makes his stomach sink to hear that noise.
"Mom." He makes himself take a step closer to his mother. She's still looking away from him, biting her lip, and still doesn't look up when he reaches over and takes the dishrag out of her hands.
"I don't hate you," he murmurs.
His mother wipes her face with the back of her hand.
"Well," she says after a beat, "that's good to know."
For a moment, Drew just stands there, twisting the rag in his hands. His mother wipes her eyes once more, but when she looks up he sees her eyes are dry, and she takes another glass from the dishwasher, staring at it like she has laser vision.
"You wanna stay the night?" he blurts out.
She raises her eyebrows. "Are you sure?"
He nods, feeling as surprised as she looks.
"Yeah," he says. "I mean, the guest room's all packed, but…" he shrugs. "The bed works."
His mom almost laughs at that, putting her hands on her hips.
"Your dad and I should really go back to the hotel," she says. "He wants to get an early start tomorrow morning."
"But if you stay," he says, arguing even though he doesn't really know why, "you can get started right away. Or…I don't know. Go out for breakfast or something. You and Bianca could have a break before we get started. I bet she'd love that. I can watch Lola, or Adam can. It'll be fun!"
His mom smiles, for real this time. Her hands come up to the sides of his face, and her palms gently reach up and cup his cheeks. He's too astonished to move, and he doesn't exactly dislike the feeling.
For a moment, she just stands there with her hands on his face, her fingers warm and tingling on his rain-damp, numb skin.
"I think I really should go," she says, and lets her hands drop gently. "I'll be back first thing in the morning to start packing."
Drew nods. His face feels strange, without her hands there. He doesn't remember the last time he had that feeling.
Then again, he doesn't really remember the last time he let his mom touch him.
She reaches out one more time, her fingers brushing his chin. Then she leans forward, reaching up and kissing his forehead, like he's four and wants a kiss before bedtime.
That's what happened when he was little. Now he remembers.
Mom kissed him goodnight, every night. Until Drew was, like, eight or nine, and then decided he was too old for that.
After that, Mom just poked her head in to say goodnight.
Every night.
Her hand hovers there just a moment before drifting downward. It rests on his shoulder briefly, and she skims her palm over it, like there's imaginary dust there.
"I'm gonna say goodnight to Lola," she says. "Then we better head back."
He looks down, the dishrag still twisted in his hands.
"She'll like that," he mumbles.
Lola would like that, he knew. She'd love Mom saying goodnight. Just like she loved it when his dad did, or her Uncle Adam.
Just like she loved it when Drew tucked her into bed, and kissed her as she went to sleep.
Every night.
His mother nods. Before she goes, she pauses in the kitchen doorway and turns around to face him one last time.
"I've missed you," she whispers. "Just…know that. I miss you. All the time."
VIII.
Around 4 AM, when the numbers on the page in front of him start to look like Zelda code and he catches himself staring at the pencil sharpener at the corner of Bianca's desk for fifteen minutes, he decides it's okay to go to sleep.
Before he goes to the bedroom, Drew takes a peek in Lola's open doorway. She's fast asleep like she always is, one side of her body dangled over the edge of the bed and her nightshirt askew, her hair a tight scribble around her face. Lola was always a hard sleeper. Bianca's joked before that she's surprised Lola doesn't take flight in her sleep, with her limbs pinwheeling in the bed like that.
He lets himself smile at his daughter's sprawled, lightly snoring silhouette a moment before heading down the hallway to their bedroom door, slightly ajar.
Bianca is on her side of the bed facing the wall, covers bunched around her waist. Drew can't shake the feeling that he's somehow going to bed empty-handed, and tries to ignore that stab of guilt as he slides in bed beside her.
"Glad you could make it," she mutters, when the mattress creaks under his weight.
Another guilty jolt goes through him. "Did I wake you up?"
He's not sure why he's whispering since she's already awake, but he still tries to shift as little as possible, trying not to move the covers too much as he settles into bed.
"No," Bianca says. "She's been kicking all night." She sighs. "It's really annoying."
In spite of himself, Drew smiles. "Did you tell her Mama kicks back?"
When the only answer he gets is her adjusting the comforter around her, he touches her shoulder, laying the tips of his fingers hesitantly on her skin.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I should have taken the stupid boxes over."
Bianca shifts in the bed. "It's not about the boxes, Drew," she says.
"I know it's not," he says. "But I'm sorry I didn't do what I said I would. You need to be able to count on me."
He slips his arm around her side and takes her hand, running his thumb over her wedding band. He takes it as a good sign when she doesn't pull her hand away.
"I'll do better," he says. "I swear."
To his surprise, he hears her sniffle loudly, followed by a shudder running through her body. She slips her hand out of his, and buries her face in her hands.
Oh no. Drew's stomach drops like he's on a roller coaster. He feels sick and horrible and dirty and awful and worst. If he wasn't a card-carrying member of Assholes of the Universe before, now he's officially their president.
"Hey," he whispers. His face burns with shame, and he sort of feels like crying himself, if he's being honest. It used to be so rare that Bianca ever cried. And now she cries because he's a jerk. He's a big, dumb loser jerk who makes his pregnant wife cry and ruins everything by being a big, dumb loser jerk.
His own throat feels tight and closed, and he swallows it back.
"Bianca," Drew says, hoping he doesn't sound as completely desperate as he feels, "what do you need me to do?"
Bianca turns her face into the pillow, another long shudder wracking her body.
"Nothing," she says, her voice sounding thick.
Drew stares at her, feeling sick. Bianca curls further away from him and more into a ball. Funny, he thinks dimly, that even with her baby-stretched stomach, she still looks tiny to him. Seeing her curl around it makes her look fragile and vulnerable – two things he never, ever remembered associating with his wife. EVER. Not when they were teenagers, and not now.
Hell, he's seen her give birth – an experience so singularly terrifying and disgusting and horrendously painful (though he never mentioned that to Bianca, for fear of what she'd say about her experience with the pain…) and loud and wet that he feels weirdly sick if he has to think about seeing her do that again in a few months. Especially after he watched that, he never thought of Bianca as fragile or weak.
But now she looks like she could shatter like glass, lying there in their bed, her arms wrapped around herself, curled into a ball while the shadows of the rainwater fall down her skin.
It makes Drew want to kick himself senseless, seeing her like that. He never knew how to handle girl stuff, girl emotions. He never really needed to – Gracie was gone before she ever really needed him to be her protective big brother, and Bianca never needed his help much, anyway, at least in that area. She could always take care of herself.
Bianca sniffles again, and takes a long breath, taking her face out of the pillow.
"Nothing," she repeats. She sounds ragged and worn, but Drew is relieved to hear her sound slightly less tearful this time.
"I'm just…I'm tired." She sighs wetly. "I'm just so tired."
Drew inches up close to her side, and takes her hand again. He closes his entire fist around it, wishing it were that easy to cover all of her from the things that were so hard.
"I know, baby," he murmurs, squeezing her hand in his. "I know."
Bianca's weight shifts in the bed, and she turns over towards him. She presses her tear-stained face into his shoulder, and he slides an arm up her back, gently running his palm down warm skin. To his relief, it seems to calm her down, as she stops sniffling, and sighs deeply when her eyes close.
"Guess what?" he whispers, when he feels her breathing steady. It ebbs and flows steadily against his chest, and he closes his eyes, running a hand through her hair.
Bianca barely stirs at the movement. "Hmm?" she mumbles.
He leans closer, pressing his lips to her ear. "I got a 76 on the practice quiz."
Her eyes barely slip open. "Seriously?" she says, her voice heavy and slurred with sleep.
Drew nods, wrapping his arms around her thin shoulders. He presses a kiss into her neck, and laces his fingers with hers.
"Things are gonna get better," he whispers. "I promise. It'll change."
Bianca doesn't give him an answer, just the constant wave of her breathing, and the heaviness of her head on his shoulder. He holds still as her body drops deeper and deeper into sleep, molding to his side. His arms stay around her and her eyes stay shut as he pulls the covers over the two of them and lets his own eyes drift shut.
He pulls Bianca in closer to him. She's fast asleep, and doesn't register the movement. He keeps his arms wrapped around her.
The baby will finally be here. It'll be born before Christmas. Bianca will be finished with her semester by then. They'll have everything moved into the new place.
They'll spend the holidays with his family. Lola will beg to be the one to put the star on the top of the tree, and Adam and his mother will get into the same argument they get into every year about his parents chucking the old fake spruce they've had since the boys were little, and finally investing in a pre-lit tree so they could avoid the tangled string of Christmas lights that will inevitably be all knotted up for some reason, even though they haven't been touched since last year. The new baby won't remember any of it, but her mom will take a million pictures, and probably want to dress her in a little Santa suit or something like that.
He'll let her dress the baby in one. He'll let her take all the pictures she wants.
He sighs and pulls the duvet more tightly around them as the A/C kicks on. It hums over the fall of the rain outside, and the white noise seeps through him, like the dull roar of the ocean in a seashell. It's a comforting sound, like footsteps on fresh snow, or a lullaby. It makes him feel even, steady. Like a tide. An easy ocean.
Maybe, he thinks, by Christmas, there will be snow.
Bianca's breath is warm on his face. Her eyelids flutter in her sleep; it's a small, sweet movement he never really thought to associate with her, all the years they've shared a bed. It makes him smile, and he kisses her knuckles even though she doesn't feel a thing.
A 76 on the practice test isn't a new beginning. But it's a start.
Or something like it.
