Chapter Seven: What About Love…
"Ladies and gentleman, we are beginning our decent into Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. We would like to thank you for choosing Alaskan Airways, and we remind you to put your tray table into the upright position as we descend. It is about fifty-seven degrees and overcast, typical weather for Washington State. As you can clearly see, if you're on the left side of the place, you can just make out the Tacoma Dome to the south. To the north, on your right, Downtown Seattle. Thank you again for choosing Alaskan Airways, and we'll be landing shortly."
I quickly push my tray table into the upright position so as a thinner-than-me, hotter-than-me stewardess with perfectly color coordinated lipstick and foundation to go with her uniform won't lean over me and demand that I do so. Rolling my eyes at the thought, I look out my window and make out Downtown Seattle. I am one of only a handful of people in first class section—courtesy of Paul—and I manage to extend my legs so as I can properly pop my back before the seatbelt sign flashes on. When it does, I hastily buckle it so as the flight attendants don't wave their perfect haircuts in my face and demand to know—in a rather condescending manner—if I need assistance.
I feel the plane tipping forward ever so slightly as we properly begin landing. I cross my arms as I remember the argument that Paul and I had about me driving back. It would have taken almost forty-five hours, give or take what traffic looked like, and he didn't want me to be on the road for that long by myself. Planes were safer, he'd insisted, and he had even bought me a first-class ticket behind my back to sweeten the deal. Not even a blanket and pillow—which had been delivered to me only after I woke up, when I had needed them to sleep—hadn't helped. The pillow was half the size as my head and wouldn't appropriate for someone much bigger than Rallo or Stewie, while the blanket was a scratchy cheap number that could only be found abandoned at the back of a Goodwill or something.
We landed quickly and seemingly in a normal manner and I immediately got to my feet to retrieve my duffel bag from the overhead compartment. It was a stylish pink number which Sarah had bought for me that last Christmas. I smoothed my hand briefly over the familiar material and nodded to myself. It had been a few weeks since my last conversation with Paul and Sarah, and it was agreed that I would leave now, in the second week of June, so as I could receive college credit for that quarter. Seventy-five percent or so of my credits transferred to the University of Washington, so I would easily be able to continue my education in Seattle in the fall, once my car was transported back across state lines and back into my care in my hometown.
I slung my duffel bag over my shoulder, switching my laptop case to my other arm as I made my way carefully off the plane and into the terminal. I walked steadily along the tiled floor, following the crowd of other first-class people and made my way towards baggage claim, where either Sarah or Paul would fetch me. Finding the signs leading in the right direction—as well as taking my cue from the others around me—I managed to find the ever-winding carousel which soon began expelling colorful bags for all to see. I soon found my roller and managed to lift it up and set it onto the ground before I felt a strong yet gentle hand upon my shoulder.
Turning, I let out a cry of joy as Paul stood there, promptly dropping my things as I threw my arms around him. He explains that Sarah has taken her kids to see her parents at their lake cabin for the weekend—all the way in Spokane—and that he got the weekend off so he's all mine. I smile at that and allow him to take my roller and duffel as we make our way towards the elevator, chatting about this and that, especially Hillary Clinton's victory. Paul bitingly still supports Bernie Sanders, and I will not fault him for it, although I believe that Hillary is the better-suited candidate for the positon. And don't get me started on that hairpiece, loud-mouthed, orange-faced Trump… Whoever insults Rosie O'Donnell is no friend of mine, rich and famous person or not.
He presses his parking garage floor button and soon we are pulled downwards to the fourth car garage and we step out. Cars and more cars dot the various parking spaces, but Paul is able to find his brand-new 2017 black BMW 5 Series. It gives off a rare sleekness that many cars today don't have—while most are flashy sleek or overdone sleek, this sleek is classic and cannot be messed with or competed with. I slide into the passenger seat after Paul unlocks the doors and slips my roller suitcase into the trunk and my duffel bag into the back seat behind us. He sits next to me in the driver's seat and slips the key into the ignition as we drive off, soon managing to make it to the highway.
We decide to steer clear of Clinton vs. Sanders talk, for while I am ready for Hillary, Paul desperately wants him and everyone around him to feel the Bern. We manage to obtain the coveted speed limit of approximately sixty-five miles per hour—five miles above the speed limit—and make it to Paul's neighborhood in good time. I get out of the car and take my duffel bag despite Paul's protests and allow him to fetch my roller suitcase as we head inside to my old room. Zonked from the trip and despite the fact that it isn't even nine o'clock at night, I tell Paul that I want to turn in early that night and ask if we can do brunch the following morning, a Thursday. He accepts and I kiss his cheek before shooing him out, locking the door behind me, and collapsing onto my bed.
The following morning, I get up around nine-thirty and head immediately into the en suite bathroom and jump into the shower. The hot water feels good on my cramped back and I quite soon feel as if I am returning to myself again. I lower my eyes, and notice that, now that I am three months pregnant, my belly is beginning to get a slight curve to it. You wouldn't know it if you saw me all the time, but I noticed. Cupping it beneath the running water, I smile a little.
"Hi, Baby," I whisper. Stepping out of the shower, I blow-dry and flat-iron my hair before putting on a rather sensible cotton dress, leggings, and flats. I decide on a pearl necklace—my high school graduation present from Mom—and mentally decide on a purse as I dash back into the bathroom to brush my teeth and do my makeup. I make a grab for my pink purse with the gold tassel and head downstairs, seeing Paul sitting in the armchair at the corner of the living room, absolutely silent.
"Paul?" I ask, stepping into the living room. "What is it? Are Sarah and the kids all right? Is it Sarah's parents? I remember her father has Alzheimer's…"
He shakes his head. "No. All fine."
I nod, sitting on the couch diagonally to him. "Well, then, what's the matter?"
He sighs for a moment, straightening out ever so slightly. "I received a call from the hospital this afternoon…"
"Do they need you to come in?" I ask, hiding my disappointment.
Paul shakes his head. "No."
"Then what?" I ask.
He raises his eyes to mine. "I know you probably don't remember—I was a few years older than you and only stumbled across the information randomly when I graduated college, before med school… If I say the name Adrienne Isabelle Shaw, do you know who I am speaking of?" he wants to know.
I shake my head. "Do we have an aunt by that name?"
He sighs. "Viv, Adrienne was your twin sister."
I feel shaken. "No-no. I just have you, Paul…"
"No. She was switched at birth with another girl who looked similar to her, but the girl she was switched with passed away in the hospital due to low birth weight and fetal alcohol syndrome. However, she wasn't tested for it initially but when she was, Mom and Dad didn't think anything of it. Well, they just looked into it and Adrienne is alive and well. Her name now is Meera McCormick, and she lives in Bellevue. She's in law school now and she's reached out to us. She wants to meet us, Viv—she wants to meet you."
I shake my head, feeling as if I will be able to comprehend all of this information. "Meera McCormick?" I say at last, allowing myself to process the name. Raising my eyes to his, I shake my head. "I need some time…by myself…"
He nods, understanding. "Take the spare car," he says, tossing the set of keys to me, almost as if he sensed I would need some time. "Why don't you go for a drive or something, I don't know, far away from here?"
I nod, shifting the keys in my hand. "Thanks." I turn and leave the room, heading back upstairs and grabbing some more cash just in case, and take a sweatshirt along as well, for Seattle's and its surrounding cities' weather have proved unpredictable in the past. I go downstairs and step into the garage, opening the door and driving out onto the path, quickly shutting the door behind me. I pull out of our general housing area and head down to the main road—in "Big Fancy Suburbia", everyone has a healthy portion of land to go around, so it truly takes a moment to get out of there.
I find myself on The 5-Freeway and head north, having no idea where I'm going or what I'm doing or going to do. I know when I am near the Northgate Mall, but I am not in the mood for shopping or eating lunch by myself. I get off the exit anyhow and go off a side street, going over a bridge where I can see the freeway traffic in both directions. I continue in that direction and soon find the trees are coordinating with the grass of one establishment, which I soon realize is a college, and make a right, continuing down what appears to be some sort of boulevard, until I pull into the parking lot. As it is so late in the year, I assumed that school would be over, but no, the parking lot is plentiful with cars of all kinds.
I manage to find a parking space and step out of the car, crossing the lot and using my credit card to pay for a space before sticking the sticker onto the appropriate window. I then proceed to walk around the campus, not really paying attention to any of the signs and soon I inexplicably find myself close to the theater department. Remembering my high school days of acting, I smirk to myself, crossing to sit in the courtyard as the sun makes a rare appearance, shining down upon me. Looking to the left where the red double doors are, I can see some people exiting them in pairs, or groups of one or three people, and listen to their idle chatter. One girl—of average height, although she is a bit rounded around the edges—walks with a guy who is much taller than she is. There is a glow to her face and I can sense it immediately—this girl is in love with him.
She laughs at everything he has to say, and although he does stare at her with a look that can only be described as either protectiveness or attraction, I have no idea if he feels the same way about her. She waves him off when their conversation is over, sighing a little to herself once he is out of earshot. I watch as she turns around, and ventures back into my direction, and I find myself raising my eyebrows at her. She catches me staring and narrows her eyes ever so slightly, almost as if she is perplexed that a perfect stranger would stare so blatantly at her.
"Can I help you?" she asks guardedly.
I get to my feet and walk a little towards her, turning a bit to be sure that the young man is gone and will not hear us. "He's a dead ringer for Bradley Cooper, isn't he?" I remark a bit playfully to her.
She shrugs. "Yeah. I told him that in our first or second week in class."
I smile at her—we are of the same height, so it is not as if I have to look down on her. "Was that before or after you told him you were in love with him?"
Immediately, the girl reddens. "What?!" she cries, her voice hitching ever so slightly. "No, I mean, that's crazy! He and I… We're friends…"
"Yet you have playful banter every day in class and you're not sure if it means something more which means you have the option of telling him and ruining your friendship or not telling him and forced to think of what might have been," I say, rather astutely. "Is that right?" I want to know.
She sighs. "Yes, that's right." She bites her lip, almost as if she is reluctant to say more on the subject. "Well. We are friends. It's just that, in my experience…"
"You tell guys how you feel and then they either laugh it off and never mention it again, tell everyone about it and you're made fun of, or they never talk to you again because somehow they're angry that you would ever have romantic feelings for someone like them. Right?" I want to know.
She nods. "Yes."
I sigh. "I'm sorry. I just started talking to you without even introducing myself." I put out my hand in an attempt to be friendly. "Vivienne Shaw."
"Ella Stern," she replies, a look of shock coming onto her face. "Wait, wait, wait. Vivienne Shaw?!" she demands.
I nod. "Yes."
"You were born here, but you left when you were accepted into Rhode Island College," she says, almost as if reading cue cards.
I take a step away from her. "How the hell could you know that?"
She grits her teeth, a look of sympathy coming to her face. She takes out her phone from her pocket then and types in a website name before hitting the search key. She taps her foot impatiently for a time before showing me the resulting webpage. "I created you," she says slowly. "Well, it seems as if that's not entirely true, but…" She shrugs. "As you can see, the first chapter here was posted months ago, so I had no idea that…"
I turn around and immediately am sick into some cheap-looking plants.
"…and you're pregnant with Brian's baby. Fabulous."
I give this girl named Ella a rather pained expression before running out of there. I run passed the double red doors and by the theater department. I run under what appears to be a freeway underpass and into the parking lot, making a dash for my car. I get in and floor it and manage to get out of the parking lot before making a beeline for the highway. I drive and drive until I find the Bellevue exit, quickly managing to Facebook search this girl who is claiming to be my twin, and figure out that she is a student at Bellevue College, at their law school, and that she's posted that her final class ends at three that day, in exactly thirty minutes, and I quickly GPS the rest of the directions.
I managed to get there in forty-five minutes, swerving a bit around the traffic, and was relieved to see that Meera had stated that she was going to hang out with some friends in the main courtyard. I managed to find a decent parking space and got out of my car, locking it behind me and making a dash for the main courtyard area, after being told by various students, who themselves gave me a bizarre look. Shrugging it off, I ran into the main courtyard and looked around, nearly falling over when I saw it. There was Meera, smack-dab in the center of it all, talking with a group of friends. I felt my mouth go dry; we were identical, and from what I could see, everyone thought so—well, the ones that I asked for directions thought so, at least.
Making my way across the courtyard, as I walked closer to her, many people turned to stare at me and I bit my lip ever so slightly as I tapped her on the shoulder. Turning, Meera let out a gasp and shook her head, shocked. I couldn't speak; I just stared at her, my eyes just as wide, and did my best to remain friendly, although my mind couldn't even process the necessary words needed to express my feelings. Many people soon slowed or stopped completely, wanting to hone in on what was really going on.
"Hi," I managed to get out.
"Hey," Meera replied.
I looked around then at all the people. "Sure got a lovely turn-out," I joked.
Meera smiled a bit. "Yeah. Like something that should be televised or something…"
"Dr. Phil or Maury?" I ask.
She laughs. "Dr. Phil. We're not trashy enough for Maury."
"This is so crazy," I say after a moment. "It's like looking into a mirror…"
"Yeah," Meera replies. "Do you want to go somewhere and talk?"
I nod. "Do you need a ride?"
"Yes," she confesses. "I don't drive…"
I smile a little. "No problem." I jingle my keys. "Paul wants to meet you."
"Paul?"
"My…our brother," I say softly.
She raises her perfectly plucked eyebrows. "So, it's not just you? I don't just have an insanely identical twin sister? I've got a brother, too?"
I nod again. "Yes. Paul is older and he's a doctor. Our parents called this morning and told him the news, and then he told me."
"You live with him?"
I sigh as we turn to walk back towards the parking lot. "It's complicated. I'm living with him and his wife and their three kids—one more on the way—because our parents hate us…" I trail off, not wanting her to get a negative opinion on our parents right away as the two of us slip into the parking lot.
Her eyebrows knit together at that. "Why?"
I shrug. "Lifestyle choices and differences, I suppose," I reply, automatically unlocking the car as we drift towards it.
"Not that I would care, but are you gay?" she asks.
I shake my head, laughing at that. "No. Not gay," I reply, nodding for her to get into the passenger side of the car. "Very okay with me, too, however, but that's not the issue." I put the keys into the ignition and don't turn on the car, biting my lip as I place my hands upon the steering wheel, attempting to level with myself before continuing. "I'm an atheist, and a Democrat, and they're Catholic and just…intolerant," I manage to get out, shrugging a little at that. "They don't even know I'm pregnant," I say without thinking.
"You're not married, are you?" Meera asks.
I shake my head. "No. I'm twenty-one, same as you. Too young in my book."
She nods. "What about the baby? You don't even look pregnant yet."
"I'm three months along," I reply, reaching down to touch the nearly non-existent bump. "I will say that the father is my ex-boyfriend."
"Does he know?"
I chuckle darkly. "If you're implying did he use it as an excuse to break up with me, then no, that wasn't the reason. He broke up with me when another guy kissed me. I didn't want to kiss him, it just happened—long story," I say by means of explanation, not wanting to get into the time travel adventures that Stewie, Brian, and I had had. "He started sleeping around afterwards and he broke my heart, never listening to my side of the story, and only when he was willing to do so, I realized that it was too late. That's why I moved back—just last night, actually. I moved back because I lived in his neighbors' house—I was their live-in nanny—across the street. It hurt too much to have him so close, so I just left. I only told my bosses' of my leaving, and that was it. They promised to only tell people that I'd gone, but not where I'd gone…" I shake my head. "You seeing anyone?"
She shrugs. "Not really. Single and ready to mingle."
I smile at that. "Well, now that you've got a twin, there's a whole world of possibilities before you, Meera."
My twin laughs a little at that. "I suppose we shall see."
Three weeks later, Meera has opted to come and stay at Paul's house with us so as to get to know her new family a bit better. After one meeting with Mom and Dad, she decided that she didn't want or need them in her life, actively sticking up for me every chance she got. I was flattered by this, but told her that she shouldn't cut them out entirely, but to give them some sort of sporting chance. Shrugging it off, Meera agreed to do that at some point, just not at the moment.
I had some pretty bad morning sickness one weekend and encouraged Paul to take the whole family out to dinner so as I could have a quiet evening at home. At the last minute, Meera decided to stay behind, too, so Paul decided to make a night of it and drive the kids out to the cabin on Whidbey Island, about twenty minutes from Langley. He left the two of us with our new credit cards and the box of to-go menus in case we wanted to get creative and he, Sarah, Jackie, Daphne, and Felix all slipped out into the early evening for their first summer vacation trip.
Meera decided to look for a movie to stream on the flat screen in my bedroom while I looked through the to-go menus. It didn't really help that a lot of them had pictures of food on them, something which Stewie loved, especially now that I was officially starting to show, and this child definitely had opinions about what was okay versus what was not okay for me to eat. It was physically exhausting, but thankfully there were hypo-allergenic sprays that I was able to use in my bathroom so that the smell of vomit never lingered.
As I was going over probably the sixth menu, my phone vibrated. Thinking that it was Meera texting me a movie option, or Sarah informing me that one of the kids had forgotten something important, I rolled my eyes. I picked it up anyhow, and was surprised to see that it was Stewie calling me. Perplexed, I swiped the green phone icon.
"Hello?" I asked into the phone.
"Oh, Vivienne, darling, thank goodness you're all right!" he said in a rather breezy tone. "I am calling to inform you about a family event that Lois and Peter wish to desperately invite you to."
"A family event?" I ask, lowering myself onto my bed and touching my belly. "I don't know, Stewie…"
"Vivienne, please allow me to explain," he goes on. "My dear aunt Carol and her husband, Mayor West—we none of us call him Adam—have decided to renew their wedding vows in Newport at a luxury hotel on the beach. Turns out Mayor West has been sitting on a gold mine and wants to go all out for the occasion. You're to be an honored guest of the Griffin family, Vivienne, and have the Martha's Vineyard Ocean Villa at The Chanler at Cliff Walk, one of Newport's historic hotels. Everyone will be there. Please say you'll come, Viv, I can't abide social events with only Brian for company anymore. Please."
I sigh. "When is this happening?
"A week," Stewie replies. "We're supposed to check in seventy-two hours before the event, so you've got four days to get here."
I quickly pull up Newport, Rhode Island onto my laptop and see that they themselves have a small airport, located a mere ten minutes or so by car from The Chanler. Sighing, I confirm that I will come and Stewie giggles with delight. Rolling my eyes, I ask if I can bring a guest, my sister, and Stewie readily assumes I am referring to Sarah, and I don't correct him. I tell him I shall arrive promptly as possible on the day of, and he sounds pleased. As soon as I hang up, I make several overnight orders via Amazon and other clothing manufacturers I enjoy so as I will be properly outfitted for the occasion. I do the same with Meera, because whether she likes it or not, she is definitely coming with me.
To tell the truth, Meera didn't need to be strong-armed at all into this little—or, rather, very extravagant—charade. We quickly obtain the packages the following afternoon and, after making sure that there are no loose threads and that they are all in their right respective sizes, we proceeded to pack. We made sure our I.D.'s were still valid, and we ordered our first-class tickets promptly, and made sure a limo would take us to and from the airport on both the West and the East Coast.
My travel outfit was a lovely at-the-knee dress which had a triangular-shaped dip into it, showing a bit more thigh than I would have liked, but Meera assured me it was wonderful. It also was outfitted with a lovely wide-brimmed hat with a lovely ribbon around it, as well as heeled shoes and wide-framed sunglasses. Meera also did my makeup, and a shade of dark lipstick completed the ensemble. I was almost tempted to ask her to switch places with me, as I was almost barely showing by this point, but she insisted that I looked beautiful and that Brian would continue to want me back on sight. The day before we were due to leave, in had my first sonogram to inform me just what I was really pregnant with. I hoped and prayed that it wasn't some sort of alien-like hybrid, but Meera held my hand and assured me that it would be fine. You don't know I feel in love with a dog, I mentally cursed her rather ruefully as we drove to the hospital. We were seen pretty promptly by the nurses—a perk of having a brother in the business—and the nurse, who had known me for years, was floored when Meera's identity was revealed to her. She was pleased that I had found my long-lost twin sister, yet the discomfort set in again once the cool goo was put upon my barely-swollen belly.
"Okay, let's see," Nurse Flora Martinez said, taking the wand and delicately placing it directly onto my lower abdomen. "You say you're about sixteen weeks?"
I nod. "Yes."
"Looks about right to me," she says, nodding. "Just so you know, when it comes to twins, you shouldn't travel—in a plane—after twenty weeks. But you should be okay for your trip to the East Coast."
Immediately, I move to sit up, and fail due to Nurse Martinez's use of the wand. "Wait, what?! Twins?!"
Her brown eyes widen a bit as she turns to me. "You weren't aware that you were having twins?" she wants to know.
I shake my head. "No, I…"
She nods to herself. "Sometimes one twin will hide behind another. It's very common that we'll have someone so shy," she chuckles lightly, turning back to the sonogram. "Yep, the two of them are now fully visible. Must've known it was important picture time today. And you did want to know the sex, or sexes, I suppose, in this case?"
"Yes, yeah," I manage to get out.
"Okay." Nurse Martinez maneuvers the wand so as it seems to zoom in on the babies. "It looks to me like that's a little boy," she says, pointing to the first one, "and there's his little sister…"
I feel my eyes filling with tears as nothing but the whoosh-whoosh sound of my twins' heartbeats fills the room. I shake myself awake then, remembering the appointment exactly twenty-four hours, give or take, before, as the pilot informs me, Meera, and the rest of the passengers that we are beginning our descent into Newport, Rhode Island, to the Newport State Airport. We land without difficulty and soon manage to get our bags off the plane and inside to baggage claim. My limo app informs us that the limo is waiting, so we quickly get to baggage claim and retrieve our things before heading outside. It is early evening and a comfortable seventy-four degrees as we find our limo, yet the air-conditioning is welcome as we slip inside, giving him the address.
We make it there in nine minutes and quickly pay him before getting out and walking into the double-doors of the hotel. It is breathtakingly beautiful, and I almost stumble at the awe of it all as we head to the front desk. We give our names and the red-haired woman—who seriously looks like Little Orphan Annie after she's grown up—gives us each a card key. We are assisted upstairs by a kindly fellow called Roberto, who seems very interested in getting to know Meera, and the pair continually make eyes at each other as we slip inside our lovely accommodations. I give Roberto a twenty before he slips out of there, and I know that a number will inevitably exchange hands at some point.
We are not due at the ceremony or dinner for another two hours, so Meera insists that I take a nap before showering while she goes off to find Roberto, who is now on his break for some convenient reason. I roll my eyes at that, hoping that nobody will spot her, so I toss a blonde wig at her that we brought, just in case. Meera giggles but takes the wig anyway, while I prepare for a half an hour nap. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I'm gone. I soon wake up due to my phone alarm and head into the bathroom, taking a wonderful shower and imagining how the family will think when it is revealed that not only do I have a twin sister, but I am expecting twins—with Brian of all people.
As soon as I step out, Meera comes back and reveals that Roberto is a law student as well and that his aunt and uncle are big investors in the hotel, which is how he managed to get this summer gig in the first place. He also has a band, who has been hired to play at the event that evening as an opener. I wonder who the main source of entertainment will be as I quickly manage to get out my new dress. It is a flowy strapless number is a beautiful hunter green, with a silk ribbon to go around my middle. Green strappy heels complete the ensemble, along with an emerald necklace accented with pearls I'd managed to snag at a Seattle antique store two days before.
Meera got out of the shower and put on her mermaid-like scarlet dress, with one long sleeve and sleeveless on the other side. She wore a diamond collar necklace and red heels, putting on some of her red lipstick and offering me some as well, which I took. She did the rest of our makeup—and our hair, as well—before declaring us ready. We were due at the hotel restaurant, The Spiced Pear, which seemed more like a thousand-dollar drink or an expensive jewel or boutique than anything else. We left our room and went to the elevator, clicking the restaurant button and soon found ourselves in a sea of strangers, and I knew full well that I'd be meeting some Pewterschmidts that night.
Stepping into the crowd, I gripped Meera's arm in a moment of anxiety, when suddenly a familiar voice pulled me in. "Oh, Vivienne!" cried Lois, scampering forward in her skin-tight, knee-length, strapless purple dress, a glass of red wine in her hand. "I'm so glad you could be here for Carol, I…" She turns and looks from Meera to me, and then looks down at her wine. "Well, I thought I was buzzed, but I guess I'm drunk. There's two of ya!"
I giggle a little. "That's right, Lois. This is my long-lost twin, Meera. She agreed to come along tonight."
"You must be Lois," Meera says. "It's so nice to meet you."
"You too," Lois says as she peers closer then. "Oh, I see the difference. You," she points to me, "have that birth mark above your lip. Meera doesn't. Well, at least there's a way to tell you apart," she says, pulling the two of us into the crowd. "Everybody, look what I found, or who I found!" she squeals like a teenage girl.
"Lois, what the hell?! You said cloning was impossible!" Peter says, crossing his arms.
She shakes her head. "Peter, this is Vivienne's twin sister, Meera. Meera, this is my loud-mouthed husband, Peter. These are our children, Meg, Chris, and this is Stewie," Lois continues as Stewie runs over to me, and lifts up his arms. "Aw, you want your friend Vivienne to hold you…"
I giggle a bit and bend down, picking him up. I watch as he mouths to me, "Terrace, now," and promptly manage to excuse myself from the Griffins, after Meera assures me that she will be fine.
"Stewie, what's up?" I ask, letting him sit down on one of the vacant tables.
"I take it you didn't see Brian in there," Stewie says.
I shake my head. "No. I haven't seen him at all. Why? Did he decide not to come?" I ask, dreading that.
"No, he's here…"
"Well, then where is he?" I ask, as a wedding march begins.
Stewie hops off the table and motions for me to follow. We step back inside together and watch as Lois's father, Carter, walks Carol down a makeshift aisle in the middle of the fancy restaurant dining room. Mayor West awaits at the end of the room, flanked by Peter, Joe, and Quagmire. Lois and Meg walk ahead of Carol and go to stand at the left side, opposite the groom and Peter and his friends, while Carol moved to join them. Carter all but shoves her in the direction of Mayor West.
"Here. I hope you like weird boobs," he says to him.
"Daddy, that's what you said at our first wedding!" Carol whines before Carter crosses to join his wife, Babs, in the crowd.
The minister begins saying the traditional wedding vows as Stewie and I join Meera in the crowd, flushed as Roberto walks away from her before his set, due to begin after the formal ceremony. Stewie taps my knee then and, turning, I force myself to watch the minister or priest or whatever say the binding words to Carol and Adam West. I don't see Brian, but I force him out of my mind as Carol and Adam are proclaimed Mayor and Mrs. West once again for us, and we all applaud them.
Then Roberto and his band, Religion Jupiter, steps out onto the raised platform stage. The whole audience cheers, but there isn't much dancing through their mandatory three songs, and although they definitely have talent, it is an acquired taste. It is when they announce that Peter Frampton is coming out that my eyes widen. Lois squeals at that and pulls Peter out onto the dance floor, and when Frampton busts out his signature song, Baby, I Love Your Way, they begin to immediately slow dance.
Carol and Adam, Joe and Bonnie, Quagmire and his date, and several other couples join them, along with Meg and Joe and Bonnie's son, Kevin. Stewie takes my hand as Meera and Roberto step out and tries to pull me away, which is when I see it. As the crowd seems to thin around them, Brian leads Jillian out onto the dance floor. A lump rises in my throat at their familiarity, and I force myself not to cry. He pulls her close, and they dance effortlessly until the song ends. Brian then notices me but looks from Meera to me and back again, clearly confused as senseless Jillian drags them towards their table across the room, and I wonder how deep they've gotten in my absence. I try to ignore it as our dinner options are given—chicken, steak, fish, or wild boar. I naturally choose the chicken and try not to think about Brian and Jillian.
After the pretty decent chicken, everyone clamors around the stage, demanding that Peter Frampton do another round of Baby, I Love Your Way. Desperate, I walk towards Brian then, when Jillian whispers something into his ear. Losing my courage, I run from the room, the tears coming then, as I run out onto the beach, the waves crashing onto the shore, and make my way towards my bedroom, intending to lock myself away.
BRIAN'S POV
I didn't even want to come to this piece of self-indulgent crap tonight anyway. I'd much rather be at home writing my new novel, about a guy who finds love but loses everything when the girl realizes she is too good for him. I'd even worked out a title all by myself, The Vivienne Papers, and was looking forward to getting some good work done. However, Lois insisted that I go to Newport tonight, and even thought she'd sweetened the deal by strong-arming Jillian into tagging along as my date.
Jillian and I would never be anything more than friends, I saw that now. I remembered that after Vivienne left, I got really drunk and almost slept with her, but I couldn't do it, and she was too stupid to know the difference. I considered burying the hatchet with Lauren Conrad in an attempt to have some kind of intellectual conversation about my ordeal with Vivienne, but once you give a hot chick worms, you can never go back.
I remember the Valentine's Day that Stewie had called up all my old girlfriends—Seabreeze, Rita, Brooke, Kate, and Ida (who is something in between male and female that I am too much of a dog to even attempt to understand)—to name a few. Jillian said that I had a big Eggo—personally, I only thought she messed up that and the proper word "ego", due to our little game I liked to call "Breakfast in Bed". It didn't last long—the scrambled eggs stank up the room for weeks and the bacon and sausages stained the sheets—but it was fun while it lasted.
I remembered hearing Stewie on the phone a few days before we were due to leave for Newport, and my heart hurt to hear that he was talking to Vivienne. I hadn't slept with anyone since ending things with her—I hadn't even fantasized about Lois. Vivienne seemed to cure me of my urge for her. Maybe it was due to the fact that she'd saved herself for the man she was meant to be with, but it warmed my heart that we'd had atheism and liberal politics in common. There was just something about that girl, something you would want to hold onto and never let go. But then she asked if she could bring someone with her to Carol and Adam Wests' stupid remarriage ceremony. I'd quit listening to the conversation right then and had bought some weed from my dealer to get out of my head. I then waited until I wasn't high anymore and went across town to my ex, Tracy's, house, because it was my visitation day for Dylan, who I had to do something with once a month. We met at a local coffee shop and I ordered strong black coffee while he ordered one of those frozen blended things that I could never pronounce the name of.
"Dad, something's on your mind." Dylan had a rare intelligence that certainly hadn't come from my side of the family. Although my being down in the dumps wasn't that much of a secret, really.
"Dyl, it's fine," I say, shaking my head and taking another swig of coffee. "You don't need to worry about it, really. You've got your T.V. show to think about."
"Screw it, it's on hiatus for summer anyway. We don't start shooting the next season for another two weeks. What's going on, Dad?"
"You got renewed?" I say, hoping to change the subject. "That's really great. You never can tell with T.V. shows nowadays."
"Yes, we got renewed, back in January," Dylan replies a little heatedly. "We're doing a crossover episode with Girl Meets World for the mid-season finale this season, but that's not the point. Tell me, Dad, please, I'll be fifteen in a few months. What's going on?"
"Things ended with Vivienne, sport," I confess. "Badly."
Dylan raises his eyebrows. "Wow."
"What?"
"You really love her, don't you, Dad?"
I sigh a little. "Dyl, sometimes that's not enough. Sometimes you make a big mistake that no matter how many times you apologize, it doesn't matter to the other person. Three strikes, you're out. Life really does work that way sometimes."
"Who made the mistake?"
I give him a sad smile. "I did. I mistook something that happened and twisted it around to make it look like she was the one at fault when in fact it was the other party…and me. You know me, Dylan—I don't do serious relationships. There was your mother, Jillian, and Rita, who I almost married."
"And Brooke, the girl from the T.V. show…"
"It would never have worked with Brooke," I say. "She had weird-tasting… Never mind," I say, shaking my head, not wanting to involve him in this.
"Is she coming to the event in a few days?"
"Yes," I reply. "I'm sorry you have that class trip that's semi-mandatory," I say. "I would've liked to show my famous son off."
Dylan sighs. "Maybe this would be a good opportunity for you."
"Yeah? How?"
He shrugs. "Tell Vivienne how you're feeling."
I sigh. "Lois got Jillian to go with me…"
He crosses his arms. "Cop out."
I nod. "Exactly. I don't know if I can do it anymore, buddy."
"Try, Dad. Please. She sounds really nice."
I sigh. "All right. I'll try."
For the next few days, I tried to get out of taking Jillian to Carol and Adam's wedding crap, but it was just no use. Jillian loved weddings, and she'd gotten a new, floor-length dress for the occasion. Just to make her feel better, I let her remain my date, although it was with mixed feelings. I didn't see Vivienne when we arrived, but I let it go, hoping to get an opportunity to be alone with her later. Jillian forced me to dance twice that evening to Peter and Lois' song by Peter Frampton, Baby, I Love Your Way, and I wanted more than anything to get out of there.
I thought I'd had too much to drink when I saw two Vivienne's near the dance floor, but when I saw the one by Stewie, I realized that she was the real one and the other one had to be a lookalike. Just as I moved to tell Jillian that I needed to leave her side and to be with Vivienne, she bent down and whispered to me.
She said, "I know what's wrong, Brian. You don't love me anymore, and that's okay. You made me realize that I can finally move on from my husband. I've been offered a photography job in Rome, and I'm taking it. I've been given the opportunity to photograph the vacation," she said proudly.
Vatican, I thought to myself, but congratulated her anyhow. Turning, I saw Vivienne taking in the scene, before fleeing it and sobbing.
I knew what I had to do.
I wasn't going to be a scared little dog anymore.
I loved her, and it was now or never.
VIVIENNE'S POV
I ran back in the direction of my hotel room, and tripped and fell in the sand. Damn these heels, I thought, kicking them off, tempted to throw them into the waves. Ignoring the urge, I walked back towards my room at a slower pace, carrying my heels now. I saw the light go on in my bedroom as I walked along, and was shocked to see Meera and Brian running around in there, calling my name.
"I'm here!" I called, waving, and made my way up to the beach entrance as Meera opened the door before me.
"You had us worried!" Meera scolded. "I had to hastily introduce myself to Brian so that I could help look for you! Left poor Roberto standing by himself…"
"You'd better get back to him, quick," Brian told her. "Meg can get very possessive around boys she doesn't know."
"Thanks!" Meera called over her shoulder, heading back to the restaurant.
Brian turned back to me. "Look, about Jillian…"
"Forget it." I toss my shoes onto the ground. "Doesn't matter." I flop onto the bed and turn away from him. "You can go now."
"Goddammit, Vivienne," Brian says, reaching out and hauling me to my feet. "I can't take it anymore! These last couple of months have been an absolute hell! I love you, and I am so sorry for not being able to communicate it to you in a proper manner!"
I feel my knees beginning to grow weak, but I won't allow myself to fall into his arms. "Brian, we can't…"
"Why not? Why not?!" he demands, pulling me down so as I am eye-level to him. "Don't you love me, Vivienne?"
I look away from him. "Please…"
"Viv!" he cries, pulling me back to look at him.
I sigh. "Of course, Brian. Of course I love you."
"Don't you want to be together?"
"Yes," I whisper, tears clouding my vision as I reach out to caress his face. "More than anything, Brian, I… I want you back. I need you back. More than I've ever wanted or needed anything before…"
He immediately closes the distance between us and kisses me. It is almost as if no time has gone by, and we are enveloped in each other's arms for what seems to be an eternity. I feel I cannot let him go, but I do briefly to lock the door and notice that Meera has left her key card here. My twin sister knows me too well, I think to myself as I quickly undress as Brian locks the door to the beach and closes the curtains.
I hop up onto the bed as Brian quickly joins me, where we make passionate love all though the night. We whisper endearments as dawn breaks, and soon fall asleep in each other's arms. I never want to move again.
This love is real.
It is then that I realize that I will need to tell Brian that in five months' time, we will have some very important company. "I'll tell him later," I tell myself.
