Tess was already making breakfast when Maria woke up and trudged out of the bedroom the next morning. Cereal. Very gourmet.
"Hey," Maria said.
"Hey," Tess returned, pouring herself a glass of orange juice. "Sleep well?"
Maria yawned and shook her head. "No. You?"
"Not really." She held up the box of Frosted Flakes, but Maria shook her head, not wanting any. Tess shrugged and put the box back up in the cupboard. "Isn't it weird?" she said, taking a spoon out of the silverware drawer. "You're sleeping in what used to be my bedroom, in what used to be my bed."
Maria cringed. "Ew, you and Max did it in there."
"Max and I did it everywhere in this apartment," Tess informed her. "Suddenly fighting the urge to dry-heave." She waved away the memories and delved into her cereal. "Sure you don't want some?" she asked.
"Not hungry." Maria sat down at a stool on the opposite side of the counter and ran hands through her hair, yawning again. "You know, you were right about the headboard on that bed, though. It does fall down."
"It's dangerous, isn't it?"
"Mmm-hmm." She nodded. "I don't suppose you'd wanna switch rooms, give me my rightful bedroom back?"
"I don't suppose I would." Tess smirked. "Maybe we can get someone to fix it if you're gonna stay here awhile."
"Oh, I'll stay as long as you'll have me," Maria said. "Sorry, I know it's an inconvenience."
"This coming from the girl who practically invited herself to move in with Michael?" She noticed the flash of hurt that appeared in her friend's eyes at the mere mention of Michael's name and immediately went on about something else. "I got used to living here without you, but I always missed you. It doesn't feel that weird to have you back. It almost feels like you never left."
Maria rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right."
"Okay, I was stretching it a little bit," Tess acknowledged. A lot had happened in both their lives since she had left.
Maria smiled a little. "It's strange. Part of me feels like a completely different person. The other part feels like the same old Maria DeLuca."
"You are the same Maria DeLuca. You're just . . . Maria DeLuca in love. Which can make you feel like a different person." She thought of Kyle, of how much better she'd felt when she was with him. She couldn't think about that. Not when Maria needed her to be . . . somewhat happy. "So what've you got planned for today?" she asked.
"Um, statistics."
"Always a joy." There was probably going to be a quiz. Tess knew they were both unprepared for that.
"And then I'm going to work," Maria added on.
"Oh, hey, that's good. Way to be productive during tough times, DeLuca. I'm so proud of you."
Maria hesitated a moment before she said, "Actually, I was gonna tell my boss I have to quit."
"What?" That pretty much threw her whole 'productive' compliment out the window. "Why?"
"Because, Michael works there. I can't work with him anymore; I can't be around him," Maria explained. "One of us has to leave, and since he needs the money so much more than I do right now . . ."
"Oh." Tess frowned. "Chicken."
"Oh, you're gonna be fun to live with again."
"No, you do what you want. I was just kinda hoping you'd help me out with the rent and stuff," Tess admitted.
"I will," Maria promised. "It's not gonna be like last time. I'll be less of a pain in the ass, we'll get along so much better. And I actually managed to save up a little money over the past couple months, so . . . and I'll get another job eventually. Maybe I could work at the campus newspaper again."
Tess nodded encouragingly. That sounded like a plan, or at least a semblance of plan. Plans were good . . . except when they got destroyed.
"Yeah, and then when Isabel has the baby, I can put an announcement on the front page for her and Michael," Maria went on, sarcastically now. "'Congratulations . . . on ruining my life.'" She sighed heavily. "Oh, boy, that sounded especially bitter, didn't it?"
"A little," Tess replied. "But that's okay. Be as bitter as you want. I won't judge." She'd learned her lesson. No more making Maria feel like she'd done the wrong thing by giving up on Michael. "It's just . . ."
"Oh, here we go."
She couldn't resist. "No, hear me out. I'm not trying to take Michael's side or say you did something wrong or anything. I just don't get why you would break up with him based on what might have happened."
Maria just stared at her, confused. It was probably too early in the morning for this.
"Because when Kyle broke up with me, it was because he saw me with Max; he saw me kiss him," Tess went on. "And he heard me say we weren't really dating." She felt herself tense up just thinking about it. "I'm not exactly bragging about it; it wasn't one of my finest moments. But Kyle broke up with me based on the facts, which I get. You broke up with Michael based on . . . speculation."
"Uh, speculation in the form of a baby, Tess. That's pretty big speculation. And let's not forget Isabel, who's the love of his life."
"She's not the love of his life, Maria." The fact that her friend could even think that baffled Tess. "You are."
"I don't know that," Maria said. "They dated for two years. He was gonna propose to her the night they broke up. And he and I dated for a month and a half."
"That doesn't matter."
"It might," Maria persisted. "Look, I just woke up. I really don't wanna delve into this first thing in the morning."
Tess realized she was pushing Maria too hard on the issue, so she decided to back off and change the subject. "Fair enough. So did you and Kyle play Whack-a-Mole the other night?"
"Deluxe Edition."
Tess smiled at the memory of giving him that edition of the game for Christmas. They'd been so close back then, and they hadn't even been together.
"Oh, and we formed a club," Maria added. "The Broken Hearts Club."
"Sounds . . . fun."
"No, not really. I'm the president. Kyle's the vice president, treasurer, and secretary all rolled into one."
"Can I join?" Tess asked.
"Sure. You can be the lunch lady."
She laughed a little. "Thanks."
...
Michael should've gone to his art class. He knew that. But that didn't stop him from not going. He wasn't normally one for skipping class, but he just didn't have room in his brain for anything education-related anymore. Too much other stuff was going on.
He gave up on the crib and busied himself with cleaning out several of the junk drawers around his apartment. His desk drawers were especially problematic. He had mail that was over a year and a half old stored away in there, most of it useless, old parking permits, crumpled up post-it notes. He was ashamed of himself. He'd always striven to be organized than this.
He was sorting through a mess of old homework assignments when he picked up an old math test. It was from Math 101, good old college algebra, the oh-so-simple class that he would have had to try to fail. He glanced at the date in the top right-hand corner and smiled. It was the first test they'd taken in that class. He remembered it well.
The professor wrote the rules on the board, as though none of them had ever taken a test before. No talking. Wasn't that a given? No chewing gum. Fine, whatever. Cell phones turned off. Understandable enough. Michael sat with Maria to his left, Tess to his right, wringing his hands together nervously.
"I'm not sure if I'm completely comfortable with this," he said.
"No, it's fine. You're doing a good deed," Maria assured him.
"Besides, it's not like we didn't study," Tess put in. "We just . . . spent more time doing other things. Like the other night, I met this guy named Max."
"Here she goes again," Maria grumbled.
"What?"
"You're like a broken record when it comes to that guy."
"So? He's hot," was Tess's defense.
"Well, Michael's smart," Maria pointed out. "And that's reason number one on a long list of reasons why he's much better than Max."
Michael rolled his eyes at their bickering. They were going to get him in trouble if they were talking like this once the tests were handed out. "Guys, it's not the algebra that worries me here; it's the . . ." He lowered his voice so their professor couldn't overhear them. "Cheating."
"And we're on board with that. We hate cheaters," Tess said a little too loudly, eliciting an over-the-shoulder glance from the professor. She smiled at him innocently.
Maria waited until he had turned back around to whisper, "Except when we're the ones cheating."
"What if we get caught?" Michael asked. "Then we'll all go down for it."
"Relax. We're professionals," Maria reassured him.
He sighed and shook his head. He hadn't known these girls long, but ever since they had stumbled into class fifteen minutes late and giggling on the very first day, they had taken a liking to him. He liked them, too; besides Isabel, they were the only two girls he'd met during his first month as a freshman at the university. But if letting them cheat off his test came back to bite him in the ass . . .
"No talking once you've received your test," the professor said as he began to hand them out, starting with the first row.
"Is it a go, Michael?" Tess asked.
"Please," Maria begged, giving him the puppy dog look. How could he resist that look?
"Okay, fine," he agreed, "but make it subtle, you know?"
"Oh, thank you so much!" Tess squealed, once again a little too loudly. She cowered under the professor's stern glare.
"Oh my god, yes, Michael, thank you." The professor set a pile of tests down in front of Maria, and she passed them down the row. She beamed at him and promised, "I'll love you forever for this."
Michael jolted out of the memory, wishing things were still that simple, wishing his biggest worry was still whether or not he'd get caught assisting the girls with their algebra cheating. And wishing Maria had loved him forever. He crumpled up the old test and threw it into the trash.
"Whoa."
He looked up when he heard Isabel. She was standing in the doorway, looking around the apartment.
"Is it just me, or has this place gotten significantly emptier?"
"It's not just you." He slid the drawer he was sorting back into his desk and rose to his feet. "Maria and I . . . Maria doesn't live here anymore."
"You guys broke up?" Isabel concluded.
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry."
He shook his head. "Not your fault."
She shrugged and slowly stepped into the apartment. "Kind of is. Sometimes I get the feeling your life would've been a lot better if I'd just stayed gone."
"No, it's . . ." He didn't want her to think that. As much as he wasn't thrilled to be having a kid at such a young age with a girl he didn't even love anymore . . . it was better than having a kid and not knowing it even existed. "It was good of you to come back. I wanna be a part of this baby's life."
She nodded and motioned towards the crib, which was slightly reminiscent of a torn down building now. "I see that."
"Oh, yeah." He scratched his eyebrow, embarrassed by how bad it looked. "That's supposed to be a crib. I messed it up. I'll buy you a different one."
"Michael." She smiled. "That's so thoughtful. You're gonna be a great dad."
He hoped so. He really hoped so.
She leaned back against the couch and rested one hand atop her stomach. Michael wondered, if he were to lay his hand there, would he feel the baby kick?
"So," she said, "what've you got planned today?"
"Planned?" he echoed.
"Yeah. I thought maybe we could go get some lunch. Or something."
He knew right away he wasn't ready for that. If he and Isabel ever went out for lunch again someday . . . it would be a long time coming. He quickly thought up an excuse to get out of it, and a truthful one at that. "Oh, uh . . . my parents are coming to visit."
"Oh. Well, I'll just get out of your hair then. You guys probably want your family time." She started to leave.
He felt something as she walked towards that door, not the kind of something where he wanted her to be there, but the kind of something where he thought he should want her to be there. If he and his parents were having family time, it seemed only right that he should invite her to join them. She was a part of his family now, too, whether he liked it or not. They were having a baby together.
"Isabel."
She stopped at the door and turned around.
"You can stay, if you want."
She smiled. "I'd like that."
He'd pretend to like it, too.
...
"And I just want you to know, I really, really like this job. And art? Hey, big enthusiast here." Maria knew she was rambling, but she couldn't stop. She hated quitting her job so suddenly, but it had to be done. "I wouldn't quit if I didn't have to. I hope you understand that, Mr. Buckworthy."
Her boss smiled at her reassuringly. "Mr. Buckley," he corrected.
She'd never get his name right.
"And yes, I understand," he assured her. "Although I won't lie and say it's easy to lose you. You've brought a real spark into this museum, Maria. I hope it stays even after you've gone."
God, she thought, he makes it sound like I'm dying. She did kind of feel dead.
"And who knows? Maybe we can convince you to come back someday."
She didn't see that happening, but she gave him the false hope anyway. "Maybe. Anyway, I just thought I'd drop by to give you my uniform and my keys, and to apologize profusely for not giving you the proper two weeks' notice." She felt really bad about that. Now he was going to have to find another employee without much advanced warning. "It's just that things have gotten kind of bad kind of . . . suddenly."
Mr. Buckley nodded. "I understand. I'm sure Michael will miss working with you, though."
She tensed. "Actually, our relationship's one of the things that's gotten bad. Suddenly."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."
"Me, too." She refused to let the tears well up again, even though they wanted to. "You should really give him a raise, though. He could use it."
Mr. Buckley nodded again, slowly this time. "I'll consider it."
"Okay." She hoped he did. Michael could use all the money he could get. Babies were expensive . . . or so she'd read in books. "Well, I'd better . . . get going," she sighed. "Bye, Mr. Buckworthy. Buckley." She rolled her eyes at herself. "Bye."
"Goodbye, Maria. I hope things get better for you."
"Yeah, that'd be nice." She turned and sulked away. All she did was sulk anymore. It wasn't fun. She turned around before she walked out the front door and reiterated, "I really did love working here." Part of that love had been Michael love, but the job itself had been fun, getting to interact with everyone who walked in there, getting to talk about artwork and sound smart. Plus, the afterhours sex hadn't sucked.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it here, Maria," Mr. Buckley said. "It's an all too rare thing to find a job you can enjoy."
Someday when she was a sex therapist, she hoped she'd enjoy that. And Michael could enjoy being an artist, and a father, too. And she'd have to enjoy being alone, because she wasn't going to find anyone else.
...
Numbers. Too many numbers. They were all starting to blend together. Max could barely distinguish one from the other. Just when he thought he'd figured out a solution for one problem, he discovered another one. His dad's company—no, his own company—was still in the crapper.
A knock on the door to his office disturbed him. "Come in."
The man who peeked his head inside looked . . . like a nerd. Like a Kyle. Like an older and somehow nerdier Kyle Valenti. Though the air of nerdiness was the same, they differed in physical appearance. This man had grey hair, the kind of grey hair that had just gone grey a year or two ago, and big, thick-rimmed black glasses. He was a lanky man. His clothes were hanging off him, but in a put-together, business-appropriate kind of way. Such a nerd.
"Mr. Evans," he said, approaching the desk with one hand extended for a handshake. "So nice to finally meet you. I'm Roger Lanton."
Max stood up and shook the older man's hand. "Roger. I thought we weren't meeting until 1:30."
Roger glanced at the clock on the wall, and Max followed his gaze. It was 1:30.
"Right," he said. "My apologies. I'm usually not so scatterbrained. I was up all night trying to figure out what to do about this mess."
"Well, have no fear, Max. That's why I exist."
Max liked the sound of that. That sounded encouraging.
Roger sat down in the chair across the desk, opened up one of the folders, took a look at what was inside, and tossed the folder aside almost instantly. "Hmm." He didn't even seem worried. "Now, it's true, this company's in bad shape right now," he acknowledged. "The sheep out there don't know it, but their shepherd lost his way a long time ago. For the past couple years, your late father—God rest his soul—incurred more debt than he acquired profit. He tried to turn it around, but for whatever reason, be it absence of intellect or lack of trying, he failed."
No shit, Max thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
"Evans Hotels aren't broke yet, Max, but they will be soon. Unless we fix it," Roger cautioned. "Now I don't know about you, but I'm the type of guy who likes to see the glass half full. I like good, positive thinking. That's why I have faith in us."
"Us?"
Roger pressed his lips together in a tight grin. "Your father and I spent countless nights agonizing over issues exactly like this, but I always knew he lacked the common sense to sort it out. You, on the other hand, strike me as someone much smarter, someone who knows what needs to be done."
He sure as hell didn't know. "And what's that?"
"Share the burden," Roger replied simply. "Surrender some of the control. Your father was a brilliant man, Max, but he never could grasp the fact that he couldn't do everything himself. He took on too much responsibility, refused to relinquish any of it, and look where it got him: six feet under."
Max shifted uncomfortably. Nerdy Roger was turning out to be less nerdy than he'd perceived. "What're you saying?"
"Max." Roger leaned forward and folded his hands atop the desk. "The position you're in right now, owning this tattered business, every single one of us working for you . . . it's a powerful position, but it's a precarious position. And it's also a figurehead position. You know that, right?"
Max frowned deeply. A figurehead position? Since when?
"Donald Trump, Billy Gates, all those guys you probably idolize . . . they don't oversee all their projects down to the most minute detail. They let other people do the work, and then they take the credit. And that's exactly what you should do."
Anyone else might have been happy to do that, but that idea didn't sit well with Max. He'd dreamed his whole life of running this company, of actually doing something with it, not just sitting back and doing nothing.
"Let me do the work, Max," Roger repeated. "I don't mind."
"Neither do I," Max informed him. He supposed he took after his father in that way.
"Oh, you will," Roger told him. "And let's face it: You're a kid. There's only so much you can do."
"I assure you, I'm plenty capable."
"Oh, I don't doubt that," Roger said. "But Phillip was actually going to leave this company to me, but he died before he could get the will changed." He shrugged. "So smile, Max. It's your lucky day."
Max narrowed his eyes at him. He already didn't like this guy.
...
Michael wasn't sure how to feel about . . . everything. Having his parents there was one thing. That never felt quite natural, because it was his apartment, and having them in his home was different from him being in their home. Having Isabel there threw their entire dynamic on its head, though. He was barely even able to talk to his mom and dad because Isabel was too busy gushing about the pregnancy. It wasn't that he didn't want her to gush; he just wanted to escape from it for awhile. But there was no escape. For the rest of his life, there was no escape from it.
"So here are the images from the first ultrasound I had," Isabel said, showing off a bunch of pictures from her first trimester.
"Oh my." Michael's mother sounded sort of . . . stunned. And he picked up on it right away. She was sitting on the couch with Isabel, obediently looking at every image that was brought before her eyes, but her own eyes were wide and full of worry.
"Yeah, it's pretty incredible. There's the head," Isabel said, pointing it out. "Of course, it's a lot bigger now. A lot bigger." She patted her stomach and groaned. "I don't even wanna think about squeezing this thing out."
Michael made a face. Thing?
"Are you having a natural birth?" Sylvia inquired.
"Oh, god no," Isabel answered without hesitation. "I want the doctor to give me every kind of drug he's got."
Sylvia nodded mutely, and Michael just shook his head and tried to focus on the sandwiches he was making. He hardly had any food in the house because he hadn't gotten to go grocery shopping yet that week. Plus, sandwiches were about the only food he could make. He wasn't used to being so . . . unprepared.
"Have you seen those?" his father asked, joining him in the kitchen.
"The ultrasound pictures? Yeah, she showed me today." He tried to concentrate on spreading the mayo over the slice of bread, but he was barely functioning. He just wanted to go to sleep. He ended up spreading mayo on the cutting board instead. "It's kind of surreal," he said, thinking about the ultrasound pictures again. It was hard to believe there was another person inside Isabel. A little person.
"I remember. I was a little freaked out when I first saw you on that monitor," John said, smiling fondly. "So, uh . . . Maria's gone, huh?"
Michael grabbed a few paper plates out of the cabinet above the countertop and laid out four of them for the sandwiches. "You noticed."
"It's hard not to. I'm sorry, Son."
Michael nodded and plopped the sandwiches down atop the plates. He noticed mold on one of the slices and rubbed his forehead in distress. Why did every single thing have to go wrong?
"Hey, John come get a glimpse of your grandson," Isabel called into the kitchen suddenly.
"Grandson?" he echoed curiously.
"Well, yeah, I think so. He feels like a boy. Either that or a very masculine girl, which worries me."
Michael leaned against the counter and took a few deep breaths. He could tell his mother especially had just about had it with Isabel. They'd never really gotten along.
John went into the living room and sat down on the other side of Isabel, leaning over to peer at the ultrasound images. "Amazing, isn't it?" he remarked.
"Yeah," she agreed. "Oh, I also have pictures of Florida, if you guys wanna see."
Florida. Michael tensed. That was where she'd gone when she'd left him. He couldn't believe she'd be insensitive enough to . . .
He pulled out his trashcan and shoved all the sandwiches and paper plates down into it. If there was mold on one slice of the bread, there'd probably be mold on all of them.
"Honey, are you okay?" his mother asked.
"Fine." He headed into his bedroom, needing to collect himself for a moment. The stress was piling up, and it was really starting to get to him.
"Part one," he heard Isabel say. "Me and my bikini."
He shut the door to his room and sat down on the bed. It was hard for him to be in that room. It was hard for him to be anywhere in that apartment without thinking of Maria. He bent forward, pressed his elbows to his knees, and raked his hands through his hair.
A few minutes later, the door to his bedroom slid open and his mother poked her head inside. "Michael?"
"Mom." He took a deep breath and tried to act okay for her. But she saw right through the façade.
"You look tired."
There was no point in denying it. "I am." He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually felt the pronounced bags under his eyes or the last time he'd let the stubble of his beard start to noticeably grow in. Probably when Isabel had left him.
"You look sad," she added on.
"How can you tell?"
"You're my kid. I can always tell when something's wrong." She sat down beside him and placed a comforting hand on his back. He wondered if maybe she was secretly disappointed in him but was just too nice to say it to his face.
He swallowed hard and said, "Those, uh, pictures of Isabel in Florida . . . they were probably taken by this guy named Alex."
"Who?"
"The guy she cheated on me with."
Sylvia's face registered confusion.
"Yeah, that's why we broke up. That's why I was such a wreck afterwards. Kinda like I am now."
"Oh, sweetie . . ." She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and hugged his much larger frame to her side. "I didn't know."
"We haven't even talked about it since she's been back. I'm kinda afraid to bring it up. I don't want her to feel any unnecessary stress or anything."
Sylvia nodded. "I think that's very considerate of you. But she can handle it. She's a pregnant woman, Michael, not a heart attack patient."
He supposed that was a good point.
"But now I have to ask the question." Sylvia let go of him and turned to face him directly. "Are you sure this baby's yours? Because if she cheated on you, then clearly she has no problem lying to you."
"Yeah, but she's not lying about this." Having been lied to before by Isabel, he liked to think he would know if she was doing it again. "She has no reason to. Alex was a rich guy. You know how she loves money."
"You still might do well to have some proof," his mother persisted.
"Mom. You don't have to try to get me out of this." He knew that was what she was trying to do.
"I just didn't picture this for you," she admitted.
"Trust me, I didn't, either." He thought for a moment about the fact that he had once existed inside her, just like his child was existing inside Isabel. It was mind-boggling to say the least. "I was finally over her," he said, feeling sorry for himself, "and then she came back into my life. Great timing, huh?"
His mother reached up to stroke his hair, looking as though she were about to cry.
"Maria and I were happy, Mom," he said, feeling himself start to get choked up. "We were really happy. I thought we were gonna be together the rest of our lives."
"You might still be."
He shook his head. He didn't want to give himself false hope. He had to be realistic about things from now on. No unnecessary dreaming.
"When did she . . ."
"Day before yesterday," he cut in, already knowing what she was going to ask. "We had a pretty bad fight. And now we're over. Just like that."
"Oh, sweetie," she said again. "I'm so sorry. I worry about you so much."
"Don't." He didn't want her to do that. She was his mother, so granted, it was like her job description; but . . . she didn't have to. "I'll be okay," he promised her. "It's not like I don't have a life. I do. I have my child's life." From here on out, that was all that mattered to him.
...
"So that's the last time I donned the bikini. You can see the baby bump was starting to show." Isabel sighed wistfully as she looked at the picture of her standing on the beach. She looked like a model there. She couldn't wait to get that body back. "Funny story," she went on. "It was actually this bratty little boy at that beach who alerted me to the fact that I was expecting. He pointed to me and called me fat."
"Interesting," John remarked.
"Yeah." She put those pictures away in her purse and pulled out another stack. "Part two: Disney World." The first picture was of her and Alex standing with Mickey Mouse himself in the Magic Kingdom theme park. Alex had a big smile on his face.
"Who's that?" John asked.
"Mickey Mouse, duh," she joked. "No, that's, uh . . . that's Alex. He's a friend." He was a little bit more that, or at least he had been, but John didn't need to know that. Isabel was just about to start explaining the next picture when Michael came out of the bedroom and headed towards the door. "Hey, where you goin'?" she said as he slipped on his shoes and grabbed his coat.
"I just need to get some air," he said, slipping out the door. It was as though he couldn't get out of there fast enough.
"I think Michael's mad at me," she said.
"No, he's not," John assured her. "He's just got a lot on his mind, as do you."
She smiled at the soon-to-be grandpa. "No wonder Michael's such a nice guy. Look at his predecessor."
John actually grew a little red at that compliment. Unfortunately, his wife strolled out of the bedroom and disrupted the peace shortly afterward. "Jonathon," she said, "would you mind giving Isabel and me a moment?"
"Sure thing," he said, rising to his feet. "I'll go get something out of that vending machine downstairs. It had some fruit snacks that caught my eye . . ."
"Fine," Sylvia said. "Go do that."
Isabel remained seated, getting the sense that this wasn't going to be good. John walked out of the apartment, and Sylvia sat down on the couch, right in the spot where he had been sitting. Unlike her husband, though, she didn't seem interested in seeing any Disney World pictures.
"Is Michael okay?' Isabel asked.
"No, he's not," Sylvia answered outright. "He's awful. I've never seen him so unhappy before."
It took a moment for that jab to resonate. "That's not my fault," Isabel pointed out.
"Isn't it?"
Isabel huffed in disbelief. What made this woman think she had the right to attack her?
"Michael doesn't know I'm confronting you about this," Sylvia admitted, "but he won't do it himself, so someone has to."
Isabel gave her a confused look, truly confused as to what the hell she was talking about.
"I know you cheated on him, Isabel. He told me."
Isabel rolled her eyes. "Like you've never cheated on John."
"I never have. I'm not like you."
Oh, you should be so lucky, Isabel thought, fighting to control herself.
"Now the way I see it," Sylvia went on, "had you never cheated on him in the first place, you never would've left. This pregnancy would've been easier for Michael to deal with, for everyone to deal with. It wouldn't have been so sudden, and he wouldn't have had to suffer the heartbreak of losing Maria."
Maria, Maria, Maria. Isabel was so sick of hearing about that stupid girl. "He also never would've found Maria," she pointed out. "If you look at it that way, I did him a favor."
"Nothing about what you did is favorable. Knowing what I know now, I have no respect for you, and I never will."
Isabel couldn't deny being a bit stunned. This woman had grown a pair.
"I do congratulate you on this pregnancy with all sincerity, and I will love my grandchild with all my heart," she promised. "But I will never view you as part of this family. You don't deserve a place with us, even if you and my son do get married someday. You need to know, Isabel, that Michael got over you. It wasn't easy, but he fell in love again with a very special girl. John and I care about Maria very much, and we would much rather have her here right now instead of you. She'll always be a part of our family." Sylvia smirked. "So just think about that when you're showing off the pictures your other boyfriend took."
Isabel didn't even know what to say. Her mouth dropped open, but for a few seconds, no words came out. Finally, she managed to formulate a response. "Wow, Syl, you've definitely got the bitchy mother-in-law- vibe down."
"Oh, I'm not your mother-in-law yet," Sylvia reminded her as she got up to leave.
Isabel waited until she had gone to shake her head and grunt, "Bitch."
...
Michael stood out on the sidewalk, right next to the street. It was a cold night out. Very cold. He wasn't in any hurry to go back inside, though. He felt like he could stand out there for a long time.
He glanced to the right and looked down the dark, empty street. Maria was in that direction. She and Tess were probably watching some TV right about now, maybe doing statistics homework. Or maybe they were out somewhere, living it up, attracting the attention of all the guys in the vicinity. Maybe Maria was with someone else . . .
He shivered and pulled his jacket tighter around himself. He had to stop thinking those thoughts.
"Hey, man."
He glanced to the left when he heard a voice. Kyle was walking towards him. "Hey," he returned, noticing that his friend had Frank with him, was walking him on a leash. Frank stopped, hopped down on the street, sniffed something at the edge of the sidewalk, and then lifted his leg up to pee.
"I swear, this dog pees every ten steps," Kyle said. "He's all bladder, this one."
Michael smiled. Frank was supposed to be his and Maria's pet. He knew Kyle was taking good care of him, but still . . . it was yet another thing that hadn't gone the way he planned.
"So what're you doing out here?" Kyle asked once Frank was done doing his business. "Just tryin' to breathe?"
"Yeah, something like that." Michael stuffed his hands in his pockets. "My parents are here."
"Oh. Did you tell them about . . . stuff?"
Michael nodded. "Yeah. I, uh . . . I invited Isabel to spend the day with us, too, and now I wish I hadn't."
"That bad, huh?"
"I got a glimpse of what the rest of my life's gonna be like, and it sucks," Michael blurted.
"Well, if it's any consolation, the highlight of my day was getting Frank to poop on the newspaper."
Michael laughed a little. Things were looking pretty dismal for the both of them. He was about to suggest that Kyle try giving Tess a call when his mother came out, looking a little flustered. "Michael?" she said.
"What's wrong?" Michael saw his father come out as well, right behind her. "Is everything okay up there?"
"Everything's fine," his mother said. "I think we're just gonna be going now, if that's alright with you."
"You can stay, if you want," he offered.
"Oh, we will, if that's what you want," she said. "But really, I think you should try to get some sleep. I know that's what I'm gonna try to do. We'll both feel better if we . . . oh, hi, Kyle."
"Hi, Mrs. Guerin," Kyle returned. "Mr. Guerin."
"Well, looks like you've got yourself a dog, Kyle," John said, stating the obvious.
"Yeah, acquired him, actually," Kyle said. "His name's Frank."
"Frank." John chuckled. "Who chose that name for him?"
Maria had chosen that name. Kyle cast a glance at Michael, and Michael quickly changed the topic. "Um, so you guys have a hotel? You're all set?"
"Yep. We'll probably leave tomorrow after we make a little pit-stop first. We wouldn't leave if we both didn't have to work."
"You'll probably have to go to class anyway, won't you?" John supposed.
"Uh . . . yeah, I should."
"Now, Michael, don't start slacking off with school. You stay sharp on that," his father said.
He nodded. "Yeah, I will." It was hard to stay sharp on anything, though, when he was so mentally and physically exhausted. "Okay," he said. "Well, thanks for coming. It was really good to see you guys."
"Oh, I'm afraid I did more harm than good," his mother said regretfully.
"No." He pulled her into a hug, and as childish at it sounded, he wished he could hop into the backseat of the car and go home with his parents. It would've been so easy. He missed easy.
"I love you, you know," Sylvia said, sounding as though she were on the verge of tears. "More than anything in the world."
"I know."
"And so do I," his father said, enveloping both of them in a hug.
"Oh, getting scrunched now," Sylvia warned.
"Sorry." John released them both from the hug, and Michael stepped away from his mom. They were good parents. They were really good parents, and he was well aware how lucky he was to have them. He was going to love his son or daughter the way his parents had loved him. No matter what.
"If you need anything, anything at all, you just call us," his mother said.
"I will," he promised. "Come on, I thought you guys were leaving."
Sylvia nodded silently as John took her hand and led her towards the parking lot. She had begun to cry, and she was clearly just trying to keep it from getting out of control. They both turned and looked over their shoulders at him as they walked away. Michael stood and watched them go. Once they were gone, he turned back to Kyle and said, "I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"
"Okay," Kyle said, yanking on the dog's leash as Michael headed back inside. "Oh, come on, Frank, you just peed there! Man!"
...
Isabel couldn't stop looking at the picture of her and Alex standing with Mickey Mouse. They'd had someone else take it for them, of course. She'd been five months along at the time. It all seemed so long ago.
When Michael came back in, she stuffed all the Disney pictures back in her purse.
"They're gone," he said as he shut the door.
"Is that a hint for me to leave, too?" She hoped not. They finally had the place all to themselves.
"Maybe," he admitted quietly.
She sighed. It figured. Oh, well. He seemed like he was in a bad mood. He probably wouldn't have been the greatest company for the night. "I'll call a cab," she said, reaching for her cell phone.
"No, I can drive you," he offered.
Much better. "Thanks." Michael never ceased to be the nicest guy on the planet. Isabel got to her feet and made her way over to the door to pick up her shoes. It was a process, just bending down to pick them up. Her back was killing her, and her stomach was in the way of even the simplest maneuvers. Finally, she just gave up and decided to slip her feet into them while standing. "So tell me," she said as she did so, "when did your mom get unbelievably scary? Just now?"
Michael made a face. "What do you mean? She's not scary."
"Yeah, she is. She told me she wishes I wasn't here and I'll never be a part of this family," she informed him.
"When?"
"When you were outside. She told me not to mention it to you, but . . . what the hell, you know?" She would have liked to drive a wedge in between Michael and his mother, but she didn't see that happening.
"She's just mad 'cause you cheated on me," he said, bracing himself against the kitchen counter, looking away from her.
"Right. She's mad."
He whirled around, the faint glow of fury in his gorgeous brown eyes. "Well, you can't blame me for bein' pissed about it."
She shrugged. "I'm not blaming." And she really wasn't.
"You know, I didn't deserve to be lied to and cheated on. I never did anything like that to you," he kept on. He was like a corked bottle that had just become uncorked. "I treated you well. I cared about you; I loved you. And you just used that to your advantage. You used me until you were done with me, and you only came back 'cause of the baby."
"But I came back." Wasn't that all that mattered? She could have stayed gone. That had been her plan when she'd left Santa Fe in the first place. She'd meant to make Florida her home.
"Because you had to," he ground out. "You came back because you had to."
"I didn't have to." Her whole life was a series of choices, not coercions.
"Did you plan this, to wait until my life was absolutely perfect to come back and mess everything up?"
She refrained from making the obvious comment, that his life hadn't been as perfect as he'd thought if he and Maria had split so quickly, and instead said, "This isn't something I did, Michael; this is something we did. Together. And I'm sorry Maria didn't like you enough to stick around, but . . ."
"You don't know anything about Maria," he growled, stalking towards her.
"Why are you still defending her? She ditched you."
"Kinda like you did?"
She grunted and side-stepped him. "Fine, I cheated on you. I left town and I came back pregnant. Go ahead and hate me for it."
"I don't hate you. I just don't love you anymore," he clarified.
She glared at him. "Well, I hope you love our baby."
"Of course I—you think I won't?"
"I think you're so fixated on Maria DeLuca, you might let her get in the way of us," she said.
"There is no us."
"Our family, Michael."
"We are not a family," he informed her. "We will never be a family. That was glaringly apparent today. We'll be parents, nothing more."
No. It wasn't good enough for her. "Funny. You say you don't hate me, but it sure seems like you do."
"Well, why shouldn't I?" he roared. "Huh? Why shouldn't I hate you? I should. You haven't even said you're sorry."
"For being pregnant?"
He threw his hands up in the air, blazing with an anger she found very uncharacteristic for him. "For being a bitch! For being a selfish, manipulative bitch! For making me think you were someone you're not and then leaving me for someone else. Oh, he's richer, so he's gotta be better."
She grunted. "You make me sound so shallow."
"You are so shallow."
"Then I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry you can't understand where I was coming from when I-"
"Where you were coming from?" he echoed. "Give me a break! You grew up in a mansion with limos and a rich dad. Yeah, that must've been real tough."
"You know what? In its own way, it was. And I'm sick of everybody thinking I'm some spoiled little rich girl. Nobody knows how hard I've worked for what I want. Nobody knows-" She held her hand to her side and winced. "Uh . . ."
"What's wrong?" he asked, immediately concerned. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she said. "There's just some pain or tension sometimes when I get worked up about something. I'm okay."
He came up to her and placed one hand in the small of her back. "You sure?"
She nodded.
"Sit down." He led her towards the couch, and she sank down onto the cushion where she'd been sitting when he first came in. "Let me get you some water," he said, heading into the kitchen.
"Thanks." She waited until he had turned his back to grin in self-satisfaction. Fake pregnancy pain. Worked every time.
