March 1977 – Cos Cob, CT
The screen door slapped shut as Angela whooshed out of the house. Mona was just pulling up the driveway, and called to her, but Angela didn't even look at her mother. She got in her car, panting, and backed up around Mona in a deft fury.
Angela sped southwest on I95, clenching her teeth against the early weekend traffic. After a couple of minutes, her breathing had slowed, and the crying had started. It was dark, and the opposing headlights seared through her tears, making it even harder to see. She shivered out a sob, and made a powerful blink to clear her vision.
Angela felt lonelier and sadder than when Ben died, something she found harshly ironic, considering how this all started. She was so cold. She turned the heat all the way up, but couldn't get warm. She found herself fantasizing about Michael's warm smile, when he was happy with her. She thought about his hugs. He was strong, and she felt so tiny in his arms, which coddled an insecure part of her as heavy and as real as the extra weight she'd spent so long carrying. She thought about his solid weight on top of her that first time, as he tried to kiss away her tears. He'd wanted so much to stop them. Now he was making his own.
She didn't even know what she'd wanted him to say. She was just wanting him to make it better, like before - to cure her unfathomable loneliness, like before. She supposed that wasn't really fair, but she still wanted it. He'd done it before.
She also hated how frail and tiny she felt. She'd spent the majority of her life to date an independent woman. She'd made it through her father's death without a real hug from her mother. She'd defended her master's thesis without a tremor. She'd let her excellence shoot down every meritless accusation her supervisor could conjure. And the only thing she wanted right now was to be held by the boyfriend making her cry. It was infuriating.
Angela pulled up to the Waldorf, and her teeth were chattering as she gave her keys to the valet. She had nowhere to go, but needed to get away. She ached for that first time with Michael. They had a room available now, on the same floor as before, and Angela took it, gratefully. She felt her stomach tighten and her airway narrow as she hurried up to her room. She yanked her key out of the open door, and dropped her purse. Tearing off her clothes breathlessly, she left them strewn in her path to the shower.
Angela leaned over to turn on the hot water, and exhaled. She stayed doubled over, and finally allowed the mob of sobs their due. Steam filled the small bathroom in no time. Losing strength, Angela lowered herself to her knees. The hot water drenched her head, and streamed down her face from every direction. She had to open her mouth to breathe, and the crying became louder. Every part of her wanted Michael to walk in, pick her up, and hold her with her legs and arms wrapped all around him.
Angela tied the knot on her robe with great effort. She plodded over to the couch and plopped down, nearly depleted. She sat laboriously, waiting for her breathing to steady before calling her mother. She started to get frustrated with how long it was taking, but her breath only quickened. This cycled for a while, before she again lost her strength and just fell asleep.
A pain in her neck woke Angela up. It was still dark out, but she didn't care to look at the clock. She shuffled over to the bed, and burrowed under the blanket. She had a faint thought of calling her mother, but it left as soon as it came.
Angela's eyes opened into the pillows. Bright light shone through the window, and in heavy sadness, she wished Michael were still underneath her. The pressure in her head hadn't left, but she started to regain context. Crap. Mother.
She reached over to pick up the phone, and spun the dial. It rang less than once.
"Hello?" Mona said frantically.
"Mother, it's me," Angela exhaled.
"Angela! What in the- Why did you leave like that? Are you okay?"
Angela rubbed her forehead, and spoke in the most professional voice she could muster. "I'm sorry to worry you, Mother. I realize that was alarming. I had every intention of ca-"
"Cut the crap, Angela," snarled her mother. Angela's head tilted in defeat. "You scared me half to death, leaving like that. What's going on?"
"I just needed to get away. I am sorry I scared you. But I'm okay."
"Bullshit."
Angela let out a slow breath.
Mona continued. "Nobody who screeches out of their home driveway, nearly rear-ending their mother, and disappears for 13 hours is okay – especially if they're insisting they are. Now. What. Happened?"
Angela answered seriously and distinctly, with her eyes shut. "Mother. I need some space. I just called to tell you what I truly intended to tell you last night: that I'm okay. And I'm sorry."
"Michael called."
Angela bolted upright.
"I'll take your heavy breathing as your reply; I guess it's my turn again. Yes, he called from the airport in Texas - said he really needed to talk to you. You still okay?" Mona taunted.
Angela didn't speak for a couple seconds. "Did he say if he was flying back?"
Mona waited a beat, then spoke softer. "Yes… Is that good or bad."
Angela rubbed her forehead again, and breathed. "I don't know."
"Angela…" Mona tried.
"Mother, I just need to sort some things out."
"Angela…are you afraid of him?"
Angela waited longer than she meant to to respond, "Not in the way you mean."
Mona let out the breath she'd been holding. "Okay, Angela... But I just want us to both be aware that we're both aware that you're acting weird. So, if you ever do decide to talk to me about this, ditch the nonchalance, okay?"
"Noted."
"And Angela?"
"Yes?"
"I'm on your side, even if you won't let me in. And I always will be. I want you to know that."
A little smile lightened Angela. "I know."
"Alright then. Let me know when you know something you want to tell me."
Angela laughed softly. "Okay… Thank you, Mother."
March 1977 - NYC
"Ms. Robinson? Michael Bower is here to see you."
Angela sighed, and pressed the button. "Thank you, Sheila. I'll be out shortly."
"Yes, ma'am."
Angela dropped her head. She'd avoided him all weekend, eating popsicles and playing solitaire in a bathrobe. She'd checked out on time Sunday morning, but didn't drive home 'till dusk. She didn't want the chance of running into Michael. But early that evening, she'd chanced to look up into the rearview mirror. She'd seen her reflection, sitting in a Burger King parking lot, afraid to go home. No. We're not doing this, she'd thought, with her hand on her stomach. She put the car in gear, and drove straight home.
As it turned out, Michael had shown up wondering where Angela was. Mona had coolly, but truthfully, let him in on her ignorance. Angela still had mixed feelings about seeing him, but she was done hiding.
Angela attempted to brush the wrinkles from the front of her dress before she opened her office door. She was wearing her pearls, and a jaw Joe Louis couldn't break.
She walked up to him, chin level. "Michael."
"Angela!" he said desperately. "We've got to talk."
"Please come with me." She led him back to her office, and shut the door.
"Angela, are you sure?"
"Yes, I took two other tests."
He smeared his palms back over his hair. Then, he seemed to regroup. "Okay, so we can still fix this."
Oh, no he didn't.
"I can get you an appointment today."
Angela felt as if she had one hand shushing her tears, and the other hand unleashing her rage. "Stop it."
Michael's eyes widened in disbelief, "Angela, you can't be serious!"
"I am."
He staggered around anxiously, blurting out his words. "Don't I get a say in this?"
"You know…not everybody does. But we did. Before."
He rolled his eyes, dramatically. "Ang-"
She cut him off with a look that had guarded Wallace and McQuade for the last 6 months, "But that's not the point. I'm not doing that."
"They're just cells!"
She narrowed her eyes - still keeping those tears at bay - and cocked her head. "And when does that change?"
He let out an exaggerated grunt, and rubbed his hands down his face. "Angela, don't you like to think of yourself as a career woman?" Angela bit down hard on her back molars. "You said this stuff was important to you, right?" he said with his arms outstretched. "You think you can keep doing this with a baby in tow? Not gonna happen!"
"Keep your voice down," she said finitely.
He motioned, acknowledging his own argument. "See?"
"This is my work, Michael. Whom I choose to tell what, when, is for me to decide. Not you."
"Yeah, you seem to like that angle," he pouted.
She softened begrudgingly, "Michael, I'm not trying to hurt you."
He dropped down into a chair, shaking his head. "Hurt me?" he scoffed. "You're ruining me! What about me says, 'Dad'?"
Angela squatted down to his level by his chair, with her knees and heels primly together. She tilted her head, and spoke softly. "The man who had empathy with a broken stranger. The man who valued his own dreams enough to lose everything he knew to pursue them. The man who's quick enough to spar with me...and gentle enough to love me. The man I love." Michael's increasingly softening face jolted to a halt.
He frowned a little, "What did you say?"
"You know what I said," she smirked.
He tipped his head a little. "Let me hear it again," he played.
"Will you marry me?"
Michael's eyes bugged out. "Now I know I didn't hear you right!"
"Yes, you did. I love you, Michael Bower. This was the worst weekend of my life because you weren't there." She picked up his hand. "Marry me," she said, more than asked.
He let out a nervous laugh, and tilted his head, still eyeing her. "You're serious?"
"I'm not this funny," she said with a straight face. "Will you marry me, Michael?"
Michael's head turned away with a shy smile. Looking back at her, he shook his head smiling. Moving the chair, he picked her up the squatted way she was, and held her threshold style. He leaned in, and centimeters from her lips, he said, "Yes."
