“Honestly Eloise, you must be mistaken. Maybe he was talking about Dee. Haden and me don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things.”
“I know what I heard. To be honest, I thought you guys dated by the way he spoke about you. I was even jealous for a while.” With a disturbingly fake laugh, she continues. “Anyway, timing was perfect for us. He met me, and look, we are getting married!”
Is this true? Shell-shocked by her comment, I pass it off as nothing, but my brain is going into overdrive. “Anyway, thanks for lunch, Eloise.”
Back in the office, I stare at my screen in a daze. So much of what she told me doesn’t add up. Obviously, she knows Haden better than I do. Actually, I don’t know him at all, yet the conversation on the way he talked about me fills me with a desire to find out more. So what if he said nice things? It doesn’t mean anything. Remember, he said I meant nothing to him. Those were his exact words to Marcus.
“Hey.” Haden is leaning against my partition, and the smell of his aftershave hits me. God, he smells so good. And why is that deep burgundy shirt accentuating his perfectly-toned forearms?
“Oh, hey.”
“Sorry I didn’t warn you about lunch. It was kind of sprung on me after many arguments.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m sorry if it caused arguments.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire. You are so not sorry!
“So you’re leaving tomorrow?” He swiftly changes the subject.
“Yeah, an early morning flight. So I’ll pick you up on Saturday morning from the airport?”
He appears calm, but again that stare leaves me breathless. I need to remember that he is nothing but the sperm donor in this equation. These stupid thoughts, feelings, they need to be buried along with my libido.
“I’ve hired a car. I’ll just meet you at your parents’ in the morning,” he responds quietly. “I’ve got a meeting all afternoon, so I’ll see you then?”
“See you then.”
He begins to walk away and I let out the huge breath I’d been holding till he turns around, forcing me to suck it back in.
“And Presley…” Our eyes meet and something catches me off guard, a force or pull that makes my stomach flutter…or perhaps that was the baby. Whatever it is, I need to ignore it or I’ll be in trouble. It’s a slippery slope once this shit starts. With a deep penetrating stare, his eyes narrow and his lips twitch nervously. “Have a safe flight.”
The second my feet land on my parents’ front porch, it’s a bittersweet moment. Having grown up in this house as a child, I am now standing here as a grown woman with child. Yeah, let’s blame the hormones again, but it was definitely worth a good cry.
I have nothing but sweet memories of this house. The pale yellow paint and white shutters have remained the same throughout the years. The garden is covered in roses and carnations, my mom’s favorite, of course. The rockers are sitting on the porch, the same ones that belonged to my Gramps and Grammy. Carved in some fancy wood, they’ve been passed down through the generations. The warm air touches my skin, and just when I’m about to shed some more tears, my dad comes out carrying what looks like road kill.
“Here’s my little Poodle!”
I cringe at the nickname, stepping forward and walking into his arms. His overbearing hug and scent of wooden musk engulfs me and I burst into tears, once again.
“I missed you, Dad,” I babble like a baby through my tears.
“Aww, you got those damn hormones your mother did,” he says, kissing the top of my head.
He lets go and takes a good look at me. I’m wearing a pair of cotton shorts and a shirt that has ‘Turkey Baking’ written on it. My belly is popping out; in fact, over the past week it decided to grow tremendously and could no longer be concealed no matter what I wore. What was that about feeling like a beached whale again?
“You’re looking beautiful, Poodle. You got that glow to you.”
“Step away, George, and let me see my daughter.”
My mom is standing behind him, dressed in a fluorescent pink yoga outfit, much to my surprise. She hasn’t changed much since I saw her last, her bangs still cut like she’s rocking an 80’s video clip, and it wouldn’t hurt her to wear a bra once in a while. Nevertheless, I was told on numerous occasions we looked like sisters. Apparently she had a youthful glow, or perhaps I looked like an old soul. Let’s stick to the youthful glow story to boost my ego.
“Come here, give me a hug.” She smiles.
I step forward and embrace her. Leaning my head on her shoulder, I’m happy to admit that it’s good to come home. What I needed was some quality time with my family. That, and to get ridiculously spoiled.
“George, take her bags up to her room. Honey, you have to eat something. It’s not about you anymore. I know you city girls are into all these fad diets but if you don’t eat and gain nutrients the baby could be born with God knows what.”
“Mom, I’ve been eating. And would it kill you to wear a bra?”
“I read an article about how bras can increase your risk of breast cancer. Your dad seems to enjoy it.”
I wince at the mental image. “Oh my god! You did not just say that.”
As I walk through the house I see that nothing has changed, apart from a ridiculous looking exercise thingamajig in the living room. Hanging on the walls are several photos of Gemma and me throughout our childhood. I take a moment to stand in the hallway and look at the photos, so much fun and laughter hanging on this one wall. I rest my hands on my stomach and hope that one day my child will get to experience everything I did. That would most likely require me finding a husband and having more children. Do not have this conversation with yourself now, you sadistic fool!
There is a photo of Jason and me sitting in a small frame amongst the others. I remember the day clearly—it was the first summer I brought him here to meet my family. We are sitting in a boat, him behind me with his arms wrapped around my waist. Laughing out loud, I recall just afterwards when we both fell into the lake accidentally. It’s a great memory, and so as not to get too caught up in nostalgia, I go in search of my mom.
I settle into the kitchen as my mom prepares lunch for us. As we all sit down to enjoy the meal, my mom takes this opportunity to lecture me on everything I should have done, should be doing, and basically how I should raise this kid until he or she is in college. Only my mom could have an entire conversation with herself while I devour the homemade pie in front of me. My dad polishes off three beers as she rambles on. By the end, we both stare at her until she realizes she’s been talking to herself.
“Honestly, the two of you are like peas in a pod. Can’t get anyone to listen in this household,” she rattles off, moving towards the sink as she starts to wash up.
My dad shrugs his shoulders and heads out the back door with his fishing hat on.
Even at the sink, my mom continues to talk a mile a minute. I take my cell out of my pocket looking for some social media relief when I see a text on the front screen.
Hope you got there safe. I’ve got my black belt packed.
With mom still going on about breastfeeding versus bottle feeding, I scramble to send him a text before she realizes I’m not paying attention.
Pack a new set of ears. My mom has not stopped talking since I got here. Apparently I should be looking at colleges now because there’s a waiting list.
The exhaustion from traveling finally catches up with me, so I excuse myself to take a short nap. I wake up in a blind panic, and disorientated, I realize I have slept through to the morning. My mom didn’t even have the balls to wake me. The time on my cell says eight, and that red badge is sitting on my home screen.