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Still? Was he ever really mine? No.
I don’t know what I’m feeling right now besides numb. I can’t be angry at him for telling Venus about us when I never told him that Chantelle knows and that I confided in her after she found out. I also can’t be angry at him for not telling me that he found out Venus was pregnant with what could be his child. I can’t imagine trying to process that kind of information and it happened long before I was even in the picture.
But the biggest reason I can’t be mad at any of it is because I was the one who told him it was just having fun. I wanted it to be just that, but my heart got in the way and now I’m paying the price just like Chantelle said would happen.
I wonder what would have happened if I told him that yes, I was still in love with him. Or yes, there is a chance that we could be together again, but in what capacity? What does be together mean to him? Sneaking around? Hookups with no future? And how would you balance all of that with a new baby and co-parenting?
My head spins with the mental gymnastics of trying to make it work. The reality is, maybe if we loved each other enough, we could have made it work but I can’t ask him to fit me into his life now that he has a baby on the way.
My heart aches at the thought that someday soon, he’ll be cradling his baby daughter and it won’t be with me. Kids and marriage haven’t been at the forefront of my mind, but maybe that’s because I hadn’t met the right person. My mom used to tell me that she never thought she wanted children. She was focused solely on a career until she fell in love with my dad and it made her want a family with him. I get that now.
“Oh, Mom. I wish you were here.” I stare up at the sky as I wait for the walk symbol to flash, an idea popping into my head.
I pull my phone out and find my dad’s name, hitting the call button.
“Hello? This is a lovely surprise.” My dad’s melodic voice puts a smile on my face.
“Hey, Dad. Why do you always act like you haven’t heard from me in weeks?” I laugh, wiping away a few remaining tears that still cling to my cheeks.
“Well, you’re a busy woman, always kicking ass at work and volunteering. I’m just grateful you make time for your old man.”
“I’m calling because I wanted to spend more time with you actually.”
“Oh?” His voice goes up an octave.
“Would you want to take the Porsche out this weekend? I thought we could pack a picnic, catch up, and maybe… go visit Mom’s grave?” The other end goes silent. “Dad?”
“I’m here. I just… I would love that, sweetie. Thank you.” There’s a hint of emotion in his voice, but he coughs it away.
“Great. I’ll stop by your house on Saturday. We can pack lunch at your house and then leave from there?”
“Sounds great, B.”
I hang up the phone just as I make it back to my building. I put myself on autopilot, stripping out of my clothes and running a bath with lavender Epsom salt and some oils Sylvia bought me that I always forget to use.
I bring my glass of white wine, a book, and find an easy listening jazz Spotify playlist on my phone and drown out the sad, lonely thoughts in my head that are telling me to jump up, run across town to Beckham, and tell him I take it back.
* * *
“Top up or down?”
“Seriously? We can’t take the Porsche 911 Carrera Cabriole out and not put the top down; it would be a sin.” I smile and my dad claps, rubbing his hands together like a kid in a candy store.
“That’s what I was hoping you’d say, but your stepmother always complains about the wind messing up her hair.”
“Top will be down, but I get first dibs driving.”
“Deal.”
We pack our picnic basket and say goodbye to my brothers who whine and cry that they can’t come with us. I climb into the driver’s seat and navigate to Lake Shore Drive where I let her loose.
It feels magical to have the sun on my face and the wind whipping past us. I look over at my dad, who’s smiling so wide his cheeks are covering half of his eyes.
“Mom would have liked this,” I say loudly so he can hear me over the wind.
He reaches over and squeezes my knee, something he’s done since I can remember. It’s his little way of reassuring me.
While Mom and Dad didn’t get along, my mom loved my dad’s penchant for fast cars. She used to sneak me out to go drive his Porsche when I was little. It probably wasn’t the safest thing for a toddler, but for twenty minutes or so, she and I would pretend to be off on some grand adventure together.
