Authors: Kimberly Stedronsky
“Oh, Keaton,” she was crying softly. “I’m so afraid of what happened when I was pregnant last time. I’m so… afraid that-…,”
“Stop. I need to see you,” I was already clicking the mouse on my laptop, pulling up airline sites. “I’m coming to you. I can be there in six hours.”
“You can’t come here… Matthew… it’ll be a
shit
storm,” she cried.
“Do you love me?”
“What?”
“Do. You. Love. Me.” I demanded. “Yes or no?”
“We spent
one
weekend together.”
“And?”
“And…,” she sighed, long and slow. “Yes, I love you.
I love you so much that it hurts.
”
Goddamn it.
“And do you love him?”
“Yes.”
I cringed. “So much that… that it hurts?”
“I don’t… know…,”
I smiled hard.
Well, then.
“Then will you come to me?”
I heard her gasp, as though the thought had never occurred to her.
“Come… to LA?”
“For an audition. For
Round-Up.
”
“Wait-really?”
“Yes, really.”
Frank was going to shit a brick over this one. I didn’t care.
“But, if I’m pregnant…,”
“We start shooting in two weeks-in Utah. We’ll be done in three months.”
“Act? In your movie?
I smirked at the excited peak in her voice. “Yes, act in my movie. Also, the pregnancy sub-plot? The ultimate cliché. Congratulations.”
Her breathy, relieved laughter warmed my heart.
“I know. I was so stupid.”
“
We
were stupid. But… I’m so glad that we were stupid.”
I could hear her smiling.
“What should I tell Matthew?”
“I don’t give a fuck, V.”
“Keaton.” She sighed, sniffing. “What about… Kelsey?”
I was silent for a second until I realized what she was asking. “She lied. There’s no baby, and our divorce was final two weeks ago.”
I could
hear
her smile.
“Come on, little girl. I’ve got candy,” I added.
She exhaled a tearful laugh, sniffling. “Yeah? Blow Pops?
“And Gummy Bears.”
“Keep talking, Maverick.”
I grinned.
“Vivian?”
“Keaton?”
“Come to LA,
goddamnit
.”
She laughed again.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes, Keaton.”
“And will I need to be drawing up a ‘contract,’ firecracker?”
Now, I could hear
her
smile in her words. “You air-quoted
contract
, didn’t you?”
“Maybe.”
She giggled. “That depends on how the… audition goes, right?”
“It’s going very well so far. I know the director.” I finished clicking, sitting back in my chair. “Give me your email address. Your tickets are ready.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“And V?”
“Hmn?”
“I already love you.
Both
.”
He soft sigh was more than enough for me.
The Promise
“I already love you.
Both
.”
His words held me as close as he did, even over the hundreds of miles and through the phone. They were the words that I thought I’d never hear again, and now that it was happening,
truly
happening, I couldn’t believe that it was actually Keaton on the other end of my call.
“I’d want my baby even if you didn’t,” I rushed, adding another wadded tissue to the growing pile on the bedspread.
“I’d want you even if you didn’t want the baby.”
“You mean, if I’d just called you and said ‘hey, I miss you,’ we’d be having the same conversation?”
“No, our conversation would have been slightly different. But it would have ended with me buying plane tickets for myself, and with you in my arms tonight.”
“Why are you so confident.”
It wasn’t a question, and he chuckled, not giving me an answer.
“You’re not sleeping with him.”
“No.”
“Don’t.”
My rebellious nature prickled under his order, but I pressed my lips together, refusing to spout off the first defensive words that came to mind.
“I can’t hurt him.”
“Work it out. I’ll have a car waiting for you tomorrow morning at five.”
“Not tonight?”
I could hear his smile through the phone. “No, not tonight, kiddo. You need to sleep and take care of yourself. I don’t want you flying all night.”
His protective words forced a flutter into my heart. “Okay.”
“Which means you need to man up and talk to him. End it. No more of this back and forth. He may be willing to be patient with you while you figure your shit out, but I sure as hell won’t.”
I froze. “That’s… really not fair…,”
“That’s
more
than fair.”
Bravely, I took a deep breath. The gravel in our driveway crunched beneath tires, and I cleared my throat. “Keaton, he just got home. I have to go.”
“V?”
“What?”
“Hurry.”
It was my turn to smile.
I was still sitting on our bed with a pile of tissues and my phone when Matthew came up the stairs. I’d moved into the bedroom with him the second night, but he was true to his word and kept his distance. His kisses were tender, careful, and he told me that he loved me each night before turning off the lights.
The first day of counseling, I’d left with Matthew in a stoic haze. He had asked if I wanted to go to the cemetery, and I’d told him no. Instead, we came home, and I’d cried myself to sleep in our bed.
He’d continued taking us to bi-weekly counseling, and we’d never missed a meeting over the past month. Watching Matthew’s reaction during the group sessions, it was obvious to me that he’d been there, alone, many times. He kept his arm around me the entire time, not once pushing me to speak. Listening to others talk about their loss, I realized that every feeling that I had was founded, and normal… even my resentment toward Matthew.
And I learned that yes, I would heal. A mended heart would come slowly, but was attainable.
Visiting the cemetery hadn’t been as difficult as I thought it was going to be. In the bright, late summer sunshine, the tiny memorial stone sparkled in white granite, encircled by fresh flowers from both of our parents. Rory Fowler had been a beautiful name, a name that I’d written over and over again while dreaming about my unborn son.
Rory Matthew Fowler.
It wasn’t until later that night that I’d woken up, turning to cry into Matthew’s arms.
But we’d gotten through it, and it was a start.
All the while, I tried not to think of Keaton, back in LA with his movie and his wife, and his other life. The Keaton Thorne that I’d spent the weekend with in our parent’s tiny hometown was really Keaton “The Kid” Thane, Oscar-winning Hollywood director, and as his sister had so blatantly put it-alcoholic asshole.
But he
wasn’t
.
I felt like I knew him, really knew him, from the inside out. I knew that he’d been through hell as a child, and that his wife had broken his heart.
And I knew that he loved me.
I had no doubt in my mind that he loved me.
And I had no doubt in my mind that I loved him, even though I
still
loved Matthew. It would be easy, so very easy, to just pick up with Matthew where we’d left off, especially since he was willing to forgive me for running away.
And for sleeping with Keaton.
But love was never easy.
I couldn’t make love to Matthew. I wasn’t ready to share something so intimate again with him, knowing that I was unsure of my future, and
so
sure of my love for Keaton.
But I had hurt Keaton, and after reading his letter, I was sure that he’d never forgive me.
But he did. And he wanted me, too.
As always, when I did something, it wasn’t without the dramatic element of the stage. Three weeks after Matthew took me home, the first moments of my day had me going from feeling slightly queasy to running for the toilet to empty my stomach.
I suspected that I was pregnant.
I called my doctor, confirming that I had in fact missed a birth control shot. I was due at the end of June, not July, and was informed that I should take a home pregnancy test before coming in for another dose. Since I had no insurance, it would be over $50 for an office test.
I ended up spending $50 in home tests, anyway.
Every single
one
was positive. I sat clutching the used tests like a pee-stick bouquet on the cool bathroom floor, thinking about that day at Idlewild with Keaton.
We’d made love.
One time.
Once.
Passionately, in an Old West jail exhibit, against the iron bars.
My body stirred for the first time in weeks just thinking about Keaton’s hands.
“Hey, beauty.” Matthew dropped a kiss to my forehead, pulling me from my memories and not commenting on the tissue garden surrounding me on the bed. There was nothing abnormal about him coming home to find me crying. “Classroom’s all done. Well, minus a few finishing touches. I have to pick up a couple of things tomorrow. Want to come take a look?”
I used to love to see his freshly decorated third grade classroom, giving him ideas about where to position shelves and what to hang on the walls. This time, he’d done it all on his own, snapping a few pictures for me to see.
“That’s okay.” I shrugged.
He watched me carefully, edging his glasses up his nose. “Your mom and dad asked if they could come over tonight.”
“No.”
“Why don’t you call them and tell them, then.”
His tone took me by surprise. I lifted my eyes to his, and he crossed his arms over his chest.
“Will you call them, please?”
“No.”
Oh, so he was frustrated. Okay. “Never mind. I’ll text my dad.”
“Vivian, we need to talk.”
“We’re talking.” I shifted on the pillow, turning my eyes to the window.
“I want to make love to you.”
His words forced me into a sitting position, and I widened my eyes. “Matthew, it’s only been a month-…,”
“It’s been a year. A
year
,” he repeated, lowering next to me on the bed. I tried to back away, but he wrapped his arms around me and tucked me against his chest. “I’m just a man. I can’t sleep next to you every night and not touch you. You were almost my wife. I’m in love with you. How many ways do I have to say this?”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He pressed his mouth to my forehead, speaking against my skin. “Do you love me?”
Oh, my
god
. Was it officially Declare Your Intentions day? I thought about Keaton’s words.
Your inability to make a fucking decision…
“Of course I do. I always will. You know everything about me.”
“It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.”
Hives.
Instant, only further stoked by the fresh wave of tears threatening. I scratched at my neck, and he continued kissing down my cheek.
“Just let me love you,” he murmured, shoving his hands into the base of my hair and kneading his fingers into my scalp. I let my eyelids flutter closed, relaxing against his touch.
“Matthew,
wait
.”
“I
love
you, Vivian.”
“I’m… going to LA.”
He stopped kissing, hovering over me, his arms caging me to the bed.
“LA.”
“Yes.”
The evening sunlight shined through the window and reflected off of his glasses. “For
him?
”
I swallowed, meeting his deep, brown eyes. “He got me an audition.”
“For the movie he’s directing.”
I could hear the animosity lacing his voice. I nodded quickly.
“It’s important… to have connections… and this could be the chance of a lifetime-…,”
“No.”
“No?” I demanded, my blood boiling. My temper ignited, and I pushed at his hands. He remained still, contemplating.
“Let me rephrase that. No, not without me. I let you run once, Vivian Hale, and I won’t do it again. We’ve finally gotten to a point where we can smile together, and enjoy each other without constantly thinking about the baby. Right?”
I stiffened. “Well… yeah. But you’ve got school starting in one week. You can’t miss the first week-…,”
“A
week
? How long is this audition going to take?” He pushed.
I stared.
Tell him.
Tell him.
I swallowed at the over-abundance of saliva in my mouth. “It… shouldn’t take long, I guess you’re right.”
Coward
.
“Well, then when is it? I’ll buy our plane tickets right now. We can use some time away.”
I read Matthew like a book. I knew that his only reason for going was to keep me as far away from Keaton as possible. Though I’d convinced him that sleeping with Keaton had been nothing but a drunken mistake, he still narrowed his eyes and set his jaw in that disapproving way of his whenever anything about Keaton Thane flashed on the news.
I couldn’t blame Matthew. Gazing at the man that I’d fallen in love with long ago, the man that I’d dreamt about sharing a life with, I wanted to claw at my aching heart.
What was
happening
to me? Could I really be letting go of Matthew, after all that we’d been through? I hated the thought of hurting him, and of letting him go.
Loving Matthew and loving memories were two very different things.
“He bought me a ticket. But we can buy another one,” I managed quietly.
“What, was this part of your
arrangement
?” He asked, so pointed, and I winced.
“No. I don’t know why he’s giving me a chance, but I
do
know it’s the chance of a lifetime and there are A-list actors and actresses rumored to be auditioning for the film.”
“You don’t know why he’s giving you a chance. Really. Vivian, he’s
obsessed
with you. He’s just a big
kid
, and you’re a toy that he can’t have. You know that, right?”
“Are you trying to say that I’m not good enough for this film, or that you don’t like Keaton? Let’s be clear,” I countered, pushing away from him and fighting back another wave of nausea as the tissues scattered to the floor.