It Was Us (6 page)

FOURTEEN

WEST

Abby was waiting for me by my truck. She leaned up against the side, her phone in her hands, her fingers tapping away. Her hair was pulled back and earrings dangled from her ears, swaying just a little in the breeze. She had sunglasses on, a dark brown pair that covered almost half of her face. I sidled up to her and she looked up, surprised.

“That was fast,” she said, lifting the glasses and setting them on top of her head.

I frowned. “We went into extra innings.”

“I know that,” she said. “I was watching, remember?” She'd come to the stadium to watch the game. “I just meant you getting ready. Or cleaning up or whatever.”

“I can shower fast sometimes,” I said, smiling.

“Since when?”

I threw my bag in the back of the cab. “Since my totally hot girlfriend was waiting for me outside.”

A smile flickered across her face. “Whatever.”

I reached for her and kissed her. “I missed you.”

“I saw you yesterday.”

“I know. But I still miss you.”

I pulled her close, hugging her to my chest. There was something about the way she fit against me, like her body was perfectly made for mine, that made my breath catch in my throat a little. She nestled next to me for a minute, not speaking. I wanted to ask her a million questions but I bit my tongue and said nothing. I knew the last couple of weeks had been hard on her and the last thing I wanted to do was badger her to death, demanding answers. But I wasn't a complete idiot. Time wasn't standing still and she and I had to make some decisions. Soon.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“I'm fine.”

“Yeah?”

She lifted her head and looked at me. “Yeah.”

I ran my hand down her arm. “Not sick or anything?”

Abby shrugged. “A little, I guess.”

“Seven weeks, right?”

“Something like that.” Her tone was dismissive, like I was asking her about how much she'd paid for gas.

“Abby.”

Her eyes returned to mine. “What?”

“We have to talk.”

“I know. That's why I'm here.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yes. I...I know we have to make some decisions. About this.” She didn't say pregnancy and she didn't say baby. And I didn't blame her.

“And you're...ready?” I knew I sounded hesitant, and I knew I didn't sound like myself. But I felt like I'd been walking on eggshells with her ever since she'd told me.

“No. But I sort of don't have a choice.” She chewed on her bottom lip, her teeth scraping against her pinkish lipstick, over and over.

“You have choices, Abby.”

“Well, my choice would be to not have to deal with this.” She looked at me expectantly. “Is that one of my choices?”

“No,” I said. “But I wish it was. For you.”

She sighed. “I know. I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a bitch.”

“You're not being a bitch,” I told her.

“What do you want, West?”

“What?”

She stepped away from me and folded her arms across her chest. “You heard me. What do you want?”

“I want for you to be happy,” I said automatically.

She shook her head, her ponytail bouncing back and forth. “No. I mean, what do you want me to do about this?” She motioned her hand toward her stomach.

I was quiet for a minute as I thought about what to say. I didn't know what I wanted her to do. Not because I hadn't thought about it—if I were being honest with myself, I'd admit it was the one thing that consumed my thoughts, the one thing I always came back to after games were over and papers and tests were done. But I didn't feel like what she was up against or what we were facing—and the possible solutions—were my decisions to make. The last thing I wanted to do was to pressure her or persuade her into doing something she wasn't comfortable doing.

“Let's go somewhere and talk,” I said. “Someplace where we can sit. Where I can hold your hand.”

Her expression softened just a little. “You wanna hold my hand?”

“Of course,” I said. “And kiss you. And do a million other things to you.”

She smiled and I felt the familiar hitch in my chest, that little something that told me no matter how much I thought I'd hit the plateau when it came to my feelings for her, I was dead wrong.

“Where do you want to go?”

I glanced at my watch. It was after six and I hadn't eaten since noon.

“I'm starving,” I said. “How about Rubio's? Does that sound okay?”

She thought for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. Picturing the food doesn't make me want to hurl.”

I grinned. “Well, then, how could we not go?” I planted a quick kiss on her lips before releasing her, then watched her as she walked a few cars down to her own parked car.

“I'll meet you there,” she called.

“Sounds good.”

And it did. Not because I was starving and wanting to knock back a dozen fish tacos. But because we would finally be doing the one thing we'd been putting off for weeks.

Deciding.

FIFTEEN

ABBY

I followed West back into Pacific Beach, fighting the last of the rush hour traffic as we made our way down Balboa Avenue. I loved all of San Diego but coming back into PB always felt like coming home. I waited in the left lane to turn on to Mission Bay Drive, the radio playing an old Offspring song. The light turned and I drove a block before turning into Rubio's, the tiny yellow and blue Mexican food joint that was tucked alongside a massive car dealership. It was a small dive of a place, with limited outside seating and even fewer tables inside, but they served the best fish tacos on the planet.

West parked his truck in the tiny parking lot behind the restaurant and I followed suit. He waited for me and we walked toward the entrance together.

“You hungry?” he asked as he held the door open for me.

I nodded. I was. I'd been ravenous for the past few days. The problem was, nothing ever sounded good. But Rubio's smelled good. The aroma of fried batter, the corn tortillas, the hint of cilantro. My mouth watered.

The guy in front of us finished ordering and West spoke. “Five fish tacos. Two diet Cokes.” The girl behind the counter rang him up and he handed her a twenty.

“Inside or outside?” he asked, handing me my drink.

I looked through the window, at the tables shaded by thatch umbrellas. We'd have to talk loud over the traffic but I didn't want to be inside.

“Out.”

He nodded and pushed the door open for me and the traffic blared as we stepped into the outdoor seating area. Two older guys occupied one of the tables, shoving tacos into their mouths. Another table housed a group of tween girls, delicately picking at the chips in front of them while sucking on the straws in their cups. A couple of them eyed West appreciatively. I didn't blame them.

“So,” he said, sitting down on the bench. “Let's talk.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. West was great but he was still a guy. No tact. No easing into anything. He didn't want to beat around any bush, didn't want to work up to a conversation. He just wanted to go, full-steam ahead.

“Well,” I said slowly, playing with my straw. “I've been thinking. A lot.”

“Me, too.”

“And I know we have...options.” I took a long drink and the bubbles in the diet Coke made my nose tingle.

“We do,” he agreed.

Our number was called over the loudspeaker and West hopped up to grab our food. He returned a minute later, carrying a tray loaded with wrapped fish tacos. He set down two in front of me but I didn't make any move to touch them.

He unwrapped one of his and took a big bite. “Where were we?”

“Options.”

He nodded. “Right. Options.”

He waited and I didn't say anything.

“Were you gonna tell me them or do I need to guess?”

I felt the heat in my cheeks and I frowned. “Of course I'm going to tell you.”

He took another bite and chased it down with a mouthful of soda.

“Okay,” I began. “So I think I speak for both of us when I say I don't think we're ready to be parents.” I watched for a reaction from him but his expression remained neutral. “I mean, we're both in school. You've got baseball. I'm working.”

“Right.”

“And even though...” My voice trailed off. I took a deep breath and started again. “Even though I love you and I want to be with you—for forever—I don't think we're ready to settle down.”

I couldn't bring myself to say 'get married.' Not because we hadn't talked about it—we had—but because it just felt weird, talking about it in such a practical manner. When we talked about the future, it was like discussing a fairy tale, our own little happily ever after. We saw an intimate wedding on the beach, finding a little house or condo that was just ours, living a life that was our own version of perfection. There was an order to the dream, a beautiful, blissful idea of the way things were going to happen. I didn't want to have the realistic conversation, the one where we talked about an unplanned baby and should we or should we not get married and how we were going to tell our parents.

“Okay,” he said. He crumpled up the wrapped and opened another taco. “So where does that leave us?”

“I don't know,” I admitted. I took another drink. West's eyes were on me as he worked his way through his food, chewing thoughtfully.

“It sounds like we only have one option, then,” he said.

I raised my eyebrows. “What?”

He grabbed his napkin and dabbed at his mouth. “Well, you just said you're not ready to settle down. And you said you're not read to have a baby.”

“I didn't say that.”

“Yeah, you did.” I started to respond, then stopped. He reached across the table and covered my hand with his. His eyes softened a little. “You can say it, Abs. It's not a dirty word.”

“What isn't?”

“Abortion.”

“I know,” I said, but inwardly I shuddered.

“A lot of people have them,” he said. “Because a lot of people are just like you. They're not ready.”

“I'm not a lot of people,” I said stubbornly. “I'm me.”

He nodded. “I know, sweetheart. But our situation isn't unique. And if getting an abortion is the best way to handle this, I'm in. I'll support you.”

“So, you don't want it?” I asked.

His eyes widened slightly and he shook his head. “I never said that.”

“Don't want what?” a voice behind me asked.

I whirled around. My twin sister, Annika, was standing there, a white Rubio's bag in one hand, a pair of car keys in the other.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked.

She frowned. “Uh, getting dinner.” She held up the bag.

“I didn't know you were home,” I said.

Annika shrugged and shook her head, swinging her long brown hair from her shoulder to her back. “Haven't been by in a while. Dad suggested I visit.”

Annika lived full-time in her sorority house at SDSU. Even though she was only twenty minutes from home, we were lucky if we saw her once a month. Which was jut fine by me. When Mom had been going through chemo and radiation, she'd managed to come by more frequently. But even then, she'd kept a healthy distance. West assumed the worst, that she was just being her bitchy self, but even I knew better. It was her coping mechanism, putting that distance between her and Mom. I'd seen her on her visits, could see she was hanging on by a thread. Staying away had been for self-preservation, not because she hadn't cared.

“And you just decide to get Rubio's?” I asked. “Of all the fast food places you could possibly pick?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Jesus, Abby, what's with the third degree? Are you PMSing or something? Mom wanted fish tacos. I wasn't gonna go to Taco Bell and hope they'd added it to their menu.”

I felt my cheeks flush and instantly felt like a bitch. Unfortunately, it was a feeling I'd gotten used to over the last few weeks. “Oh. Sorry,” I mumbled.

She smoothed the skirt of her floral sundress. “You should be,” she sniffed. She stared at me. “What are you guys talking about, anyway?”

“Nothing.”

She smirked. “Oh, please. I heard you. You said West doesn't want something.”

“No,” I said. “I didn't.” I played with the wrapped taco in front of me, fingering the paper.

Her gaze hardened. “Why aren't you eating?”

“I am.”

Annika and I were not close the way some twins might be, but it didn't mean she didn't know when something was up. She looked at the two tacos on the table and then back at me. “No, you're not. Are you still sick?”

I shook my head. “No.” I unwrapped the taco and picked up the warm corn tortilla stuffed with fried fish and cabbage. “I'm fine.”

I brought it to my lips but that was as far as I got. Because the taste wasn't nearly as good as the smell had been. Actually, the smell had morphed from a heavenly aroma to something that was now making my stomach heave in protest. I felt the color drain from my face as I dropped the taco.

“Abby?” West's voice sounded alarmed.

“I...I gotta go.” I bolted from the table and hurried from the patio to the restroom door. I yanked the door open and just made it to the toilet, a fountain of lukewarm diet Coke splashing into the porcelain bowl.

I leaned my head against the toilet seat, oblivious to how disgusting it was. My stomach gurgled and I squeezed my eyes shut and took a couple of deep breaths, trying to stem the nausea. I'd had plenty of queasy moments over the last couple of weeks but this was the first time I'd actually gotten sick. After a couple of minutes, the nausea subsided and I forced myself to stand on shaky legs. I flushed the toilet and splashed water on my face and dried myself off with a handful of paper towels. I studied my reflection in the mirror mounted over the small sink. Surprisingly, I didn't look nearly as bad as I felt. I adjusted my ponytail and pulled the door open and headed back to the table.

West was still in his chair, staring out at the traffic on Mission Bay Drive.

“Hey,” I said.

He turned around. “Hey. You okay?”

I nodded. “Where's Annika?”

“She left.”

“What did you tell her?”

“What do you mean?”

“About me. About getting sick.”

“Oh. I told her you were still feeling sick from the flu.” He picked up his drink and shook it, then took a sip.

“Did she say anything?”

“She just said 'oh,'” he said.

“That's it?”

“Yeah.”

“And she didn't say anything else?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

I wanted to take a deep breath, to breathe a sigh of relief. But I couldn't. Because I knew my sister.

She could put two and two together pretty quickly, especially when it came to me.

And I knew, without a doubt, that she had figured out just what was wrong with me.