Some Women (14 page)

“Do I seem like someone who's tried meditation?”

“Good point. By the way, where is Piper?”

“I don't know. She said she couldn't make it to class, but that she'd meet us here after.” The waitress reappeared with Annabel's chocolate croissant. “Please tell me not to eat this.”

“Don't eat that.”

“Screw you.”

“Okay, eat it.”

“You are no help at all.”

“Hey, now. I am stalking your husband for you.” Mackenzie turned toward the door as it swung open. “There's Piper! Otherwise known as my partner in crime.”

“Hi, guys. Sorry I'm late.” Piper dropped her overflowing purse on the floor, shucked off her coat, and hung it on the back of the empty chair next to Mackenzie before sitting down.

“Are you wearing makeup?” Annabel asked incredulously. She'd never seen Piper with so much as a smear of lip gloss, even when she was going directly to work.

“Yeah, why? Does it look weird? Is it too much?”

“No, you look really pretty.” Annabel smiled reassuringly.

“You're dressed up too,” Mackenzie added, noting her simple black shift dress. Piper
never
wore dresses unless she had to attend a wedding. “What's the special occasion?”

“Oh, um, you know. I just have to meet someone after this.” She checked her watch. “In an hour.”

“Is this someone scouting thirty-something mommy models?”

“I wish.” Piper propped her elbows on the table and buried her face in her palms. “Actually, I don't wish. But just about anything would be better than this.”

“What's wrong?” Mackenzie shot Annabel a perplexed look while rubbing Piper's back. Annabel shrugged to indicate that she hadn't a clue what was going on either. “You can trust us.”

“What's wrong?” Piper parroted. “What's wrong is that my ten-year-old daughter somehow found her father through the amazing world of social media and invited him to our house on Christmas! Apparently, somewhere in her twisted mind, she thought he'd make a wonderful present for me!”

“Oh, boy.” Annabel widened her eyes at Mackenzie.

“Shit.” Mackenzie widened her eyes back, before Piper lifted her head. “So, what did you do?”

“I asked him to leave! That's what I did. I told him that his surprise visit was not welcome. And that if he thought he was going to stay at our house—which, apparently, Fern had offered—he had another thing coming to him.”

“And?” Annabel treaded carefully.

“
And
my daughter hasn't spoken to me for the past two days. Just when I thought things had finally calmed down at home after Fern's odd behavior when Todd moved in, now she's angry again
and
I have to deal with the sudden reappearance of the man who ditched us.
And
Max ended up texting me, which I can only assume means that Fern gave him my cell number. I guess he got a hotel room not far from here, and he asked me to meet him at a diner across the street so we could talk.”

“Clearly, you said yes,” Mackenzie interjected.

“Clearly. And clearly I'm a glutton for punishment. I mean, what the hell is there to talk about? He walked out on me and our as-yet-unborn daughter over a decade ago. He's barely been in touch. He hasn't sent money. He hasn't lived up to one single
promise he's ever made. And now what? NOW WHAT?” She raised her voice on the last part. The women at the table next to them turned to stare, and then one of them murmured something to the other under her breath. “Oh, good. Now they think I'm crazy.”

“Who cares what they think?” Mackenzie leaned forward so the women couldn't hear. “I know the one on the left. Not personally, but I know who she is through my mother-in-law. Her husband spent five years in jail for tax evasion, during which time she apparently screwed every single man over fifty in Eastport. And a few married ones.”

“Lovely.” Annabel rolled her eyes and then turned to Piper. “So, what are you going to do? What if he wants to get to know Fern?”

“I'm praying that's not the case, that this is just a short stop on his way out of town. Forever.”

“And if it's not?”

“If it's not, I honestly don't know.” Piper shook her head. “I'm finally happy. Eleven years later, and I'm finally fucking happy. Don't I deserve at least that?”

Piper hadn't thought about that day in years. Correction: she hadn't dwelled on that day in years. Yet every now and then, she'd look at Fern and see Max's penetrating eyes staring back at her. And a stitch of resentment would needle her from deep within.

She'd fallen asleep the past two nights counting the number of hours, days, weeks, and months she'd cried once she'd finally admitted to herself that he wasn't coming back. “It's not good for the baby for you to be this distraught,” her mother had cautioned. “You're better off without him,” her father had insisted. And then added, “If he shows his face around here again, I can't promise I won't punch him in the nose.” As for the few friends she'd had, they'd scattered like a bag of marbles tumbling onto a hardwood floor.

After all, there weren't many twenty-four-year-olds who wanted to navigate the bar scene with a knocked-up wingman. Or hit the clubs with someone to whom waddling had become the closest
maneuver to a respectful dance move. More than that, she'd had nothing to talk to them about anymore. They weren't concerned with what size diapers to buy or which formula would do the best job at diminishing a newborn's gas pain. And an afternoon spent perusing the baby store for crib bumpers and changing tables definitely was not at the top of their priority lists. In the same vein, Piper hadn't been terribly interested in hearing about their wild nights out in New York City—which new hot spots they'd checked out, how much liquor they'd consumed, or how many hot men they'd taken to bed. That wasn't her life anymore, and as if the writing on the wall wasn't glaring enough, Piper's growing belly was a tangible indication that everything was about to change in ways she couldn't even begin to imagine.

Of course, she knew she wasn't the first woman in the world to be with child at what felt like such a young age—whether by mistake or by choice. There were teen pregnancies cropping up all over the country like those pesky weeds in her mother's flower garden. There were girls who were practically children themselves, in countries where birth control wasn't an option, who were already responsible for two or three kids. How could she have been so stupid? She'd asked herself that same question so many times that it felt like a constant echoing in her head. They'd been together for a year. They were
in love
. He'd begged her to see what it felt like without a condom, vowing he'd never done it without one before.
Just once. Please, just once.
How could she have said no?

That was just the thing, though. She could have said no. It would have been so simple to say no. He wasn't some random guy pressuring her to make a decision she wasn't comfortable with. He was Max.
My Max
. If she'd said no, he would have been okay with
it. Disappointed, perhaps, but still okay with it. And that would have been that. There would have been no pregnancy. There would have been no Fern.

In retrospect, it was easy to say she wouldn't have done anything differently. That having Fern was, overwhelmingly, the best thing that had ever happened to her. Still, it would have been a whole hell of a lot more manageable if Max had bothered to stick around. If he'd bothered to step up and be a father. Fern deserved the kind of father who fell in love with his daughter the moment he laid eyes on her, as her own dad had sworn he had. The kind of father who was willing to wake up in the middle of the night and warm a bottle, not because he had to, but because he knew it was a privilege to cradle a beautiful, healthy baby in his arms, no matter the hour. The kind of father who would eventually escort his little girl to a school dance or cheer in the audience when she recited her one line as an orphan in her elementary school production of
Annie
. The kind of father who would know who his daughter was—what she liked and disliked. That she was an avid reader, for example. Or that she could eat raw carrots every day for the rest of her life, but never cooked ones. He could have been the kind of father who'd cared enough about any of those things.

Now, sitting in her car in the parking lot of the diner across from Max's hotel, all she could do was linger on the memories of that day when he'd walked out on her, wallow in the old pain that suddenly felt fresh and raw. She'd been reclining on an old leather chair in the bedroom she'd grown up in. She'd yet to leave her parents' home since college, for lack of funds to rent an apartment in Manhattan—at least a passably clean apartment. No matter how many roommates she'd been willing to take on, her measly
salary from working at the local newspaper was barely enough to cover the cost of furniture, much less the space to put it in. And, unfortunately, given the fact that her mother didn't work and her father had opted for early retirement, they weren't in a position to subsidize her living arrangements, outside of offering for her to stay in her old room for as long as she needed. They'd said they would feed her, even wash her clothing while she was at work, but that any incidentals—such as meals out, clothing, and the occasional concert at Jones Beach—were up to her.

She'd been reading a book in that old leather chair. She couldn't remember which book anymore—ironic, since she could recall almost every other detail of the day. She'd had one hand on her belly and another holding the creased paperback in front of her face. Just as she'd started to talk to the baby—to ask if he or she would love reading books just as much as she did, there'd been a knock at the door. “Come in,” she'd called out, hoping it was Max. She'd shared the news of her positive pregnancy test with him just two days earlier. He'd then accompanied her to the doctor, who'd informed them that she was likely already a couple of months along. “Does that make sense?” the doctor had wanted to know. It had. All she'd had to do was count backward.

Piper had watched Max intently as he'd inched toward her wearing a somber expression. She'd slid her legs off to one side of the leather ottoman in front of her chair so that he could sit down. But he hadn't. He'd just stood there, unable to look her in the eyes. What a coward. Why hadn't she seen it? Then he'd spoken the words that would haunt her for what felt like a lifetime. The words she would replay over and over on repeat, until they barely made sense anymore. “I'm leaving tomorrow. I need time to find myself.”

It seemed so puerile, looking back. What did that even mean? To find oneself. Wasn't it a luxury reserved for recent college graduates who were either too lazy or too childish to immerse themselves in the real world of having a job, paying bills, living on their own without the financial support of their parents? Wasn't it an extravagance earmarked for people who didn't have or desire responsibility? For people who hadn't just gotten their steady girlfriend pregnant. Yet, for whatever reason—perhaps because she too was immature—it had sounded plausible.
He is shocked,
she'd rationalized.
He didn't see it coming,
she'd convinced herself. A funny thing, since he'd been the one to suggest unprotected sex. Still, in fairness, she'd been equally surprised and a willing participant. It would be okay, though. Eventually, it would all be okay. He'd take a little trip. Maybe visit his grandmother in Florida. He'd clear his head, and then he'd come home to her. She'd be fine without him for a few weeks, even a month. As long as he returned eventually.

Had he known then, in that moment, that he would not, in fact, come home to her? That was another question that had plagued her for too long. Did he know? Whether he'd known or not what his intentions had been, history told the tale, and that was precisely what had happened.

When he'd hugged her close to him. Kissed her delicately on the mouth, the way he had so many times before. When she'd traced his pink lips with her finger. Seized his boyish face in her hands. She'd had no idea it would be the last time. The last time she'd see him.

Until now. Of course, at some point she'd come to the conclusion that he wasn't coming back. But that realization hadn't been immediate. It had taken her at least a year to fully grasp it.

Piper got out of her car, allowing reluctant impetus to force her along the cobblestone path and up the cement steps to the entrance to the diner. An old man hunched over his walker pushed the door open with his apparatus and offered her a grin as she held it for him to pass through. She scanned the restaurant, but Max wasn't there. Maybe he wouldn't show. Maybe he'd skipped town again. Piper checked her watch and noticed she was about ten minutes early.

“Would you like to be seated, miss?” the hostess asked, standing at attention with a stack of menus.

“Um, sure. Yes, thank you.”

“How many are in your party?”

“It'll just be two of us.” Piper nodded, noting the paradox of the word
party
. This encounter was sure to be anything but joyous.

“Excellent. Right this way.” She led Piper to a booth in the far corner of the restaurant, by the bathroom. If Annabel had been with her, she would have protested. But Piper didn't care. She wasn't planning on eating anyway. Her stomach was in no shape to hold down food, given the knots it was tied in. “Your waiter will be right with you.” The hostess smiled distractedly, placing the menus on the table, as Piper hung her coat on the rack beside her and slid into one side of the booth.

“Thank you.” She smiled back at her politely.

If she was being honest, the whole thing felt surreal, like she was living someone else's experience. Why had she even bothered to dress up, blow out her hair, and carefully apply the most subtle makeup she could manage without appearing as if she'd tried too hard?

If Todd had noticed, he hadn't said anything. Of course she'd told him she was going to meet Max. There were certain things
that were inappropriate not to share. She'd even asked his opinion, said she wouldn't do it if he felt uncomfortable with it. But, to the contrary, he'd told her to go. He'd said he thought it was the right thing to do, if not for her, then for Fern. Strangely, Fern hadn't directed any of her anger at Todd. Rather she'd lobbied to get him on her side, which Piper had encouraged. If she was going to be cast as the bad guy, the very least she could do was let Todd play the role of savior. “What if he wants to see Fern again?” she'd asked, stricken with panic.

“We'll cross that bridge,” he'd assured her.

“If he thinks he's just going to waltz back into her life, into
our
lives, after all these years . . .” She'd clenched her fists into taut balls of rage.

“Let's take it one step at a time,” he'd suggested in a calming tone, and then wrapped his arms around her. “Try to relax.”

Relax
. As if that was even a remote possibility. She hadn't said as much to Todd, though, since this couldn't be easy for him either. Clearly, it wasn't the same, but still. How would she feel if the mother of his nonexistent child plunged into their lives by showing up at the front door of their home on Christmas night? Probably not entirely thrilled, to say the least. Piper stared out the window. Her mind was too crowded with random thoughts to actually concentrate on one particular thing.

“Hey, Piper.” She jumped at the sound of his voice.

“Hello.” She pursed her lips as he sat down across from her.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” He sounded earnest.

“You didn't leave me much choice.” She examined him closely now, more so than she had two days earlier, when the sheer force of shock had disoriented her. He looked older, as was to be
expected. But, to her annoyance, age suited him. The same way it did Todd. Sure, Max's once-bushy brown hair had thinned out a bit, even receded slightly. But his captivating blue eyes and mischievous grin had remained intact. He'd even grown a sleek beard, which he wore well. Very well. The smallest part of her felt an urge to jump across the table and kiss him. Just to prove to herself that the intensity of their attraction had dulled. More like vanished. She hoped.

“You could have said no.”

“I suppose.”

“Although you always had a hard time saying no to me.” He smiled his charming smile.

“It seems that's how we got in this situation in the first place.” Piper bristled. How
dared
he make light of this?

“I know you're angry with me. And you have every right to be,” he started.

“Max. I'm not here to talk about us. It's ancient history.
We're
ancient history.” She paused to take a breath. Piper had promised herself, Todd, Annabel, and Mackenzie that she wouldn't let him rile her. “The only reason I came today is to see why you're here. What you want. And because I love Fern. You know, my daughter.”

“She's our daughter, P.”

“Don't call me that.” She wagged her finger. “You don't get to call me that. In the same way you don't get to call Fern your daughter. A father is someone who's there. To help raise their child. You are nothing more than a sperm donor.” Piper's austerity startled even her.

“That's kind of harsh, don't you think?” He ducked his head and, for a quick second, she felt bad. But only for a quick second.

“You tell me.”

“Listen, P.—Piper. I'm not just here to waste your time.”

“That's a relief, because I don't have a lot to spare.”

“I know I've been a deadbeat dad.” He hesitated, purportedly waiting for her to object. She didn't. “I know this isn't going to be a simple fix.”

“Simple fix?” She narrowed her eyes. “What, exactly, are you looking to fix?”

“My relationship with Fern,” he blurted, as if it were a foregone conclusion. “And, eventually, my relationship with you.”

“If you haven't noticed, I'm in a serious relationship.”

“Fern told me. When she wrote to me. I just meant, you know, if I'm going to get to know my daughter, it would be a bonus to get along with her mom.”