A flash of lightning zigzags across the sky, and rain starts to pour, disguising my tears.
“What do you need time for? Either you want to be with me or you don’t. It’s as simple as that.”
I wish it were that simple. But there’s so much more at stake now than confessing a secret romance to my foster parents. “I’m sorry,” I say bleakly, offering a useless apology.
“You’re sorry?” he asks oblivious to the rain dripping from the hardened planes of his face. “Exactly what part are you sorry for, Dee? The part where you lied or the part where you don’t trust me to love you?”
“I do trust you.”
“Bullshit!” I recoil from his harsh tone. “You don’t trust anyone. Your foster family has tried so hard to include you, but you still sit on the sidelines. And you say you trust me, but you don’t. You never talk about your past even though I’ve confessed all my shit to you. And when you’re figuring stuff out, you don’t come to me. You hide out. That’s not trust or love. I’m willing to risk the only family I have to be with you. But you’re not willing to risk a fucking thing.”
I’m trying to protect you!I want to scream. If he only knew the agonizing options that have plagued my mind. The lengths I’ve thought of going to because I love him.
But I say nothing, feeling so splintered that I can hardly look at Mick. Mainly because this is the first time he’s ever looked at me as if I were anything less than whole.
Without another word, he stalks away, and I let him go, watching him through a blur of rain and tears. When I hear his car door slam with a resounding finality, the sobs I held back erupt in a torrent. Crumpling, I drop to the cold, wet concrete, crying until there’s nothing left except a deep, hollow ache.
SIX DAYS PASS IN SLOW, dismal hours. My heart throbs. Mick has wiped himself out of my life completely. I don’t see him or hear from him.
Mama and Papa T aren’t blind. They’re asking questions because he hasn’t been around. Victor knows, but doesn’t say anything. He’s probably relieved that Mick is done with me. It hurts that Victor thinks we’re a mistake, but it hurts more to think he may be right.
I offer my foster parents evasions and put on a happy face. I play with the girls and pretend nothing’s wrong. By the time I leave for the library one afternoon, my cheeks are sore from my forced smiles.
When Molly’s not hounding me about her “boyfriend” suspicions, I sneak peeks at baby books and strum my stomach. Despite all intentions to remain detached as I decide what to do, I’ve fallen hard for this tiny being and wish I could share the wealth of emotions I’m experiencing with Mick.
I stock shelves and work the circulation desk, but any seconds of downtime are filled with snippets of the night Mick proposed.
I love you more than anything, Dee.
You’re my life. You’re my future.
Come to New York. I promise to always be there for you, baby.
I’ll make you happy.
Please say yes.
Mick’s words push past the barrier of my fears. All this time, I’ve been focused on how much I love him without crediting Mick for how much he loves me. He wouldn’t want my protection. He’d want to be there for me just as I promised to be there for him. I’m so used to going it alone, to handling my problems myself, that I haven’t learned how to lean on anyone else.
You hide out. That’s not trust or love.
He’s right. I owe him better than lies and secrets.
He’s hurt. That’s why he hasn’t come around, not because he doesn’t want me anymore. I’ll go to Mick tonight and confess everything. He’ll be shocked at first. Scared, too—that’s only natural. But then I imagine his arms going around me, saying it’s going to be all right. Telling me that we’ll figure this out together.
When I get home, the girls are already in bed. Papa T’s snoring on the couch in front of the TV after a long day, Mama T’s working the late shift, and Victor’s out. I freshen up, put on one of my prettier dresses—a gauzy cotton that Mick likes—and slip out through the kitchen. My flat sandals press silently into the grass as I trek across the backyard. If Malcolm Peters is home, I’ll make up an excuse as to why I’m there.
Our houses are spaced wide apart, and in the distance I see the glow of lights from inside. As I get closer, I hear music. Loud, as if there’s a party. But that can’t be right. Mick wouldn’t be throwing a party after what happened between us less than a week ago. Would he?
My knee-jerk reaction is to run, but movement on the deck catches my eye. Heart thudding, I urge myself forward, covered by the dark night and a huge oak tree that borders the properties.
Silhouetted under the faint quarter moon, two figures share a lounge chair. The girl’s back is to me. The gentle breeze stirs her long, straight hair, and her short skirt is hiked up her slim thighs to straddle the lap beneath her. Male hands grip her small, perfect butt as she moves back and forth against him. He’s shirtless and her arms are wound around his neck. They’re kissing and there’s just enough light for me to see that his eyes are closed and that desire, both familiar and rampant, fills his face.
Mick’s betrayal crashes into me. Without thought or care, it ruthlessly cracks my heart in two. How could he do this? He promised never to cheat. He promised to always be there.
I look up again, some sick, desperate part of me hoping that I’ve imagined the whole thing. But it’s real. And adding insult to injury, behind them through the patio doors stands Victor, laughing it up with one of his buddies as they clink beer bottles, celebrating Mick’s score. The double betrayal robs me of breath. I feel utterly broken. Beyond repair. Destroyed.
The threat of tears stings my eyes. But I won’t cry here. Or let them see me. If all I have left is my scrap of pride, then I intend to keep that. I turn and run back across the yard, mindless of the crisscross of my sandals cutting into my feet.
