Well, not thepresentpresent where Fritz won't shut up. But the present that I get to spend spoiling Isla with all the orgasms she can take.
Just as soon as we get this baby shower overwith.
Isla's mask started slipping an hour ago.
No one noticed but me. But Inoticeevery fucking thingshedoes, whether I like it or not.
After the sixth drink, I tried gently to get her to slow down, but she won't. Maybe she can't.
Instead, I played the doting, flirting boyfriend to keep her stable enough that no one noticed when she slipped or when her eyes started to water as she looked at all the unopened gifts around her.
But she's dancing dangerously close to the line of being sloppy, and I know she would never forgive herself if she ruined their big night.
With all the cordiality I could manage, I gave Charlie the excuse that always suits me. A work emergency.
They offered to let Isla stay the night with them, but with our early flight tomorrow and the security we'll be dealing with, it would be way more of a hassle than it's worth.
In the cab, Isla leans against me, but I don't think she even notices it's me; just that I'm the closest firm thing she can use to keep herself upright.
"Hey is she good, man?" The cab driver asks, suspicious.
With a heavy sigh, I run a hand through my hair. "She overindulged at a baby shower." I don't want to pry into this random dude's mind, but I can't run the risk of authorities being called. His suspicion is warranted, and I'm glad this stranger cares about his rider's safety. His thoughts remain wary, watching us in the mirror while deftly maneuvering between the cars.
"I... I won't puke in your car, dude." Isla slurs. "Promise."
His eyes dart to mine again, clearly noting the exasperation on my face. His worry only abates slightly before he looks atheragain.
"Ohhhhhh," she says, slapping my chest, "You're worried 'bout the big guy. He's good. He's my bodyguard. Big, safe, scary man, don't you worry."
Quiet laughter fills the space as the tension bleeds out of him, her drunken explanation giving him enough information to feel better.
And, as promised, she did not vomit in his car, or on the sidewalk, or in the hotel room.
Looking at the still-mussed sheets from earlier, I can't help but remember how utterly and thoroughly I destroyed both the room and Isla's makeup before we were supposed to leave this afternoon.
How had things gotten so bad since then? She seemed so excited to see her friends. She even beamed at the wonderful surrogate, Lacey, giving her a huge hug and preparing a gift just for her, separate from all the shit for the baby.
As soon as I release Isla, she sinks onto the floor at the foot of the bed,taking her heels offand stretching her legs out in front of her.
Not sure what else to do, I sit beside her, aching to take her hand in mine so she knows she's not alone. So she knows whatever she has to face is mine now, too.
Quiet sniffles and silent tears escape her, staring blankly ahead, the stream of mascara running down her cheek making my chest hurt for her.
We sit there for a long time, waiting for something. But what?
"I always wanted to be a mom," the confession finally slips out. "Wanted a whole buncha' kids."
The weight of that statement hits me like a train.Shewantsa normallife, and who wouldn't? She wants to get married to a good person and raise a family. I swallow down the pressure on my throat at the reminder I didn't need that for her, this thing we're doing was always just a distraction until she gets to live again. But this isn't about me. It's about her. And she's trusting me to be here for her. So I will, no matter how much it kills me.
"You still could be, Isla." I assure her, "You're still so young. You have your whole life ahead of you. I just... I just need more time to make it safe for you."
She pats my hand, a gesture that would be condescending if it wasn't so sloppy. "No. I can't."
"Why not?"
"This..." she sniffs, "This thing inside me."
"What thing?" I don't understand.
