Accidentally On Purpose Part 26

Looking at him with hard eyes, I said "Whatever time I had for you has been used up, sucked dry. You're out of time. I won't be there when you get there." A horn blew behind me. "Consider this my resignation - from my job, from you, from all of this. I'm done. Now step away from my car."

He stared at me open mouthed, holding on to the door, until someone blew again, longer, and louder. He stumbled back and watched me drive away.

When I got home, I immediately started packing. I was only taking necessities now, and would have to return later to retrieve other items. While I packed, I had the airline on speaker phone, trying to book a flight to Louisiana. I didn't necessarily feel like dealing with my mom, but I needed to take a couple of days to figure out what to do next, and doing it here was impossible. I knew Kyle wasn't going to just leave me alone, and I knew that had virtually no defenses if he wanted to keep me. He was my drug, and I his. The only way to solve the problem was to remove the source.

I managed to book a nine-thirty flight. It wasn't as early as I wanted, but I took it anyway. When the call ended, I saw that I had several text messages and missed calls from Kyle. I was surprised and relieved when they didn't continue, and after another hour when he had not shown up, I relaxed a little. I didn't look at the texts or listen to the voicemail. It wasn't going to help anything to see or hear what he had to say. If this was the only self-control I could have, then I was going to keep it.

I couldn't sleep. My mind was racing, and my heart was breaking off piece by piece every minute that pa.s.sed. I let a few tears slip by, but I refused to bawl. I would allow myself a good cry at a later time. I found some empty boxes in the garage and decided to start the tedious task of packing up some of my personal items that I could have someone s.h.i.+p to me later. I turned some music on and lost myself in the task for a couple of hours. I was so involved in what I was doing that I never heard the front door or his approach. I was in my bedroom, standing at my bed packing some things from my closet when he spoke, making me drop everything I was holding and jump backwards, frightened by his sudden appearance.

Kyle stood in the doorway, clearly drunk. He reeked of alcohol, the smell easily wafted across the room. His bowtie was gone, several b.u.t.tons unb.u.t.toned on his s.h.i.+rt, and parts of it hung out of his pants, wrinkled.

"What are you doing?" He quietly demanded.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, trying to slow down my heart with a few even breaths. I picked up the things I had dropped and resumed packing.

"What are you doing?" He asked again, staggering into the room.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I said, not looking at him.

"I wanna talk to you."

"I don't want to talk anymore."

"Look at me!" He bellowed, gripping my wrist.

I looked at his hand on my wrist, the same wrist he had broken not that long ago. I wasn't getting a good vibe from him, and for a few seconds, I thought he was going to break it again.

"What is this?" He used his free hand to start rifling through the box. "What is this s.h.i.+t? You're trying to leave for good?"

When I didn't answer, he yanked me away from the box and then threw it on the floor. Yelling, most of it incoherent, he grabbed my open suitcase and dumped it out on the floor.

"What are you doing!" I yelled, grabbing his arm.

"You're not leaving!" He yelled in my face.

I stepped around him, picked up the suitcase and mindlessly started to reload it. I felt a panic surging inside of me, but struggled to keep it contained.

"No!" He yelled, and grabbed me from behind by shoulders, spinning me around.

"Stop being a d.i.c.k!" I yelled in his face as I slapped his hands away from me.

At first, I couldn't figure out why I was seeing stars and why the left side of my face stung and hurt so badly. Not until my vision began to clear did I see Kyle standing over me, with his hand still raised and breathing erratically, with an animalistic expression on his face. I tasted blood and then I realized he had hit me.

End of Part One

Dear Luke, I have rewritten this letter a dozen times already, but I feel there is no smooth way to lead up to what I have to say, so here it is: You are the father of a five month old, beautiful baby boy. His name is Lucas, in honor of his father, and he was born May 18th.

I didn't tell you because I know you hate me, and my biggest fear is that you will hate my son, too. Maybe that fear is unreasonable, but I have had a very hard time getting past it.

I am in Chicago for a day or so, at the Fairmont, room 317. If you would like to meet your son, I will be here all day today.

I am sorry for keeping this from you, and I am sorry for forcing my mother to keep this from you. Please don't be angry with her. It is my fault entirely.

Sincerely, Emmy

Chapter Thirty-Four

The letter was sent off first thing on a Friday morning through a carrier service. Luke had to sign for it, so that I would know it was received, and he had signed for it an hour after I sent it.

I waited with jumbled nerves for the better part of the day. I didn't leave the room at all, ordering room service if I was hungry. Lucas kept me grounded with his need for entertainment and diaper changes and other things babies needed and wanted. I was happy to oblige.

He was a good baby (are there really bad babies?), rarely cried, and always happy. He talked a lot, and I pretended to understand what he was talking about. I was never without him, he was my whole life, and if Luke chose not to come, my baby would always have me.

By the time night fell upon us, I knew Luke wasn't coming. I was sadder than I thought I would be about it. At ten o'clock that night, I went to bed feeling grief stricken by Luke's lack of response. I wanted to call my mother and tell her I told her so, but I didn't really feel like talking to her. Somehow I found the resolve to go to sleep.

In the morning, I decided to get Lucas out of the room for a little while before making any plans to leave. We had been cooped up there all of the day before and even though it was cold out, the fresh air would be good for both of us. I bundled him up and we left for a morning of shopping.

Just after noon, when Lucas and I walked through the doors of the hotel, Luke appeared in front of us, holding a little stuffed whale. My heart caught in my throat when I saw him. He looked better than he did the last time I saw him and I was tempted to run to him, but I didn't. I kept cool and slowly approached him.

He looked at me with a mixture of disdain, sadness, and awe for a moment before registering the smiling baby boy in my arms. He inhaled sharply and stared at Lucas with absolute wonder and astonishment. He couldn't deny that he was his, he looked just like him. They both had the same shocking blue eyes and perfect nose. Lucas's hair was dark blonde now, but like his father's it would darken over the years to a medium shade of brown with some natural blonde highlights. I had seen Luke's baby pictures, and Lucas was the spitting image of what Luke had been as a baby.

Luke offered his son a finger and Lucas promptly started to put it in his mouth, but Luke pulled back, mumbling about dirty hands.

"You didn't come," was all I could muster out.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I was out of town. My sister just happened to be in my apartment dropping off some things I left in her bas.e.m.e.nt when the letter came. I didn't read it until this morning when I got in." He looked at me for approval, to see if I believed him.

"I understand," I said, s.h.i.+fting Lucas from one arm to another.

"Can I hold him?"

"Of course," I said and gingerly pa.s.sed him his child and he pa.s.sed me the stuffed animal. My heart lurched in my chest watching his face light up as he held Lucas. I felt such an overwhelming sense of guilt for keeping father and son apart that I had to try very hard not to collapse to the floor in a fetal position and cry. Maybe suck my thumb.

Instead, I suggested we go back to my room. I pushed the stroller and Luke carried Lucas.

Luke, apparently, was Super Dad. He talked to Lucas and answered when all he got was baby babble. He fed him, burped him, changed his diapers, got spit up on, held him, played with him on a blanket on the floor, and took picture after picture. When Lucas took a nap in the middle of the afternoon, Luke sat nearby, working on his laptop and making phone calls, virtually ignoring me and the conversation we needed to have. When he finished, he looked at me as if he just remembered I was there.

"You let your hair grow out," was all he had time to say before Lucas was up from his nap and he was back to being father of the year. He was in his glory, but I was feeling funny about sharing my son's attention.

It must have shown on my face, because after Lucas was down for the night, Luke looked apologetic.

"I'm sorry. I totally took over today."

"I'm not used to sharing him," I said, looking at my hands in my lap. I found it difficult to meet his eyes. My immense sense of guilt never faded, not even a little.

"I'm going to go pick up some dinner. We'll talk when I get back."

"Hold on," I said and shuffled into the bedroom. I returned with a second key to the suite. "You can let yourself back in. I'm going to take a shower."

When he took it from me, our hands touched, but he quickly pulled away and walked out the door. I exhaled for what must have been the first time since I first saw Luke in the hotel lobby. I checked on Lucas before getting into the shower, with the door open so I could hear him if he cried. I had such a long day, and my muscles ached from being so tense. I stayed in the shower much longer than I meant to. When I stepped into the bedroom, dripping wet in just a towel, I was startled to find Luke standing over Lucas watching him sleep.

"Sorry," he said, glancing over at me. "I'm just...amazed. He's perfect."

"Yes, he is," I agreed.

He looked for a moment longer and disappeared into the living room. I dressed in a tee s.h.i.+rt and pajama bottoms quickly, and brushed the tangles out of my hair. I found Luke seated on the couch with a few cartons of Chinese food on the coffee table. He handed me a carton. I didn't have to peek to know that it was Chicken Lo Mein.

My body knew it was time to eat, but my mind and emotions were playing tricks on me. I sat as far away on the couch from Luke as possible, picking at my food with my chopsticks, never actually taking a bite.

"I'm conflicted, Emmy," Luke said after a few minutes. I gave up trying to eat and put the container on the table and waited for the onslaught of angry words.

"I am so angry with you for keeping this from me," he continued. "But at the same time, I understand how you must have felt, I think. I could never hate Lucas, even if..." He didn't finish his sentence and looked away from me, but I knew what he was going to say.

"You mean even if you hate me," I said.

He inhaled slowly and let it out even slower.

"I don't hate you," he said softly. "But I haven't forgotten what happened. I'm not going to lie and say that it's okay or that it doesn't still bother me. It's been over a year and I still get bitter about it."

I squeezed myself so far into the corner of the couch, it may have looked like the couch was eating me. He was speaking in a soft tone, but his face was bitter and his eyes were hard.

"I still blame myself, too. I had this inflated idea of who you were and misjudged. It's not entirely your fault that you didn't live up to my expectations."

What he was saying to me was cruel. If I were at all the woman I used to think I was, I would have stood up to him and defended myself, but I had no defense, because he was right. Luke was only reinforcing some of the very thoughts I've had for over a year.

"You do love Lucas, though," he continued after a moment of staring at his General Tso's. "You're a good mother, I will give you that."

I nodded as a thank you, but said nothing.

He looked at me for what seemed like an eternity. I was staring at a wall across the room, but I could feel his eyes on me.

"Anyway," he sighed, and finally looked away. "I have to put the past behind me, for Lucas's sake. I want to be part of his life. I just started my own firm, so I'm not really in a position to do too much traveling right now. I don't know anything about your situation," he paused before hesitantly asking the next question. "Do you have your job to get back to in Philly...or anyone...waiting?"

My eyes widened and I shook my head. "I haven't been in Philly since January. My family packed up the house and sold it."

"You loved that house."

I shrugged. "Whatever sentiment I had attached to that house was obliterated."

He looked like he wanted to ask about it, but didn't. "You say your family packed up - where were you?"

"The French countryside."

"Is that where you live?"

"Oh, no. I've been stateside since a month before Lucas was born. I'm not really tied down anywhere."

"No boyfriends or anything?"

"If you're wondering about Kyle Sterling, I haven't seen him since I left Philly."

"I was curious, but it wasn't just about him."

"I'm completely single," I said darkly.

"I've been thinking about this most of the day."

"Thinking about what?"

"I want you and Lucas to move in with me."

I s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably. I wasn't expecting any suggestions like this. I wasn't sure what to expect really, but I never imagined this. We only just reunited - if you want to call it a reunion - just this morning. He was still unapologetically bitter, hurt, and angry. How was this going to play out?

Sensing my discomfort, Luke tried to argue his point. "It will be good for Lucas to have his parents raising him together, at least at first. It gives him the best of both worlds, and just developmentally speaking, he will do well to have us both there at once. We'll both be able to partic.i.p.ate in the everyday little things that parents get to experience with a child. I don't want to miss anything anything," he said with emphasis, balling his hands into fists and looking at me with a small amount of pleading.

"What if you start seeing someone?" I didn't include myself, because I didn't see it happening. Single, white female. Forever.

"I'm not seeing anyone, not really. That's a bridge we'll have to cross when we get to it."

I hated that a.n.a.logy. Who came up with it and why the h.e.l.l can't you go around or under the bridge instead? Or turn and go back the way you came?

"You won't have to worry about anything," he continued. "I'll take care of the bills, buying the diapers and whatever either of you need."

"That won't be an issue. I can take care of me and Lucas."

"Then take care of yourself if you insist, but I want to take care of my son."

I sighed. Things would be awkward for a while, and there's no predicting how we are going to interact. It wouldn't be worth it to raise a child in a hostile household, but I felt no negativity towards Luke, and he said that he was going to put the past behind him. Moving in with him was probably the least I could do.