A Really Bad Idea Page 24

  From emotional to angry to downright defeated, my mind is betraying me at a rapid pace.

  Brock is having a baby with another woman.

  The man I planned a life with is having a child with someone else. I knew this would happen. I wasn’t prepared for it to come in the form of him telling me he needed my advice.

  Little does he know that I am, too. I’m embarking on my own epic journey to motherhood that is bizarre and beautiful, and I have my own insecurities about that. And the only reason I’m in this position is because he broke his promises.

  With a few steps backward, I put distance between us. “I am the wrong person to talk to about this.”

  “I was hoping—”

  “Leave.” I’m adamant.

  “Meadow.” His voice is a plea.

  “I’m telling you to leave. Now.”

  And he does. Brock walks away, sauntering out of the hospital with the sullen gait of a teenager. I’m not worried about being callous with him because he’s the guy who will fly off to the next person who will do him a favor.

  I take a seat and hold my chest, trying to figure out if I want emotional, angry, or defeated me to take control right now.

  I push them all to the side.

  “Meadow.”

  My name being called wakes me up from a sound sleep. My hand that’s holding up my chin is wobbly as I come to, and I have to blink a few times to get my bearings.

  I’m in my mother’s hospital room, sleeping in the wooden guest chair by the window.

  With a stretch and a loud yawn, I try to work out the kink in my hip from sleeping in this uncomfortable seat. The room is dark, except for the soft overhead light that stays on all night so nurses can come in and check on patients without disturbing them.

  I rub my eyes and sit up straight, now coming to enough to realize my mom said my name.

  “Go home, sweetie. There’s no good use in you camping out here all night,” she says, still lying propped up on her side since she has the tube in her back. Her eyes are weary, and she looks like she wants to sleep. Dad is snoring from the recliner.

  I lean forward and rest my hands on my knees, looking up at the clock to see it’s past midnight. They scheduled her surgery for eight in the morning.

  “It’s only a few more hours. I might as well stay.”

  “You need to change your clothes.”

  I look down at the black dress pants and button-down I wore today. They’re wrinkled, and I have a coffee stain on the lapel of my shirt. “I don’t want to leave you.”

  She nods in understanding. “You’re making me feel like I won’t survive this surgery.”

  I wake up real fast at that comment and sit up straight. “No. That’s not the case at all. You will be fine.”

  “Meadow, please don’t lie just to make me feel better. Christian already went over the risks. I’m very aware.”

  My shoulders fall. I look away and try to conjure up the words to express what I’ve been feeling. I rub my mouth with my hand and then hold it there for a moment.

  “Look forward,” I hear Christian’s voice in my head. “Don’t overthink, Meadow. Make sure you talk about what’s going on in that head of yours.”

  I look at Mom and give her my honest thoughts. “I know you’re going to be fine. My brain tells me that. You’re in the best hospital with the best doctor, and if I’ve learned one thing in my line of work, it’s that the heart is incredibly resilient. Miraculous even.” I smile with that thought, and then it slowly falls as I continue, “But I know there’s always a chance you might not make it, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  I have to open my eyes real wide to keep the tears from falling. I refuse to turn away though. Just on the off chance that this is the last time I ever see my mother, I need to know I spent as much time being with her as possible, looking at her, taking her in.

  With a severe inhale, I will the emotion back. Mom extends her hand and holds out her palm. I move my chair closer and take it.

  “It’s okay to be scared. I am, too,” she says.

  “I know you are, which is why I don’t want to get you upset.”

  She raises a shoulder. “If you think you can hide your feelings from me, then you’re crazy.”

  “Oh, yeah? Then, what am I thinking?” I challenge her.

  “How bad you feel for all the times you didn’t pick up the phone when I called.”

  My jaw drops in surprise. She’s absolutely correct. “I always pick up the phone when you call.”

  “No, you don’t. Sometimes, you hit the End button and let it go to voice mail.”

  “Only when I’m working,” I say and catch her raised brow at my lie. I have to chuckle at her very true accusation. “Well, sometimes, I don’t pick up because I know you will give me your advice of the day.”

  “It’s called caring.” She breathes deeply and sags into her pillow. “My mother was like that, too. I hated it, but it’s the only way I know. I have this knowledge I want to impart on my daughter. I’ve lived a beautiful life, and I’ve had some troubling moments. I’ve fought with friends and lost touch with relatives. The things I once thought were important are insignificant, and what I value the most is the only thing that matters. You. My family. Maybe I push too hard.”

  “No. You push just the right amount.” I lament quietly.

  “Something has been going on with you lately. Do you want to tell me what it is?”

  “No,” I state.

  “I could die tomorrow, and then you’ll feel regret never telling me while I was alive.”

  I want to laugh at her uncanny ability to be so … her. This unrelenting woman, hours away from a life-and-death moment, is still trying to pry.

  “You can’t pull the I might die tomorrow card.”

  “It’s working.”

  I let out a puff of air and concede, “If you must know, I’m taking your advice. For once. I’m trying to have a baby. I wasn’t going to tell you because I don’t want to get your hopes up.”

  She doesn’t look pleased by this news. “My advice was to freeze your eggs.”

  “I’m gonna go for it. The whole enchilada. Why wait, right? Why are you looking at me like that? I thought you’d be happy.”

  With a somber smile, she pats the sheet below her. “I want you to be joyous, but don’t do something because you think it will make me happy.”

  I puff out my lips. My entire life, I’ve been running away from my mother’s advice when, really, I’ve been grabbing it at every turn. I wonder if that’s the universal driver—the thing that pushes us into the decisions we make. We’re either seeking our parents’ approval or doing what we can to prove them wrong.

  “Mother knows best,” I say with a chagrin. “Turns out, you were on to something. As a kid, I was mortified on a daily basis. The way you’d burst into a room and command it, you were the loudest mom at the PTA and the craziest one on the sidelines. If we had friends over, you would ask them a thousand questions about who they were and who their parents were. And forget about it if I brought a boy home. He would get the third degree and even be told to keep it in his pants. You even made me wear a shoulder strap in middle school, so I wouldn’t slouch. You are the epitome of the helicopter mom.

  “And yet, I’ve also enjoyed it. You played games with us and did performances in the living room. You taught me how to cook, and I have decent style since you harped on me at every turn. The care packages you sent in college made me roll my eyes, but I looked forward to them. I have zero crow’s-feet because you are always shoving serums in my pocket. And, whenever I’ve made a mistake, you are always there to tell me I can do better. Because you are so great, I want to be just like you.”

  I grab her hand. “So, that’s why I’ve been camping out here and hovering. The thought of you not being here to help guide me through this next phase of my life is scaring the hell out of me. You’re my mom, and there’s no one who could ever replace you. Truly one of a
kind.”

  She pulls on my arm, and I follow the pull to the bed, taking a seat and then leaning down into her as she wraps her arms around me. I lay my head against her neck and let the tears roll off. Her other hand is rubbing the back of my head, petting it with a soothing touch. It reminds me of when she held me as a girl after I used to crawl into her bed following a nightmare. My mother’s touch makes everything better.

  “Oh, Meadow,” she says with another squeeze. It’s such a tender moment. I shouldn’t be surprised when she makes it even more emotional when she utters the words, “I knew you loved the serums.”

  I laugh hard and lift my head, rubbing under my eyes. She wipes my face with me and lays a palm on my cheek.

  “You’re gonna be okay,” she says, “no matter what. You are my daughter, and you can do anything.”

  Eight o’clock rolls around way too fast. Brian and Beth are the first to wish her good luck. Beth shows my mom the gifts she brought—new pajamas for when she’s rehabilitating at home.

  Brian is very businesslike as he kisses Mom and says, “I’ll see you on the other side.”

  I cringe at his word choice.

  I don’t say anything because I’m feeling pretty vulnerable right now, and everything that needed to be said was spoken last night. I hang in the hallway and wait as Dad kisses Mom for what seems like a thousand times and tells her he loves her a thousand more. He’s holding her hand as the nurses roll her out of the room and into the hallway.

  Christian should already be scrubbing in. I haven’t heard from him since he left my apartment yesterday morning, and I haven’t bothered to text, for fear of taking him out of his routine. I’ve never valued it as much as I do today.

  My family and I walk to the waiting room on the fourth floor and take our seats in the plush leather sofas.

  We’ve been here before. Years ago, when I first started working for Park Avenue Cardiology, we sat in this same room as we waited for my mom to have her heart repaired. I was a ball of nerves then, understanding the science but never having been on the other side of the operating table. Today, I’m more aware of the commonality of heart procedures, and I have education on my side, so I try to focus on that. Although the lack of sleep is doing nothing for my anxiety.

  I pace the cardiac wing a few times and decide it’s killing me, being on this floor and hearing every code red and call for a doctor. I take the stairs and walk down to the second floor. Maternity.

  Down the hall is the nursery, once filled with babies fresh out of their mothers’ wombs. They don’t keep babies in here like they used to. The new protocol is for them to stay with their mothers, only leaving for tests and baths.

  The rumbling of wheels on the linoleum floor has me looking toward a nurse wheeling a baby down the hall. The little one is swaddled in a white-and-blue-striped blanket and wearing a pink crocheted hat with a bow. I place a hand on my chest and inhale the scent of the newborn as they pass by.

  I know there’s no way I’m pregnant right now because I’m just a few days into my new cycle. Christian knows that, too, which means what we experienced the other night was about more than trying for a baby.

  At least, it was for me.

  The stairwell door opens, and Brian steps into the hallway. His brows curl. “Wasn’t expecting to see you down here.”

  “For a moment, I thought you’d followed me.”

  He takes a step next to me and looks through the glass as the nurse unswaddles the baby to place her on a scale. “I needed to stretch my legs, but I don’t want to leave the building. Beth told me to come down here. She thinks I’ll get inspired. She wants another baby.”

  “If you want to try, you can in about six days.”

  He pivots toward me with a scowl. “Why do you know my wife’s ovulation schedule?”

  “Don’t blame me. Our mother is insane.”

  He doesn’t argue with that. Instead, he looks straight ahead and asks into the air, “What’s going on with you and Christian?”

  I don’t answer immediately, mostly because I don’t know how to phrase it.

  “Whatever you answer, don’t lie. I’m not an idiot.”

  This is the first time in years my brother has instigated a conversation with me, and this is what he chooses. I twist my lips and answer honestly, “We’re closer than we were before.”

  “Are you dating?”

  “Yes,” I answer.

  “Are you a couple?”

  “No.” That answer doesn’t come out as easy, and to be honest, my voice sounds a little despondent.

  He lets out a loud, exasperated breath. I can almost feel his body tensing in his khakis. “So, you’re just sleeping together like it’s no big deal?”

  “Oh, it’s a big deal.”

  He turns his hip, leaning against the half-wall of the nursery, as he grumbles something under his breath. I’m not looking at him, but I can feel his frustration. I know that he’s trying to will himself not to lose his cool, as he can quickly turn into an arrogant ass. He doesn’t do it to be a dick. He just doesn’t understand why people don’t behave the way he does, which is with high virtue and straight and narrow.

  “Does this mean you’re not freezing your eggs anymore?” he asks.

  I fiddle with the wishbone around my neck.

  Maybe it’s because I’m tapped emotionally right now, or it could be because he’s my brother. Mostly, I’m sure it’s because I have finally come to reality with the dream I’ve been pretending to live in.

  I turn to Brian, look up into his curious gray eyes, and tell him, “Christian and I are having a baby together.”

  His gaze darts to my stomach, as if expecting to see a watermelon growing beneath my shirt.

  “We’re not pregnant yet. We’re trying. Instead of freezing my eggs, he agreed to have a child with me,” I explain.

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Because I want a child, and he’s a good man who wants to make that happen for me. For himself.”

  His focus roams over the black and white tiles on the floor as he processes what I’ve told him. “This isn’t Mario Kart. You don’t get the magic bullet and zip through the race to land in first.”

  I raise a finger. “Don’t compare my life to a Nintendo game.”

  “You will ruin his life.”

  I flinch at his words. “What?”

  “You make terrible decisions, and it costs everyone else. You dated that hockey player we all hated, and we had to sit and bear his dirty jokes and aggressive attitude.” His words spit through his teeth.

  “Why does everything come back to Brock?”

  “Because we hated him, and you married him anyway. He ruined every holiday, not to mention Dylan’s christening.”

  He’s right. Brock drank way too much and got into a fight with Beth’s cousin because he thought the guy was checking me out.

  “I know; you hate him. Can you please quit it with the digs and whispered animosity?” I say, crossing my arms in front of my body as his hands are over his face, rubbing down.

  Brian exclaims, “You eloped.” He says the words like they’re a curse with a taste of bile building in his mouth.

  Suddenly, I can finally pinpoint the moment my brother decided he couldn’t be around me.

  “You’ve been like this ever since I married Brock. I get it; eloping isn’t something you would do. It’s too spontaneous and fun.”

  “It broke their hearts. You didn’t even give Dad the chance to walk you down the aisle. They had to throw you a fake wedding a month later, so they could celebrate their daughter’s terrible choice in a husband. You weren’t there to see how disappointed they were, and then we all had to drop our lives when he cheated, just like we knew he would.”

  “My failed marriage is my fault?”

  “It was the cherry on top of the bad-decision sundae of your life. Every boyfriend you’ve ever had has been a loser.”

  “Then, you should be ecstatic I’m with Chri
stian.” My voice dramatically rises, as do my arms.

  “According to you, you’re not together. You’re just using him as a sperm donor.”

  His words hit me in the gut.

  If we weren’t in the maternity ward of a hospital, I’d kick the wall, but I have way too much respect for the lives that are created in these very halls to tarnish it. “How come Beth was supportive, and you can’t even find the silver lining?”

  He looks like he was just slapped in the face. “Beth knows about this?”

  “I had to tell someone, and I chose her because, apparently, my brother doesn’t know how not to be a dick.” I continue, “I know I’m flawed. I’m also well aware I’ve made some poor choices in the past, and trust me, I’ve paid for them. Despite my broken heart, I still believe in love. I want the happily ever after. I want what you and Beth have.”

  “You want my life?” he asks with genuine surprise laced on his face.

  “Yeah. Who wouldn’t? You’re crazy about your wife, and she is wild about you. I don’t know why sometimes. It must be the sex swing.”

  He drops his shoulders and rolls his head, probably cursing his wife for spilling the beans.

  I put him out of his misery. “You’re a great husband, Brian, and an amazing father. You did good. Your life is awesome. Your marriage is something most people dream about, and your kids are … God, I love them more than you and Beth could ever comprehend. I want that, too. All of it.”

  “Then, why are you settling?”

  “You think it’s settling. I think it’s finally getting my all. It took me a long time to realize you can’t have it all unless you redefine what all is. I desperately want a child, and I won’t settle for some man to make it happen. That’s why, when I told Christian I planned on freezing my eggs, he offered to have a baby with me.”

  With his hands on his hips, Brian leans in and asks like he just can’t believe it, “This was his idea?”

  I nod my head. “Crazy, right? Oh, and get this—you are going to love this one. While we’ve been ‘dating’”—I use air quotes with the word dating—“I’ve fallen in love with him. Isn’t that a kick in the pants? So, don’t worry because I’ve managed to screw this relationship up, too. It’ll be over soon, so you can give me grief about that at our next family barbecue.”