Somewhere Out There(13)
“That’s awful,” Brooke said, wondering why people bothered to get married at all, if fifty percent of those couples ended up hating each other, fighting over who got to keep their CD collection.
“She wants everything,” he continued. “Half of our retirement and half the business, plus child support and spousal maintenance. I’d have to pay her seven figures to buy her out, then close to ten thousand a month. I’ve worked too hard for too long to just hand it all over to her.”
“I don’t blame you.” Brooke knew that other women might be bothered by Ryan discussing his almost-ex on their first date, feeling like it was in bad taste, but Brooke didn’t mind. In fact, she appreciated knowing exactly where Ryan was coming from. It made her certain he wouldn’t ask more of her than she was able to give.
As their dinner progressed, Brooke learned that Ryan was forty-five, and the owner of one of the largest contracting firms in Seattle, running multiple crews on various important construction projects around the city. She admired the fact that he was self-made—that he hadn’t been handed his company, he’d built it on his own, from the ground up. He was driven and passionate. She told herself her attraction to him didn’t have anything to do with his money—though as they began to spend more time together, she had to admit that she enjoyed the luxuries it afforded them. They never drank anything less than a hundred-dollar bottle of champagne, and he hired an Uber to drive her back to her apartment at the end of the night if she didn’t have her own car there. She liked the way that he laughed; she liked his handsome face and strong body—musculature chiseled by long hours of physical labor. He told her he was mesmerized by the combination of her black hair and violet eyes; he said her pale skin felt like silk. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he always whispered when he slowly stripped her clothes from her body, and Brooke let herself believe him. The way he kissed her felt like a form of worship, and the intensity of their lovemaking—the escape it gave her—surpassed anything she’d ever experienced before. She couldn’t get enough.
Still, he was married, and his very expensive divorce lawyer advised him to keep their relationship on the down-low, and not to introduce Brooke to his sons, for fear that Michelle would find a way to use Brooke against him in court. All of this was fine with Brooke. She never planned anything for more than a few weeks ahead.
A pregnancy would change all of that. A baby would change everything.
Brooke found a parking spot on the street near her building and quickly made her way into the old brick house that had been converted into six small studios. Once inside, she headed down the dimly lit stairwell and unlocked the door to her basement unit. Clutching the Walgreens white plastic bag, she flicked on a lamp and kicked off her shoes, looking around the place she had lived in for the past five years. The room was a perfect square, painted the palest shade of yellow Brooke could find to help brighten it. Her bed, which was really just a queen-size mattress and box spring on the floor, rested against the wall opposite the door, and her tiny kitchenette was to her left. All her clothes were in an old dresser she’d found at Goodwill for ten bucks; she’d painted it periwinkle blue to match the blankets and fluffy pillows on her bed. Over in the corner was the bathroom, a space barely big enough to fit a stall shower, toilet, and sink, which was where Brooke immediately headed, taking one of the pregnancy tests with her.
She opened the box, carefully reading the instructions, which told her she should perform the test first thing in the morning. It was almost three a.m. Does that count? she wondered, and then decided she didn’t care. She needed to know if she was pregnant, and she needed to know now.
She took the test, washed her hands, and left the bathroom, only to pace in the other room. Please, please, please, she begged God, or the Universe, or whatever powers were out there. Let it be negative. Brooke had promised herself that if she ever did get pregnant, it would be only when she was completely secure in her decision to bring a child into the world. Her baby would never think she wasn’t wanted, which was the only conclusion Brooke had ever come to about herself. Why else, after four years spent raising her, would her mother have given her up?
Her gut clenched, as it always did when she allowed herself to think about the woman who brought her into the world. She remembered the musty scent in her mother’s car, the pitch-black nights, and the cold, hungry mornings. She remembered crying. She remembered being scared and alone.
And there it was—her mother’s voice inside her head, playing like a record with a needle stuck in a groove: I’ll be right back. You wait here. Cloudy images of her mother’s silhouette, walking away. Brooke, wanting to be good, but being scared enough that her teeth ached. Her heart thudded so hard inside her chest that she worried it might explode.
“Damn it,” Brooke muttered, angrily wiping her cheeks with the tips of her fingers. She had more important things to worry about than some stupid girl who left her daughter alone in a car, then left her altogether. A person like that didn’t deserve her tears. Where had her father been all of that time? Why hadn’t he taken better care of them? Was he someone her mother had loved, or was getting pregnant with Brooke an accident with a stranger, just the first of her many mistakes?
She told herself that none of that mattered now. There was no changing any of it. She returned to the bathroom and grabbed the test from where she’d left it on the edge of the sink. Negative, negative, negative, she chanted inside her head, as though she could somehow manifest her desired result. But when she looked down, all she saw was the bright blue plus sign in the middle of the white plastic stick.