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“Geez, how much did he weigh?” I cringe at the idea of pushing that head out of my vagina.
“Almost eleven pounds, I think?”
“Oh my goodness, that’s huge! Some three-month-olds barely weigh that!”
“Yeah, Joy ended up having a C-section. He was breech, and there was something going on with the placenta. I don’t know all the details, but it wasn’t an easy pregnancy or birth for her—or anyone, really.” He flips through pictures showing his nephew at various stages over the past year. There are pictures of RJ holding him as an infant, of Max in a tiny Chicago jersey, of him holding on to RJ’s hands as he takes a wobbly step.
“It looks like you’re a good uncle.” My voice cracks, and I have to clear my throat as I fight to hold back tears.
“Being an uncle is easy. I get to spoil the shit out of him and then give him back to his mom when he gets cranky.”
“Sounds about right.” That’s always the way with uncles, aunts, and grandparents.
“I don’t get to see them as much as I’d like since they’re so far away, but I try to make the most of my time when I’m with them. I’ll get to spend time with them when I play in LA, which is good.” RJ covers my hand with his. “I should have taken you with me—to LA. I should’ve booked two seats and brought you, but my brother was so panicked, and I didn’t think it through.”
“You couldn’t bring me with you, though, because you’d lied about who you were.” I slip my hand out from under his; he tightens his grip for a second before he lets me go.
RJ sets his phone on the table and scrubs a hand over his face, muttering a curse. “I wanted to tell you so many times, but I didn’t want to ruin things between us. I figured if I told you the truth, you’d leave, so I kept putting it off—and the longer I did, the harder it got to tell you.” His gaze meets mine, imploring me to understand. “After I left you, I realized I had so many things I still needed to tell you, including my truth. I had this plan in my head that, once I got to LA, I’d tell you everything.”
“Why lie at all? Why taint everything with untruths?”
“You didn’t recognize me.”
It’s a simple explanation that tells me nothing and everything. When he doesn’t continue, I push. “And? That’s supposed to explain why you built what we had on a lie? You had weeks to tell me the truth, but instead you layered on more lies to support the one you started with.”
“I omitted more than anything, but I regret not saying anything. I just wanted to be normal for a while. You don’t understand what it’s like—”
“You mean all the parties and the women?” My stomach rolls as the images I’ve seen online come back to haunt me. I can’t get them out of my head. “I looked you up, RJ, as soon as I realized you’d lied. What I found is nothing like the man I was with in Alaska. I don’t even know who you are.”
“Yes, you do, Lainey. I’m the man you met on the plane who comforted you, the one you spent all those weeks with, the one who taught you how to drive and held you through a thunderstorm. That’s the real me.”
He moves to touch me again, so I shoot up off the love seat and step out of reach. “I don’t know what to believe.”
“I get that it looks bad—I really do, Lainey—but if you check all the dates you’ll see it was years ago. I came from a small town and was drafted young. I made some choices that weren’t the best, and I live in a city where hockey players are on par with celebrities—in an era where everything that should be private is public fodder. My mom and my sister wouldn’t speak to me for almost a year because of all the shit out there, so I know what the consequences of my actions are.”
I scoff at that last part. He has no idea what kind of repercussions I’ve faced as a result—or the strain it’s put on my relationship with my parents. If I thought they were protective before I went to Alaska, they were a million times worse when I came back.
“There had to have been a time in your life where you rebelled. Haven’t you ever gone through a wild phase, Lainey?”
“Yes. You were my wild phase, and clearly that was a terrible mistake,” I snap.
RJ pushes out of his chair and tries to corral me, but I slip between the chairs, out of reach once again.
“You said you planned to tell me the truth once you got to LA and we got in touch, but how was that ever going to work? I’d see all the same things, and I would’ve been on the other side of the country. How would you explain it then? How would you have been able to make me see whatever truth you want to feed me?” I move toward the house. “I tried to find you—I called every single alpaca farm in New York looking for you, but no one knew who you were, which makes sense, since I was asking for someone they’d never heard of.”
