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And turning my face into the pillow, hot tears begin to roll, staining my cheeks before dropping wetly into the soft cloth. Because I love the brothers so much … and yet there’s no path forwards now.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Macy
The boys are gone for the day by the time I manage to talk myself out of bed. There are no notes of apology. No flowers. Not that I’d have expected any. These are the Morgan brothers, so I don’t expect them to act like awkward teen boys, tripping over their feet. But still, it would be nice.
Hauling myself out of bed, my feet stumble downstairs. I’m a mess for sure, and decide to make some scrambled eggs to start the day. The runny yolk always makes me hungry, but this time, the opposite happens. Looking at the dark yellow slime, my stomach heaves and then bleeeeech! Vomit splatters in the sink, green and brown and ugly. Oh god, oh god. It must be true. I must be pregnant.
After some dry toast and a ginger ale, I haul on some sweats. There’s no sense in hanging out here any longer. I’m not gonna cook, I’m just going to mope and drive myself to new levels of confusion, locked in this beautiful apartment. So instead, I drive myself to Grandma Patty’s house.
As usual, the old woman takes one look at the bird’s nest on my head, the sleepless, haunted eyes, and sits me on her petite floral sofa with the lumpy stuffing.
“What’s wrong honey?” she says, stroking my curls. “What’s wrong?”
And the story comes boiling out then, interspersed with sobs, violent cries, and gallons of hot tears. I lay my head on her shoulder and tell her about Heather. How she was a shell of a woman, a scarecrow with barely any life force because of the Morgans.
“They just left her, Grandma Patty. She used to be healthy and beautiful and they turned her into dust. It makes me sick,” my voice wails. “What do I do?”
My grandmother takes my hands in hers and looks at me thoughtfully. “It’s hard to say,” she replies. “I’m an old woman,” she begins slowly, eyes faraway. “These new-fangled situations are strange to me. Seven men? This Heather woman was with seven men?”
Now it’s time for the big admission.
“Nana,” I say slowly, blinking my eyes hard to stop the tears. “I’m not sure if you heard me. Or even if you heard me, I want to make it crystal clear. It’s not just her. It’s me too. I’m with seven men, Nana, I’m in love with seven men. It’s wrong, it’s awful, because they’ve turned out to be monsters! So what do I do? What do I dooooo?”
The pathetic wail is terrible, ringing loudly in the living room of my grandma’s small cottage. But I can’t help the despair and fresh tears flow once more, choking me. “What do I do?” are my broken words. “What happens now?”
Nana is kind, patting my hand, those withered fingers soft.
“Seven is different,” she says slowly. “Back when I was a girl, even two or three was a lot.”
“Two or three?” I gasp. Never in my wildest dreams would I have guessed that Nana knew something about ménage.
But my grandma’s eyes spark mischievously.
“Oh sure,” she murmurs. “I was around during the Sixties, honey. It was all swingers and free love, expressing your true self. You have to remember that in those times, society was breaking free, shaking off its chains. Young people didn’t want to be held back, so I saw it all,” she winks.
I nod slowly. That makes some sense
“But I always thought you were family-oriented,” I say slowly. “Like raising Mom and all that.”
“Who said I’m not family-oriented?” asks Nana playfully. “You can have a family and also have a life. There are lots of ways to be happy.”
And words escape me then. What is Nana saying? What is she hinting at?
Patty can tell I’m confused, and continues.
“Back to you, honey,” she says candidly. “It’s not as if the Morgans lied. They were honest with Heather about the terms of the relationship, and about what they needed from her.”
Again, I’m dumbstruck.
“What?” I exclaim. “They left her for not being able to have a child. She has nothing now. The woman’s like death warmed over.”
Patty pulls her expression into a wry look, lips twisting slightly.
“I don’t know about that,” she says slowly. “I’ve lived a long time, seen a lot of things in this world, and through it all, I’ve learned that nothing is black and white. Nothing is totally right or totally wrong, because there are always shades of grey. Those men have all agreed that they want to share the responsibility of parenting one child, of loving one woman. It’s non-traditional, to be sure, but it’s their choice to make for their own lives. And that young woman knew what they wanted when she embarked on that particular journey.”
