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Chapter Fourteen
I peeled the label from my bottle while Silas bellowed next to me. I stopped following along after his second word, my focus on the label that kept me from worrying about Lizzie. It also stopped my twitching fingers from calling her, which I hadn’t done in eight excruciating days. Picking at the soggy paper wasn’t working, and catching Nadia shaking drinks in my periphery while Ben drooled on my shoulder was only making me angry. I should’ve been out with Sean and Jesse, but someone who kept me happy kept me thinking of her. If I thought of her, I’d call her. If I called her, she’d ignore me. If I called Lizzie, I’d be reminding her of what a screw up I was.
It hurt to move my eyes. I shouldn’t have been out at all. I peeled the bottle, unable to drink an elixir that helped ease things in a past life. A life without Lizzie. A life I didn’t want. But I’m too damn terrified now, too. My phone buzzed on the bar counter, flashing Callie’s phone number across my screen. I looked once at the time, only a little ashamed to be as tipsy as I was at only two in the afternoon.
“What do you want?” I groaned into the receiver. We’d talked almost every day this week, and I hated it. I didn’t hate the kid, just its mom, but I’d never let it know that. I was determined to be a perfect dad, as perfect as I could be. I hadn’t even told my mom yet, and I wondered if that was because I still couldn’t admit this was happening.
“I thought you were meeting me for my appointment today,” Callie snapped.
I rolled my eyes before replying. “Is it time already? I’m just on the other side of the Square. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
I arrived thirty minutes later, finding Callie pacing the small exam room once the nurses led me to her. She was wearing heels that promised a broken ankle and a tight dress that made it obvious she was pregnant. If I didn’t look at her face, because honestly still all I could picture was her and Dude in my bed months ago, Callie’s stomach was cute. It was Callie who was repulsive.
“You look nice,” I lied, trying to be sober…and kind.
“You too.” She smiled. “You always do, though. The doctor’s coming back for the ultrasound. I heard the heartbeat, Noah. It was amazing.”
My heart sank. “I’m sorry I missed it.”
“Don’t worry, baby,” she reached for my hands, her eyes sparkling, “there will be plenty more exams before our baby is born.” Callie spread my palms around her stomach, and I wondered if I could make it work, sharing a life with her without loving her, for the sake of the child. The door opened, a doctor and nurse entering with equipment and cheerful smiles.
“You must be the happy father,” the doctor greeted me. I smiled, my cheeks numb with the fake expression.
I stood back while they rubbed jelly on Callie’s stomach and started examining her. The doctor and nurse exchanged jargon I understood, nothing concerning or questionable…until they mentioned the baby’s measurements.
“Six inches,” I whispered to the nurse as she stretched her fingers into a new pair of gloves, “that’s too small for being five months along.” My chest hummed, but I couldn’t tell if it was worry for the baby or selfish hope. Hope that it wasn’t mine. Then I felt guilty and horrible because that poor baby needed a daddy.
“Five months?” the doctor responded, overhearing my question. “Callie, you’re not that far along. Let’s get the probe to check.” I was rigid, holding my breath while they examined Callie and discussed their assumptions. Too soon to obtain an accurate measurement.Every pregnancy is different.
“It’s not too early for a paternity test,” I objected, my nerves raw and wired. “I want one. Now.”
“Noah,” Callie whimpered from the bed. “Please don’t embarrass us.”
I persisted, ignoring Callie and turning to the doctors, sobriety in full effect, rage and hope twisting inside of me. They advised us it was simple and could be done with minimal risk to Callie. I pleaded with her, for the sake of her baby, to do it.
“Callie,” I begged, holding her hands in mine, her manicured nails digging into my skin, “please. If you loved me once, if you love this baby, please be sure it’s mine. You know I’d give it the world, but I need to know…please. These doctors don’t care who the father is, but I do. Just do it, Callie. Please. Christ!” I needed to keep my cool, but it was difficult as hell. I was a ball of nerves in that small room, the alcohol from last night and this morning seeping from my pores, my thoughts of the last time I’d spent in bed with Lizzie twisting in a tormenting display in my mind.
***
I tried calling Lizzie again. It went straight to voicemail, no ring or anything. It’s like she turned her phone off to me, to the rest of the world…to us. I wanted to tell her, scream actually, about how there might be a chance Callie’s baby wasn’t really mine, but I forgot my place. It should’ve been in bed next to Lizzie, but I’d fucked that up by having a past before her…before life.
So I called in sick, letting someone else take the helm for a night, and let myself go…again. Shit, it was a bender without Lizzie. I don’t even know what I was hoping for. I guess after it got through my thick skull that she was ignoring me, I figured I needed to numb the pain, the pain of Lizzie leaving me, the pain of Callie coming back. Heart, balls, meet my stomach…where I hoped everything would slosh together and somehow cure my aching soul.
Muffin snored on a pillow near the front door, like even he hoped Lizzie would come home. It sucked. So I sucked down even more, breaking into Sean’s absurdly expensive bottle of booze they’d given me as a thank you weeks prior, drowning myself like a fool.
I’d changed into sweat pants and a t-shirt by the time my bottle was half gone, Muffin still snoring like a bastard in the foyer. I missed Lizzie so much, it hurt. Everything ached for her. My skin, my hair, my body, my soul. I was somewhere between drink seven and thirteen when I reached for my quiet phone, not even sure why I dialed Sean’s number…of all people.
His tired voice crackled into the phone. “N-Noah?” Hearing him was a trigger, and no matter how wide my mouth gaped, I couldn’t produce a sound. He asked for me three more times, and all I could do was barely hold the phone in my trembling hand. He was the closest to her I could do in that moment of weakness, and yet I was silent.
“Listen,” Sean’s whisper was stern, “I’m going to assume you’re home…right? Okay…I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
He clicked off, and I was sitting on the couch, slowly realizing how dead I’d feel in the morning, but I couldn’t process how to prevent a hangover from his fancy booze and what I was going to do once he came over. Why’d I call him? Of all people. Because Sean was Lizzie’s best friend. They’re more than friends; they’re a family. I miss her.
Soon enough, he knocked at my door, and I needed to cling to the walls and furniture to answer him. His eyes widened when he saw me, but he pushed himself in and didn’t say anything as he closed the door. I fumbled back to the couch and looked up at him.
He ran a hand through his brown hair, pausing to hold his neck while sighing like I’d gut-punched him. With the other hand crossing his chest, Sean balanced his feet on my floor, shoulder width apart as though preparing for battle.
“You look like crap,” he grunted. “You think this is how to get Lizzie back?”
