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A flash of pain fleetingly passes over his face, but it’s so acute, so heartbreaking.
Jericho. His father’s name. His father. And then Billie’s words come back to me. His father committed suicide.
“Josh.” I swallow hard because what I’m going to say doesn’t come easily. It’s not that I don’t mean it, but how do you even discuss something like this? “I didn’t know about your dad. How he—Well, Billie told me— And… gosh, I’m sorry.” My words are all over the place. I know I don’t make a lick of sense. “I’m sorry your dad’s gone,” is what I finally end with.
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry about your mom. That she isn’t.”
That’s a repeat of the last time we spoke about this. I don’t flinch. His rancor toward my mother is nothing new, and she’s done a lot to deserve it, probably more than he’ll ever know about.
“Why? Why did your dad…?”
I have to ask. I liked Jericho, whom I called Mr. Jericho for the longest time until he finally told me I wasn’t allowed to call him mister.Just plain ol’ Jericho,he’d told me. From that point on, he’d been Jericho to me, at least until Josh and I ended. After that, I never reached out to him.
Josh finally answers. “Brokenhearted.”
I assume it’s about his mom. I’m not going to ask anything else. Plus, I have my own confessing to do. Time to get to it. “I was pregnant. You already know that.”
He nods.
“Well, I left town—”
“And broke up with me in a text,” he reminds me. It’s not like I’ve forgotten. How could I?
“Yeah, I shouldn’t have done that. Crappy of me.”
“Crappy to take away a baby that didn’t only belong to you. Did you want to have an abortion?”
“It was too late for that,” I admit, though I won’t say whether or not I wanted to. I can’t say. God, I’m not even sure what to say to that. Would I have ever wanted to get rid of a baby that might have been Josh’s clone? I know in my soul I’d have never wanted to do that.
“So, then what happened?” His eyes are narrow, boring deep into me.
I didn’t notice it as much before, but now it hits me. He’s got dark circles beneath them, and his face, though still gorgeous, looks gaunt. He must be pulling extra shifts or work because he looks like hell. Ghoulishly exhausted, that’s the only way I can describe it.
I inhale deeply and puff out my cheeks. “Short story, there were complications. I was unconscious when the baby was born. Stillborn.”
His eyes now became slits. “Stillborn.” That’s all he says.
35
SHITTING MACHINES AND HUMMINGBIRDS
JOSH
I know it wasn’t easy for Cass to tell me about the baby. Or at least what she knows about it. It was redeeming to find out that she wasn’t a party to the entire fiasco. That she was unconscious when she gave birth to our child. I don’t tell her what else I know. And damned if I know why I didn’t tell her.
Fast forward to now. Even though I’m running myself ragged trying to do both Billie’s and Isaiah’s jobs while they tend to a shitting, eating, crying machine named Jericho, who just so happens to be the damned cutest thing ever born, I still make sure to stay in contact with Cass. I bring her around more because no, hell no, there’s no way I’m going to hang out at her place with her roomies, the drama, and the boys that seem to cluster around them like hummingbirds on a sugar-water feeder in Texas in September, right before they get ready for their trek south. The hummingbirds head south, not the boys. Sadly.
It's been two weeks since I ran into her at the club. She’s been here at least every other night when she’s not working. She’s a barista at one of the local coffee shops. I’d offer her a job here—God knows, I need the help—but there’s something about taking things to that level that has me pulling away from the thought, probably because I need to be honest with her. There are some things that I know that I haven’t shared with her. Important things. Things that matter. So, yup, for now, we wait. At least until I get to the point where I can be a lot more upfront about stuff. One day. One day soon, I will. Right now, I’m enjoying having Cass in my life again.
Speak of the devil—or would that be she-devil?—though really, she’s more like an angel, she appears at my door. Yeah, she has a key. So what? It’s not like it’s a key to my heart. Though, if I have to be honest, she’s had that since day one.
“Hey,” she says, planting a kiss on my lips.
I have a surprise for her. “Let’s take a weekend.”
“Really? What about the bar? What with Billie and Isaiah—”
“It’s covered.”
