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I wash up and sit beside my dad, who puts his arm around me and says everything will be okay.
“This is a fresh story, sweetheart, but tomorrow, there will be a new one, and yours will have been pushed to the back pages. Stay here, relax, and give yourself and Aaron some breathing room. You will get through this, and Aaron will come around. He cares for you and has always done right by you. This will be no different.”
I nod through the deluge of tears and information. I know my dad means well, but he did not see how hurt Aaron was, how angry he became. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen Aaron upset. I can count on one finger the times I’ve seen him angry — last night, at me.
I call my client and say I need an extra few days, and she okays it without asking any questions. “Take as much time as you need, Erica.”
I’m sure the tone of my voice told her volumes. My suitcase is at Aaron’s, so I buy some toiletries and clothes to get me through. I’m like a stalker. I check my phone every few minutes, hoping Aaron called or texted. I thought I heard the doorbell and ran to answer it, only to find no one there. I pace, I sit, I scroll, and I surf. I can’t keep my mind on anything. I try to read, but I can’t concentrate. I feel like I’m being gutted.
My dad says, “Please do anything else but what you are doing now. You’re making me crazy.”
I throw myself into the chair, legs hanging over the side. I sigh loudly every five minutes. I can’t take it. I call Aaron.
Damn. The beep comes — voicemail. Do I leave a message?Beep. Too late. Now when he checks his voicemail, it will be nothing but silence.Come on, Aaron, please talk to me, I whisper to myself.
But the day goes by without a call, text, or message from him. I spend the next two days on Groundhog Day. Silence.
On the day before I’m supposed to be back in San Francisco, I make another attempt to contact Aaron. I leave a brief message. Then, I book my flight.
I get a call from my mom. “I heard from your dad. He told me everything. Honey, why didn’t you just tell me how you felt about me setting you up on dates? I would have listened.”
I shake my head and chuckle, “Mom, I said no a hundred million times to your fix-ups. Was that not enough of a clue that I didn’t want to be set up?”
I hear the frustration in my voice and take a few beats to breathe. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. I did what I did and need to own up to my responsibility for it. I’m keeping the baby. I will fly out tomorrow and finish the album, and then I’ll come back here to have the baby.”
I hear tears in my mom’s voice.
“I’ll make the extra room into a nursery for the baby. You can stay with us as long as you would like. We will help you, and we will get through this.” Her excitement won out, and by the end of our conversation, I felt better than I had in days.
“Thanks, Mom. I love you. I’ll call when I get settled. Bye.” We hung up, and I packed a small duffle bag with the few things I purchased. Hopefully, Aaron will send my bag as I asked.
The next day, my dad drives me to the airport. I stalled at the house, hoping Aaron would come at the last minute. He didn’t even bother to respond to my message.
I hug my dad at the curb. “Love you, Dad. Thanks for letting me stay this weekend.”
“Anything for you, my sweet girl. Take care of yourself and my grandbaby.”
I smile. That’s the first I’ve heard Dad acknowledge the tiny pearl in my uterus. I touch my abdomen and agree to take good care of my pearl and myself.
I’m through security and at my gate with 20 minutes to spare. I grab a water and pray I get an aisle seat.
My boarding group is called, and I don’t get an aisle seat, but I get a window seat. The only saving grace is that there is no one in the middle. I get comfortable and take one last look at my phone. Nothing. I put it on airplane mode and slide it into my bag. I guess I have my answer. As the plane takes off, I whisper to my little pearl, “It’s just you and me.”
****
“Why don’t you go home and get some rest, Erica? You look exhausted.”
My client is looking at me with concern. Since I returned, we have worked nearly non-stop to complete this album. We had some technical issues in the studio that held us up for a few days, so that didn’t help. I do feel quite tired. I’m tempted to take her up on the offer, but an idea hits me, and I have to get it down on paper before it disappears. It’s another hour before I actually give in and go home.
The weather has been excellent, a bit on the warm side, but not too bad. We got some much-needed rain today, and I stepped out into the cool fresh air. I swear, rain cleanses the aura, and it smells sweet, wiped clean of all the toxins we release into it. Or, it could just be hormones.
I get into the car and mentally rummage through the fridge. I don’t have anything to eat or cook. I think the baby might be craving some Italian meatballs. I call my order at my favorite restaurant and put the car in gear. I put some smooth jazz on to help me wind down and relax. The roads are still slick from earlier rain, so I go the speed limit. I am, after all, driving for two.
I’m humming along when I get to the parking lot and pick up my order. I open the bag and take a deep breath. “These smell amazing, Antonio. I know I tell you this every time, but your food is the most authentic Italian food I have ever had.”
I take another deep breath. Mmmm.
The owner smiles wide, “Miss Erica, you are our favorite customer.”
