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“Mom. It went terrible. And whatever they said to Alec really affected him. I keep expecting him to go running for the hills, screaming.”
“Aw, poor boy,” my mom says with a sigh. “But your brothers are just being protective. They just care about you—and after what Mason put you through, promising and yet never delivering, I guess they want to see more action and less talk. They’ll get over it.”
“But when?” I mutter, looking at the computer screen and my shopping cart full of stuff. “He is full of action. He takes me everywhere I need to go. He comes to all my doctor’s appointments. He pays for everything—I mean, listen to this. He just surprised me with a $500 gift card to buy necessities for the baby. He’s stepping up.”
“I’m sure. You know I love Alec. But I’m not the one you need to convince,” she says. “Maybe you should meet up with them and discuss it? Just you three?”
“I guess.” She’s right. That’s absolutely what I need to do.
But then again, there’s a little gnawing inside me, and I don’t realize what it is until after I hang up.
I’d like to think I know Alec really well.
But I thought I knew Mason well, too.
My brothers were Alec’s best friends for the longest time.
Maybe I’m just afraid of them telling me something about him that I don’t know.
If my past is any indication of my future, it’s only a matter of time before the other shoe drops.
Because it always does.
34
Alec
When I find the right book, I pump my fist. I’d do a happy dance in the aisle, but I’d probably cause a book avalanche.
I’m a regular at A Likely Story now, spending an hour or so there every few weeks to pick up a new book for Stassi. This time, for her O, she told me to surprise her.
Didn’t take long for me to locate the perfect book, in the Charles Dickens section.
Oliver Twist.
Old Ollie.
We won’t find out the sex of the baby until the twenty-week ultrasound, which is in another week. Things have been going all right. The more positive steps I take, the more distance I feel between myself and that shitty picture Aidan and Cooper painted of me a few weeks back. There’s a little voice inside me that keeps saying, I’m not that guy, I’m not that guy, I’m not that guy, and the more good things I do for the baby, the more I believe it.
Right now, I’m feeling pretty good about myself.
Fuck them. Fuck them for having a bone to pick with me, all these years, and never coming right out and saying it.
The old man at the checkout counter, who I’ve learned is named Steve, actually seems cordial as he checks out the pile of books I’ve selected. He holds up the secondhand Goodnight Moon and Guess How Much I Love You board books. “You got little ones?”
I nod. “Will. In December.”
“Nice.” And he actually smiles.
After that, on my walk through the public market, I pick up some fresh pasta, Italian bread, and rosemary-infused olive oil, plus a jar of gourmet olives, so I can make Stassi dinner. As I’m checking out, my phone rings. It’s the contractor I hired to make sure the apartment is up to code. I didn’t care much about the place before, when it was just me, but now it’s different. “Hey, Mike,” I say, grabbing the bag and heading up to the parking garage.
“Hey, Al. Just wanted to let you know, I’m planning on being there tomorrow at 9?”
“Sounds good.” I smile. Tomorrow's my day off, and I’m planning to get a lot accomplished. “How long do you think the inspection will take?”
“Couple of hours,” he says. “Depending on how much you want to have done.”
“I guess I’ll see what the damage is.”
I figure we should have it get us through the first year or so, and then we can look into buying a house, maybe somewhere inland. But I don’t want to do too much, too soon. “See you then.”
I have a spring in my step as I make my way to my Tacoma, throw my purchases in the passenger seat, and head for home. As I drive, I put in a call to Stassi to tell her I’ll be making dinner, but she doesn’t answer. Knowing her, she’s probably working on the plans for the nursery, and that baby brain of hers has her forgetting her phone everywhere. Last night, I’d found it in the fridge, right next to an empty jar of olives.
When I get to the complex, it’s dark. Next to it, Stassi’s apartment is lit up, and Madison is outside, grabbing her mail. “Hey, stranger,” she says as I step out.
“Hey. You see Stassi around?” It’s odd. She doesn’t have a car, so she’s usually home when I get home.
