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“Sir, I’ve got your mom on the phone. Okay to put her through?” It’s my receptionist. What is she still doing here?
“Sure, and when you do, go home. It’s late. I’ve got things covered here.”
A click, and then I hear my mom talking, probably to my dad. There are more important things to worry about right now, she says, her voice muffled.
I picture her manicured fingers covering the phone as she chides my dad, who’s probably pacing around their swanky hotel suite, wearing out the lush carpeting with the soles of his Italian leather shoes as he reads and re-reads my email.
“Mom? How’s it going?” I ask, glancing down at my watch. “Isn’t it real late there?”
“Hey, Luke. We just got to the hotel, thought we’d give you a quick call to let you know we got here safe.” A pause tells me there’s something she’s not saying.
Obviously, she wants me to tell her things with Tessa are amazing and we’re browsing through cribs and diapers online together right now.
But I can’t say the things she wants to hear. In fact, I’m really not in the mood for this conversation right now.
“That’s . . . great, Mom. Enjoy your trip, okay?” I say a little quiet prayer that she’d take the hint and leave me alone.
“What are you still doing at the office?” she asks in a motherly tone, concern in her voice. Is she worried about me, Tessa, or the baby?
“We had a little mix up here with a few things. I’ve just been making sure things get smoothed over. Nothing to worry about. My guys are on the case. I thought I’d stay here, just to make sure things are okay,” I reply, trying to play down the almighty fuck-up that has occurred.
“I heard from your Dad. He’s worried sick.” she says, sounding a little worried herself.
“I’ve just emailed him. Like I said, everything’s okay. Tell him everything’s in the email, and tell him to stop worrying. I don’t want your romantic getaway spoiled by something he should have stopped worrying about when he retired,” I say, hoping she manages to get my old man to calm down.
A short, pregnant pause.
“How’s it going with Tessa? Everything okay with you two?” Mom asks, unable to restrain herself any longer. “She’s a sweet girl, Luke. You can’t let this come between you two. Maybe she was scared, or had only just found out herself. You shouldn’t be too hard on her, son.”
I sigh.
My mother would probably be right—if this were a real marriage. But she has no idea what our relationship is really like.
Still, I think briefly about my parents, who are still happily married after 35 long years. Still very much in love, the relationship stronger than ever.
I’ve always looked up to them both a great deal, and I’ve always thought that, one day, I’d like to have what they have. A strong, loving marriage, able to withstand anything that life throws at it.
I had deluded myself that I would be able to find that with Tessa, but now I’m not so sure.
“We . . . Well, we haven’t spoken since dinner. I just need some time, is all. To process this. And now with this thing at work taking up my day, I haven’t had time to think about much else.” I reply, the words sounding lame even to my own ears. But I don’t feel like explaining what’s really going on with us.
My mum tuts, and I can tell she’s shaking her head in disappointment. “Well, promise me you’ll talk to her tomorrow. Think of the good times, Luke. Remember how good you two are together. Try and make this work, okay? We’re both rooting for you.”
I smile at my Mom’s words. Oh, she’s completely clueless.
My Mom and I chat idly for a little longer, and I promise to try and make amends with Tessa. I don’t even know if I’m lying, but I don’t want to give my Mom a sleepless night worrying about us.
She hangs up, and I settle back into my chair, finishing the whiskey.
What am I going to do about this whole mess?
I look down at my desk to see the annulment documents I received from Tessa’s lawyer earlier tonight. I’ve been trying not to think about her, but seeing the document brings back a flood of emotions.
Did she really plan on doing me like this, getting the marriage annulled and never telling me about the baby?
I sigh, rising to my feet and pacing across my office. I’m stressed, upset, and still a little angry as I stop next to the drinks counter to one side of my office.
Shrugging to myself, I pour out another large measure of single-malt scotch whiskey into a crystal tumbler. The whiskey burns pleasantly as I sip it. A pleasant, warm relaxation settles over me as I return to my chair. Putting my feet up on my desk, I lean back and stare at the ceiling.
