Twisted (7 page)

Mackenzie’s face rumples with confusion. “What’s sex?”

“Sex is how babies get made.”

She thinks about it a moment. And then she nods. “Oh. Okay.”

Wow.

And I thought the final exams in business school were hard.

Drew handled that pretty well, don’t you think? he’s good

with kids. Which makes sense, because in so many ways . . . he

still is one.

Alexandra walks into the room. She seems happy, now—now

that she’s showed Steven that his “steel guns” can, in fact, be dented.

She’s all glowy.

“What are we doing in here?”

Drew smiles innocently. “Talking about paint colors.”

Alexandra smiles and strokes her daughter’s hair.

As Mackenzie adds, “And sex.”

Alexandra’s hand stops. “Wait . . . what?”

Drew leans over and whispers in my ear, “We should probably

leave the room now.”

As the door swings closed behind us, we hear “Drew!” And

Alexandra doesn’t sound so happy anymore.

Twisted_1P.indd 51

11/18/13 11:47 AM

52

E m m a c h a s E

At last, dinner is served. The actual eating of the meal is unevent-ful, but during dessert, Alexandra taps her glass with a spoon.

“Everyone—can I have your attention, please?” She beams at

Steven and then goes on. “Mackenzie has an announcement she’d

like to make.”

Mackenzie stands on her chair and proclaims, “My mom and

dad had sex!”

The entire table is silent.

Until Matthew raises his glass. “Congratulations, Steven. It’s like halley’s Comet, right? You only get to come every seventy-five years?”

Delores laughs.

And John clears his throat. Awkwardly. “That’s, ah . . . that’s . . .

very nice, dear.”

Then Frank decides to share. “Sex is good. Keeps you regular. I

make sure I have sex at least three times a week. Not that my Estelle is into any of that freaky-freaky stuff, but in forty years of marriage, she’s never had a headache.”

Estelle smiles proudly beside him.

And Matthew covers his face with his hands.

The rest of us just stare. Eyes wide, mouths slightly opened.

Until Drew throws his head back and laughs. “That’s so great.”

he wipes his eyes, practically crying.

Alexandra shakes her head. “Wait. There’s more. Go ahead,

Mackenzie.”

Mackenzie rolls her eyes. “Well, that means they’re gonna have

a baby, of course. I’m gonna be a big sister!”

Congratulations erupt all around. Anne tears up as she hugs

her daughter. “I’m so happy for you, honey.”

Twisted_1P.indd 52

11/18/13 11:47 AM

t w i s t E d

53

Drew stands and hugs his sister sweetly. “Congratulations,

Lex.” Then he smacks Steven on the back. “I’ll keep the guest room ready for you, man.”

I’m confused. “Guest room?”

Drew explains. “The last time Alexandra was pregnant, she

kicked Steven out—not once, not twice, but
four
fucking times.”

Matthew joins in. “And that’s not counting the time she let

him stay, but she threw all his shit out the window.”

Drew chuckles. “It looked like a Barney’s delivery truck

exploded on Park Avenue. The homeless were never dressed so

well.”

Alexandra rolls her eyes and turns to me. “Pregnancy hor-

mones. They can cause some pretty bad mood swings. I tend to get

a little . . . bitchy . . . when I’m pregnant.”

Drew smirks. “As opposed to the rest of the time, when you’re

just so pleasant?”

You know how some dogs still keep chewing your shoes—no

matter how many times you smack them with a newspaper? They

just can’t resist?

Drew is one of those dogs.

Alexandra turns on her brother like a cat hissing at a snake.

“You know, Drew, being with child? It’s kind of like a ‘get out of jail free’ card. There’s not a jury in the country that would convict me.”

he backs away slowly.

I shake my head at him, then ask Alexandra, “Other than that,

how are you feeling?”

She shrugs. “Tired, mostly. And the vomiting doesn’t help.

Most women get morning sickness, but I get it at night, which

sucks pretty bad.”

Huh

Vomiting.

Twisted_1P.indd 53

11/18/13 11:47 AM

54

E m m a c h a s E

Tired.

Moody.

They certainly sound familiar.

What? Why are you looking at me like that?

No, no—everyone knows the surest sign of pregnancy is a

missed period. And my period’s not due for . . . one . . . two . . .

four . . .

Five . . .

My period was due five days ago.

Oh.

My.

God.

Twisted_1P.indd 54

11/18/13 11:47 AM

Denial is a skill I mastered at a young age.

Don’t think about it. Don’t talk about it. Suck it up.

Choke it down.

I didn’t cry the night my father died.

Not when Sherriff Mitchell came to our door to take us to the

hospital, or when the doctor told us they’d lost him. I didn’t shed a tear during the wake—or at the funeral.

Thank you for your condolences.

Yes, I’ll be strong for my mother.

You’re so kind.

Eight days after he was laid in the ground, my mother was

working in the diner downstairs. I was in our kitchen, trying to

open a jar of pickles.

I walked into my parents’ bedroom and called my Dad for

help. And that’s when it hit me—staring at their empty room. he

wasn’t there. he’d never be there again. I collapsed on the floor and sobbed like a baby.

Twisted_1P.indd 55

11/18/13 11:47 AM

56

E m m a c h a s E

Over a jar of pickles.

It’s that same skill set that gets me through the rest of the night at the Evans’. I smile. I chat. I hug Mackenzie good-bye. Drew and I go home and make love.

And I don’t tell him.

You don’t yell fire in a movie theater unless you’re sure there’re flames.

have you ever seen
Gone with the Wind
? Scarlett O’hara is

my idol.

“I can’t think about this now. I’ll think about it tomorrow.”

So that’s my plan. At least for the moment.

Tomorrow comes quickly.

And apparently God has a sick sense of humor. Because every-

where I turn, I’m surrounded by pregnancy.

Take a look:

The dog walker passing me on the sidewalk, the police

woman directing traffic, the man on the cover of
People
magazine at the newsstand, the fellow executive in the cramped elevator

who looks like she’s smuggling a contraband medicine ball under

her blouse.

I cover my mouth and keep my distance, like a tourist trying

to avoid the swine flu.

Eventually, I make it to my office. I sit at my desk and open my

trusty daily planner.

Yes, I still use a paper-based calendar. Drew bought me a

Blackberry for Christmas, but it’s still in the box. I don’t trust any Twisted_1P.indd 56

11/18/13 11:47 AM

t w i s t E d

57

device capable of banishing my work to the unknown abyss with

the touch of a button

I like paper. It’s solid—real. To destroy it, you have to burn it.

Usually I’m pretty anal retentive. I write
everything
down. I’m a banker—we live and die by the schedule. But lately I’ve been

distracted; preoccupied by exhaustion and the overall feeling of

crappiness. So I missed the fact that I’d started a new pack of birth control pills, but never got a period for the last one.

And speaking of birth control pills—what’s up with that?

Ninety-nine-point-nine percent effective, my ass
.

It’s the same statistical accuracy of those pee-on-a-stick preg-

nancy tests—so I’m not going near one of those. Instead, I pick up the phone and call the office of Dr. Roberta Chang.

Remember those four other students who Delores, Billy, and

I lived with off campus in Pennsylvania? Bobbie was one of them.

her husband, Daniel, was another.

Bobbie’s an amazing person. her parents emigrated from

Korea when she was just a baby. She’s petite—tiny enough to shop

at GAP Kids—but she’s got the personality of an Amazon.

She’s also a brilliant ob/gyn. That would be a baby doctor for

you guys out there.

Bob and her husband moved to New York just a few months

ago. I haven’t seen her in years, but ours is one of those friendships that can go a decade without contact; then when we finally do get

together, it’s like we haven’t missed a day.

I make an appointment and automatically mark it in my

planner.

Bob—7:00.

I close the book and place it next to the phone on my desk.

Then I glance at the clock and realize I’m late for a meeting.

Shit.

Twisted_1P.indd 57

11/18/13 11:47 AM

58

E m m a c h a s E

I grab a folder and head out the door.

Still not thinking about it . . . in case you were wondering.

When I get back two hours later, Drew is sitting at my desk, tap-

ping a pen impatiently against the dark wood. We usually eat lunch together—order in—and share it in one of our offices.

“hey.”

he glances up. “hi.”

“Did you already order, or were you waiting for me?”

he looks confused. “huh?”

I perch myself on the edge of the desk. “Lunch, Drew. That’s

why you’re here, right?”

he shakes his head. “Actually, I wanted to check in with you about dinner. A new place opened in Little Italy, and I could really go for some pasta. I was going to make reservations for us tonight. At seven.”

I freeze.

I don’t have a lot of practice with lying. Not since high school,

anyway. Even then, there weren’t a lot of outright lies. More . . .

omissions of activities my mother would have blown a gasket over.

When it was necessary to lie, Delores was my go-to girl, my alibi.

That hasn’t changed.

“I can’t tonight. Delores wants to have a girl’s night. We haven’t had one of those in awhile.”

Let’s pause for a moment. This is important.

Can you see his face? Look closely or you’ll miss it.

For just a second, there’s a flash of surprise. A touch of

anger . . . maybe hurt. But then he catches himself, and his expres-Twisted_1P.indd 58

11/18/13 11:47 AM

t w i s t E d

59

sion smooths back out to neutral. I missed that look the first time around. You should remember it. It’ll make a lot more sense in

about ten hours.

Drew’s voice is flat. Like a detective trying to trip up a perpe-

trator. “You just saw Delores last night.”

My stomach gurgles like Pop Rocks in soda. “That was differ-

ent—everyone was there. Tonight it’ll just be the two of us. We’ll grab a few drinks, eat some fattening appetizers, and then I’ll come home.”

Drew stands, his movements hurried, tense. “Fine, Kate. Do

whatever the fuck you want.”

he tries to walk past me, but I grab onto his belt. “hey. Don’t

be like that. We can go out to dinner tomorrow night. Don’t be

mad.”

he lets me pull him closer, but he doesn’t say anything. I give

him a flirty smile. “Come on, Drew. Let’s do lunch. And then

afterward, you can do me.”

I rub my hand up his chest, trying to soften him up.

But he doesn’t give. “I can’t. I have some work to finish. I’ll talk to you later. ”

he kisses my forehead, and his lips seem to linger a moment

longer than normal. Then he pulls back and walks away.

In New York City, there’s one thing you can depend on. Expect. It’s not the mail, or the kindness of your fellow man.

It’s rush-hour traffic. Never fails. It’s what I’m sitting in right now.

Twisted_1P.indd 59

11/18/13 11:47 AM

60

E m m a c h a s E

Bumper to bumper.

I tried calling Delores three times to fill her in on my covert

operation, but she didn’t answer. Cell phones aren’t allowed in the lab. I also haven’t seen Drew since he walked out of my office, and that’s a good thing. I really don’t want to talk to him until I know what I’m dealing with.

When you’re alone in a practically unmoving vehicle, there’s

really not much to do.

Except think.

Can you guess what I’m thinking about? Even the strongest

dam is going to crack eventually.

Scarlett O’hara has left the building.

Did you ever hear the story about Delores’s father? It’s a

doozy.

When we were young, Amelia told Delores that her daddy just

couldn’t live with them. She kept it simple—kind. But when she

was older, Delores got the full story.

Amelia grew up in California. Can’t you just picture it? Amelia

the surfer chick—young and tan, lean and laid back.

When she was seventeen, she met a guy at the Santa Mon-

ica Pier—dark hair, chiseled arms, and eyes the color of jade. his name was Joey Martino. They had an instant “connection,” and

like Juliet before her, Amelia fell fast and hard.

Then it came time for Joey to move on, and he asked Amelia

to come with him. her mother told her if she walked out the door,

she wouldn’t be allowed to walk back in.

Ever.

Amelia hugged her little sister good-bye and hopped on the

back of Joey’s harley. About six weeks later, they were passing

through Greenville, Ohio.

Twisted_1P.indd 60

11/18/13 11:47 AM

t w i s t E d