Life Interrupted (4 page)

             
I can hear her talking when we step inside, and her voice is immediately followed by a high squeal and then a giggle.  We follow the sound down the hall to the kitchen and are both brought up short at the sight of my grandmother in pink and black hot-pants (which are basically spandex) with a matching tank top slicked over her torso.  She has pink kitten heals on her feet and is currently swiveling her non-existent hips in what is surely meant to be a salsa like dance.  I’m struck with twin urges to scream and laugh.  One look at Tripp’s pale face and bulging eyes does the trick.  My laughter bursts out, then so does Tripp’s and I’m not entirely sure there isn’t a horrified sob or two mingled in with it.

             
I recover first.

“Hey, G,
hot date tonight?”

             
Gracie squeals again as she sees us and I go immediately to her tray as G saunters across the kitchen to turn down the music that’s blaring out of the television.

             
“Rae Rae and Tripp.  Oh my goodness, how’s my handsome man?”

             
I smile again as G throws herself into Tripp’s arms and he has no other choice than to catch her and hold on.  The way she’s pressed up against him is less than appropriate, but her appreciation for men doesn’t see age or rules—it only sees beauty.  (Especially beauty that comes in the form of broad shoulders and a tall frame.)

             
Tripp has been the recipient of many affectionate hugs from G, and still, his face turns pink and he throws me a look of absolute terror as she starts to wiggle against him, prodding at him to move his feet and dance with her.

             
Although I find the picture amusing, as there’s always going to be a part of me that enjoys seeing Tripp suffer even just a tiny bit, I take pity on him and bring Gracie over, where she promptly reaches for him, her almost-words babbling out and over, making no sense except to convey her joy at seeing him.

             
Throwing herself at him, just like her mama.  Only he gladly takes Gracie into his arms and begins tickling her.  The part of me that always wishes she was his aches at the sight of them, and then I remember that it’s okay that she’s mine alone because Tripp has a future he needs to get to.

             
“So, I assume the outfit is because you’re going out with Walter?” I ask G as I start to pick up toys that are strewn over every surface possible.

             
She waggles her eyebrows.  “He said he likes my curves so I thought I’d surprise him. What do you think?”

             
She wiggles those nonexistent hips again and does a shimmy that has other parts moving like a pendulum. I hear Tripp suck in a breath before turning his back and letting Gracie pull him in the other direction to show off her treasures.  My own sense of decency is warring with my love for her.  Note to self: when boobs start hanging down to places south of the belly button, wear loose fitting clothing and a compression bra at all times so as to not scare away grandchildren and unsuspecting best friends.

             
“Bright,” is all I can come up with and continue picking up toys.

             
She cackles out a laugh and bends down to help me.  I’m secretly glad I’m turned away from her so I don’t have to see the lycra stretch over those unwanted areas.

             
“Hey, G, can you watch Gracie Saturday night?” I ask as I pack Gracie’s blanket and Lovey into her bag. 

             
Tripp enters the room again, his eyes fixed firmly on Gracie and I smirk. Coward.

             
“Hot date?” G asks and I grin.

             
“A date, at least.”  If Richie is anything like Doug,
hot
isn’t the adjective I would use to describe him. Homely, unmotivated, wannabe gangster.  Christ, maybe I should have G ask Walter if he has a friend.

             
She cackles again and I turn to look at Tripp so I don’t have to see the dance move I’m sure is about to follow.  There’s only so much a girl can handle in one visit.  He’s studying me with a furrowed brow.

             
“What?”

             
“Who are you going out with?”

             
I’d rather eat worms than admit Katie set me up, so I shrug instead.  “A guy.  You don’t know him.  He’s older.” 
And most likely a douche with a frat boy haircut and a motorcycle he barely knows how to drive.

             
“Where did you meet him?”

             
I haven’t, I’m just pathetic enough to accept blind dates that are ninety percent guaranteed to suck.
“Around.  What’s with the third degree?”

             
He shrugs as he hoists Gracie up and takes her bag from me, reminding me just how much he’s always helped me.  I grind my teeth together.  That’s because he’s a friend. My best friend.  Nothing more. 

             
“You don’t usually go out.”

             
I shrug.  “Things change.”

             
His eyes stay on mine for a second before he inclines his head.  “Guess so.”  And then he turns and says goodbye to G.

             
No matter how many people help you, or how great of a routine you get into, having a baby makes you different.  Having a baby in high school? See you later.

             
Which is why by three p.m. on Saturday I’ve run out of options and I’m sending Katie a text baling on tonight.  Tripp was right when he said I don’t go out, and really, it’s not always because I don’t have anywhere to be, it’s just too fucking difficult sometimes.

             
I just got a call from G who is down with a cold.  Apparently, Walter was sick when they went out on Thursday…I blocked the rest of her explanation out, as I don’t really want to know what kind of spit-swapping they did.  I was okay assuming that she got a cold from airborne germs.  Needless to say, I no longer have a babysitter for tonight.  Which means I no longer have a date, which translates into staying single and alone for the rest of my life.  Maybe I’ll get a cat when Gracie grows up.

Since Katie apparently
has this exact same thought, I barely press send before my phone is ringing in my hand.  Katie’s name blares at me from the screen and I contemplate not answering.  I know she’ll just call back so I bite the bullet and press accept.

“I’m sorry.”

“What the HELL, Flow? You said you would do this.  I promised Doug and he and Richie made plans.  You can’t just back out.”

I hold the phone a good inch away from my ear to keep from going deaf as she yells at me.  “Katie, I said I was sorry.
G just got sick and cancelled.  Stacy and Nick are on some couples retreat—” (aka baby making excursion, since her HOW TO book said spicing up the sex life can lead to pregnancy)—“and mom’s guest lecturing at some sorority about the length of a woman’s sex drive.” 

Unfortunately, I’m not making any of t
his up.  My mom teaches biology and human sexuality.  She lectures to thousands of college students each year about how their body works, and how to work their body. I don’t know if it’s more or less mortifying because her oldest daughter is probably taking her advice and getting freaky to get her fallopian tubes working, or because I got pregnant as a teenager, ignoring all biological talks my mother ever gave me as a child.

“Flow,” Katie says and I can tell she isn’t going to back down.  “It’s been two years since you went on something resembling a date.  I have a hot guy who wants to meet you.”

I roll my eyes and wave at Georgina Jones—Tripp’s mom and my boss—as she walks into the office where I’m cataloguing the items that need to be ordered.  “Katie, I’m really sorry.  I want to go, but I told you, I don’t hav
e anyone to watch Gracie.  Can we reschedule?”

Georg
ie taps me on the shoulder and I look up.  She points to herself and wiggles her eyebrows, mouthing
me, me
.

I quirk my brow in an
Are you sure?
face and she nods double time.

“Katie, I may have found someone, let me call you back.”

I hang up the phone, cutting off Katie’s squeal of delight.

“Georgie, you don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, hon, I know I don’t have to but please, I’ve been dying for another chance to see my girl.  It’s been two weeks since you were over with her.”

Georgina Jones—not to be confused with George Jones, as she always says—has the eyes of her youngest son
, that midnight blue that shines out of thick black lashes, and the charisma and charm that she bestowed upon all three of them.  After I had Gracie, she hired me to take the Saturday shift at the auto shop whenever I wasn’t traveling so she could spend more time at home.  We both knew it was an excuse, as she’s here most Saturdays for a few hours anyway, but I’m too grateful for the small income to call her on it, and she wouldn’t be receptive if I did.

If there’s one thing having three boys has taught her, it’s to ignore any and all complaints, suggestions, or statements that don’t support her ideas.  It seems to work as her husband and sons treat her like a princess
…or a really demanding queen, which suits her just fine as well.

Since this thought makes me think of Tripp and how he treats me, save the one time he spent the night with me and left me hanging, I shove it to the back of my mind. Not going there.

“I might be late,” I say and she waves that away with a
pfft
.

“
I have three grown boys, late isn’t even on my radar. I’ll put her down in her pac-n-play and you can wake her and take her when you’re done or you can stay.”

I almost tell her for a second time that she doesn’t have to do this, that I can just stay home with her and go out another night.  And then I realize that it’s not so much that I don’t want to inconvenience her, it’s that I’m a little nervous to go out.  With a boy.  On a date.  That
Katie had to set up because I’m obviously incapable of getting one myself.

Wow,
with that kind of perspective…

“Thanks, Georgie,” I hear myself say.  “
I wouldn’t ask you to do this but I promised Katie, and well, it’s been a while since I actually did anything but laundry on a Saturday night.”  Again with the perspective.  My conviction to go and enjoy myself tonight gets stronger.  “You can call me to come get her if she gets to be too much.  She’s taken to ordering people around lately.”

“Good, I’ll give her to Jack
for a while and let her boss him around. He needs it.”  I laugh, but it sounds forced even to me and she leans over the desk to kiss my cheek.  If she sees my panic, she doesn’t call me one it.  “Bring over multiple outfits, huh? You know how much I like to play dress up with that girl.”

~

I’m ten minutes late dropping Gracie off and goddammit if I’ll admit one more time that I’m nervous and therefore couldn’t pick a fucking shirt.  Halfway through my wardrobe (and I do mean halfway), I realized that everything I own is either a t-shirt or a sweatshirt or some sort of workout shirt.  And most of those have suspicious looking stains on them.  Digging further to the back, I was sure there must be something somewhat appropriate to wear on a date from my pre-pregnancy days.  When I found that this was not the case, I sat dumbfounded for ten minutes.  What the hell did I do before I had Gracie? Even more puzzling, how the eff did I get
pregnant
with Gracie?

Booz
e.  Lots and lots of booze. Right, mental note: stay sober. Gracie doesn’t need a brother.

Since no matter how long I stared, ranted, or thre
w clothing around my room nothing new appeared, I finally yanked on a black razor back tank and a jean jacket with a pair of black skinny jeans and my Chuck Taylors.  Katie is no doubt going to kill me.

At this point, I might beat her to it.

Jerking the Explorer to a stop in Tripp’s driveway, I can’t help but laugh as Gracie giggles at the lurching motion.  I unbuckle her, talking the whole time because like the tantrum with the clothes, I can’t seem to calm myself enough to breathe.  I’m panting when I reach the door, not just from carting Gracie and all of her things, but from babbling like an idiot.

Just as I force myself to stop, to take
a deep breath and chill the hell out, the door opens and Tripp is standing on the other side.  Shirtless.  And sweaty.  He smiles and it spreads across his face, reaching his eyes last as he scans me in a very thorough once over.

Sweet baby Jesus
, there goes my breath again.

While I stand there and stare at him like an idiot, he takes his time staring right back at me.  Heat spreads up and over me as his eyes roam down and pause on my legs (that’s right, the one thing I have that Lovely Lauren doesn’t)
and I suck in a breath.  It might as well be his hands the way I’m tingling.  When his eyes travel just as slowly back up, I’m aware that in the background Gracie is reaching for him, garbling out her version of his name as I continue to stand still as a statue with her on my hip and my eyes on him.

“Hey, Rachel.”
I nod at him, not sure my voice is working. 
Pull it together, Rae, don’t let him know you’re affected.
  I’m just about to say something—I have no idea what since my breath is still clogged in my lungs and the sight of that deep v that reaches the waistband of his shorts up close has dried up all of the moisture in my mouth—when he speaks again and ruins the moment.  “Nice shoes.”

Dick
head.  I’m broken out of my worshipful gaze and brought back down to Earth with a thud as he takes Gracie and turns to walk away with a laugh.  Mentally chewing myself out for being such an idiot, and then chewing him out for being such a prick, I follow, slamming the door a little harder than necessary.  When I reach the kitchen, I’m all smiles for his parents, grateful as always for their support. The fact that Georgie and Jack welcomed me into their family and gave me a job after I got pregnant only made me more indebted to Tripp, which is one of the reasons I’ve never confronted him about our night together—or the every-now-and-then moments since, when he looks at me like he just did, like he could see me as I had been that night.  Like he
wanted
to see me. 

He’s
my best friend, and because of that when he asked them to help, his family opened their arms to Gracie and me.  I owe him for that.

Which is another reason I don’t talk about
that
night.  His parents have never been anything but good to me, even when Tripp and I were barely speaking.  I think Georgie knows that something happened, but she’s never said anything, just continued to be my second mom and when I showed up at their house pregnant and mortified, apologizing all over myself for being such a disappointment, she wrapped me in a hug and whispered “Griff’s birthday might not be an entire nine months from our wedding day.”

Of all the things people said to me, it was one that made me realize I still had a fighting chance at finding a life beyond what I’d done in a moment of impulse.

So, as much as I want to slam my fist into Tripp’s stomach—or his pretty face—at this moment, I don’t, because whatever happened between us, he and his family never left me and when I really needed him, when I was throwing up every morning and sobbing uncontrollably for no reason other than it felt good, he was there.  He put together furniture and helped me paint her nursery, brought me ice cream and then sat with me in the hospital after she was born and everyone else was getting ready for New Years parties. 

I take Gracie from him after showing Georgie all of her food and bottles, where her
jammies and Lovey are, which books she likes read to her before bed, which blanket she takes.  Kissing her a few times, I then go through the routine of high-five, tickle monster and silly spider before I know I have to let her go. 

“She’ll be fine,” Tripp says, and
there’s no malice or teasing in it.  He knows how hard it is for me to walk away from her sometimes, how hard it is to ask someone to watch her and know that I’m not letting her down, not like I once did.  Each time I leave Gracie with someone else during a time that I should normally be with her, I feel a little panicky, like I’m choosing something or someone over her.  I don’t ever want her to feel like a burden or an afterthought. 

It’s strange, I never really cared that
I only had one parent before Gracie, but now…I guess I just want to be enough for her.  Her life is already going to be different, she’s already going to deal with the stigma of teen-mom and no dad; I don’t want her to deal with it alone.  Dropping her off is hard, but when Georgie takes her and I see Jack stand behind her and make a face, I remind myself that she won’t ever be alone, just like I wasn’t.

I kiss her one last time, smiling as she comes at me with an open mouth.

“Careful, sister, or the boys will be chasing you before you know it.”  I run a hand through her curls and then wave to the room in general before leaving.  Tripp says my name and I stop, turning to stare at him.  His eyes are guarded when he speaks, but I can see something beneath his stance, the way he holds himself, and it makes me yearn.

“Be safe.”

My heart sinks but I slap a smile on my face and mock salute.  “Aye-aye, captain.”