Some Women (17 page)

“Yeah. And I know. I'm planning to tell him and ask him to come with me. I couldn't get in for a couple more weeks, so I've got time.”

“Why didn't you just drop CeCe's name?” Piper asked.

“I don't know. I felt weird about it. There are all these women just as desperate to get pregnant as I am, probably more so, since many of them are older. It just didn't seem right to get ahead of
them because my mother-in-law met the doctor at some fancy charity gala.”

“That's awfully nice of you,” Annabel interjected. “I'm not sure I would have been that considerate.”

“Thanks. Truth be told, I'm also happy for the extra time to convince Trevor.”

“It's pretty amazing . . .” Annabel started, without finishing her thought. And then sat silently, as did the other women.

“What is?” Mackenzie prompted, as she and Piper shared another look. Another look that Annabel witnessed.

“Don't worry; I'm not going to fall apart again. At least not this minute.” She smiled and then frowned. “It's amazing that here we sit. Three fabulous ladies, at least in my estimation. And yet there's something missing from all of our lives—or, in Piper's case, one person too many. Why is that? Why can't we all just be happy and whole?”

“We will be.” Mackenzie leaned in to hug Annabel, and Piper did the same.

“How do you know?”

“I guess I don't.” She shrugged. “But I have a feeling everything will work itself out.”

“I want to see her photo,” Annabel announced suddenly.

“Who's photo?” Piper asked instinctively, even though they all knew whose photo she meant.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Mackenzie declared emphatically.

“Neither do I,” Piper echoed with similar force.

“I need to see it. I need to know what she looks like,” Annabel insisted.

“You're a glutton for punishment,” Mackenzie mumbled disapprovingly.

“It's my decision—for better or for worse. Let's have it.”

Piper dug through her purse for her cell and, once she'd found it, scrolled through her text messages for the picture of Henry's
friend
. “Are you sure about this?” She held the phone to her chest.

“As sure as I'll ever be.” Annabel inhaled a deep breath and then exhaled before taking the phone from Piper's steady grasp. She stared at the photo for a split second and then, without hesitation, looked up at both of them. “Holy shit. I know this woman.” She nearly choked on her own words.

“Who is she?” Mackenzie and Piper shared an anxious glance.

“Her name is Lillian Duffy.” Annabel closed her eyes. “And she used to work for my husband.”

Had she known this day would arrive eventually? If you'd asked Piper prior to Christmas, she'd have balked at the implausibility of ever having Max back in her life in any way. Although she'd certainly spent weeks, months, even a year or two, if she was being honest, expecting him to return—if not praying that he would. At first she'd conjured excuses for him. Anything she could think of—even the truly outlandish. Perhaps he'd been kidnapped on his way home to her and had been entombed in some psychopath's basement, with only bread and water to consume and the same dirty jeans and tie-dyed Grateful Dead T-shirt with the dancing bears he'd been wearing when he left. Or maybe he'd fallen on the pavement while jogging and hit his head, rendering him unable to remember where he'd come from or anyone he knew. How else could he have disappeared so quickly and so permanently?

She'd never called his parents. Why? Because she'd felt faithful
to him, despite the fact that he'd walked out on her. Because she'd known that he hadn't told them about her baby.
Their
baby. Because then they would have forced him to stay. Piper hadn't seen or heard from anyone in Max's family since that fateful day. Sometimes, when she'd allowed herself a moment to think about him and the circumstances of all those years ago, she'd wondered if he'd ever shared the news of Fern with his mother or father. Max's mother, Delilah, would have loved being a grandparent. She'd never had a daughter of her own; Max was one of four brothers. She'd once confided in Piper that she would have stopped at two kids if she hadn't been so hell-bent on conceiving a sweet little girl to dote on.

Piper and Delilah had hit it off from the first moment Max had introduced them. Delilah had ushered her into their home, and they'd sat at the kitchen table for hours, gabbing about everything from their favorite television shows to the clothing brands they preferred to wear—even though neither of them was particularly fashionable. In fact, most every time Max had brought Piper to his house, Delilah had stolen her away for girl time, as she'd called it, while Max and his father had tinkered with their cars in the garage. Before long, Delilah had divulged to Piper that she felt like her surrogate mother and that she'd hoped that she and Max would marry someday—sooner rather than later, please. In the end, Delilah's testimony had forged a false sense of security in Piper. A false sense of security in her relationship with Max, a point Piper would later come to resent.

Of course she'd thought about what might have happened if she'd never gotten pregnant. If her relationship with Max had been given the breathing room to develop at its own pace, would he have stuck around? Would he have proposed? Would they have spawned a brood of kids a few years into being married? Piper had always
imagined herself with three children. Two boys and a girl. She relished the idea of older brothers adoring their younger sister and protecting her from the angst that growing up so often dispensed. But none of those children would have been Fern, and that was the piece she could never seem to get past. Life without Fern. It felt unequivocally impossible.

Yet here she was, sitting across the lunch table from the man she loved—the man who had persevered by her side in the face of this unexpected obstacle—waiting for her tenacious ten-year-old to grace them with her presence so that they could go meet the man who had disappointed and failed them both in every comprehensible way.

“Let me make you something to eat. A chef's salad? A turkey sandwich? I picked up that challah you like from the Jewish deli. And some matzo-ball soup.” Todd stood up and walked toward the refrigerator. “You need sustenance.”

“I'm not hungry.” Piper rubbed her eyes. She'd been awake most of the night, tossing and turning, unable to stop choreographing the events of the following day in her head. Would she walk ahead of Fern, acting as a barrier, so he didn't rush in and hug her? Would she let Fern sit next to him in the booth at the diner? Would she try to get there first or intentionally arrive a few minutes late, in order to let him squirm? Would she and Fern map out what they were going to talk about on the car ride there? Would she tell Fern ahead of time that she hoped their meeting would scare him off and send him packing for the foreseeable future? And that this desire was the only reason she'd agreed to have coffee with the three of them together to begin with? Definitely not.

“Oh, babe. I know this is hard on you.” Todd came up behind
her and started rubbing her shoulders. “But I'm here to support you. Whatever you need.”

“I know. And I love you desperately for that and so many other things.” She turned toward him, and he bent down to kiss her on the forehead.

“Are you nervous?”

“Yup.” Piper nodded. “Why do you ask?”

“Your forehead is a little clammy.”

“Great.” She sighed theatrically. “For the record, I'm also angry and beginning to regret this altogether.” Todd pulled his chair closer to hers and sat back down, facing her. “I really don't want to go. Maybe I'll text Max and say I'm not feeling well.”

“Listen.” Todd took Piper's hands in his. “As I'm sure you can imagine, this is not my top choice of ways for you to spend your Saturday either. However, you have a little girl upstairs who's currently weeding through every piece of clothing in her closet to find the ones best suited for her first real meeting with her dad. A little girl who's barely muttered two words to you since the holiday. I don't think you can put it off any longer.”

“Are you sure you don't want to come with us?” Piper looked up at him pleadingly, even though she knew it wouldn't be the responsible decision. Nor would it be fair to Todd or Fern.

“You know I would do anything for you, Piper, including come with you if I thought it was the right thing to do. That said, for your sake and Fern's, you're going to have to go it alone on this one.” He smiled. “I will, however, promise to make you ladies all of your favorites for dinner tonight. Some mashed potatoes, creamed spinach, three cuts of filet mignon grilled to medium-rare perfection. How does that sound?”

“If I actually had an appetite, it would sound amazing.” She watched Todd's smile droop. “Although I'm sure once this is behind me, I'll be ravenous.”

“I have a feeling. I'll do the grocery shopping while you guys are out.”

“What would I do without you?”

“Eat a lot of takeout, like you used to.” They laughed together, just as Fern entered the kitchen.

“I'm ready.” She stood before them, resplendent in her second-favorite party dress—all white with small yellow flowers around the cuffs, neckline, and waist. Second only to the pink one she'd donned on Christmas.

“Don't you think you're a tad fancy for the diner?” Piper questioned. She was still stung by the way Fern had been treating her ever since Max had announced his arrival.

“I think she looks absolutely beautiful,” Todd asserted, squeezing Piper's thigh under the table.

“I suppose,” Piper grumbled.

“She's just jealous.” Fern sniffed, pointing her nose in the air.

“Excuse me, young lady?”

“Let's all relax.” Todd had been playing the role of impartial referee for weeks now, a position Piper did not appreciate having to put him in. “Your mother isn't jealous. She—”

“Sure she is,” Fern said, cutting him off. “She's afraid my dad is going to love me more than he loved her.”

“That's quite enough.” Piper slammed her fist on the table, and both Todd and Fern jumped. “You know what? I don't have to do this. I can just call your father and tell him to go back to wherever
he came from. Wherever he's been for the past decade while I've been raising you.”

“You wouldn't.” Fern's eyes narrowed and then quickly brimmed with tears.

“Stop it.” Todd's tone was steady but firm. “I don't want to hear any more. You two love each other, and instead of banding together, you're letting this come between you.” He exhaled, visibly exasperated by their juvenile behavior. “Fern, your mother is doing something very nice here for you. And, Piper, you know how important this is to Fern. So if neither of you has anything nice to say to the other one, then don't talk at all. Just ride there in silence.”

“I'm sorry. You're right.” Piper spoke softly. She was not typically the sort of person who slammed her fist on tables. Or who harbored any hostile feelings toward her child. It was all Max's fault. If he'd just stayed away, none of this would be happening. How ironic it was that she'd spent all those years frantic for him to return, and now that he had, she couldn't get rid of him fast enough. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes,” Fern murmured, looking down at her black patent-leather Mary Janes. The ones Piper had spent far too much money on, because there was always single-parent guilt hovering over her like a murky storm cloud. “I'll be in the car.”

“Okay, then.” Piper stood up as Fern walked toward the front door.

“You can do this.” Todd hugged her to him. “Stay strong. Try to keep some perspective if you can. And remember that I love you more than anything.”

“I love you too.” Piper nuzzled her head into his chest. “I'm just so scared.”

“I know,” he said as he squeezed her tighter. “I know.”

•   •   •

They'd done just as Todd had suggested: driven to the diner in excruciating silence. By the time Piper had pulled her car out of the garage and onto the street, the tension in the air had already clotted into a heavy molasses, forming an impenetrable barrier between them. Fern had gazed out the window wordlessly. Piper had stared straight ahead of her, eyes on the road, clutching the steering wheel as if the car might suddenly swerve off course, save for her death grip. If this had been any other day, any other circumstance, she would have turned to her daughter and said,
A penny for your thoughts
. But it didn't feel right. And she knew Fern wouldn't take the bait. Piper could tell that she was confined by her own way of thinking. She was stubborn, like her father. And, apparently, unforgiving, like her mother. Except how, then, could she have absolved Max so easily? Didn't she feel as though he'd wronged her too? After all, he had, in fact, walked out on the two of them.

Piper screeched into a space in the parking lot, jerking the car to a halt. Not a second after she'd stopped the car, Fern unbuckled her seat belt and flung the passenger's-side door open, let herself out, and slammed it behind her. Piper shook her head. Why hadn't she anticipated that? Instead, she'd hoped to take a minute or two to say something reassuring to her daughter. She wasn't even entirely sure what it would be. But something had to be said.

She'd wanted to tell her that she loved her no matter what and
she understood that Fern was upset with her at the moment. She'd wanted to convey to her that her feelings were her own and that just because Piper did not feel kindly toward Max, it didn't mean that Fern shouldn't. She'd wanted to hug her close, which she hadn't been able to do since before Max's Christmas appearance. Yet now here she was, trailing behind Fern, who'd dashed toward the entrance to the diner with an enthusiasm that reminded her mother of her very first day of school. Her very first day of school that Max had most definitely not been there to witness. It was one among countless milestones he'd missed out on.

By the time Piper was able to catch up with Fern, who was already inside and had snaked her way in and around all of the crowded tables, she'd found the two of them together—father and daughter—in a snug embrace. A volatile cocktail of emotions rose in her chest and then infiltrated her entire body. Her first thought was that he didn't deserve Fern's affection. That he'd stolen the hug that had been meant for her. Only it hadn't been. Fern had chosen a new recipient for her affection.

Very quickly, though, her indignation vanished and was replaced by a sensation she hadn't expected to experience, especially not so suddenly and completely. It was happiness. And it had crept up on her without warning. There was a part of her, a part she'd previously denied, that wanted this for Fern. Sure, Todd was an ideal father figure, but he wasn't a father. More to the point, he wasn't Fern's father. And somewhere beneath the anguish, the resentment, and the fear, somewhere repressed in the depths of her soul, was the buried realization that Fern needed Max—a revelation that was both alarming and strangely comforting all at once. It was a
gift she'd never thought she'd be able to give her, and now here it was. Now here
he
was, standing directly in front of her as if he had a pretty red bow tied around him.

“Piper.” He nodded once when he greeted her. “It's good to see you. Thank you for agreeing to this.” He slid into the booth and patted the seat next to him for Fern to do the same. As if it could have gone any other way.

“It's fine.” She smiled weakly. She still hadn't received an explanation, if there actually was one, for his ten-year-long disappearing act. Clearly, this wasn't a fitting occasion or the appropriate company with which to hash things out with him, but it certainly didn't help bolster his case from Piper's perspective.

“I'm so glad to finally be able to spend some time with you.” When Max turned toward Fern, her entire face illuminated like a fireworks display on the Fourth of July.

“Me too.” She blushed.

“Let's see here.” He looked at the menu. “I know we were supposed to meet for a coffee—maybe a milk shake for you—and that it's on the late side, but I haven't had lunch yet.”

“Neither have I,” Fern answered immediately, quite obviously imbued with joy at the suggestion of more time with her father.

“Piper?” His blue eyes landed on her and remained there, as his lips curled into an expectant grin.