The Anchor (25 page)

As we pull in the driveway and park,
Thinking Out Loud
by Ed Sheeran starts playing on the radio. When I move to exit the car, Parker grabs my hand and stops me. “Don’t move,” he tells me. He climbs out quickly and rounds the car until he’s opening my door and pulling me out. I huff when I realize what he’s doing. How am I supposed to stay mad at him when he does things like this? Sliding by me, he bends down and climbs halfway in to turn the radio up.

“I don’t feel like dancing, Parker,” I murmur when he stands straight again and holds his hand out to me.

“I know you don’t. And I know it’s because it’s been a really fucked-up day. My mother used to say no matter how bad of a day I’ve had, I should try to end it on a good note.” He scratches his head and sighs. “I’d like to dance with the woman I’m falling for.” Shifting my weight from foot to foot, the gravel of the driveway crunching lightly as I move, I grow quiet and look everywhere but at him. Is he serious? After all the horrible things I just said, he’s falling for me? I feel fucking horrible.

The
pessimist in me wants to say no to the dance and continue to pout. And give him a hard time when I know that’s wrong and immature. He grabs my hand and holds it. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I respond without looking at him. And the
pessimist wins. “I’m thinking that we’ve only just started and I’m already exhausted.”

“No one said it would be easy.” He squeezes my hand, but I still can’t look at him. If I look into his eyes I’ll fold, and right now . . . I don’t want to fold. “Dance with me, Nikki,” he whispers, but I pull my hand from his and cross my arms. This time I look at him. And I hate what I see. His mouth is in a hard, flat line and his throat bobs as he swallows. He shakes his head. “Never mind,” he mumbles and moves to climb back in the car to turn the radio off. I hate myself right now. Why can’t I give as much as he does? Why can’t I let myself put it all on the line for him like he does for me? I know deep down if I let this moment pass, it will mark us. I don’t want that.

“Wait,” I say, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. His dark eyes meet mine and his mouth curves only a fraction; it’s a sad smile.

This time, I hold my hand out and ask, “Dance with me?” I take a deep breath and add, “Please.”

His eyes dart away and for a second I think maybe he’s changed his mind. Maybe I’ve pushed too hard today; too much. But then his gaze returns to me and he steps slightly toward me. I’ve been an angry, emotional mess all day. But the moment he pulls me into his embrace, all that fades. He’s holding me tightly, the strength in his arms speaking to me in a way maybe he can’t just yet. He’s holding me as if the very act will block out the world and keep me only to him, keep us inside a bubble where we’ll stay happy and all our wishes will come true. And in his strong embrace, I feel . . . him. I feel his worry and fear. I sense his hopes and ambitions. I feel his uncertainty. But mostly, I feel his love. But love should feel euphoric, blissful. What I feel is sadness—loving me hurts him. And as he moves us, my head pressed against his chest now, his heart beating loudly against my ear, another wall begins to crumble. And I know that I must love him, too. Because the thought of making Parker Hayes sad hurts me deep inside.

“Don’t give up on me, Parker,” I whisper as a fresh tear trickles down my cheek. He doesn’t respond and I’m not sure if it’s because he didn’t hear me, or maybe he just couldn’t respond. What am I doing to him?

Later, after we’ve climbed into bed, he makes love to me. Every word he breathes against my skin, every touch, every kiss, I feel the ache inside of him and it intensifies my own. I hold him close as he moves in and out of me, fighting the urge to cry again. I don’t understand myself. How can I want someone so much and be so afraid of them at the same time? After we finish, utterly exhausted, he slides down my body and kisses my tiny bump.

“Your mommy is scared right now,” he whispers. “She thinks I’m going to run away or hurt her. But I won’t. I promise. No matter how hard she tries to push me away, I’ll always push back. I love her and I love you, and the two of you are all that matter to me in this world. And when she sees you for the first time, she won’t be scared anymore. And we’ll be a family.” He kisses his way back up my body and when his lips find my cheeks wet with tears, he gently wipes them away.

“I love you, Parker,” I weep, running my hand across his scruffy cheek.

And even though the light of the moon seeping through the windows into the room is faint, I can see the softest of smiles on his face.

“Fucking beautiful,” he whispers and kisses me again.

I start the new week more determined than ever to push back my anxiety and really give “us” all I’ve got. Before Parker left yesterday, he used John’s computer to draft a lease between him and Edie for the house. Edie insisted it wasn’t necessary, but Parker could not be talked out of it. The lease is for a year and Parker made a deposit and paid the first two months’ rent.

No lease was needed. A simple verbal agreement and a handshake would have sufficed, but I didn’t argue with him. If he needed this to feel better about the situation, then so be it. Parker refuses to let me paint so Joey has stepped up and committed to painting at night after work.

Fucking Joey. He’s so damn sweet.

While the painting is being done, I’m not allowed in the house, per Parker’s rules. He really is a bossy asshole sometimes, but I dig it. Yesterday I called Adele and asked if she’d like to meet and do some shopping. She was ecstatic and we agreed to meet today.

We’ve been to five antique stores and made several purchases and now she’s dragged me into a maternity clothing store after I complained about my pants being too tight. I think I’m going to hyperventilate.

I’m sliding hangers off shirts to the side, pretending to be looking, when really I’m trying to talk myself out of a panic attack.

“These are cute.” Adele holds up a pair of jeans with a belly band.

“Oh . . .” I mumble, trying to look interested. “Those are cute.”

She smiles as she places the jeans back on the rack. I’m busted. “Is this the first time you’ve been shopping for maternity clothes or anything baby related?”

My cheeks heat with shame. I have avoided anything that could even be remotely associated with the word baby. “Yes.”

“It’s okay that you’re scared, honey. Hell, it’s even okay if you’re mad about having a baby. You weren’t planning on this.”

My mouth opens in shock. “It makes me sound like a monster.”

“No, it doesn’t. Many women have nervous apprehensions such as yours. But Nikki,” she smiles softly, and I see Parker in her, “when you see that baby for the first time . . . you’ll wonder how your heart is capable of containing so much love.”

My hand rests on my bump and I try to conjure this emotion she speaks of, but all I get is the feeling of dread. I’m going to ruin this kid’s life. I end up forcing myself to buy a few cute tops and jeans. I skip dresses as the weather is cooler now and I doubt I’ll wear many. After we have lunch, Adele hugs me tightly and kisses my cheek.

“I gotta get home to Allen. He’s been a little under the weather this week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Tell him I hope he feels better soon.”

She smiles and hugs me tightly again. “Now you take care of yourself and call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Adele. I had fun today,” I say.

“Me too, honey.”

The next day, after talking myself into it for ten minutes, I slip on my new maternity jeans and gaze at myself in the mirror. I’m a long way from being a beauty queen these days, but damn if these jeans aren’t comfortable.

Something changed between Nikki and me during my last visit. Or maybe something just changed in me. I jumped into this hopeful and determined. I knew we could make this work despite her issues. Her fears have always been at the forefront of my mind, but I refused to let them stop me. I’d prove to her that we could do this. But last weekend, doubt settled inside of me and I started to wonder if we really could work out. Every time we’ve been together, she’s come out of the gate seemingly happy and ready to give it her all, but then she throws a wrench in it. And I can’t help but wonder if maybe a part of her, however small, is purposely trying to sabotage us.

So I’ve been privately stewing for the past two weeks. I won’t give up. I can’t. Not yet anyway. I’m a fighter. And lucky for me, I was offered a job in Knightdale. And I’ve taken it as a sign to stay the course. It also helped that when I called to inform Nikki about the job offer, she was elated. And some of the doubt I’ve been feeling ebbed.

“You don’t have to come up here and help me pack. I don’t really have much,” I tell Nikki from where I sit in my cubical, the office phone pressed between my shoulder and ear as I shove papers into a manila envelope. Since giving my two weeks’ notice, my employers have been working me like a two-dollar hooker on half-off Sundays. I can’t find a minute to myself.

“Maybe I just miss you and want to see you,” she argues and I have to admit, it feels really fucking good to hear her say that.

“It worries me—you flying in your condition and all.”

She chuckles softly. “You’re sweet. But the doctor said I’m safe to fly until around six months.”

“It still worries me,” I grumble.

“I get an ultrasound at the next appointment. We might be able to find out what it is.” The tone of her voice sounds off; too high by a few octaves. It’s like she’s trying to sound excited, but not quite hitting it. Even though she’s still dealing with anxieties, I’m stoked.

“Really?” It’s definitely not hard to hear the excitement in
my
voice. “I’d like to be there.”

“I’d like that, too.”

“So when do you land tomorrow?”

“Eight.”

“I’ll be there. I gotta go, babe. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay. Have a good day.”

When I hang up, I smile at the phone. Maybe we really can do this. No sooner than we hang up, my cell rings.
Maddie
lights up across the screen.