As soon as our clients, the Livingstons, leave our office, I carry my coffee cup over to the row of glossy-front white cabinets hanging along the wall of exposed brick. With the long wooden shelves held in place by brass brackets that hang above, and the wood floors with shiny white tables pushed together in the center of the room, our office is a study in contrasts. But it works perfectly and is a great example of how we blend traditional and modern design for our clients.
I pop a coffee pod into the machine and set my cup below it, realizing I’ve already lost count of the number of cups I’ve had this morning.
“You doing okay?” Jules asks from behind me. Because she’s normally saucy and sarcastic, the concern in her tone hits me hard.
I stare straight ahead at the brick wall, afraid that if I look at her and see the worry in her eyes, I’ll crumble. “I’ve been better.”
“Did you sleep at all?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe a little.”
Drew called right after I’d gotten Graham to bed last night, but I let it go to voicemail. I meant what I said when I told him I’d answer if I could—and emotionally, I just couldn’t.
Six years. It’s been just over six years since I discovered that our one-night stand resulted in a pregnancy. I’m still not sure how it happened. We were so careful, but that condom must have leaked without us realizing.
Drew wasn’t even my first call when I found out. Jameson was. And then Jules. And finally, a week later, I worked up the nerve to call Drew, and he didn’t call me back. Not then, and not the next twenty times. Twenty voicemails, and never even got a call or a text in return. So no, I’m not feeling any sense of obligation to call him back until I’m damn good and ready.
Last night, I’d lain awake most of the night, rehashing everything I’d gone through when I found out I was pregnant and realized I’d be doing this parenting thing without his support. I was up until the early hours of the morning, debating the pros and the cons of him coming back into our lives, trying to figure out what it means, and imagining what he might want.
“You knew this was a possibility when you heard about the trade,” Jules reminds me. She’s the only person on the planet who knows Drew is Graham’s father.
I couldn’t tell Jameson—he was too much of a hot-head back then, too protective of his baby sisters, who he’d practically raised. The first thing he’d said to me when I’d told him I was pregnant but didn’t think the guy would be interested in being involved was, “I’m going to kill him.”
Jameson was already Drew’s agent at that point. If I’d told him the truth, Jameson could have—and probably would have—ruined Drew’s career. And even though Drew didn’t deserve my protection like that, he deserved his chance in the NHL.
“I was afraid I’d run into him at a restaurant or something. I didn’t expect to find him standing in my brother’s backyard. I thought at least family spaces would be safe.”
“Knowing Jameson, he was just trying to smooth Drew’s transition to the team.”
“I’m sure.”
Colt was there, like always. And I know Patrick Walsh, one of the alternate captains on the team, was supposed to stop by with his kids at some point. Having Drew get to know them before training camp starts is probably Jameson’s way of helping, especially because everyone knows Drew’s performance in Colorado suffered, and I’m sure he needs to get off on the right foot with this team. If the rumors are true, this year will be a turning point in Drew’s career. Either he’ll end on a high note and Boston will re-sign him, or Boston won’t want him for another contract, and he’ll end up as an unsigned free agent.
Even while I’ve had to pretend I have no idea who Drew is, I’ve followed his career closely. It’s been tumultuous the past few years, and I’m trying not to be pissed off at him about it. It was one thing when he was playing for Vancouver and I felt like protecting his career for him the way I did was worth it, because he was doing so well. But then he went to Colorado and his career went to shit, and I was left feeling like I’d made huge sacrifices on his behalf—which, of course, he didn’t even know about—and he wasn’t holding up his end of the non-existent bargain by kicking ass out there in the NHL.
I have no right and every right to hold it against him, and I’m a mess as a result of this dichotomy.
“Did he call again, after that first time last night?” Jules asks. She’d headed to her room after our quick chat about how I wasn’t ready to talk to him yet, and this morning I’d shown up in our design studio—in the basement of our brownstone in Boston’s South End—after taking Graham to school, only seconds before our clients arrived. So until now, we haven’t had a chance to talk about this.
I pull the now-full coffee cup out from the machine and glance over at her. “Yeah, he called two more times.”
“Did he leave more messages?”
“Yeah. I haven’t listened to them, though.” I take a sip of my coffee, hoping against logic that it’ll calm me down.
“Are you going to?”
“Eventually.”
“What are you waiting for, exactly?” she asks.
“I don’t know.” I glance out the wall of glass that leads to the small front brick patio and the few granite steps leading up to the street level. Despite this being a basement office, we made sure it gets plenty of light. I glance back at my sister and say, “Maybe just until I feel strong enough to deal with this.”
“You ARE strong enough,” Jules insists, raising her eyebrows like she’s reminding me of something I already know. “And you don’t really have a choice but to deal with it now that he knows. Or at least, we think he does. But we won’t know for sure until you listen to his messages.”
I wrap both hands around the mug and bring it just under my nose, inhaling the sweet smell of the coffee mixed with the vanilla creamer and hoping the familiar scent calms me. And then I admit my fear—the thing that kept me up all night. “What if he wants to be involved in Graham’s life?”
“What if he doesn’t?” Jules counters.
“I don’t know which is worse,” I admit.
I think of all the moments he’s already missed, from the sleepless nights when Graham was a baby, to his first steps, to his first day of kindergarten just over a month ago. So much has happened in the past five and a half years since he was born, and Drew missed it all.
“He obviously wanted nothing to do with me when I was calling him non-stop after I found out I was pregnant. So imagining myself co-parenting with him is just…a lot to consider, I guess.”
“Unfortunately, what’s best for you and what’s best for Graham might be different in this case. I think the question you have to ask yourself is: would Graham benefit from having a father in his life?”
I hear everything Jules isn’t saying about our own father and how he walked out on us. How Jameson stepped up and filled that role, even though he was only in his mid-twenties, and how he’s had to fill that role for Graham too. How Graham’s never truly had a dad. And I think about that damn family tree and how different it might look if Drew was a part of Graham’s life.
“I don’t know. I guess it depends on what kind of a dad Drew wants to be. We had a father in our life, and we were better off when he left.”
Jules gets a look that’s hard to read, like she always does when our dad comes up. Hands down, she was his favorite. We used to call her his shadow. She was swinging a hammer when she was five and knew how to use every major power tool by the time she was ten, because she wanted to be just like him.
In the summers, she worked for his construction company—she loved being on job sites, and it probably explains why she’s the structural engineer and lead contractor, while I’m the architect and business manager for our little company. Saving the construction company was the only thing I asked Jameson for when Dad left, because together it was the one thing we could give Jules to make up for how much Mom dying and then Dad leaving had fucked up our family.
“Drew isn’t a co-dependent alcoholic,” Jules says dryly.
“That we know of.”
We look at each other and then burst out laughing. If we don’t make light of our history, it would probably crush us like it almost did when we were teenagers.
“You don’t even know if he wants to be involved,” Jules says. “But he at least deserves to know what happened.”
I don’t want her to be right, but I know she is. As pissed as I am, I still realize that not returning my phone calls six years ago isn’t a reason to not tell him what happened or to keep him from Graham.
“I’m worried about him being involved—he’s so volatile. His hockey career has been all over the place, he’s known for being unpredictable and unreliable on the ice, and his…extra-curricular activities seem to involve a lot of alcohol and a lot of women.”
“I didn’t realize you’d followed him so closely,” Jules says, brow lifting as her eyes meet mine.
“He’s the father of my child. It’s hard not to want to know what he’s doing while I’m here raising our kid. And I don’t know if I trust him to be involved in Graham’s life if that’s the energy he’s going to bring to the relationship, you know?”
“Maybe we should listen to the messages and see if that’s even what he wants? You know, before you go too far along the path of thinking of all the reasons you shouldn’t trust him.”
Yep, Jules may have ended up with the daddy issues after our father deserted us, but I no doubt ended up with the serious trust issues.
I carry my coffee back to the table, where I sit while Jules does laps around the room. Except for first thing in the morning, my sister is a constant ball of motion. Taking a deep breath, I open up the voicemail and hit play.
Audrey… Drew’s voice fills the room and then there’s a pause. It’s impossible not to remember how he said my name that way—equal parts awe and ecstasy—six years ago as he climaxed inside me. The moment that changed the entire trajectory of my life, but didn’t impact him at all. I don’t know what to say, except that I have a lot of questions, and I’m really hoping you’ll answer them for me. Call me, please.
I look at Jules and lift my shoulder in a shrug. It’s hard to read much into that message except that he’s looking for answers. No indication of whether he wants to be involved, but I guess how could he if he’s not even sure if Graham is his?
I hit play on the next message.
Audrey, I’m going a bit crazy here with you not returning my call. I’m sorry, I know that’s a shit thing to be upset about after I didn’t return your calls years ago. But I didn’t know why you were calling. I thought… Another long pause fills the space, and I almost think he’s hung up until I hear, …You know, it doesn’t matter what I was thinking back then. I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to your messages after the first one. Please, call me back.
Jules and I exchange a look. Hers says, ‘Hey, at least he’s sorry now.’ I don’t know what my face is saying, but I’m frustrated, sad, and mad that Graham had to miss out on having a dad because of Drew’s commitment to being a one-night stand kind of guy. I knew that about him when I chose to sleep with him; I just never considered that I might end up pregnant after he moved to another country.
I hit play on the last message. It’s an empty two seconds, as he must have hung up without saying anything.
I stare at Jules, trying not to let my nerves get the best of me. “You going to call him now?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say, glancing at the time. It’s mid-morning, and I know today’s the first day of training camp, but he’s not a rookie so he won’t have practice until tomorrow. He might be around. Of course, there’s every possibility that Jameson is with him. My brother is the agent for about a third of the Boston Rebels. But thinking Jameson might be with him isn’t really why I’m avoiding the call. I’m putting it off because I’m so torn about how I’m feeling—I’m nervous, but also upset with myself about that because why does he make me feel this way after all these years?
“I have to head to the house in Wellesley,” Jules says with an eye roll. The house is a bit of an inside joke because she’s pretty convinced that the newly married couple we are renovating it for is going to wind up divorced before it’s done. Renovations are seriously stressful. “Do you want me to wait until after you’ve called him?”
“No, go ahead. I’ll let you know how the conversation goes.” I don’t know what I’m going to say, but it’s probably better that I talk to Drew privately, even if I am going to end up telling Jules everything afterward.
“Alright.” Jules picks up a few of her things that are laying around. “Call me if you need anything at all.”
“I will,” I tell her. “And I’ll get these revisions to the Livingston project done today so you have time to go over those with them one more time before you head to Maine this weekend.”
“Thanks,” she says as she heads upstairs into our house to grab her keys.
I stare at my phone for a few moments, knowing that once I make this call, things will change. How drastically, I have no idea. But Drew knowing about Graham is going to change things, for sure.
