“Ibasically told the chief of police to go fuck himself. Are you sure you want me to stay with you?” I stare out from under a mountain of blankets on Robyn’s couch, feeling like a rundown hermit. I’m tired and my head hurts, and I’m wondering if I’m basically toxic to everyone around me at this point.
But I don’t hate myself at least.
“A little late for that, isn’t it?” She sits next to me cross-legged and hands over some coffee. I take it and feel a little better after I get some caffeine in my body, though I can’t seem to wash away the bad taste in my mouth.
I got my first glimpse into the world of politics and power, and I didn’t like it.
“Seriously, letting me crash here last night was such a big help, but I can go find a hotel,” I tell her. “You don’t need to put yourself out.”
“Stop. You’d do this for me.”
“I’m not so sure I would.”
She laughs and shrugs. “Well, I guess that means I’m a better friend than you are. Now quit acting like the world’s ending and pick yourself up, okay?”
“Yeah, right, totally. Now that the whole Dallas PD wants to put a bullet in my head, I’ll totally just shrug it off.” I groan and lean back against the couch.
“It’s that bad, huh?”
I nod slowly and cradle the mug in both hands. “It’s that bad.”
We sit in silence for a bit. Robyn’s apartment is nice: blue walls, lots of thrift store tchotchkes, plants hanging from the ceiling with pretty flowers and deep green leaves, lots of blankets and pillows and candles, very comforting and comfortable. I didn’t know where else to go after I packed my stuff and skipped out from my parents’ house after the disaster at the Oak Club, but Robyn didn’t even hesitate when I asked if I could crash on her couch.
It’s strange, having a friend like her. No matter what happens, how long we go between texts or dinners, regardless of anything, we always help each other. I’d honestly do anything for her, and I know she’d do anything for me.
For the longest time, I never understood why, but now I can see it.
These relationships matter. The relationships I choose—those are the ones that are important. I was stuck with my parents and didn’t get any say in how I was raised, but this friendship? I can leave it whenever I want, and that makes it important.
Because I choose to be here, and she chooses to have me.
“Can I ask you something?” She glances over, frowning. “I know this is random and delicate and whatever, but… I haven’t seen you drink since Brice got married.”
I nod miserably. “Yeah, that’s true.” I should be afraid. I know where this is going, but I don’t have it in me right now.
“I figured it was some diet or cleanse or whatever. You know, a few dry months? But it’s not that, is it?”
“No, it’s not.”
“You’re pregnant.”
“Yeah. I’m pregnant.” I close my eyes and sigh, leaning my head back. I was dreading telling people, but now that it’s out, it feels pretty good. I feel lighter—not better, but like there’s one fewer thing trying to crush me. “And Angelo’s the father.”
“Shit.” Robyn comes closer and hugs me. “Are you okay?”
“No, not even a little bit.” I manage to put my coffee down before I cry, but I’m basically a sobbing machine these days. It’s like the dam’s been broken and now I can’t help myself—I fall apart at the slightest hint of emotion.
Robyn’s there for me. She hugs me tight as the tears flow, and I bet she’s pretty freaked out. I’m Sara, I’m the frigid princess, the ice queen, I’m the one that’s cold and emotionless and never, ever, ever lets other people see me break down, except now I can’t help it anymore. I’m overflowing with feelings and I wish they’d stop, I wish they’d disappear and go back to the dark hole from which they came, but I’m totally overloaded.
I get myself together after a minute or two and wipe my eyes and feel drained, so deeply drained, like I’ve been twisted and pulled and every drop of me has been squeezed into the dirt.
“You must think I’m losing it,” I say with a stupid smile.
But Robyn shakes her head. “No, honey. I think you’re pregnant, scared, in way over your head, and barely hanging on. What the hell was Brice thinking, letting you get mixed up in this?”
“I don’t think she knows how bad it is.”
Robyn’s jaw works. Her anger’s refreshing—I’m so used to sorrow that Robyn’s indignant glare is actually pretty nice—and I’m not used to someone looking out for me. “She knows what her husband does for a living. She should never have let him get anywhere near you.”
“Stop, it’s not Brice’s fault. Carmine told me what the deal was the second he walked into my office and I took the case myself. I took his money and I accepted the risks.”
“Still.” Robyn squeezes my hand. “I’m pretty pissed.”
“Brice didn’t know about the baby, but I think she found out. I’ve been ignoring her calls.”
“Who else knows?”
“My parents. Angelo.”
She lets out a breath. “Okay, that’s good. Angelo knows. Where is he right now, anyway?”
“We’re… sort of… finished.” I look down at the floor, feeling stupid, naive, angry.
Her eyebrows raise. “You’re what?”
“Finished. I sort of … walked away from him. I told him I didn’t want anything to do with him anymore.” I want to squeeze myself into a tiny black hole and zap out of existence.
“And he accepted that?” She doesn’t sound happy.
“I don’t think he had much of a choice.”
Robyn groans. “Sara! Why would you do that?”
“Because he’s a criminal! Because I don’t want my baby to grow up with a father behind bars. There are a thousand reasons to keep Angelo away from this child! Don’t give me crap right now, Robyn, I’m giving myself enough.”
Robyn stands and paces across the room. She grumbles to herself and I know what she’s feeling because I feel it too—I made a stupid decision, one for halfway decent reasons, but still.
I walked away from Angelo for my parents.
I gave up on the first good thing I’ve ever had all to myself for my mother and father, two people that only care about controlling me and making me act like the perfect, obedient daughter.
My father cares more about scoring points with the chief of police than he does about helping me.
I keep seeing his face when I told him I was walking away.
It was rage, pure rage. The idea that I might not simply do whatever he asked of me was too much for him to bear.
He wanted to kill me.
And heck, the feeling is mutual.
But I only have myself to blame here, because if I hadn’t gone with Dad then none of this would be happening.
“You like that guy,” Robyn says, standing with her hands on her hips. “Tell me you don’t.”
“It’s complicated,” I say.
“Is it though? Look at Brice, she got over her whole squeamish fear of criminals, and she’s doing okay.”
“Carmine and Angelo are different, and you say that like it’s totally normal to date a mobster.” I chew on my lip. Are Carmine and Angelo that different though? Carmine was born into this life, into power and wealth, and Angelo struggled to take what he has. But they’re both of a type: intense, terrifying, violent, willing to do whatever it takes to get what they want.
“Sara, ever since I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you into a guy like you’re into Angelo. No, don’t try to tell me I’m wrong, I can see it every time you mention him. You like him and you like him a lot, and he’s the father of your baby. I know that makes things harder, and I know he has an unconventional job, but seriously. How can you turn your back on him?”
“Robyn,” I say, looking down at my lap. “I don’t know. And saying he has an unconventional job is the understatement of the century.”
She softens a bit and spreads her hands. “Look, honey, I love you, you know I do, but this whole thing is frustrating. You like this guy. You like him a lot. So why are you pushing him away? Why not take a chance?”
I rub my face and pick up the mug again. I cradle it, feeling the warmth of the coffee in my palms. How can I explain this to her? How can I make her understand? “Angelo represents everything I’ve been taught to hate,” I say and clear my throat to stop myself from crying again. “My parents raised me to follow the rules. To respect my superiors. To do the right thing. And all this time I thought I knew what those things meant. I thought that even if I’m not happy, even if I’m spending all my time on things I don’t care about, at least I’m on the right path and maybe happiness will come one day. I thought if I just listened to my parents, did what they wanted, studied hard and got a good job and smiled in pictures—”
“You smile in pictures?” Robyn asks. “I thought you only scowled.”
I wave her off. “—I thought then I’d get ahead. And now here I am, working at a law firm, on the exact path I’m supposed to be on, and all I want to do is get off it and go find Angelo. I thought my parents could keep me safe and help me with the baby, and now I’m realizing that all this time, it’s never been about me, it’s always been about them. My job, my life, my career, even my pregnancy, it’s about what they want and need, and I’ll never be the priority. Unless I make myself the priority.”
“Damn right,” Robyn says and walks over. She collapses back onto the couch beside me. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to get Nicolas out of jail. I’m going to win this case.”
“Great, but what about Angelo?”
I glance toward her window where the morning sunlight’s slanting through. “I guess I should call him.”
“That’s a great idea.”
“But I don’t know what I’m going to say.”
“Then don’t say anything. Just tell him how you feel.”
“I don’t know how I feel, either.”
“Sara.” She gives me a look. “You’re very frustrating.”
“I’m aware, but I’m new to this whole… living my own life, thing. You know, feeling feelings. That’s not really my jam.”
“I’m proud of you at least.” She squeezes my knee. “For trying.”
“Yeah, well, this isn’t over. We still might end up little blood smears on the floor.”
She stands and stretches. “To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.”
“Don’t quote The Smiths at me.”
“Call him,” she says and walks toward her bedroom. “I’m taking a shower.”
I watch her disappear into the hall. I glance back at the window, then down at my coffee, and I take a long sip. I see Dad’s face again, his anger and rage when I walked away from Chief Corvine. I see Mom’s disappointment, her scorn, her simmering discontent. I see two people like me, two people that do the right thing but are still miserable, utterly miserable, because they’re playing someone else’s game.
I’m going to play my own.
