If Only in My Dreams, page 19
I give her a sad smile, because I really do have such a great friend.
“You’re right. My head is just … it feels like I’m floating and sinking at the same time. I could be … there could be a baby, Gigi.”
“Honestly? I think it’d be fucking wonderful. With all you two have been through, both separately and together, it’d be a bright spot. Plus, think about how fucking gorgeous that kid is going to be.”
I haven’t even stopped for a second to consider what our baby would actually look like. A baby, with Porter’s eyes and my hair. His little dimpled chin and my wide gaze. The two of us on the couch on a Sunday snuggling, a small little newborn who sleeps on his chest. Working together to get up in the night, him watching me while I breastfeed.
For a very long time, all I’ve wanted to be is a mother. I’ve always known it. But it could actually be a reality, and instead of celebrating that, I’m terrified.
So I give myself permission, or rather, I let Gigi give me permission, to bask in the happiness of it for just a moment.
Because if we can get past this, if we can work out all of the fear and trepidation, I think the family I’ve always dreamed of could be the one I finally have with Porter.
32
Madison
The next morning, I’m still waiting on the blood test, but it’s my first day of work at Fritzy and I’m up early.
With Gigi’s help, I picked out a new outfit, even though I’m working from home, and I went out early to get myself a fancy coffee. When I log in for the morning meeting, everyone, all eight of the team members, are genuinely happy to see me. We go around introducing ourselves and they bring me up to speed on the latest developments with production, branding, and getting into retailers.
“So, you have a plan for us, Madison?” Gabe is smiling through the Zoom meeting.
I hold up the four-page launch schedule I’ve written up for the social media plan. “I think I have some things planned.”
“What’s your day look like today?” I know he isn’t checking in or micro-managing. He’s genuinely curious about where I’ll start.
“I’m going to start on uniformity. Before I can really push ads or start a certain themed campaign, I need to make sure we have all of the same bios, pictures, contact info on every service. It sounds boring, but it’s crucial. We want our branding on point so that there are no questions about how to get hands on our product or who to contact for anything from partnering opportunities. From there, I have some small test posts for later this week to see what our audience is responding to.”
“That sounds like a great path forward.” Gabe nods. “I’m going to set up a meeting between you and Chelsea, she’s our customer service director. I want you two to get on the same page about how we’ll handle complaints, questions, that sort of thing. Because I hope our social media blows up, and we’ll need to determine who is addressing DMs.”
“Absolutely.” I write down a note in my planner that I’ll be having a meeting with her.
“Great, and then I need you to send me some of the analytics and tracking services that you usually use, and what tiered finance plans you recommend for them. I know you do a lot of research on that to determine ads, campaigns, and such. I’m willing to pay, I just want to see it and assign a budget.”
“I’d be concerned if you didn’t want that.” I smirk, because Gabe seems on top of his shit. “I have no doubt that this brand is going to succeed with your intuition.”
He shrugs like he’s stressed but happy at the same time. “Thanks for saying that, means a lot from someone who came from such a big brand. We’re trying, we believe in the product, and no one will ever outwork us. Hopefully, all of that is in our favor.”
“This team will make it happen.” And I’m a part of that now.
Gabe and I go over a few more scheduling notes and then hang up. I spend the morning doing exactly what I told him, compiling the social media accounts and making sure they are all uniform.
In a way, it’s a good thing I took this new job at the time I did. This much work, a pile I feel like I might never emerge from for months, is keeping me so busy that I can’t think about my personal life.
It’s only when I break for lunch, when my stomach is rumbling so hard that I can’t ignore it or feed it coffee any longer, that my mind wanders.
Everything about my life feels up in the air now. Just days ago, I thought I had a solid plan in place. I thought that after two years of turmoil, I was finally settling into a groove that I honestly loved. I’m back with my family, my best friend and I reconnected in a way where she could share her true feelings with me, and I am in love with a man who is more worthy than anyone I’ve ever met.
We could be having a baby together, which objectively could be everything I’ve ever wanted.
But it doesn’t feel like I’m standing on solid ground at all. If I’m not pregnant, Porter and I have just slung mud at each other for no reason. But it’s stuck, and now we both know how the other feels. Our relationship can’t return to what it was.
Maybe I need to move. If there is no baby, maybe I should pack it up and find a city I’ve always thought about living in. I could travel with Gigi, or maybe rent a little apartment somewhere on the beach. I always wanted to go to Cape Cod for a while.
None of those things feel right, though. After my divorce, I finally found my way back to my family. Even with my relationship up in the air, I enjoy being by my parents and seeing my brother when he comes home from college.
I don’t know, is really the answer. And could I truly leave? Could I put Porter in my rearview? Thinking about it feels like someone is tearing my heart from my chest and it’s trying to hang on ventricle by ventricle.
I barely taste the chicken soup I’m spooning into my mouth when my phone begins to ring on the desk next to me.
When I look down at the ringing screen of my cell, I’m a little in shock. For someone who is waiting for an important call, or for the man I truly love to come to his senses, this is the last person I thought I’d be talking to today.
“Hello?” I pick up, expecting this to be some spam call.
“Madison, hi.” William’s voice is familiar through the other end of the phone.
“Yeah? What is it?” The last thing I have patience for is some bullshit with him today.
There is a beat of silence. “I was talking to Freddy the other day and he mentioned he talked to you.”
Interesting. I wonder why Freddy would bring that up to him. His cousin and I still talk regularly, and Freddy knows all about my rekindling with Porter. Part of me wonders if he was mouthing off to William to shove in my ex-husband’s face that I’m happy.
“Yes, we still talk. What, are you calling to tell me to stop being friendly with your cousin?” My voice is ice, because I’ll never listen if that’s what this is about.
“No, no,” William rushes out with it. “Jeez, Madi, you really think I’m some kind of evil jerk? I wasn’t that bad when we were married.”
For a moment, I let my defenses down just a little. “Sorry. It’s just been a long week and I started a new job.”
“You left Arson?” He sounds surprised.
“Yes, I had an offer for a new opportunity that I wanted to pursue.” I don’t go any further into the explanation of why I couldn’t be at Arson anymore.
“Wow.” Another beat of silence. “You seem … okay, Madi.”
God, he really is kind of an evil jerk. I think he wants me to be a mess, sobbing and falling at his feet. However, after he asked for the divorce, I never once went back and asked him to reconsider. I haven’t shown up at his door begging him to take me back. For a guy who gets everything he’s ever wanted in life, my being happy is probably a huge surprise and blow to his ego.
“And that’s bad?” I’m growing more annoyed by the second.
“No, it’s just … I’m happy you’re happy. Freddy told me you met someone.” There is a question in his tone.
The thing is, William actually sounds genuine about that. It soothes me a little, but I still don’t understand why he’s calling. I don’t need his acceptance or opinion, and with everything going on right now, this is the one thing I don’t need to sort out.
Despite what I’ve been telling myself, Gigi was right. I no longer need his approval. I’m not waiting on anyone else to run my life. I’m not leaning on a man. I can stand by myself on my own two feet.
“Why are you calling?” I hedge, a suspicious feeling creeping up on me.
“I just … I was thinking about you.” He sounds weary admitting that. “The way I ended us, Madi, it wasn’t great. I admit that. But you were in my life for a long time and sometimes I wish we could just talk as friends, or maybe—”
“William, you ended us. And … we weren’t friends before. I don’t know what this is, but I’ve moved on. I know you have to. It might be easy to call me since we spent many years as each other’s confidantes, but you didn’t want that anymore. Please respect that I can’t talk to you anymore.”
The line beeps and I realize I’m getting another call.
“I have to go,” I interrupt him, because my doctor’s office is on the other line.
“Oh, um, okay, well maybe I could—”
“William, we’re divorced. Done. You wanted this. I can’t be here for you.” It’s harsh, but I am done with him and the entire life we had together.
I need to face exactly what is happening in my world now, what my future might be. The only phone call that matters is the one coming in on my cell.
And after I talk to the nurse on the other end, the only man I’m interested in talking to is the one who has completely eclipsed my heart.
33
Porter
The streets of my hometown pass by the window as I drive slowly through downtown.
All of the holiday decorations have been taken down, and it looks like the typical Rutlend in winter again; brick storefronts with antique light posts dotting the sidewalk, piles of snow on the shoulders with luxury cars parallel parked down the road. I’m not lying when I say I love it here. It’s strange for a young professional to admit that when most of my peers have moved to chic cities or trendy coastal beach towns.
But I like my quiet life here, my small home where I can walk my dog down a tree-lined road, and the stars are visible from my back deck.
Mom is expecting me, and opens the door to her house as I’m still unfolding from the driver’s side of my car.
“I got your favorite biscuits,” she boasts, a smile spreading her normally sullen cheeks.
We’ve been talking regularly, our relationship on the mend after years of stubborn, unnecessary silence. I’ve come over to her house once more, besides today, since Christmas, and she’s come to see Jenny at my place. We haven’t gone much deeper about voicing our feelings, but I think we needed to pump the brakes. Just spending time together has been a welcome change, and at least one thing in my life seems to be patching itself up.
Today, I’m headed over early-ish in the day to let her listen to my first single. Jay had the producers play it for me yesterday in the study, the final mix is done on it and we’re ready to send it to radio stations and streaming services. The label wants it out earlier, to get some anticipation for my album, and I’m really pleased with how it came out.
My single is titled “Years Gone By,” and it’s a love letter to Madison. The lyrics detail how I always pined for her even though I knew it was my fault and that I broke her heart.
As I listened to the lyrics of the song in that studio, I felt empty. It was mixed and fancy and album-ready, and I looked up to see no one there. No one who really mattered. No one was there to celebrate with me, which was why I came over to Mom’s house. I called her yesterday to set up this brunch meeting.
When really, I wanted to go straight to Madison. But I still haven’t heard from her, and now it has been too long. We were at an impasse.
“Thanks, Ma.” I kiss her cheek as I near her. “You ready to hear this?”
She knows what I want to show her, I cleared it with her yesterday after talking to her about the album. Mom is up to speed on what’s going on in my life, everything besides the pregnancy scare. She knows Madison and I were together, but that there’s something holding us back. It feels too raw to talk to anyone about what might be happening with us. At least before I talk to the woman I love.
She gulps. “Yes. I’m nervous, but I’m proud of you. I really do want to hear it.”
We settle in her kitchen, a plate of biscuits and jam between us, and I flip through my phone to find the song in my email. The audio file pops up and I click on it, then sit back on my stool as my voice plays on the device.
My mother concentrates on it, closing her eyes at some points and staring at the phone during others. The whole song is over in about three minutes, and I feel like a little boy bringing home a school project. I want to please her, I want her to be proud of me.
Mom dabs at her eyes, relief marking them. “It’s such a beautiful song. And … you sound nothing like him.”
Curiosity runs through me. “Did you think I would?”
She shrugs. “I was afraid of it. I guess that was what I was always afraid of. That you would turn out like him, that you’d remind me of him in every way. When you wrote the book, I knew you had the creative spark in you that I could have never contributed. When you showed prowess in music in high school, I was terrified. It’s horrible of me, but I wished you would just end up some businessman or an accountant. Your father put me through a lot of bad, Porter. I know you know that. It just killed me thinking I’d have to watch my son be a carbon copy of him.”
It’s the first time she’s really come out and spoken the truth.
“The thing is, you’re not. You’re nothing like him. You’re concerned about the people in your life, and you stick around even when they don’t deserve it. And you own up to your mistakes. That sounds nothing like what his music was like.” She points to my phone.
“It was beautiful. Melodic. Haunting. You’re going to be a star, Porter.” She pats my cheek.
Her words are the ones I need at this moment, and I never knew I needed them. Subconsciously, I’ve always been chasing something that would set me apart from him. Hearing my mom say that I am nothing like him, that this music wouldn’t remind people of him … it put some kind of peace on my restless soul.
“That means everything coming from you,” I tell her. “You really think it’s good?”
Mom laughs a watery, teary laugh. “I think I’m an idiot for never allowing you to do this when you were a kid. Who knows, we could have had the next Justin Bieber on our hands.”
“Yeah, right, I’m much more Taylor Swift than JB.” Her light spirit is exactly what I need today.
Before I can reach for a biscuit and shovel it in, because I was too nervous to eat before, my phone rings. I answer immediately, seeing who it is.
“Porter, it’s me.”
Madison says this like we talk all the time, like we’re age-old companions and this is how she’ll always introduce herself when I call. I ache for her, my heart wanting to be wherever she is.
“Hi.” I want to apologize, and tell her how much I freaking love her.
Tell her that no matter what life throws at us, I want to do it together. That if we’re having a baby, I can’t wait. Because I’ve had days to digest it now, and what my mother just told me unlocked something in me. I’m not the type of man who runs away, I’ll stay and fight even if the person I love is being stubborn and scared.
But before I can say anything, Madison jumps in.
“I got the results back from the doctor.”
An odd feeling moves through my chest. Tension mixed with dread mixed with … hope? Huh?
“The blood test was negative. There is no baby.”
My heart drops, just like my head into my hands. For the first time in a very long time, I let myself cry.
34
Madison
Negative.
No baby.
I don’t know why I’m disappointed. Why I don’t feel some sense of relief that I’m not having a child with a man who couldn’t even digest the thought of one in our lives. But I am. I let myself taste that one morsel of what if, of happiness, and it spiraled. I saw Porter holding our baby in the middle of the night, singing him or her to sleep.
And I wanted that. God, I want it more than I can say. Hearing the news from the doctor was like a stab to the gut.
Ending the call with Porter to tell him the news was one of the hardest things I had to do in my life. Because I feel empty, and he’s probably rejoicing. Why has this year gotten off to the same kind of start as last?
Tears leak down my cheeks as I sit on the front porch. I don’t want my parents to see this. I don’t want questions right now. I just want to be alone, to grieve in private for something that was silly to wish for in the first place.
I place a hand on my stomach, which is covered in my coat, and let myself dream of what could have been. I don’t know why I’m doing this, wallowing in the grief that stole over me when the doctor’s office called. It just feels like another strike against me in this game of life.
When Porter’s pickup pulls down the driveway, I am both surprised and find that I saw this coming. Maybe he wants to pick up right where we left off, ignore this little mess up. He’ll want to take me to his bed, to continue life as it was. But I’ll never be able to. I can’t act like this didn’t happen.
He emerges from the driver’s side, and, God, does he look good. It’s apparent how much I’ve missed him, but I physically ache to be held by him as I glimpse him from my seat on the porch. Sensing this, he stomps up the path and steps, and before I know it, he’s scooping me up.
