The Lie(105)

Her eyes bug out. Mouth drops open. She can’t even speak.

Natasha fills her in. “I’m pregnant. And we couldn’t be happier. So after all this is said and done, I guess we have you to thank. If it wasn’t for your bitterness and anger, your jealousy and insecurities, we wouldn’t have had to sneak around so much and have all that awesome sex. So thank you for that, Melissa. And thanks for making me move out and giving me a great excuse to be with the one I love.”

“Yes, thank you,” I tell her, trying to sound sincere. “Especially for all the sex we’ve been having.” Melissa is still speechless, her face flaming pink. I look to Natasha. “Shall we get packing?”

She nods, trying not to smile and we head into her room and get to work while Melissa stands out in the hallway, bewildered and unsure what to say or do. Luckily, it’s easy work for us since Natasha had already packed it all up. We take down the boxes and pile up the van in three trips.

During the last trip, Natasha, with hands full of movie posters, calls out into the hallway. Melissa has been in her room the whole time, trying her best to ignore us.

“We’re going now,” Natasha says, her voice echoing down the hall. “You know, it doesn’t have to end this way. We’ll be seeing each other at school I’m sure, so if you want to make things easier between us, I’m game.”

Silence.

Natasha looks to me and shrugs. I adjust the boxes in my hands and give her a look that tells her she tried her best.

“Okay,” Natasha calls out to her again. “I’ll take your silence as a sign you want my forgiveness. Well, I forgive you Melissa. Life is too short to hold grudges, guilt, shame or anything other than happiness. One day, hopefully you’ll realize I’m right.”

“You’re bloody right about that,” I say, as Natasha pauses at the door, waiting for one last reply. When it doesn’t come, she slowly shuts the door. “I’m proud of you,” I tell her.

“Yeah,” she says. “I think I’m proud of me too.” She stares back at the door, a symbol of another life, and sighs. “You know I meant it too. I won’t hold a grudge. I’ve seen what it can do to a person.”

“Let’s get you to your new place,” I say and we head down the stairs, pack up the rest of the stuff, and drive off into the night.





***



Later that night there’s a pile of boxes in my drawing room, a dog snoring on the couch and the woman I love lying in my arms. Inside her is a new life, a new beginning, a new chance.

Outside her is a man who loves her more than he can even understand.

And outside us both is a world that keeps spinning, a mad world capable of bringing us to our knees and yet never ceases to be beautiful.





EPILOGUE

Natasha

Six Months Later



“Got everything?” Brigs asks, eying me in the mirror as he adjusts his bow-tie.

The man looks disarmingly handsome in a tuxedo and I have to take a moment to drink him in like lemonade on a hot day.

Of course this makes him stare right back at me, shaking his head. “I can’t get over how beautiful you look,” he says, voice rich and low, all the emotions of the last six months just simmering beneath the surface.

I roll my eyes. “You mean despite the fact that I’m a waddling pregnant woman,” I tell him, looking down at my belly. Thank god this wedding dress is empire-waisted and kind of camouflages my bump. What it doesn’t camouflage is the fact that my body has turned on me and turned into a fat, bloated monster with an insatiable appetite. You know those pregnant women who you can’t tell if they’re pregnant or not if you’re looking at them from behind? Yeah, that’s not me. My ass has only gotten wider, not to mention all the other parts of me. Shopping for clothes has become extremely depressing, so I just schlep about in leggings and baggy sweaters.

Of course the dress is absolutely beautiful and I’m so glad I don’t look too horrid. My hair is half up with some height to balance out my lower half, though my roots are coming in like crazy since I can’t dye my hair anymore. Or have caffeine. Or drink alcohol. Or enjoy sushi. Or, you know, life.

It might sound like I’m not enjoying being pregnant and I guess that’s kind of true. I know it’s nature’s miracle and all that bullshit but honestly, I’m a sweaty, foggy-headed insomniac now whose hands look like they belong on a Cabbage Patch Kid doll. I just want Ramona (yes, named after my literary heroine, Ramona Quimby – only fair since Brigs would have named him Sherlock if he was a boy) to be born already so I can see her cute face and see which of us she’ll resemble. If she could have my boobs and Brigs’ eyes, she’ll win at life.