Late Love Page 12

  I pause, taking a breath. “You can’t force someone to be a father, and trust me when I say he would only bring trouble into this baby’s life. I need you both to promise me you won’t attempt to contact him.” I refuse to waver as I speak, my voice steady.

  It takes my dad a few moments, but he eventually relents. “As much as I want to pay that dickhead a visit, I know you’re old enough to make your own choices, and we respect that.”

  “Thank you.”

  We spend the next few hours filling one another in on what we’ve been doing over the past few months. My mother is desperate to only talk about the baby, but it’s important to me to know what they’ve both been doing too. With every passing second my anxiety about today slips away a little more, my heart and soul grateful that I’ve got these two as my parents.

  When Dad has to go take a work call, Mum manages to turn the conversation back around to the baby again. I happily let her. She needs this—she needs to catch up on what she feels she has missed.

  “Have you thought about names?” Mum asks as she brings me over a hot cup of tea.

  I shake my head. “I honestly can’t pick one to save my life.”

  “That’s okay! When you were born, you didn’t have a name until you were five days old.”

  “What!” I laugh, unable to imagine not having a name by the time she is born.

  My mum nods. “We wanted to use a family name, hence Charlotte, but as soon as you started to grow, we knew that it wasn’t fully you. You will always be a Lottie.”

  I nod, thinking about how I never actually use my full name. Although I love it, it’s just never fitted as well as Lottie does.

  “I have a few ideas of some I like. Do you want to see?”

  “Is the sky blue?”

  I laugh, digging through my bag to find my phone and show her some options. And that is how my dad finds us an hour later, pages deep on baby websites with Mum throwing out the most ridiculous suggestions. Although I will never use any of them, I entertain each and every one, even when she starts suggesting fruits.

  The next three days with them are everything I could have hoped for and more. I don’t see anyone else except them, us attempting to make up for our all lost time over the past year. It’s chaotic, loud, and full on, but it’s also perfect.

  After the time spent with my parents, weeks continue to trickle by and soon enough, I’m only seven weeks away from my due date. My stomach gets bigger by the day, my closet no longer catering to my needs. The full brunt of my frustrations comes out when I’m scheduled to go to dinner with Owen and his brother.

  “I’m sick of nothing fitting me!” I yell out, tossing my black skirt onto my bedroom floor, which is already littered with shit I can’t be bothered to fold, let alone put away. I huff, sitting on the edge of my bed in nothing but my bra and undies.

  I look in the mirror, my bleached hair now a mess with brown roots over three inches long bleeding into my blonde hair that rests way past my shoulders.

  “Why don’t you just wear a dress?” Stana’s sweet voice infiltrates my ears, and I wish I could be calm like her. Too bad everything irritates me these days. I still have time to go, but I’m ready for this to be over.

  “I don’t want to wear a dress,” I whine, knowing full well I sound like a petulant child. “I just wanted to wear that skirt.” I eye the small black thing on the floor with deep disdain. My ever-changing body has finally hit the point of no return for many of my wardrobe items.

  “I know, love, but the skirt doesn’t fit right now.” Stana’s hand comes to rest upon my arm, getting my attention. “It will fit eventually once your little girl is born, but right now it doesn’t, and that’s perfectly okay. So why don’t I pick something else out, something even better than that skirt, and then we can have a tea before Owen gets here.”

  I nod, feeling annoyed at myself that I’m irritated at a stupid fucking skirt.

  “How about this one?”

  Stana holds up a knee-length black velvet dress, tight on the top and loose on the bottom. I know it already fits because of the stretchy material, so it’s worth putting on.

  I reach for it, and Stana passes it my way, not even remotely fazed by my temper tantrum. After quickly pulling it over my head, I’m happily surprised with how it looks when I turn to the mirror. Most days I don’t feel that great and it’s impacting my niceness to people, niceness that was already weary to begin with. So it’s a comfort to finally feel pretty for a night.

  “See, Lottie, this looks beautiful.” Stana hands me my hot-pink Dr. Martens to finish the outfit off.

  “Ugh, you’re right. This doesn’t look bad,” I tell her, now wanting to laugh at the ping-pong of emotions rocketing through me.

  She nudges my side. “I know you’re going through a lot, but you deserve to enjoy today.”

  “I know, I just think everything is catching up to me and I’m not really sure how to feel about it. I mean, this baby is coming so soon and although I’m excited, I’m also scared shitless. And I miss my parents even though I literally saw them last month. I think I’m just feeling it all.”

  “I think most people feel that way. Granted, you’re definitely in different circumstances than some, but I have zero doubt in my mind you can do this.”

  I nod.

  “But with that being said, you’re allowed to have a bad day. You can have as many bad days as you want, but I’m going to be here to make sure when that happens, I can kick those pesky little thoughts straight out of your mind.”

  “What would I do without you, Stana?”

  She helps me finally pull myself together before Owen messages me that he’s out front.

  “Okay, I need to go, but I’ll message you later?”

  “Sounds good.”

  We exit the flat and I meet Owen, not knowing this night isn’t going to end as planned.

  “Did you have a bad time tonight?”

  Owen’s voice catches me off guard as I throw my jacket onto my couch, not caring when it misses and hits the floor. I stare at it for a few moments before turning around, confronting him. Finally, time to face the music.

  “No, Owen, I had a great time,” I reply honestly, yet I know he hears the lingering hesitation in my voice.

  “But?” He tilts his head to the side, his signature smile having disappeared on the drive home when he was met with my single-word replies and silence. Owen and I know each other well, in some respects too well for two people who are just friends. Hence how we’ve ended up at this impasse.

  “I just,” I begin before shaking my head, not wanting to hurt him in the process.

  His face hardens slightly. “Say it, Lottie. Everyone always says how blunt and to the point you are, so be that person. Tell me what’s bothering you and then we can fix it.”

  “But that’s the point, Owen,” I snap. “You can’t fix it. You shouldn’t be fixing it.” Exasperated, I run a hand through my hair, looking anywhere except at him. I wait for him to reply, to say anything, but he stays silent.

  “This isn’t healthy, Owen. You’ve given up your entire social life to cater to the whims of a pregnant girl you didn’t even know, and I let you.”

  “So, what, you’re kicking me out of your life?” His voice is even, to the point of being unnerving.

  “No,” I say almost too quickly. “You’re a huge part of my life, puppy, and I want it to stay that way, but I want you to be able to live your life too. I’m not kicking you out of anything at all. I just think we need to acknowledge the reality we’ve been living in.”

  “So, what, it’s once-a-week visits, then what? Once she arrives I never see you again?”

  My heart constricts at the thought. It’s the last thing I want, but I can’t be unfair to him. So, I do what I do best. I’m honest with him.

  “I see the way our interactions have been changing. You’re not the only one with the longing looks, but I can’t act on them. For the sake of this baby I have to put he
r first, and lately it feels like we’re in a relationship without any of the benefits going your way. I mean, how will you explain to the next girl you date that you need to run off to help a woman and her kid every few days? Because shit’s going to happen in my life, stuff will get messy, and it’s not fair that I drag you down with me.”

  His eyes shine as he stares at me, his presence digging deep into my soul and wrapping around it like a vice. I want to take everything back, beg him to be with me and the baby even though I know it’s completely selfish. But I’ve come to the realization that I may be slightly in love with Owen Bower, and what’s worse than my own agony from not being with him would be causing him any pain.

  “Drag me down, is that what you really think?” he says, his voice low but holding a depth I’ve never heard from him. I nod.

  Saying absolutely nothing, Owen turns around and walks out the door. My heart leaves with him.

  I stare at the closed door, Owen’s presence no longer occupying my flat. I used to joke about him being over the top, too much even, but now that he’s gone, I can’t think of anything I want back more.

  I did this. I pushed him away because he’s young and has so much more to do in life. The last thing he needs is to be shackled to a baby at twenty-eight. It wouldn’t be right, and it wouldn’t be fair. So, despite the fact my heart is aching, my mind weary from months of overthinking, I push it all down. Push all of it into a deep dark hole I never knew could exist inside of me. I push it down for her. Because she is too small, too unaffected by this life to be weighed down by her mother’s dilemmas before she’s even taken her first breath.

  “It’s just you and me, little one,” I whisper to my overgrown bump, my hands moving up and down against the firm skin.

  Exhausted from it all, I put my iPhone on shuffle as I walk over to my bed, needing just a few moments of being close to her.

  Cat Power’s “Sea of Love” drifts through my speakers. Perhaps it’s the perfect song for this moment, for the love I feel for this little human I created. Or perhaps it’s a dagger in my heart, a reminder that despite my denials, my feelings for Owen have only continued to grow. To bloom.

  I pull back my frilled sheets, a gift from my late grandmother, something I’ve never been able to yet part with, and then I climb in, careful of my precious cargo as I turn to the side. The fresh scents of baby powder and faint gardenia cling to my nose as I breathe in the freshly made bed. My tidiness has only increased in recent months due to one person.

  Owen pops into my mind yet again, but I push him out. Now isn’t the time for selfishness. Isn’t that what being a mother is all about? The ultimate act of selflessness, giving your everything, putting all your child’s needs before your own?

  I breathe in and out, trying to calm myself down. My protruding belly keeps me company as I drift my hands up and down, the two of us in our ultimate little safe haven.

  “I promise to do everything I possibly can for you, little one, even when I can’t.” I whisper the words, as though maybe if I’m soft enough she will hear me. And as if on cue, her little arms move, or maybe it’s her little legs, alerting me to the fact that I’m indeed not alone.

  We stay like this together as the song plays, my mind feeling nostalgic, so I press the Repeat button, listening to it Lord knows how many times.

  It’s probably twenty minutes later when the front door opens, the song still playing in the background. I freeze, uncertain how to process the fact that Owen’s come back.

  Maybe he forgot his phone.

  Or his jacket?

  My question is answered when I hear the rustling of a shopping bag and the heavy footsteps of his boots. There is a pause outside my door before two soft thumps. I hold my breath, eyes staring straight at the wall in front of me, latching onto the stack of magazines I’ve had in that corner since I first moved in.

  “You don’t have to say anything, Lottie. But I’m not just walking away. This—” He pauses, voice strained. I stay still, saying absolutely nothing.

  “I may not be your baby’s blood, but she already means too much for me to walk away from her, from either of you. Despite your resistance, I’m invested. Even though you yell at me, like I know you like to do, I’m not just going to fuck off.”

  My stubborn nature doesn’t let me look at him or give him the reassurance I can tell he also needs. Instead, I keep my frame rigid.

  “I’m still living my life, Lottie. I’m just lucky enough to have one—well, nearly two—new people in it. You see it as a burden, but I see it as a blessing. If deep down you don’t actually want me around, well, that’s another thing and I’ll have to respect your wishes, but you need to be honest about that.”

  “I do want you around,” I whisper, face half-smushed into the pillow.

  “Well, good, because I want to be around. And in case the message wasn’t clear enough, I got you this.” I hear the sound of a bag again, my interest piqued so I heave myself into a sitting position to finally give him my attention. In his hand is my favorite chocolate ice cream, and a smile I couldn’t hide if I wanted to overtakes my face.

  “But before you have it, there is another thing I need to say.”

  My insides clench; I’m not sure where he’s going with this. I want to look away, but I respect him enough to give him my attention.

  “Things have changed between us. God, maybe they were always different from the start when we met. There is something here, and I think it would do both of us a serious disservice to deny that.”

  I nod, unable to disagree. My mind is thankful for the honesty while also recoiling at what saying it aloud means.

  “I think we’re adult enough to admit how things might be different between us if there was no Beck or baby,” I say. “And I want you to know, if there was none of this, no Beck, no baby, you would have been perfect for me, Owen. I would have gone there with you and reveled in every second of it.”

  His eyes close briefly as if he’s pained by my words, my own throat tightening at the emotion behind it.

  Instinctively my hands search out my stomach for comfort. “But all that’s happened, and I would be lying if I said I’m unhappy with how things have turned out.”

  He places his hand on mine. “And I’d never want you to change it either. All these moments have led us right here and that’s okay.”

  “Despite everything, I’m glad you’re in my life,” I whisper. “Most days it feels like I can’t do this without you.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Lottie. If anyone can do this, it’s you. I’m just happy I stumbled upon you in that hallway, so you don’t have to.”

  I shove an abnormally large bit of croissant into my mouth, relaxing into Emilia’s couch. My feet are red and swollen from ramming them into my boots when they clearly need Birkenstocks or nothing. Too bad I’ll never be caught dead in a pair of those.

  Emilia is taking care of me today, my emotions all over the place along with my hormones. Stana and Ali have opted for a few days away, while Reeve and Owen are up to something.

  My mobile rings, a number I don’t recognize flashing across the screen. I’m not usually one to answer these types of calls but for some reason, I do.

  “Charlotte speaking,” I answer.

  “Hello, is this Ms. Knight?”

  “Yes,” I confirm.

  “Ms. Knight, I was given your number by an Owen Bower. He’s here at Royal London Hospital. It appears he and another passenger”—she pauses—“a Reeve Sawyer, were in a car accident earlier.”

  My mind goes blank at the words, panic etching its way into every inch of my body. The woman on the other line keeps talking, telling me where to go and how to see them but giving me zero updates on their condition.

  “We’ll be right there,” I say quickly before grabbing my shoes and shoving my phone into my bag.

  “Lottie? What’s wrong? Where are we going?” Emilia asks, her voice filled with fear.

  “Owen and Reeve h
ave been in a car accident. We need to go.”

  I can tell she’s confused as to why Owen would give the nurse my number instead of his own mother’s, but I push those questions aside for later.

  I finish getting my shoes on before I see Em still standing still. “Emilia!” I yell. “Em, I need you to snap out of it. I know this is scary, but I need you.”

  She seems to jolt into place at my words, and both of us hastily leave the apartment as I call an Uber.

  “Did they say anything? On the phone, I mean, did they say if Reeve and Owen were okay?”

  I shake my head as we walk outside to the corner.

  “It’s going to be okay, Lottie. I promise they are going to be okay.”

  “We don’t know that, Em. For all we know they’re dead and we have to identify their bodies,” I reply, a sob slipping out.

  Our ride arrives and we quickly get in.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she says, but I can’t accept her assurances.

  “I’m scared, Em,” I admit.

  “I know you’re scared, Lo. I’m scared too, but we can’t think like that. I’m sure they’re perfectly fine and this is all a huge misunderstanding.”

  We stay silent the rest of the ride to the hospital, my sobs only growing along with my hysterics. All I can think about is Owen and his kind face and how I never got a chance to really tell him what he means to me. How he always only ever did things for me and I never gave him anything in return.

  I’m a snotty, teary mess by the time we’re at the information desk, Emilia having to ask all the questions. She grabs my hand and pulls me down the corridor to their room, neither of us knowing what we will find when we open that door.

  “Let’s just get this over with,” I tell her, small hiccups bursting from me. Yet when the door opens and we find both Owen and Reeve sitting there, seemingly okay, I lose it.

  “What the actual fuck!” I scream, rushing over to Owen and shoving him with my bag. “How the fuck are you alive!” It’s a ridiculous question; of course I’m happy they’re okay. But if they’re as okay as they seem, why didn’t they call?