The Leftover Club Page 27

  I bucked underneath him, grinding against his hand as I felt him slowly deflate inside. He still filled me with that majestic cock that had always fit like it was made to. And maybe it was. Maybe, after all this time, I finally landed the man I was born to love.

  How could anything that came from that be bad?

  I didn’t mention babies or pregnancies or commitments as I vaulted into outer space, or later once I floated gently back to earth and came to rest in his arms. We said nothing at all as we held each other. We spoke through touch, and kiss, alone.

  It was magical.

  Barbara sent room service as promised, a candlelit dinner for two with a decadent dessert to share. We didn’t even bother getting out of bed to eat, instead we fed each other, before all food was forgotten as we disappeared once again inside one another. It felt like a honeymoon. There were absolutely no barriers between us anymore.

  We didn’t even answer our phones. I sent a short text back to Meghan when she let me know she had landed safely, but everyone else was forgotten until the next morning, when the incessant buzzing of his phone could no longer be ignored.

  He sighed as he glanced through the messages. “I suppose we should make an appearance,” he said, though it was clear it was the last thing he wanted. “We’ll do the dad thing, the family thing, and then I’m taking you back to L.A. to do the us thing.” He pulled me close. “Sound good to you?”

  I smiled as I snuggled up to him. “Sounds like a perfect Christmas to me.”

  “You won’t have snow,” he pointed out.

  “But I’ll have you,” I murmured.

  He traced my cheek with his finger. “You’ll always have me.”

  We set up a dinner that night at Barbara’s inn, after Ashley and Augustus had hit the slopes. Neither one of us were looking forward to it, and he was downright morose by the time we got dressed. “It’ll be okay,” I promised.

  He didn’t say anything. He just took my hand in his and kissed it for luck.

  Augustus and Ashley were already seated by the time we joined them. The two Fenns sat opposite each other, as Ashley and I quietly did the same. To fend off the awkwardness, we all promptly disappeared behind our menus. “I’ve never been here,” Augustus announced. “I’m not sure what the standard is.”

  “We’ve eaten here,” Dylan stated. “The last time we came around Thanksgiving, with Roni’s daughter.”

  Augustus glanced at me over the top of the menu. “You have a child?”

  “Not quite a child anymore,” I answered. “She’s sixteen.”

  “Are you married?” he wanted to know.

  “Divorced. Ten years,” I replied.

  He nodded. “Parenthood is not for the faint of heart, is it? A more binding commitment than marriage. Not everyone can pull it off.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Dylan mumbled.

  The waiter stopped by to offer a bottle of wine. I had forgotten much of my wine education from my years with Wade, but I understood enough that “Cabernet Sauvignon” and “Bordeaux” would please the fine doctor. Our glasses were poured and we toasted to family.

  Dylan’s glass was empty in a flash.

  “Despite what I think of Dylan’s career or his lifestyle, that is the one smart decision he has made,” Augustus pronounced as he placed his glass back onto the table.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “It would be perfect nonsense to bring a child into his world. So unpredictable and chaotic, with no firm roots established anywhere. But he’s always played that very, very smart. Otherwise I’d have ten grandkids to support instead of just one son.”

  Dylan stared daggers at his father. “You don’t support me, Dad.”

  “No, I just fund your emergencies. Fortunately for both of us, that hasn’t included children.”

  It offended me that the Great Dr. Fenn was completely dismissing the value of the mother. Like she was just some brood mare along for the ride. “I’m sure if Dylan had ever desired children, he would have picked a good mate to help him raise them.”

  Augustus guffawed. “Please. You’ve known him all these years and you can say that? Did you not meet the last one? What was her name again?”

  Begrudgingly Dylan answered. “Thammee.”

  “With two E’s,” Augustus chuckled. “And an H. Don’t forget the H. Like this is a good mother for my grandchildren. She’d probably end up naming one of them using the entire alphabet.”

  “Seems to me that Bonnie would love her grandchildren, alternative spelling and all,” I snapped.

  Augustus met my combative stare. “Have I offended you, Miss Lawless?”

  “Quite,” I shot back. “You sit there like lord of the manor, bestowing your judgment as if you earned any right to do so. The fact of the matter, I watched Bonnie raise Dylan single-handedly. The only thing you ever provided was a last name and a monthly check. Oh, and grand gifts to buy his forgiveness when you couldn’t be bothered to show up once and awhile, to show your only child that you actually give a damn. I see that every single day with my own daughter and her pious father preaches the same pretentious bullshit. Meanwhile I’m the one up to my ears in dirty laundry, unfinished homework and carpool, while juggling my own career in the process. I think Dylan would make an outstanding father. He’s already got a pretty bitching prototype of what not to do.”

  Augustus glared at me over the glass, while other patrons around us politely tried to ignore my raised voice. “Perhaps if you would have worked a bit more on your manners, my dear, you would have kept a spouse and eased your own burden.”

  “Fuck you, Dad,” Dylan snapped, but I held up my hand.

  “I guess that is the difference between you and me, Dr. Fenn. I don’t see my child as my burden.” I glanced at both Ashley and Dylan. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  I scooted my chair back and stalked from the restaurant with my head held high.

  I was back in my robe and brushing out my wet hair by the time Dylan joined me in our cabin a half-hour later. He wore a crooked grin as he took me into his arms. “Man, when you find your balls, you really find your balls, don’t you?”

  “Ovaries, thank you,” I corrected as I wrapped my arms around him. “So I take it I’ve fallen out of favor with the Great Dr. Fenn?”

  “Quite,” he affirmed. “Needless to say, we won’t invite him to the wedding.”

  My breath caught. “There’s going to be a wedding?”

  He grinned. “It’s only a few hours to Vegas.”

  I didn’t know what to say. “Dylan…,” I started but he chuckled.

  “Don’t get your panties in a twist. I was joking.”

  For a split-second, I was disappointed. I covered it with a grin of my own. “For your information, I’m not wearing any panties, Mr. Fenn.”

  “Oh, really?” he said with an arch of his eyebrow. He swept me into his arms and carried me toward the bedroom.

  31: Papa Don’t Preach

  December 12, 1986

  Normally the day we let out for Christmas vacation was one of the happiest of the year. We hardly did any work in between all the holiday parties hosted in classroom after classroom. And just about every kid on the planet was jonesing for Christmas morning.

  Perhaps that was why I was so perplexed at the pall that had fallen over the house, with the Moms talking in hushed whispers and Dylan not talking at all. But a meeting of the Leftover Club quickly shed light into the troubling new circumstances.

  “Rumor has it that Lisa Fontaine is PG,” Charlie confided as we all leaned into the circle. A collective gasp followed.

  Lisa Fontaine was one of Dylan’s recent conquests, most notably at the sophomore Halloween party where they had seemingly been glued at the lips. Whether or not they were sleeping together wasn’t really the question, as Lisa had a bit of a reputation. We Leftovers penciled her into the “Did It” list the minute we heard they were dating.

  “You don’t think…,” Olive began,
but none of us were willing to say what we were thinking. Suffice it to say, it wasn’t good.

  With Dylan’s track record, it was a freaking miracle he had made it to sixteen without an oopsie.

  “Doesn’t he use protection?” Bryan asked me.

  “Why ask me?” I squeaked. “Like I know.”

  “Come on. You live in the same house. Surely you hear things.”

  “I know as much about his little necessities as he knows about mine,” I answered.

  “Can you find out?” Olive asked and I was quick to shake my head.

  “That’s Dylan’s personal business. I’m not going to bring it up.”

  “You don’t have to bring it up,” Bryan said. “Just give him the opportunity to bring it up to you.”

  It was unthinkable. “What difference does it make?”

  “Gotta admit. His stock would plummet if he went from “Just a Gigolo” to “Papa Don’t Preach.””

  “Oh my God,” Charlie gasped. “Do you think they’ll get married?”

  “Come on, you guys. It’s all a rumor. And wasn’t Lisa supposedly pregnant last year?”

  “Who says she wasn’t?” Bryan quipped. “Easy enough to fix that problem.”

  “Well, I’m not asking. So speculate away.”

  Which, I’m sure, was exactly what the Leftovers did after we disbanded that afternoon.

  I know the rumor stayed on my mind all the way home. It was still early afternoon when I finally let myself in the front door, so it was quiet. The Moms were still at work. They didn’t get Christmas vacation like we did. I decided to use the solitude to clean up a bit. Maybe that would cheer up everyone.

  Our living room was already decorated for the holiday, something we all did on Thanksgiving night. There were even presents under the tree. I knew the biggest ones came from Dylan’s dad. They were always modern and impressive, which seemed to placate Dylan.

  I could sense, though, what he really wanted could never come out of a box – no matter how big.

  I was vacuuming by the time he got home a half-hour after I did. This was unusual, given his social obligations and his extracurricular activities. What was even more unusual were his slumped shoulders and his downcast eyes. For once in our lives together, I could tell that Dylan was deeply ashamed.

  I silenced the vacuum as he shut the door. “Hey,” I greeted.

  “Hey,” he replied in a soft, almost broken voice.

  “Are you okay?”

  He nodded and slunk away to his bedroom. I was content to let him go for the first five minutes, but after that it began to eat at me. He was clearly going through something major, and with the rumor about Lisa, I was worried that he might be in really deep shit this time. Finally I went to his bedroom door. I could hear his stereo blast from the other side, so loudly that he didn’t hear the first few times I knocked. Finally he pulled the door open. His room was filled with smoke, which I could tell immediately was marijuana. “The Moms are going to kill you,” I said.

  “They’ll have to stand in line,” he muttered as he threw himself back on his bed and fired up another joint.

  I walked over to the bed and perched on the edge. “What’s going on, Dylan?”

  “Why ask me?” he asked before he held in a huge, long drag. “You probably heard the rumors.”

  “Is it true?” I asked softly.

  He shrugged. “Won’t know until the blood test. Apparently I’m one of three contestants in this particular game show.”

  “Three?” I echoed. I couldn’t even turn one boy’s head. I couldn’t imagine sleeping with three within the span of days it takes to ovulate. “Did you use protection?”

  “Of course,” he snapped. He was immediately chagrined. “I’m sorry, Roni. I didn’t mean to snap.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I get it.”

  He sighed and snuffed out the joint. “It’s my own damned fault. Every time you fire a load, you take your chances. Or so they tell me, anyway.” He rubbed his eyes with both hands. “I should have stuck to masturbation.”

  I laughed and he peered at me through his fingers. “Sorry,” I said.

  He sat up. “No, you’re right to laugh. You know who else will laugh? Dear ol’ Dad. Just one more disappointment for him to hold against me.”

  “Compared to how many you have to hold against him?” I shot back.

  “Ah, but you don’t understand. He’s earned the right to make his mistakes. He’s got college degrees. He’s got a job. He’s got a house, a car and a boat. So if he makes a mistake, it’s just an aberration. If I make a mistake, it’s just par for the course.”

  “How can you say that, Dylan? You’re an honors student, you’re the quarterback of the football team. You’re treasurer for student council. Is there anything you can’t do?”

  He looked at me for a long moment before looking away. “Yeah. Get the respect of my father.”

  “Fuck him,” I snapped, which forced Dylan to look back at me. “Who the hell is he to judge anyone anyway? I’ve known you, what? Ten years? I’ve never even met the man. He hasn’t bothered to come back west to see you. He just sends you elaborate gifts while he lets Bonnie field everything else. It’s bullshit, Dylan. Pure bullshit.”

  He chuckled. “I think you’re more pissed about it than me.”

  “Of course I am,” I said softly as I touched his arm. “You’re my friend.”

  Another long pause before he scooted off of the bed. “Well, friend, I don’t suppose you happen to have a few hundred dollars laying around, do you? Because that’s what it’s going to cost to get rid of this little problem, and I certainly don’t want to ask him for it.”

  My stomach sank. This was the reality of it. He had to face his father’s disapproval because his mother didn’t have the extra money to spend.

  “I mean, I guess I could pawn my stereo or sell my car. Something. Anything but him.”

  I stood as well. “We’ll figure something out,” I promised. “Your dad never has to know. If anything, I can ask Bryan.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Bryan?”

  “Sure. His parents are loaded. He could get a loan. You could pay him back. You’re not alone. I promise.”

  He studied my face before he finally nodded. “Thanks, Roni.”

  I mirrored the nod and headed for the door. I stopped when I reached it. “Why didn’t you come to me?” I asked. It wasn’t that I expected him to, or even that he had made a habit of it in the past. But clearly it was something he wanted to share, because he opened up the minute I ask. So why not confide in me first?

  His shoulders slumped further. “I guess I just didn’t want you to think I was an asshole.”

  I offered him a smile. “I’d never think that.”

  He smiled at last. “Thanks, Roni.”

  The days that followed were tense. I didn’t tell Bryan about what was going on, figuring I’d spare him the dirty details until we were absolutely certain. Nature let everyone off the hook by Christmas Eve, when Lisa spontaneously miscarried. That near-miss haunted Dylan for months. He slowly started dating again, but wasn’t quite as predatory as he was before. Instead he dated older girls who didn’t have quite the same reputation. He also bought stock and barrel in every over-the-counter contraceptive that was available.

  And I never heard of any near-oopsies that followed.

  It was one mistake that Dylan Fenn was determined not to make.

  32: Wakeup Call

  January 4, 2008

  I sat on the toilet in my pajamas, staring at the stick in my hand. I had nearly convinced myself the plus-sign I was seeing was a mirage, but it was darkening by the minute. I was experiencing a strange deja vous, and in the moment, I couldn’t rightly say if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

  It was just… a surprising thing.

  Granted, Dylan and I stopped using condoms purposefully, with full knowledge that something like this could happen. But not only had I stayed on the pill, but I was
thirty-freaking-eight years old. I always pictured my eggs hobbling down the fallopian tubes using walking canes. I couldn’t imagine that there was fire still in the furnace.

  Shouldn’t I be readying myself for menopause?

  The more math I did in my head, the more depressed I got. When this child graduated high school, I’d be fifty-six, solidly on the downhill slope to the big 6-0. Meghan would be thirty-four, likely with a family of her own.

  In fact, she’d graduate high school before this new one ever went to preschool.

  What the fuck had I been thinking?

  And yet, Dylan had wanted this. This child had been conceived in love, with a father who wanted to have a baby with me, or so he said.

  Or did he?

  Wait… did he?

  I rewound the events in Big Bear over and over in my head. He knew he was taking a chance to be a father, but it was a fairly remote gamble at best. Had he simply said all those things so that he could skip the condom and have reckless sex because his father had pissed him off?

  Was it a final act of rebellion?

  Dylan hadn’t mentioned babies or pregnancy from the moment we got back into L.A. He turned his attention toward the new film, which he wanted to make a huge success so he could ram that down his father’s throat. I saw less and less of him, despite the holidays, because he was preparing for his role. He worked hard at his craft, he always did. We ran lines together, and in those lines he was a devoted father, but when he was in bed with me, it was the same old Dylan he always had been.

  He loved to fuck and he was good at it, and I was cast as his current bed warmer.

  Aside from giving me a music box on Christmas day, with his old class ring tucked inside, he had made no mention of the future regarding us. He’d even spent a few more nights at home as he packed for the upcoming extended stay in Louisiana.

  Had he changed his mind? Had he thought wiser of it in the cold light of day?

  As I held that little plastic stick in my hand, I knew I did.