Page 82 of Finding Fate

“Very well then.” He pushes off the window and starts walking toward my office door, stopping with his hand on the handle. “I have some business to attend to in the states. The holidays are upon us. You have three days to get them both here with a passport ready and bags packed to get my support on this. We’re going home. He has to meet the family. Do I need to ask if they have a sufficient place to live?”

“It’ll be taken care of.”

“Then I’ll make some calls.”

He walks out the door, saying nothing more, seeing himself out like he always does. I sit back down in my chair and lean forward on my thighs, working my tie knot loose. Suddenly it seems too tight. Six years of secrets are about to unravel in a matter of days. With a Thanos, the result could easily go one of two ways: bad or destructive.

Gabrielle is a fighter. After Maddox left, Madden was born, and she went to high school, she did anything to act out, to piss me off. She drank and partied. There were times she didn’t come home to prove a point. Thankfully I was smart enough to put a chip in her. I was a little shocked to find out recently that she wasn’t having sex. Makes me damn proud, though, and is probably the biggest reason I’m doing this. She held out for him not knowing if she’d ever see him again. She sure as hell doesn’t get that from her mother. She was suspended for fighting once or twice a year. My financial contributions to the school kept her from getting expelled.

She’s always loved him, but I thought it would pass like most first loves do. I was wrong. I’m man enough to admit it. And as I remember that November day like it was yesterday, and how much it hurt me to hurt her, she’s more likely to hit me than anything. She’s just like me. That day has haunted me for years, so this once, I’ll stand there like a target. I’ve owed it to her since the day I took him out of her arms, because had someone taken her from me, I would have killed them—father, wife, or a perfect stranger. Who it was wouldn’t have mattered, because buried they would be.

Forty-Seven

Maddox

Iplay along to one of our songs, my eyes closed as I feel the beat through my body and the vibration of my sticks in my hands as they strike the drums. It helps me when I’m nervous to drown out everything but music. I can’t write with a pre-occupied mind like Riggan can, but I can play; prefer it even. He writes best in love. I write best emotional.

Gabby should be back any minute from confirming her pregnancy with a blood test. I offered to go, but she told me to stop being ridiculous over something as simple as a needle stick, so Sayler went. I don’t have a clue why it was ridiculous for me to sit by her but not for another chick. Maybe she just wanted some space but didn’t want to tell me. Fuck if I know. Girls are nuts. Where guys just come out with what they’re thinking they beat around the bush.

My nerves are overworked. I’m stressing. Never thought I’d be more scared of it saying this was all just a big misunderstanding versus another positive test, but I am. I want this with her. God only knows why. She’s still pretty young. I’m about to turn twenty-five come January. We have plenty of time we could focus on our relationship before bringing something complicated into it, but the second it came out something clicked into place inside, as if my life was finally aligning.

My phone vibrates on my thigh. I stop playing to pull it out. It could be Gabby. When I dig it out of my pocket the screen is lit up with a message from my mom. She makes sure to send me a text once a day, and often asks when I’m going to come visit again, filling my heart with guilt. There is so much shit to tell them and I don’t have the slightest clue where to start.

Mom:Hey, sweetie, just checking in. Anything new with you?

I hang my head as I stare at the screen, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard as I sit and try to figure out what to say. At some point my answer of ‘same ole, same ole’ is not going to cut it anymore. I have to give her something, and I refuse to tell her I’m going to be a dad or that I have a kid out there somewhere over a fucking text.

Me:I met someone.

I hit the send option on the screen before I have time to change my mind and erase it. There. Not a total lie. I mean, technically I did run into her at random after years of no contact, which is sort of the same thing. It dawns on me that not only do I have to tell them of the pregnancy and Madden, but also that their youngest son is getting marriedafterI popped the question when they didn’t even know I was dating someone. God, I’m such a fuck-up. My dad told me when that time came I was supposed to call my mama the second I bought the ring. Why couldn’t Micah have already done all this shit and paved the way for me so all my drama is overlooked? It’s only natural. He’s older by a good bit.

Mom:Oh, honey, that’s great! Is it serious?

I stare at her question, hating myself right now. I have a good mom; as good as they come. She’s worked hard in life to help provide for our family as a dental hygienist, which is why her and Dad went to the camp so much on the weekends, because she was always off on Fridays. She tried to teach me to live right. She loved us. Always put us first. Made sure we didn’t do without. And I didn’t even have the decency to pick up the phone and call her at any given time out of the past few months that Gabby has been back in my life to explain what was going on.

Me:She’s the one.

I want to kick my own balls, and that says a lot.

Mom:I’m so happy for you! What’s her name?

She is going to murder me.

Me:Gabby.

The response comes almost instantly

Mom:Gabby? ... My thoughts are scattered, honey.

As they should be . . .

Me:Yes, that Gabby. We got back together in October. Things have been a little crazy. Sorry I haven’t mentioned it. Kind of wanted to see where it was gonna go, you know? Because, drama . . .

Mom:Can you call me?

Only a parent from a generation where text wasn’t a primary source of communication wouldtextyou tocallinstead of just picking up the phone and doing it.

I hit her contact information and place a call. She answers after barely a full ring. “Hey, Mom. You wanted me to call?”