Love Me, Love Me Not (Incongruent Figures #1) Read online

  “I’ll always have a baby by another woman. I don’t want to make any assumptions of what our future holds, but if by some lucky chance, we ended up together, would you hold that against me forever?”

  “No.”

  “Really?”

  I shrug.

  “I’ll be paying child support for at least the next eighteen years.”

  “That means you’re responsible. I wish my dad had done that. Then maybe I would’ve had food to eat.”

  “I’ll have a connection to Michelle for the rest of my life.”

  “She’ll eventually move on and find a guy right for her.”

  “Rumors will be flying at school about me.”

  “Doesn’t matter since we can’t be together anyway. I’m just your sister until practically graduation.”

  “Yeah, right. I forgot,” he says rolling his neck.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll have your back when people start talking trash about you.”

  “They will talk, won’t they?”

  “Undoubtedly. Although it will be way worse for Michelle.”

  He sits up and faces me. “I won’t push her into having an abortion, but if she decides, on her own, to go that route, will you blame me?”

  “No.”

  He wipes his hand down his face and sighs again. “Dad’s going to kill me.”

  “He loves you.”

  “He loves me because I’m successful and not a screw-up.”

  “No, he loves you because you’re his son.”

  “I don’t want to tell him.”

  “You have to.”

  “Do I?”

  I smile and rock my body into his shoulder. “Yes. He’ll start to wonder what’s going on when you make monthly payments to Michelle and show an unusually keen interest in her child.”

  He sighs again and grabs my hand. He squeezes it twice and then holds it on his lap.

  “You shouldn’t hold my hand,” I say.

  “I know.”

  “I don’t want to be kicked out.”

  “You won’t be. My parents have much bigger things to worry about now.”

  “Suddenly, I’m the good kid?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I have a date with your dad in a few minutes.”

  “Really?”

  “He said he suspected I’d be in your lives past my placement, so he wants to get to know me better.”

  “Really?” he repeats.

  “Yes.”

  He smiles. “That’s a good sign. I think he likes you.”

  “When are you going to tell them?”

  “Do you want to tell him during your date? That would make things much easier.”

  I smack his arm with my free hand. “Man up, buddy. You do the crime, you do the time.”

  “You don’t understand what it’s going to be like. He’ll give me his look that says I couldn’t live up to his expectations. That I’m not the son he’s always dreamed of. That I’m never going to be as successful as him or Mom.”

  “You may be reading too much into a single look. I’m no future psychiatrist, but do you think maybe those are your unrealistic expectations? Maybe you don’t need to be quite so hard on yourself.”

  He grunts in response, but squeezes my hand again.

  After a few moments, he asks, “What would your mom say if you told her you were pregnant?”

  “She’d call me a worthless slut. Honestly, I think she’s been waiting for it to happen. She’s probably more shocked that it hasn’t happened yet.”

  We’re silent again, the only sound the whooshing of the central heat turning on in response to the cold wave that’s passing through. The pine trees out the window bend from a strong wind and it’s like the incoming storm is wreaking havoc not only on nature but also Brad’s life.

  “Am I a horrible guy for not offering to take care of the baby?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. You offered to help. That’s something.”

  “I am selfish, aren’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t want to give up everything I’ve worked so hard for.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “Will the baby resent me?”

  “Only time will tell.”

  “You’re not making me feel any better about this.”

  “It’s a sucky situation.”

  “Yeah.”

  He leans his head against mine, our temples touching. “Do you hate your dad?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “What if he had some contact with you and provided child support? Would that have been different?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you have loved him then?”

  I sigh, watching the swaying trees for a moment before answering. “I’m not sure. My situation was a lot different. My mom is worthless. I wanted him to show up on a white horse and save me from my miserable existence. Your baby won’t have a miserable existence and Michelle won’t be worthless.”

  “No, she’ll be a good mom.”

  “And you’ll be a good dad.”

  “When I’m around.”

  “Are you considering raising the baby?”

  “No, I can’t.”

  After a pause, I say, “I could help.”

  “Why would you offer to do that?” he asks, turning his head to look at me.

  “I don’t know,” I reply honestly. I was so worried about what a horrible mom I’d be if I were pregnant, why would I be willing to raise someone else’s child? Probably because I like Brad and feel bad for him. It’s not fair this happened to him. My life doesn’t hold much anyway, but his does.

  To him I say, “I don’t even know how to be a mom, I’m sure I’d be awful.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Look at my role model.”

  “I don’t get the sense you’re much like her.”

  Reluctantly, I drop Brad’s hand and stand. “I have to meet your dad.”

  “Right.” He stands and lightly kisses my temple. “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “Listening. Talking. Being here for me.”

  “Anytime.”

  When I start climbing the stairs, I hear Brad yell from the other room, “Feel free to tell him the wonderful news!”

  Chapter 21

  HAILEY

  “So, Hailey, tell me about yourself,” Gil says, spinning his coffee cup on the table.

  “There’s not much to tell.”

  “I don’t believe that for one second. What’s your favorite color?”

  “Purple.”

  “Favorite food?”

  “Lasagna.”

  “I’ll tell Gigi. She makes one hell of a lasagna. Maybe we can have it this week.”

  I nod, feeling just as uncomfortable as I thought I would on my date with Gil. After getting our drinks—black coffee for him and a hot apple cider for me—we found a quiet table in the corner and stared at each other awkwardly. At least I felt awkward. Maybe he didn’t.

  “Were you involved in any sports or club activities at your old school?”

  “No.”

  “What did you do in your spare time?”

  “Cleaned. Did laundry.”

  “Those are chores. What fun things did you do?”

  Honestly, I didn’t have a lot of options. If my mom was home with a guy, I had to be out of the trailer. If Chase wasn’t around to drive me somewhere, that meant I had to make the fifteen-minute walk to the library where I could stay for hours without anyone caring. “Read,” I say, not bothering to get into any of those details.

  “You like to read? That’s fantastic. Something we have in common. What genres do you enjoy?”

  “Romance.”

  “Oh.”

  “You?”

  “Sci-fi, fantasy, thrillers, mystery … just about everything but romance. Gigi likes romance, though. Did you read that book about the billionaire businessman that was made into a movie? The one with the man’s tie on the fr
ont cover?”

  “Yes,” I reply, my cheeks and ears heating up. He must not have any idea what that book is actually about.

  “So did Gigi. You two can compare notes.”

  “Sure,” I reply, although there’s not a chance of that ever happening.

  “How was the meeting with your mom earlier today?”

  “Really good,” I answer honestly.

  “How so?”

  “Sherry agreed that she wouldn’t pursue any more visits. Hopefully, I’ll never see her again.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “More than anything.”

  He taps the lid on his coffee and nods his head a couple times. He sucks in his lips in this weird way and then takes a deep breath through his nose. After blowing it out, he says, “We only get the bare minimum of information when someone is placed with us. All I know is that you were removed when the social worker found evidence of physical abuse. It’s none of my business, but if you’d like to tell me about it, I’d be happy to listen.”

  “You pretty much know it all.”

  “She abused you or someone else did?”

  “Just her.”

  “Was it a one-time thing?”

  “No.”

  “It usually isn’t.”

  I bite my lip for a moment, then add, “It’s not like she beat me up all the time.” I have no idea why I’m trying to defend her. I hate her, so why would I care if Gil hated her, too? Despite that, I continue, “It only started about six months ago.”

  “I imagine you would be happy to not interact with her again after that.”

  I nod and take a sip of cider. It’s the first time I’ve had it and I’m already a big fan. “This is good,” I say, holding up my cup. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime. You know …,” he says, taking another deep breath, “I run the risk of turning this into a therapy session, which I don’t want to do, but I do want you to talk to someone about what you’ve been through. Would you consider seeing a therapist?”

  “I don’t need one. I’m good with everything.”

  “You despise your mother.”

  I shrug.

  “Occasional anger toward your parents is normal adolescent behavior. Pure hatred is not. I’m not saying you don’t have every right to feel the way you do, but those feelings are going to affect other aspects of your life. It could be helpful for you to understand them now.”

  It’s not like I didn’t know this was coming. Sherry had mentioned it to me a few weeks ago, too. Everyone assumes someone in my situation must have serious issues to work through. The funny thing is I don’t feel that way. Yes, I hate my mom, but I don’t see how that impacts anything else. I’m ready to move on with my life. I’m practically an adult. I don’t need her and haven’t needed her for years. The hard part was living with her. Dropping her from my life has been easy.

  “I think I’m good, but Sherry wants me to go to therapy, too,” I say.

  “Are you willing?”

  “I guess.”

  “Good. Try it for a few months and see what you think.” He sits back in his chair, holds up his hands, and continues, “Okay, I promise, I’m taking off my clinical hat now. Back to Dad mode.” After more coffee, he asks, “Any boys grab your interest lately?”

  I cough on the sip I just took and pound on my chest a few times. Is he serious? He can’t be serious after finding me on Brad’s lap last night.

  He smiles and leans back in his chair again. “Just kidding,” he laughs. “So, you and Brad, huh?”

  I bite my lip. This is so not a subject I want to discuss with him.

  “I hope you understand why we’d like you two to delay things until you age out of care.”

  “Of course,” I mumble, pushing a random crumb on the table.

  “What is it you like about Brad?”

  I glance up, trying to determine what his angle is. He’s Brad’s dad and my foster dad and wants me to tell him why I’m attracted to his son? That’s not weird at all.

  He smiles warmly and leans forward, his eyes sincere. He looks like he’s really just interested in learning more about me.

  I take a deep breath and then rush into my explanation, not taking any time to pick it apart. If I do, I’ll be too embarrassed to say anything. “He’s the kindest person I know. From the moment we met, he’s always been trying to make sure I’m okay. He treats me like everyone else. That may not seem like much to you, but I don’t get that a lot. It was nice for someone … like him … to treat me like an ordinary person.”

  “He does have a big heart. He’s also a very good judge of character, which means you must also be a special person. What do you think he likes about you?”

  His words totally catch me off guard. I’ve been asking myself that same question every day the past week and I never came up with an answer. “I honestly don’t know,” I admit.

  “Have you ever asked him?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Maybe you should?”

  I nod. While I’d love to know, I can’t imagine actually asking him. What if he can’t come up with anything good? Or realizes the error of his ways when put on the spot? It could totally backfire and make him change his mind about me.

  “Do you have any questions for me?” Gil asks.

  “Not really.”

  “I just spent the last ten minutes on your mom and boys and you don’t have anything you want to ask me? No topic is off limits. Ask anything you want. I deserve it.”

  He smiles and I feel bad not asking anything, so I say, “What’s your favorite color?”

  “Green.”

  “Favorite food?”

  “Medium rare filet mignon.”

  I nod and then say, “That’s all the questions I’ve got.”

  “You can do better than that. You’ve been living with us for over a month now. Surely, some questions have popped up in that time.”

  “Well …” I have been wondering something, but I’m not sure it’s an appropriate question. It’s very personal. Not that he didn’t ask me personal things.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s a personal question.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why is Brad an only child, but now you’re fostering? If you wanted more kids why didn’t you just have them?”

  He smiles and says, “Those are two very different questions. As far as why we’re fostering, we went to charity event where we learned about the grossly inadequate number of licensed families. It’s a shame. So many kids need a place to stay and there just aren’t enough families to take them in. We knew immediately we wanted to make a difference and help those adolescents. We are very blessed and have the means to do it, so we decided to get licensed.”

  “That’s very nice of you.”

  “Well, we’re trying,” he says with a shrug, as though what he’s doing is no big deal. Not many people open up their homes to teenagers with sordid pasts and the potential to become a huge pain in the butt. And, of those who do, even fewer put up with the headaches rather than kick them out at the first sign of trouble. He may not think they’re anything special, but from what I’ve seen, he and Gigi are the needle in the haystack.

  “We still have a lot to learn,” he continues, “but I’m sure will get better with every placement. It’s unfortunate for you that you’re our first.”

  “You seem to be doing a fine job to me.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way. I was worried there might be some resentment after last night.”

  “I don’t think I could ever resent you after everything you’ve done for me.”

  “Well, it’s our pleasure,” he replies. He scoots his seat in as a middle-aged man and woman try to pass behind him, then continues, “As far as your second question about Brad being an only child, we’re not able to have more children. Brad didn’t come easy. Gigi had to go through extensive treatments for years before
she became pregnant. It took a real toll on her and our relationship. Luckily, we’ve come out stronger, but there was no way we’d go through that again.”

  “Sorry,” I mumble, realizing just how personal this question was.

  “Don’t be. I said you could ask me anything. What else do you want to know?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why don’t you have any pets? Brad seems to like animals. You have the space and money.”

  “Ahh … that’s my fault. Allergies to cats and dogs. Brad did have a pet goldfish for eleven or twelve years. Mr. Bubbles. He died right before school started.”

  “Mr. Bubbles?” I ask with a smile.

  “That’s what you get when you let a seven-year-old name a fish. He loved that fish,” Gil says with a laugh. “It was just one of those ninety-nine cent goldfish from the pet store. We figured it’d live for a month, but that thing kept going strong. It grew and grew, going from a little bowl to small tank to a bigger tank. By the end, it had a tank that took up half of a wall in his room.

  “How big was Mr. Bubbles?”

  “A foot long!”

  “No way.” I’ve never seen a fish that big. I can’t even imagine having it in your room. It must have been a ginormous tank.

  “I know!” Gil says. “Brad was pretty upset when he died, but the vet said it was old age, so that helped.”

  “Where’s the tank now?”

  “In the attic. He didn’t want to get a new fish with college coming up and he didn’t want the reminder of Mr. Bubbles in his room.”

  “Did you flush him after he died?”

  “No, he was too big. He would’ve clogged the toilet. I was going to bury him, but Brad opted for cremation. He has the ashes in his room—you should ask to see them sometime.”

  I laugh at his words because who in their right mind would cremate a goldfish?

  He shakes his head. “I know. It sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. So, what else do you want to know?”

  I bite my lip and consider what to ask. There’s not much more I want to know, but I wonder if I might be able to help Brad out. I carefully craft my next question.

  “So … I have a hypothetical question,” I say, tapping the side of my cup. “Let’s say one of my friends had a pregnancy scare. How do you think she should tell her parents?”