Kick, Push
Page 39
Our eyes switch to the blonde girl running toward him, tears mixed with mascara streaking down her cheeks.
“Is he okay?” she asks, and I look over at Josh.
All color has drained from his face and he just stands there, mouth open, eyes wide.
Static fills my ears and everything inside me goes still—like a light switching off in my soul.
I know who she is.
Even before I see her eyes—the same eyes as Tommy’s.
Even before she cries out her son’s name and falls forward onto Josh’s chest.
And I know who she is, she wraps her arms around him, her fingers curled in the back of his T-shirt. “Shhh,” he comforts. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”
And I know it now.
Where he’s been going late at night.
Where he’s been rushing off to.
All his secrets are revealed.
But worse? I know. I can feel it with every fiber of my being. Everything’s over.
Everything.
I know it even before he hugs her back, his eyes drifting shut.
Then he inhales deeply and lets out a breath with a single word: “Natalie.”
I catch a cab home, my mind in a daze. I don’t go into the house. Instead, I sit on the porch steps, phone in hand, and I wait. I can’t stop crying. I can’t stop shaking. And I can’t stop the puke that rises from my throat and ends up in Grams’s rose garden. Twice. An hour later, he pulls into the house, his eyes catching my figure as I stand up and wait anxiously for news that Tommy’s okay. The interior light of his truck switches on and he steps out, eyeing Tommy who’s fallen asleep in the back seat. He seems to sigh, or let out a frustrated breath… I can’t tell.
“Is he okay?” I ask, my voice hoarse from all the crying and puking I’d done.
Josh shakes his head as he walks toward me. “What the hell happened, Becca? I left you with him for less than an hour and you broke his arm?”
“I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head again, his eyes on mine. “Do you know how much that five minute ambulance ride is going to cost me?”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” I whisper.
“What happened?”
“He ran down the stairs and I couldn’t keep up and—”
“He’s three, Becca, you can’t leave him…” he trails off when headlights shine on both of us. The engine of the car switches off and all of my worst fears hit me at once. Natalie steps out; one perfect leg after the other. She stands to full height, eyeing her surroundings and flicks her hair over her shoulder. Then she walks to the trunk of her car, pulls out a suitcase, releases the handle and drags it behind her as she starts walking toward us. “Is he okay?” she asks.
Josh nods. “He fell asleep.”
Natalie’s eyes moves from Josh to me—bright blue, just like her son’s. “You’re the one who was meant to be watching him?”
“Yes,” I whisper, looking between them. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be,” she says, arching her eyebrows.
“Natalie,” Josh says, shaking his head at her. I wait for him to say something else and when enough time has passed and I know that he’s not going to defend me, I run into the house and up to my room, trying to silence my cries into the pillow so he—she—they can’t hear me.
Grams comes home and up to my room.
I can’t hide my cries from her.
“What happened, baby girl?” she asks, her hand soothing against my hair.
I tell her everything. The broken arm. The hospital. Josh. I struggle, so badly, to tell her about Natalie. But I do. And before she can respond, I get a text from Josh.
Joshua: I’m at your door. Can you come out?
“Maybe say no this time, Becca. Give it some time for things to cool off. You’re both not thinking straight and someone’s going to say something they’ll regret.”
I shake my head. “I’d rather hear it now.”
Josh leans against the porch railings, his phone in his hand. He doesn’t look up when I step outside, not until he’s tapped a few buttons and puts the phone back in his pocket. I shut the door behind me and lean against it, eying Natalie’s car in the driveway. “So that’s where you’ve been?” I ask.
“What are you talking about?”
“All the late night skating to clear your head…” I choke on a sob and do my best to speak through it. “You’ve been seeing Natalie?”
“What?” his gaze follows mine. “No. Shit, Becca. What the fuck kind of person do you think I am?”
I shrug. “It makes sense. She’s there…” I point to his apartment. “I’m here. And you’re… I don’t even know where you are lately.”
He sighs dramatically and tilts his head back. “What the hell are we doing, Becca?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, apart from what I know about you since you’ve moved here, I don’t know anything else. You’re a complete stranger to me. And you’ve taken Tommy and I on some kind of joy ride where you plan to get off and we’re supposed to just… You should’ve told me about St. Louis.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, unable to look at him. “You should’ve told me about Natalie.”
“I didn’t know about Natalie! There was no Natalie! Fuck, Becca. I saw her at the same time you did. She just showed up. And it’s completely irrelevant when it comes to what you’ve done to us.”
“What I’ve done to you?”
“Yes, Becca. You screwed us over. You used me to help you stop feeling whatever you were feeling and you made me fall in love with you!”
Tears stream down my cheeks, the pain of my heartbreak greater than any pain I’ve ever felt before.
Physical.
Emotional.
All of it.
He adds, “When do you plan on leaving?”
“It’s not up to me,” I say quietly.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I don’t know what you want from me!”
“How about we cut the secretive bullshit and start with the truth?” he shouts.
“Why are you yelling right now?”
“Because I’m pissed, Becs. How can I not be? You know how I feel. You can’t just keep going on acting like what you’re doing isn’t wrong.”
“You knew I was leaving!”
His entire body tenses. “So you’re still going?”
“Josh…”
“I just don’t see the point of this. Of any of it. You go and you leave Tommy and I behind, lost in the wake of your destruction and you think that’s okay?”
“So you’re breaking up with me?”
“Are we even really together?”
“You know I love you, Josh.”
“And yet you’re still leaving, Becca.”
I turn and face the door, my tears falling fast and free while I close my eyes—submerged in the pain of heartbreak. “I’m gonna go.”
“Fine! Go. What difference does it make? You do it now or you do it whenever the fuck you want to. What do I care?”
“Is he okay?” she asks, and I look over at Josh.
All color has drained from his face and he just stands there, mouth open, eyes wide.
Static fills my ears and everything inside me goes still—like a light switching off in my soul.
I know who she is.
Even before I see her eyes—the same eyes as Tommy’s.
Even before she cries out her son’s name and falls forward onto Josh’s chest.
And I know who she is, she wraps her arms around him, her fingers curled in the back of his T-shirt. “Shhh,” he comforts. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”
And I know it now.
Where he’s been going late at night.
Where he’s been rushing off to.
All his secrets are revealed.
But worse? I know. I can feel it with every fiber of my being. Everything’s over.
Everything.
I know it even before he hugs her back, his eyes drifting shut.
Then he inhales deeply and lets out a breath with a single word: “Natalie.”
I catch a cab home, my mind in a daze. I don’t go into the house. Instead, I sit on the porch steps, phone in hand, and I wait. I can’t stop crying. I can’t stop shaking. And I can’t stop the puke that rises from my throat and ends up in Grams’s rose garden. Twice. An hour later, he pulls into the house, his eyes catching my figure as I stand up and wait anxiously for news that Tommy’s okay. The interior light of his truck switches on and he steps out, eyeing Tommy who’s fallen asleep in the back seat. He seems to sigh, or let out a frustrated breath… I can’t tell.
“Is he okay?” I ask, my voice hoarse from all the crying and puking I’d done.
Josh shakes his head as he walks toward me. “What the hell happened, Becca? I left you with him for less than an hour and you broke his arm?”
“I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head again, his eyes on mine. “Do you know how much that five minute ambulance ride is going to cost me?”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” I whisper.
“What happened?”
“He ran down the stairs and I couldn’t keep up and—”
“He’s three, Becca, you can’t leave him…” he trails off when headlights shine on both of us. The engine of the car switches off and all of my worst fears hit me at once. Natalie steps out; one perfect leg after the other. She stands to full height, eyeing her surroundings and flicks her hair over her shoulder. Then she walks to the trunk of her car, pulls out a suitcase, releases the handle and drags it behind her as she starts walking toward us. “Is he okay?” she asks.
Josh nods. “He fell asleep.”
Natalie’s eyes moves from Josh to me—bright blue, just like her son’s. “You’re the one who was meant to be watching him?”
“Yes,” I whisper, looking between them. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be,” she says, arching her eyebrows.
“Natalie,” Josh says, shaking his head at her. I wait for him to say something else and when enough time has passed and I know that he’s not going to defend me, I run into the house and up to my room, trying to silence my cries into the pillow so he—she—they can’t hear me.
Grams comes home and up to my room.
I can’t hide my cries from her.
“What happened, baby girl?” she asks, her hand soothing against my hair.
I tell her everything. The broken arm. The hospital. Josh. I struggle, so badly, to tell her about Natalie. But I do. And before she can respond, I get a text from Josh.
Joshua: I’m at your door. Can you come out?
“Maybe say no this time, Becca. Give it some time for things to cool off. You’re both not thinking straight and someone’s going to say something they’ll regret.”
I shake my head. “I’d rather hear it now.”
Josh leans against the porch railings, his phone in his hand. He doesn’t look up when I step outside, not until he’s tapped a few buttons and puts the phone back in his pocket. I shut the door behind me and lean against it, eying Natalie’s car in the driveway. “So that’s where you’ve been?” I ask.
“What are you talking about?”
“All the late night skating to clear your head…” I choke on a sob and do my best to speak through it. “You’ve been seeing Natalie?”
“What?” his gaze follows mine. “No. Shit, Becca. What the fuck kind of person do you think I am?”
I shrug. “It makes sense. She’s there…” I point to his apartment. “I’m here. And you’re… I don’t even know where you are lately.”
He sighs dramatically and tilts his head back. “What the hell are we doing, Becca?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, apart from what I know about you since you’ve moved here, I don’t know anything else. You’re a complete stranger to me. And you’ve taken Tommy and I on some kind of joy ride where you plan to get off and we’re supposed to just… You should’ve told me about St. Louis.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, unable to look at him. “You should’ve told me about Natalie.”
“I didn’t know about Natalie! There was no Natalie! Fuck, Becca. I saw her at the same time you did. She just showed up. And it’s completely irrelevant when it comes to what you’ve done to us.”
“What I’ve done to you?”
“Yes, Becca. You screwed us over. You used me to help you stop feeling whatever you were feeling and you made me fall in love with you!”
Tears stream down my cheeks, the pain of my heartbreak greater than any pain I’ve ever felt before.
Physical.
Emotional.
All of it.
He adds, “When do you plan on leaving?”
“It’s not up to me,” I say quietly.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I don’t know what you want from me!”
“How about we cut the secretive bullshit and start with the truth?” he shouts.
“Why are you yelling right now?”
“Because I’m pissed, Becs. How can I not be? You know how I feel. You can’t just keep going on acting like what you’re doing isn’t wrong.”
“You knew I was leaving!”
His entire body tenses. “So you’re still going?”
“Josh…”
“I just don’t see the point of this. Of any of it. You go and you leave Tommy and I behind, lost in the wake of your destruction and you think that’s okay?”
“So you’re breaking up with me?”
“Are we even really together?”
“You know I love you, Josh.”
“And yet you’re still leaving, Becca.”
I turn and face the door, my tears falling fast and free while I close my eyes—submerged in the pain of heartbreak. “I’m gonna go.”
“Fine! Go. What difference does it make? You do it now or you do it whenever the fuck you want to. What do I care?”
