Hand of Thorns (9 page)

It takes him a second to say anything, and when he does, I watch as he grips the steering wheel, as if he's frustrated. Except, his face doesn't give any hint to being upset. "You wore a blue dress," he states. "Trust me, I haven't forgot. You're not easy to forget."

He's silenced me once again. I slowly nod my head. "Oh."

"Monica." He stops me when I place my foot outside the door. I turn to look at him for a second time. "Have a good night."

"You too."

It's official. I have a bump. It's not much of one, but it's there, pushing out for the world to see. Now strangers are going to ask rude questions, such as if I'm having twins, and they're all going to rub my belly without my permission. I've prepared myself for this. All of it. I've researched more about pregnancies and read more threads from moms to moms than I care to admit. I wanted to know what to expect in every step of the way, from more than a book.

I'm running out of time to tell my mom without her realizing it on her own. I was hoping I could hold off until the second trimester, but I still have a little over 4 weeks until then.

Finding a different shirt to wear, one less fit to my body, I change quickly before making my way out to the kitchen. Mom has been one week sober today, which is another reason I wanted to hold off on telling her. She wants to celebrate with getting take-out from Pesto's, an Italian cuisine close by that Dad used to visit every single time he wanted to celebrate something in life.

I walk out into the kitchen while she places the plates in front of our chairs. "It smells delicious," I tell her.

"It was still cooking when I got there to pick it up, so it's nice and fresh." She looks over at me and pauses. "Wow, you look glowing. Meet someone new?"

I look away nervously, trying to hide my body behind one of the tall chairs. "Nope. Spent the afternoon with Penelope yesterday, must have gotten a good amount of sun."

"Well it looks good on you. Sun kissed and beautiful."

"Thanks, Mom." With her finally sober, she is always trying to be nicer than she's been in recent years. I enjoy that side of her, but I still don't know how to react to it. Not that she was ever necessarily mean to me, as in she's never called me ugly or anything equally hurtful, but she definitely wasn't nice. She was needy, unforgiving, and quite frankly… rude.

She scoops out our helpings onto the plates while I grab us each a bottle of water from the fridge. She went overboard in ordering, but we'll certainly have left overs for a few days. Spaghetti, cheese stuffed ravioli, sautéed shrimp, a garden salad, and some garlic bread. It looks as delicious as it smells.

We sit down and immediately start in on the food. "This is really good," I tell her after a few bites. "Thanks for buying this for us."

She gives me a quick smile while chewing up her shrimp. Once she washes it down, she gives me a sad look. "It's not going to be often that we're able to do something like this, but I am looking for a job so we don't get behind anymore on bills than we have."

I place down my fork and take a deep breathe. I have practiced this several times, I know I can tell her. The counselor told me rehearsing a speech and being straight forward was my best bet, and then to give her time. I thought about buying her a present, but since she's technically not going to be a grandmother, I thought it was kind of mean to do.

"Mom..."

She pauses before taking another bite. "Oh, I didn't mean to stress you. I'll find a job, we'll be fine. Wouldn't hurt you to get a part-time job to help with your college tuition, but I'm not going to ask you to help with the house payment or groceries."

"No, mom. That isn't what I was getting at. I, um... may have found a solution to it all. You're probably going to be upset with me, but I promise I know what I'm doing, and everything will be fine."

"Dammit, Monica, please don't tell me you're selling drugs."

"What? No." I give her a questioning look. I'm not sure why that would be her first assumption. "No," I continue. "I am going to tell you something, but you need to hear me out. Don't judge me, and don't... don't hate me."

"You need to tell me what is going on." Her tone is stern, and she's growing nervous. I have to rip the Band-Aid off.

"I'm surrogating for a couple."

"Oh, no you're not young lady," she starts in immediately.

"But I-"

"No. You are not doing that. You have no idea what it'll do to you. There isn't a justifiable way of life, Monica. The fact you think it's a solution proves you're not mature enough to handle that kind of responsibility."

Ouch.

I stare. My entire speech out the window. My heart racing. My blood boiling.

"It's too late," I blurt out. "I'm already over seven weeks along."

"What. The. Fuck." Mom stands from the table, shaking her head back and forth. "Did you ever think about what that'd do to me, Monica? Are you kidding?" She starts to scream at me, a lot more pissed off than I thought she would be. "This is fucking preposterous! If you think that you're accountable enough to handle that kind of responsibility, then get out of
my
house. Find your own damn place to live!"

I try to ignore her lashing out. I knew she would, but I didn't think she'd try to kick me out. "Mom," I say with as much plead in my voice as possible. I'm trying to remain calm, while also attempting to calm her down. "Please. Let me explain."

"No." She points her finger in my direction. "I'm trying to better my life, and you're over here ruining yours. Get a fucking abortion, or get out of my house."

Standing from the table, the chair falls back behind me, echoing as it hits the hardwood. I look her square in the eyes, ready to burst into tears but holding them back with all my might. "It's
Dad's
house, you bitch."

Her hand radiates against my cheek without notice- although I should have seen it coming. It burns intensely. I hold my own hand against it, feeling as it pulsates with pain. "Out. Now."

"Where am I supposed to go?"

"This
bitch
doesn't care." She turns and storms off. "Thanks for ruining a perfect dinner," she yells as she rounds the corner to her room.

Standing here, I stare down at the table. A part of me wants to clean it all up and put it away so it doesn't go to waste, another part of me wants to smash the dishes on the floor. I'm scared if I start to listen to the first voice, the second one will take over, so before I regret anything more, I head towards my room.

Pulling a duffle bag out from under my bed, I toss it on top of my comforter. Ripping clothes from my closet, I shove them inside. I take more from my dressers. I'm not sure where I'll go, or how long my mom is going to keep me out of the house, but all I know is it won't be good for either of us, nor the baby, if I stay here tonight.

I've had plenty of arguments with my mom, but I've never called her an unnecessary name before, and she's certainly never smacked me. We're both going through rough times in our lives, especially with Dad's death so recent, but it still shouldn't have happened on either of our parts.

Once I'm packed I look around to make sure I'm not missing anything I'll need for the next few days. I pad down the hallway to the bathroom to grab my toothbrush. I happen to glance up into the mirror before shutting the light back off. I'm struck in place by the welting red mark on my cheek. You can see each finger etched across my face.

I run my fingers over it, feeling the bump in the skin. It almost stings to touch.

Tears instantly brim in my eyes. I rush back to the bedroom, avoiding the mirror in the hallway. Grabbing my bag, I double check that I have my purse and cellphone, then I head out the front door.

I race out of there, turning down a road nearby. I’m headed to Penelope’s when I realize she isn’t around right now. "Fuck!" I shout in the car. Pulling off to the side of the road, I try to think of somewhere I can go, especially with Sumner not speaking with me lately. My only other option seems to be Rochelle, so I dial her number. When she doesn't answer I scroll through my contacts. I didn't exactly want to waste the money I recently received on a hotel room, when there are so many other important things that need to be paid on.

Sliding through the list of names, one particular one stands out. My finger hovers over his name, but I give myself a dozen reasons why it wouldn't be smart to call him. He isn't supposed to be an option for me. He isn't supposed to be the one to save me.

I know he told me to call if I needed him... if I needed a weekend away. I need a lot more than that, but for now, that sounds like the perfect plan. No one will find me, no one will bother me. I can lay back and relax, I can think about things, I can focus. I can breathe. Yeah, it'll feel nice.

So I do exactly what I told myself I wouldn't, I call Leon.

"Everything okay?" He answers the phone. I can sense the fear in his voice as well. He'll make a good dad, I tell myself.

"I'm... fine. I, uh, just..." I don't even know how to finish it.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know how to say this."

"I'll text you my address. You can head over."

Wait, how does he know I need his help? I don't argue though, instead I tell him I'll be on my way soon then hang up. His address pops up a moment later on my screen and I lock it into the GPS so I don't get lost.

Less than thirty minutes later my car is idling outside of a wrought iron gate. It opens before I hit the buzzer. I drive along the paved drive, which isn't long but is surrounded by absolutely beautiful fields. His home, or I assume it's his home, is large and white, and has what seems like hundreds of windows. I love the pillars in the front, and the balcony off to the side. It's fancy, but in a classic way. Somehow it's not suited to the Leon I've come to know, but I'm sure if I had his kind of money, I'd buy a house like this one. I could do without the five bay garage though.

Leon is standing outside the front door before I make it up the steps. He looks at me with worrisome, and I feel bad if I have stressed him out any. I don't want him worrying about his unborn child. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you on the phone."

He shakes his head. "No, don't stress yourself- What the fuck happened to your face?" He puts his hand over my cheek, his entire demeanor changing from worried to pissed. "Who did this to you?"

I'm ashamed to admit the truth, so I look away from him. "It was an accident, seriously. Can we forget it?"

"Not until you tell me who did this to you." I know he isn't going to let it go. I had honestly forgotten about the slap, or the fact it left a mark, until he said something. If I would have thought twice about it, I wouldn't have called him after all.

"It really doesn't matter, Leon..."

"Stop. Don't you dare make an excuse for whoever touched you like that. That is my fucking kid you're carrying, I expect to know who fucking harmed you, Monica!"

I hate the way he says my name, and even more that I am feeling disciplined. With a few shed tears, I finally glance up at him, embarrassed and ashamed. "My mom."

He stares for a few moments, probably wondering how it got to the point of her hitting me, then he wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into him. His other arm comes around me, and he holds me to him. "Has she ever hit your before?"

I shake my head back and forth, savoring his scent as my face is buried into his chest.

"Good. You can stay here tonight."

"No," I argue boldly. I can't stay here, not because I don't want to impose- although that is a reason, too- but because it would be dangerous if I were in that close of a private area to him for an entire night without his girlfriend present. I'm fairly certain it isn't exactly safe for me to even be here, allowing him to hold me this way, but I'm not going to argue on that. At least not yet.

I know it makes me a bad person, I know I'm being selfish, but apparently I like playing with fire. I just hope no one gets burned.

All too suddenly he pulls back from the hold he has on me. His eyes are hard as steel. "If you're not going to stay here, then I'm paying to put you up for a weekend in a hotel."

"No, that isn't why I came here. I... I don't even know why I came here. I don't have anyone. I needed to get out of the house and out of my head for little while."

"You're not going back home for a few days. You need to let your mother cool off. Stay with me, or in a hotel, or with a friend, but you're not going home."

Knowing damn well I don't have a friend to stay with right now, and that he'll probably follow me to make sure I'm not at home, I nod my head with shame. "Fine. But I'm paying for the room."

"Like hell you are."

Rolling my eyes so he sees it, I do my best to take a stance on the subject, even though from the look he gives me, it's certain I'm going to lose. "You've done enough for me. I can't ask for you to pay for a room for me as well. If I walk away now, can we forget I was ever even here?"

"No."

I take a step back, forgetting his arms are still loosely around me. He locks me in place with his hold. I'm sure if I tried to pull back more he'd let go, but maybe a small part of me doesn't want him to. Maybe I want his comfort, even if for a minute.

"I'm fully capable of caring for myself," I argue more.

"I never said you weren't."

"Well, you kind of did. You're not letting me get my own room."

"I can't force you to do anything you don't want to do, Monica. Go if you want." When I don't move even an inch his lips lift into that panty dropping grin that I shouldn't pine over. "No? Not leaving?"