SWNOVELS The Trouble With Love: Chapter 29
My father’s eyes dart back and forth. The normally vibrant emerald-green pupils turning a darker shade as the three of us stand here inside the lobby.
“Amelia,” he demands, his tone deepening. “What are you doing here?”
“I…I…” I stumble on my words, thinking of anything, trying to rid myself of the hurt from moments ago when I caught Will and his ex-girlfriend in an overly friendly embrace. “I lost my wallet and didn’t know where to go. I had no cash on me.”
“You lost your wallet?”
“Yes, and I was upset,” I continue to lie, clearing my throat to sound more believable. “I was a few blocks over ready to meet a friend when I realized it. It must have been on the subway. I didn’t know who to turn to, so I came here.”
Dad’s expression remains blank, unreadable. If he does, in fact, suspect anything, he’s doing a great job at disguising it.
“And Will and I got into a fight because he called me irresponsible. I was meeting a boy, Dad, and I should be studying.”
“You should be studying,” he grits, clenching his jaw while staring at me oddly. “I got a call from your academic advisor saying that you’re falling behind. Who is this boy you’re meeting?”
“It doesn’t matter, Dad.”
Will continues to remain quiet, then excuses himself, leaving me to fend for myself. I’m hurt he’d do such a thing when all along he promised me he would fight for us. And here I am, fighting for us and this so-called baby I’m carrying, only for him to walk away.
Swallowing the lump inside my throat, my chest begins to hitch, making it harder to breathe.
“It does matter, Amelia!” Dad yells, the echo bouncing off the glass walls. “I knew you going to Yale was a bad idea. You aren’t mature enough to handle being on your own.”
I raise my eyes with a pinched mouth, devoid of any emotion as his words anger me.
“So, all that talk about me being responsible was to do what exactly?”
Holding his elbows wide from his body, he lowers his head to control his breathing. His expensive suit looks tight on his overly tensed muscles, the veins on his neck visible next to his white-collared shirt.
“Right, excellent parenting,” I mouth, placing my hands on my hips. “This is all your fault.”
“My fault?”
“Yes! You and your stupid rules, the way you control my life. If it weren’t for you, my life would be much better.”
“Watch your words, young lady.”
“I don’t give a fuck who you are,” I bellow, staring at him with contempt. “Cut me off, disown me. I’m done with being Lex Edwards’s daughter.”
I run into the elevator, closing the door with urgency to leave my father standing there with his head down. The second I’m alone, my body begins to shake, the urge to violently throw up teetering on the edge.
I exit the elevator, walking fast to distract my sick stomach, only to feel an uncomfortable gush between my legs. I rush to the bathroom, closing the stall behind me, yanking my jeans down to see a pool of blood between my legs.
Panicked, I wipe between my legs to clean myself up, but the sight of the blood makes me dry heave. My head falls into the bowl, the barely-there contents of my stomach exiting my body brutally.
My body continues to shake, my tears falling against my cheek turning into sobs. I peer between my legs, certain that the stains are a sign that I’ve gotten my period despite the positive pregnancy test.
With no one to turn to and my dorm room so far away, I grab my phone and call the only man I can rely on.
“Andy?” I cry, choking on my sobs. “It’s me. I need you.”
My eyes open, only to fall back to sleep again. The dreams become nightmares, tormenting my sleep then forcing me to wake up, my body covered in sweat. Darkness engulfs the room but sitting beside me is Andy. He smiles softly, caressing my cheek before tucking me in tighter. My eyes fall heavy again, sleep the only thing my body so desperately craves.
The next time I wake up, daylight has entered the room. The sun is shining, a sign of spring with summer not too far away. I take in my surroundings, noticing the scattered desk in the corner to the familiar photos on the wall.
“Andy?” I croak, trying to open my eyes, a familiar touch stroking my cheek. It feels like home, my entire world. The simple touch brings only fond memories, an unconditional love like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s day.
With difficulty, my heavy lids begin to open to see Mom staring at me, concerned.
“Mom?” I cry, the tears choking me.
“Oh, baby.”
Mom’s arms wrap around me as I pull her toward me, clutching onto her for life. The knitted sweater she wears smells of her perfume. I bury my face into her, desperate to be smothered in her love again. I miss her like crazy, and everything I’ve been trying to avoid is no longer worth the pain of losing my best friend.
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” I stutter, holding onto her still. “For everything.”
“Amelia, honey, just breathe, please.”
“You must hate me.”
“I don’t hate you. That’s not possible.”
Andy crouches down on his knees to kiss my forehead. “Millie, I called your Mom because I was terrified. Do you remember what happened?”
I try to even my breaths, my heading spinning with a migraine persisting.
“Have some water. You’re dehydrated.” Mom opens the bottle of water for me, urging me to drink.
“I…I…” I turn to look at Mom, pleading with her to understand.
“Andy?” Mom says softly, touching his arm. “Would you mind giving us some time?”
“Of course, Aunt Charlie. I’ll be in the library. Just text me when you’re done.”
Andy grabs his things, closing the door behind him. The second he’s gone, Mom squeezes my hand.
“Before you say anything, I want you to know something.” She struggles with her words, pausing to gain some composure. “Nothing you can say to me will make me love you any less. I’ve been through my share of troubled times, and I always felt alone. I never want you to feel that way.”
I wipe the tear falling down my cheek. “I… I don’t know where to start.”
“You’re in love with Will, aren’t you, honey?”
My eyes search hers for judgment, yet I come up with nothing.
I nod my head. “How did you know?”
“You’re my daughter, my best friend. I’d like to think I know enough about love to know when someone is deeply experiencing it.”
“Don’t hate him, Mom.”
She smiles softly. “I can never hate Will. He’ll always own a piece of me. I love him like I would if he were my son. Our bond goes way back before you were even born.”
“I’m sorry I lied to you. I was so caught up in it all, and I just didn’t think straight.”
“Love will do that to you.”
“Mom,” I choke out her name, allowing the sobs to consume me. “I thought I was pregnant, but I just got my period.”
Mom lets out a huge breath, wrapping her arms around me tight as her tear falls onto my face. We hold onto each other before I pull away, trying to calm myself down. My gaze falls upon the distant stare on her face, almost as if she’s reliving an unpleasant memory.
“Okay, honey,” she says, wiping her tears away. “Let’s talk seriously for a moment. Have you done a test?”
Unable to speak the words, I nod.
“And it came out positive?”
I nod again.
“How late were you?”
“Close to ten days, but Mom, before I came here, I bled out after I…”
I choose not to continue with that sentence, not knowing if she’s spoken to Dad after my outburst.
Mom’s face falls, her lips trembling as she squeezes my hand tight. “Honey, we need to get you to the doctor. There’s a chance you may have miscarried. I need for you to get checked out.”
Without another word, I hop out of bed slowly, only noticing now that I’m dressed in Andy’s sweatpants and sweater. As Mom busily types a text on her phone, I’m wondering if she’s telling Dad.
“I’m texting the car service, not your father if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’m sorry, Mom, I did think that.” I pause, tugging on the sleeve of the sweater I’m wearing. “I said things to Dad. I know I’ve hurt him. He knows, doesn’t he?”
Mom holds my hand, trying her best to assure me. “Your father will always love you. But for now, we need to make sure you’re okay.”
“Mom, you didn’t answer my question?”
With heavy eyes, she raises them to meet mine with a simple nod.
The doctor assumes I miscarried but requests I perform a test to see if it comes back negative. Mom suggests I stay at the penthouse for a few days before heading back to campus, worried over my well-being and concerned with how gaunt I look after my bout with the flu.
I climb into bed, the exhaustion weighing heavy. I still haven’t spoken to Will, avoiding his calls and text messages on my phone. Andy texted me, telling me he spoke to Will, suggesting he give me time to rest. Since then, the phone calls and text messages have stopped.
Inside my bed, I feel safe and comforted as Mom strokes my hair, watching me rest.
“Mom?” I murmur, the tears springing to my eyes again. “How did I get myself in this mess?”
“You fell in love,” she simply states. “I never told you this, Amelia, but after your Dad and I broke up the first time, I spent eight years apart from him. And then I met this man, this amazing man.”
My tears stop momentarily, almost as if someone turned off the tap controlling my tears.
“It was the first time in a long time when I truly felt something. We dated, went away on holiday, and when we came back, he proposed marriage.”
“Marriage?”
Mom nods her head. “I said yes. What was I waiting for? This perfect man proposes marriage, and I loved him. Everyone loved him.”
“But what happened?”
“Fate,” she responds wistfully. “The day after we got engaged, we went to lunch, and sitting inside that restaurant at a business meeting was your father. Out of all places, after eight years, and a day after I get engaged, fate delivers this.”
My mouth falls open, shocked at the very thought, certain that it isn’t a coincidence but the universe intervening.
“Your father was relentless in his pursuit to win me back, but I was so hurt. We had this history, and I felt abandoned by him. That trust isn’t so easy to repair, you know.”
“But Mom, who was the guy?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me. “I mean, what happened to him.”
Mom glances at her wedding band, toying with it while lost in thought.
“It was your Uncle Julian.”
Everything Ava said was right, well, not everything, but close to it. I should be surprised, but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Uncle Julian is wonderful, at least, with Aunt Adriana he is. Far be it for me to admit that he’s quite attractive for his age, he’s just such a genuine and loving guy. Andy dotes on him as if he were the same man who brought him into the world.
“As you can see, life has a funny way of working out. It’s all about timing.”
“So, you and Dad, you had an affair behind Uncle Julian’s back?”
Mom nods, keeping her mouth shut.
I let out the breath I’ve been holding in. “But Dad is so protective over you. I mean, I still remember a time when we went to some function and some guy tried to pick you up, he was so jealous. The whole car ride home he didn’t talk to you.”
“I’ve lost count of your father’s jealous outbursts. After a while, I just learned to ignore it.” She lays beside me, allowing me to rest my head against her shoulder. We both stare at the ceiling, deep in thought.
“And then what happened? Uncle Julian came back and fell in love with Aunt Adriana?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that. They both were seeking help for their mental health and just formed a friendship while navigating through the trauma they had experienced.”
It all begins to make sense—the timelines, the connections.
“They’re so right for each other. I’ve always thought that, you know. I see how he treats her, and it’s so respectful. I mean, I’m not saying Dad doesn’t treat you with respect, but you do butt heads a lot.”
“That we do.” She chuckles softly. “Your dad can be a real asshole at times.”
“But you love him,” I state, rather than pose the question.
“My life is him and you girls, of course.” She strokes my hair as I turn to my side, clutching onto her arm. “When I found out I was pregnant with you, I was terrified. Amelia, I was eighteen when I first fell pregnant with your father. He was married, he just left me, and I was devastated. I moved away to live with my grandmother and lost the baby at six months. I blamed myself and thought about taking my own life.”
“Mom,” I choke, caressing her hand. “You were that young?”
She nods, her lips pressing flat before continuing, “I was in love, foolish, and I paid the price. So, when I ran into your father, I was terrified of getting hurt again.”
“But you were older, wiser?”
“Yes,” she admits. “I was forced to grow up early. But your father had his own battles, and he didn’t know about the pregnancy. I can’t blame him when both of us had our faults.”
“Mom,” I say, lowering my head. “I don’t want Will to know.”
“That’s your decision, honey. But in the end, everything always comes out.”
There’s a loud bang at the front door, and my mother gives me a knowing look. She removes a set of keys from her pocket, placing it on my dresser.
“My car, here in the city. I want you to have it.”
“But you love your car, Mom?”
“It’s just a car, honey.”
She kisses my forehead and suggests I try to get some rest. My eyes grow weary until a text message appears on my screen.
Will: I tried to stay away but I can’t. Talk to me, please.
Amelia: I have nothing to say.
Will: Don’t give me that bullshit. Is that how you want it to end? Over some immature presumption that I’m trying to fuck my ex?
Me: I can’t do this right now. I need to be alone.
Will: So, this is it, you’re choosing to end us? Am I not even worth fighting for?
I don’t respond, wiping the tears from my face. Before I turn my phone off, I see a voicemail sitting at the bottom righthand corner. I listen to the message, a call from Doctor Waltham. According to him, my HCG levels are too low, indicating I’ve lost the baby.
Hanging up the phone, I place it against my chest. For the last few days since I found out I was pregnant, I didn’t allow myself to think about the future. I distracted myself in whichever way I could until I spoke to Will.
But now, it’s all over.
My imagination wonders what the child would’ve looked like—Will or me? Was it a girl or boy? All these unwarranted thoughts consume me at this moment. I didn’t even have time to process everything, only to lose the baby. The doctor assures me that miscarrying isn’t uncommon, yet why do I feel like it’s my fault, and I somehow caused this to happen?
Turning my phone off, I close my eyes again and fall asleep only to wake up again to the sound of sirens blaring through the night.
I slowly get out of bed in the dark and walk down the hall toward my dad’s office. With my bare feet, the faintest of glows radiate from the room as I move toward the door, standing still, watching him drink straight from the bottle of scotch. His laptop is open, his phone in front of him on the woodgrain desk.
My memories play a reel like a movie at a theater. The time he took me to the zoo, and we fed the animals, organizing a private session, to the times he’d read me a story, using his superhero voices because I had an obsession with Batman. There was the time I got my learner’s permit, and he yelled at me when I almost scratched his expensive Mercedes against a street pole. To our father-daughter dances where he’d proudly dance in front of everyone, dressed in his fancy tuxedo.
I wrap my arms around myself, willing to shield myself from the pain.
No matter what I decide, someone will get hurt. And as I continue to stare at the man who has loved me unconditionally my entire life, all I can see now is the shadow of my father breaking down.
Followed by the bottle of scotch smashing against the concrete wall.