“Quite the contrary, actually,” she says. “I, for one, am thrilled to see you letting yourself feel things for a change, rather than hiding behind those big, thick emotionless walls you usually hide behind.”
I laugh. “You make me sound like some robot incapable of human feeling.”
“I wouldn't go quite that far,” she chuckles. “But, it's close.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say, giving her a rueful smile.
“All I'm saying is that you are a lot like your father in a lot of ways. You guard your heart so closely, that you keep yourself from really feeling,” she continues. “You keep yourself from experiencing life and from living with passion.”
“Hey, I've got plenty of passion,” I say. “I'm absolutely passionate about my work.”
“Right,” she lifts a finger. “But name something else you're passionate about.”
I open my mouth, racking my brain, trying to come up with the answer to the question. Ultimately, I’m forced to close my mouth again, simply because I can't really come up with an answer. I honestly can't think of something I'm really emotionally invested in, or passionate about, besides my work.
Shit. Maybe I'm more of an emotionless robot than I think.
“Your father, even though he was usually all business, was still very passionate about a good number of things. He had a number of hobbies and interests that kept him grounded. He also had an intellectual curiosity that kept him learning and growing. It's what kept his mind sharp for so long,” she explains. “And honestly, it's what your brother lacks – that intellectual curiosity. He's fantastic at what he does, don't get me wrong. But he's so set in his ways and has no interest in learning new things, that eventually, he's going to go stagnate. Unless he changes and finds that curiosity and passion within himself. Frankly, I kind of feared that you were headed down the same path.”
“Well, I'm definitely taking a leap based on nothing but emotion here,” I say. “Who knows if I’ll end up crashing and burning.”
She shrugs. “If you do, you do,” she says. “Life is an uncertain, messy thing. Especially when emotions get involved and everything seems so immediate. But, even in our pain, that's what gives our lives such vibrancy. We have so little time in this world, shouldn't we spend it being genuinely happy?”
“I don't disagree.”
“And the only path to genuine happiness is to truly open yourself up to your emotions,” she says. “For the good and the bad, for the happy and the miserable, the only way you can ever be truly happy is to truly feel.”
I swallow down half of my drink and give her a broad grin. “When did you get so wise?”
“Oh, I've always been wise,” she says. “But you Clyburne boys are a stubborn lot. It takes a lot to get through those thick skulls of yours.”
I nod. “That is a true assessment.”
My mother isn't wrong. I do hold tight to my emotions and my guard is always up. I do my best to avoid giving people anything in terms of thought or emotion. Frankly, I just don't trust people enough to let them in. In my experience, people are always looking to get one over on you. They'll take advantage of you in every conceivable way if you let them. It's a sad fact of life. Oh, I have some good friends and people I do trust, but when it comes to humanity as a whole? I trust them about as far as I can throw a piano.
Something about Alexis, though, is changing me. She's changing the way I not only relate to but interact with the world around me. I don't understand it and can't explain it, but for the first time in my life, I actually feel more open to things. More emotionally connected and engaged. I find myself open to the idea of love and happiness in ways I never even conceived of before.
I lean back on the couch, for the first time in a long time, actually feeling content. It's a strange feeling –a feeling I'm definitely not used to.
But it's also a feeling I think I can learn to enjoy. Now, I just need to snag that one special woman who's been on my mind for so long to enjoy it with.
Fourteen
Alexis
I didn't know it was possible for a person to feel so disgustingly bloated. I feel like I've got a medicine ball tucked into my stomach. I look like it too. My due date is fast approaching and honestly, I can't wait for it to get here already. I'm beyond ready to have this baby. Mostly so I can stop feeling like a bloated whale all day, every day. Being able to move around normally and without my belly bumping into everything would be great.
I'm excited to see my baby, of course, but I'm also terrified. Beyond terrified really. What kind of a mother am I going to be? I can barely take care of myself, how in the hell am I going to take care of a child too?
The partners at the firm were not happy to hear that I was pregnant – and by partners, I mean mostly Tyler. They were even less happy when I went out on maternity leave, rather than just quit and save them some money. I'm not making my full salary and things are even tighter than usual, but at least I still have an income. At least, for the moment.
Tyler has already made it clear that they will find a justification for not letting me have my job back, as the law requires them to do. He was subtle and indirect about it, but he pretty much said he'd find a way to fire me. If the other partners know what he's up to, none of them are standing up for me. Not even Preston, which I find really disheartening. And even more terrifying.
What in the hell am I going to do if they find an excuse to get rid of me?
Sabrina and even Brad have tried to reassure me. They've done their best to keep me calm rather than focusing on that situation. They tell me there will be plenty of time to come up with a plan – though, given the maternity leave laws in this state, I’ll only have an eight- to ten-week window to come up with said plan. I understand why they're trying to keep me calm though – stress isn't good for the baby.
There's a knock on the door and I groan to myself. The last thing I want to do is have to haul my butt up off the couch – it's no small feat to accomplish these days. Thankfully, the door opens, and I hear Brad's voice call out.
“Room service,” he says, his voice filled with good cheer.
“In the living room,” I call back. “Where else am I going to be anymore?”
His footsteps echo on the hardwood floor as he makes his way down the short corridor to the living room where I'm sitting on the couch with my hands resting on my belly. I haven't yet changed out of my pajamas, my hair is sticking out in a million different directions, and I look like absolute garbage. Brad steps into the room and favors me with a wide smile.
“Looking good today,” he teases.
I laugh. “Shut up.”
He holds up a bag and it's then that I smell the savory aroma of a greasy cheeseburger from Nick's.
“Oh my God, you are amazing,” I sigh.
Brad shrugs. “Yeah, I know. I try to keep it from going to my head though.”
I laugh as he pops into the kitchen, grabs a couple of plates, a stack of napkins, then sits down and starts dishing out the food. The aroma filling the apartment is heavenly and my stomach grumbles in response. I wasn't even all that hungry until I smelled the greasy goodness of a Nick's cheeseburger.
“Thank you for feeding me,” I say.
“You are very welcome,” he replies.
Brad hands me my plate, then takes his and sits back on the recliner, taking a big bite of his burger. I have to say, despite my initial misgivings about him and my suspicions about his true motives, Brad has become a good friend to me. He's been there every step of the way during my pregnancy, always encouraging me, always saying the right thing at the right time, and just being there to listen.
I still haven't told him who the father of my baby is, but he's hardly pressed me on it either. Which is a good thing, since that's something I don't really think is his business anyway. I know that sounds harsh, but for now, anyway, that's going to remain my secret.
I honestly don't know how I would be getting through this without both him and Sabrina. They've been my rocks when I've needed them most and I really can't even begin to express just how grateful I am to them for everything they've done for me – and continue to do for me.
“So, you're getting down to the wire,” Brad says. “Have you settled on names yet?”
I roll my eyes. “God, not yet.”
“You better get on that,” he laughs.
“It's just tough. I mean, I want to give the baby their own unique little identity. Something special,” I say. “But, at the same time, I don't want to give them one of those cracked out names people intentionally misspell just to make them different.”
“You know, Brad is always a good choice for a boy's name,” he says. “It's durable. Rugged. Manly, even.”
I laugh. “Brad, huh?”
He nods, grinning like a fool. “I have it on good authority it's like, the best name ever. Women fall all over themselves for guys named Brad.”
“I'll keep it in mind,” I laugh. “But, what it if it's a girl?”
He shrugs. “I think Brad works for a girl too.”
I laugh and throw a French fry at him. “That's awful.”
“Probably,” he chuckles. “But it made you laugh.”
“That it did.”
We fall into a comfortable silence as we eat, watching some television. It's kind of become our routine – Brad usually comes over on his lunch hour to feed and hang out with me. With Sabrina working so much lately – and spending time with Dom when she's not – the companionship is kind of nice.
We're watching one of those cooking shows on Food Network. As I watch the contestants whipping up some really amazing looking desserts, I suddenly have the overwhelming urge for a cupcake. But I'm careful to not give voice to my desire. If there's one thing I've learned about Brad, it's that he's way more than eager to please. If I so much as mention a craving for a cupcake, he'd leap into action and scour the entire city for the best cupcakes around.