I bolt up straight once more.
“What?” the shocked gasp escapes my lips. “What in the world? Of course I’m not using them!” comes my outraged sputter.
Because has Patty gone insane? What’s with these accusations and finger-pointing? I came to her house looking for comfort, not to be hurled into the fire.
But Nana continues.
“You’re using them too, honey,” she says calmly. “And you and I both know it.”
That’s not true.
“How am I using them?” I demand, hands balled on my hips. “How am I, a teen girl, using seven men? That’s preposterous,” is my vehement statement.
But Nana shakes her head wisely again.
“Marsha told me how you dropped out of college. She told me how you want a baby, even though you’re eighteen. She told me how you want to be a cook on TV, with a line of cookbooks to your name.”
I stare at my grandma.
“Well yes,” I say. “My ambitions are different from what my parents want for me. But that doesn’t mean I’m using the Morgans! It’s totally separate, a completely different issue. What does that have to do with anything?”
Nana looks at me closely once again, her gaze searching before shaking her head.
“Not very smart,” she clucks slowly. “Real slow, I would never have guessed.”
Now I’m truly angry, bolting to my feet.
“Tell me how I’m using them,” comes my angry demand, eyes spitting fire. “Tell me how I, a teen girl, am using seven adult males who are billionaires. Come on Nana. Spill it.”
And my grandma sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes. But she’s totally calm.
“Who’s paying for your lifestyle?” she asks rhetorically, fixing me with a stare. “Who’s giving you that baby? Who’s going to pay for your baby after he or she is born? Tell me, Macy. Who’s using whom, just to be clear?”
And suddenly, I see what she means. Because I wanted out of my old life. I wanted to be a different Macy, one with professional ambitions that didn’t include school, tests and problem sets. I wanted to get pregnant. I wanted to separate from my parents without checking myself into a halfway house for stranded single mothers.
And the Morgans are how I’m doing it.
I’m living in the lap of luxury, courtesy of the brothers.
There’s life growing in my womb, thanks to them.
All my allegations of using people?
That finger’s turned right back at me.
Because one look in the mirror tells me that Nana’s right. I’m using them just as much as they’re using me. But is that okay? Is it right? Because I love the brothers desperately, so it’s not “using” per se, right?
“Nana, what do I do?” come the words trembling from my lips. “I thought I was caught in their web, but maybe it’s the other way around.”
Nana chuckles in her throat then, a wheezy, gaspy sound.
“That’s my smart girl,” she nods approvingly. “That’s the Macy that I know.”
And suddenly, I have to go. I have to tell Will, Tim, Trent, Ford, Smith, Sam and Matthew that I was wrong. Completely wrong. That I fucked-up beyond belief. I have to apologize and tell them that I want a life with them going forwards. The past is the past, and we have to leave it at that.
Plus, these revelations about me are astonishing. Yes, I’m a teen girl. Yes, I dropped out of school without a penny to my name. But I’m going after what I want, and the Morgans are helping me do it. Them using me or me using them, I’m not sure it matters anymore. Because I’ve been living my best life, happy and satisfied as a clam, until Marsha ruined it all.
So I have to turn this ship around. I’ve made a huge mistake, and hopefully it’s not too late. I love the Morgans, and they love me, and we have to make it work, some way, somehow.
“I’m so sorry, Nana, gotta go,” are my rushed words, hair flying as I fumble around for my keys. “Gotta go, urgent.”
She pinches my cheek and looks me straight in the eye then.
“Look, young lady. You are an adult and you can make your own decisions. That other young lady’s got nothing to do with you. She has choices too. She could just as easily choose to wake up and hit restart, take that money and make something of herself. And your mama can’t tell you what’s right for you. Only you can. So make the choice that makes your heart happiest. Okay?”
Tears start pooling once more, and I reach for my grandma’s frail shoulders. We hug for a long time as I cry once more, tears soaking her silk blouse. Maybe I’m silly for acting such a fool, but the heart wants what it wants no matter what.
Because can I make this choice?
Can I make this work for me?
For my baby?
For us?
My mind spins the entire drive home, and once in the kitchen, I run my hand over the cold marble of my custom kitchen counters, remembering the hours I’ve spent in this room already, cooking and putting on shows for the seven men I love.