“Maybe, but I’m not holding my breath.” I flopped onto my back, thinking about the possibility that I may never have a relationship with my mother again, and the instant I did, he was there, holding me again. I would do anything to stay here in this position for the rest of my life.
17
VICTOR
Juggling the brown bag containing a takeout bowl of soup, and breadsticks with fresh butter, I typed in the keycode to Kat’s front door and let myself in. She texted me saying she was not going on her trip to London, that her seatmate Taylor would play her solo for her. She was ill and I was there to help her feel better.
The house was quiet and dark, but it was early still. Katherine would have been halfway to Heathrow by now, her plane scheduled to take off before six a.m., but at almost noon, the curtains were still drawn, and it looked like she hadn’t even left bed. I’d never seen her sick before, so I wasn’t sure what to expect other than sniffles and piles of tissues.
I shut the front door and headed to the kitchen. She kept a serving tray on the kitchen table with a bowl of fruit sitting on it as a decoration, so I removed the bowl of fruit and set the tray on the counter. In only a few minutes, I had the soup in one of her soup bowls with a few breadsticks laying on the napkin next to it. She had orange juice and milk, neither one great for an upset stomach, so I decided to ask her what she preferred rather than just waste food.
There was a small vase with a single rose that looked half decent—saved from our encounter a few weeks ago—sitting on the counter. I placed it on the tray and grabbed a spoon and the salt and pepper container from the stovetop, situating them next to the vase. If nothing else, hopefully it would make her smile.
Heading off to her bedroom, I thought I heard her speaking, so I hesitated. I didn’t want to interrupt a conversation and she sounded emotional. So, I hovered by her door, waiting for her to end the call. If she was talking to her mother, I didn’t want to bother her. God knows she needed to try anything to make that right.
Trying not to eavesdrop, I cleared my throat so she would know I was there, and her voice grew quieter. Whatever she was saying was in hushed tones. I heard her cough and sniffle, then speak more. Curiosity got the better of me and I leaned in trying to catch any hint of the conversation, but she was too quiet.
“Kat?” Calling out, I waited another second before I opened the door. She sat on her bed bundled up in the blankets with eyes red-rimmed from crying. “Can I come in? I brought soup.” I pushed in, leaving the door open behind me. My hands were full, and my focus was on her sweet face.
As I strolled up to her, her eyes grew wide, almost as if she were panicked or upset. “I have to go. I’ll call you later, okay.” Katherine hung up quickly, tossing the phone onto the comforter beside her. She wiped at her eyes, drying the tears she had as I sat down, placing the tray across her lap. There was a bit of bustle as she readjusted the blanket and the pillows behind herself, but I could see she wasn’t herself. I wondered what had upset her other than not feeling well, but I didn’t want to pry. If she wanted to talk about it I would be there to listen.
“I brought you Italian wedding soup and some garlic bread sticks. I hope that’s okay.” I unbuttoned my jacket and took it off, laying it across the foot of the bed. I waited for her response, but she was quiet still. She stared at the food like it was about as unappetizing as a pile of garbage. “Not your favorite?”
She shrugged. “Not feeling it. My stomach is really raw.” Her hands drew into her stomach, and she cradled it as if she were in pain. A grimace stretched across her face.
“Did you drink too much?” I pressed my hand to her head, but it was not warm—no fever. “Stay up too late?” I couldn’t imagine Katherine sabotaging her career by being immature the night before a performance, especially in London. But people do strange things when they’re nervous.
“No.” She dropped her head and picked at her fingernails. It wasn’t like her to be so down or moody, so I had only one assumption left to make. That call had to have been her mother.
I could see if she was very sick how it would be comforting to call her mom and ask for encouragement or even someone to care for her. But she had no fever—which puzzled me. There was a stack of tissues on her nightstand; I had expected that. But there was no medicine there, no cough syrup or cold and flu pills.
“Need me to get you something? Water? Medicine?” I straightened the blanket across her lap a bit, jostling the soup which sloshed in the dish. Her lip quivered as if she would start crying again. “Hey, no... it’s okay. If you don’t want the soup, I can take it away.”
“It’s not that.” She shook her head, but I picked up the tray and set it to the side anyway. I knew she wouldn’t eat it. She sniffled and peered at me through tears.
“Was it your mom? Did she go off on you again?”
Tears streamed down Katherine’s cheeks, and she covered her face and sobbed. I felt like I’d hit the nail on the head, and I slid up the side of the bed to pull her into my arms. Her body went limp like a ragdoll, so I supported her as she cried and even offered her tissues.
“Hey, it’s okay. We will talk to her. It will get easier. We will make it work, Kat. It’s going to be okay.” My hushed tones only made her cry harder, and I felt at a complete loss. Normally happy and bubbly, even making me laugh or smile, this was a complete 180 for her.
“Hey, baby, look at me.” I pushed her back and drew her face upward to meet my gaze. She blinked and more tears sluiced down her cheeks. “We will make it work. Your mom will come around.”
“It’s not that,” she blurted out. Shaking her head, she pulled away from me and grabbed another handful of tissues. The pile she was amassing on the table grew by the minute.
“What is it?”
Now genuinely concerned, I couldn’t leave her side. I held her hand, watching her wipe her face and blow her nose. Whatever had reduced her to this blubbering mess had really affected her.
“I’m pregnant.”
The kick in the gut stole my breath. My body went cold. “Pregnant?” The room felt still, the moment surreal. Katherine hid her face again, sobbing. All I could do was stare at her unblinking. My throat constricted; confusion washed over me. Had she done this on purpose?
“What? How did this happen?” I backed away, giving her space as she blew her nose again. Charles’s warning about Katherine being “just like her mother” came back, haunting me in that moment until I was so lost in thought I didn’t even hear her talking. “I was on the pill, but with the stress of rehearsals, and then Mom’s reaction, and you weren’t exactly supportive at times, so I’m not sure but I think the pill failed because of my stress.”
She looked genuinely upset, but so had Jillian years ago. So had Tonya, and Heather, and every other gold-digging woman I’d been unfortunate enough to encounter. Charles told me this would happen, that she’d make a way to force me to be with her. And she had waited conveniently until after our argument, so I would think she was just a victim of my lust, helpless to stop the situation from happening.
“You seem upset. Please don’t be upset, Vic.” She reached for my hand, so I let her take it. Her fingers were cold, but my hands were sweaty—two opposite reactions to the same event.