Page 84 of Expecting an Argument
The whole page was full of her name. I couldn’t tell if I had written it in one red-eyed frenzy or if I had frequently returnedto add more vitriol. After reading every line, I turned the page to find even more on the back, the paper embossed from the rage behind a sharp-tipped pencil.
I had only hated a few people in my life, like Anthony Dauphin’s cheating ass, but I had never noticed if his shoelaces dragged on the ground like Olivia’s had. I had never kept track of an exact grade he had earned on a test, either. I certainly would have never paid attention to if he had printed fanfiction on 16-point font and read it in class.
But with Olivia…I had noticed everything.
“When is Olivia Adams going to realize no one cares about that long-dead department store owner but her?”I had scrawled into my notebook.“She’s going to die a virgin if she never learns to shut her mouth. I hate her so much. I hate, hate, FUCKING HATE HER!!!”
No, young Beau Fontaine, you don’t hate Olivia Adams at all. You never did.
I set the notebook down and turned to look at my shelf full of memories. My eyes roamed from my folded football jersey to my prom photos until I found the open yearbook on the bottom shelf. On the glossy yearbook page was Olivia, her eyes sparkling behind her glasses frames as she smiled for the debate team photo.
I looked at everyone else I had kept within my shelves. First, the cheery, breezy version of my mother that hid her sharp wit behind coral lipstick and teased blonde hair. Then, the photo strip of Katie and I kissing at my fraternity formal. Finally, I found my father, the man who would never come back.
None of them would ever come back. My mother was the CEO of Fontaine Energy now. Katie was invisible to me. And Dad…
…I didn’t need him to learn how to be a man and I sure as hell didn’t need him to learn how to be a father.
So, with a long exhale, I let all of them go. Everyone excepther.
I wouldn’t memorialize Olivia when she was still out there, still carrying our babies, and still within arm’s reach.
I flicked my eyes up to the picture of Grandpa who sternly looked back at me as he gripped the cold platinum handle of his cane.
“You were wrong, old man,” I said with a smirk. “I didn’t use up all my luck by being born with your name—Olivia already came back to me once.”
I turned from my shelf and flipped through my notebook until I found a blank page. I clicked my pen and began to write.
One shot. One draft. I wouldn’t beg or plead, nor would I give her sugary prose. My proposal would be short, truthful, and I wouldn’t hold back.
I wasn’t afraid of the risk—luck was on my side.
After I left Beau, I stayed in bed for a week.
I rested on my side, cradling my belly on the foam mattress in Ashley’s guest room…which also happened to be her office in the attic. When I wasn’t doom-scrolling on my phone, I watched Ashley edit videos for her channel.
Tonight, unfortunately, she decided to work on the video from my baby shower.
My glasses pushed into the side of my face as I watched her edit, but I didn’t care enough to adjust them. Ashley kept her big white headphones on as she stared at her dual monitors, sparing me from enduring the repeating audio as she cut and arranged clips from the shower.
My phone buzzed on the mattress and I looked down. With a silent sigh, I deleted the text from Dr. Ornelas’s office requesting that I reschedule my missed appointment. I knew I should have gone, and Ashley would have gladly driven me tothe city, but I just…couldn’t.
I gently tapped the card that read “The Fontaine Family” against the top of my belly. When staring at my phone screen hurt my eyes, I switched to fidgeting with the satisfyingly thick cardstock of my souvenir from the April Showers gala.
The skin of my belly twitched—Annie had the hiccups. I placed the card in its usual place on the tiny nightstand next to Mom’s ashes and patted my abdomen where Annie’s bottom was. Brady, clearly jealous, pushed against his sister and Annie responded with a swift kick across my ribs. I grimaced, but patted them both to try to soothe them.
They fought worse than Beau and I had.
As soon as I calmed them, a Braxton Hicks contraction stole the breath from my throat. I shifted on the mattress as I tried to breathe. The twin bed that pushed against the sloped attic wall was too damn small, but I was in no position to complain. Ashley and Tyson had already sent their kids to Dr. and Mrs. Copeland’s house so they could take care of me before my c-section.
They were making huge sacrifices for me, but I couldn’t stop comparing them to Beau. Crinkled plastic water bottles lined the floor by my bed, but they couldn’t replace the unique four flavors of water that Beau would make. Ashley checked on my symptoms and told me what was normal, but she didn’t scour medical journals for me like Beau had. Pete, their big ginger cat, snuggled by my belly every day, but he was no Titus.
Ashley had said that lying in bed and wanting to do nothing was perfectly fine for the thirty-fifth week of pregnancy, but I didn’tfeelperfectly fine.
Every night, I’d wake up with my arm stretched out across the crowded attic-turned-nursery. I’d panic in my sleepy haze, thinking Beau had disappeared into thin air, and then I’d have to hold back tears when I woke up enough to realize I was thereason he was gone.
So, this is what being an independent woman looked like—lying like a slug in your best friend’s attic because you couldn’t bring yourself to trust the father of your children.
I sure was a winner.
