Hothead by Stella Rhys

35

EVIE

There were more boardedup buildings than the last time I was here. That much was for sure.

Whether it was houses or storefronts, half the buildings that were once occupied no longer were. At this point, Belfield just felt like a long stretch of marshland with a road, some old billboards and dusty bus stops.

But if any one thing stayed the same, it was bearded Kurt who worked at the gas station where I picked up my mom’s lotto tickets. He was in his fifties the last I saw him. Now he was in his sixties and he still wore suspenders and the same Patriots cap that was so faded now it was grey.

“Just so you know, Missy Remsen said her daughter didn’t say those things. I think those reporters – they just make up lies,” he said as he rang up the Snapple I threw in there for Mom as well.

“They definitely do,” I said to keep it simple.

The last thing on my mind was what my high school classmates said to the media or not. But that was all Kurt and I had to talk about when I came here before going to Mom’s.

I didn’t stay right in Belfield, let alone in Mom’s house. I rented a car and booked a motel a few towns over. I told myself that if I wasn’t sleeping in that house, I was still being somewhat responsible.

Because the reality was that I knew it wasn’t smart to be here.

But I was distraught like I’d never been in my life, and I just needed to be in my mom’s arms. I needed to feel her combing her fingers through my hair like she did when I was little, and saying, “Mommy’s got you. Everything’s going to be alright.”

I needed the given of that comfort, even if I knew it would be short-lived. Even if it would blow up in my face in a month, a week or maybe even tomorrow. At some point, the novelty of my being home would fade. The stress would be hard to ignore, and Mom would begin picking fights about my absence all these years.

Kaylie would act up. She was already resenting the fact that I’d showed up, spending a lot of time with friends while I was around during the day, and screaming at Mom at night once I left.

There was no way in hell things wouldn’t blow up between us. She would steal from me or hit me. Maybe pick a fight about the money I was spending on a motel, or perhaps go missing for days. She would hate that my pregnancy took Mom’s full attention away from her, and she would do something drastic to get it back.

She’d done it before and I knew she’d do it again.

So I wasn’t sure if I was walking on thin ice or in a minefield, but either way, I was bound to be miserable in the near future, and I was bound to be putting this baby through stress it didn’t need.

But right now, I needed the comfort. My brain was in shambles, and all I could do was cry and feel scared or guilty – guilty mostly for what I’d done to Aly.

For two days, I’d let myself stay with her and Emmett in their East Hampton home, and as much as Aly took care of me before and after work, or kept me hidden and doted upon in the office of our restaurant, I could see her being constantly worried about me. I could feel myself bringing her down and considering she was supposed to be enjoying real post engagement bliss, I couldn’t continue to cry to her about the fact that Drew had clearly made up his mind about us, since he hadn’t so much as texted since the morning I left. I could feel myself drowning her, and it made me feel like the most needy, selfish person in the world.

So I came here to Mom.

I called her to tell her why I was coming home before I did, so the second I walked through those doors, all she did was hug me.

“It’s a blessing, and everything’s going to be alright,” she whispered before burying a kiss in my hair.

It was simple yet exactly what I needed and wanted to hear.

So for three days now, I was picking up scratch-offs and OJ or Snapple for her in the morning, chatting a second with Kurt, driving straight to the house, and spending the day with her on the couch. We’d watch daytime talk shows while looking at her old boxes of photos on the couch. Kaylie would pop in and out, say something either neutral or hostile to me, and Mom would whisper, “She’s just adjusting,” to me and give either a little eye roll or a squeeze of my hand.

Most curiously, she’d pay Kaylie very little mind before turning back to me, trying to get me to look at a picture of when I was baby wearing pink and purple socks she knitted, and talking about how we should perhaps start knitting.

For the first time in a long time, I had her attention back.

And it felt good.

“When did you start showing?” I asked as we settled into the couch today.

“I started showing with you when I was nine weeks, so good luck with that,” Mom snorted, patting a gentle hand on my tummy. “Whole town’s gonna know soon ‘cause of Kaylie’s mouth anyway. Did Kurt try to convince you to forgive the Remsens today?”

“Sure did,” I managed a smirk as I jammed my thumb on the old remote to turn on the TV. It took about seven tries.

“That ass. Don’t let him worry you about that. You got enough on your mind, sweetheart,” she said, squeezing my hand. “Tell him you’re busy making ten fingers and ten toes, for Chrissake! And they’re probably gonna be big ones, considering.”

Considering.

She knew well that Drew was the father. I wouldn’t confirm it to her, simply because I felt wary – and then guilty about feeling wary – carrying a millionaire’s baby into the town of Belfield. My overactive mind pictured people hearing that I was pregnant by Drew Maddox and suddenly showing up to tell me to get him in court, to get that child support.

It was the last thing I wanted to think of right now.

And thankfully, Mom didn’t press. Much to my relief, she said, “If Daddy ain’t in the picture, we don’t need him, honey. When did the Larsen girls ever need a man?”

“Never,” I had said, sounding convincing enough for her to beam at me.

But I was lying to myself that day and I was lying to myself now as I thought about what Mom said. Because I couldn’t help imagining the incredibly torturous image of Drew Maddox – happy, smiling and sitting next to me at the hospital, helping me count those ten fingers and ten toes.