First Position (29 page)

“She’s on the pill.  Never missed one,” Wesley said.  “How could this happen?”

Emory slowly leaned her head down on the table and stared at the clock, looking at each hand move, all so very slowly.  Three months already.
 
Due in early Fall, when Mason’s starting his first NFL season
.
Wesley touched her arm, Emory not realizing the doctor had been talking to her.  “Sorry, what?” she looked up, confused.

“Wesley was asking how this could’ve happened on the pill.  A lot of new fathers ask me that, actually,” the doctor said, smiling at Wesley, who bit his tongue.  “It’s not foolproof.  Have you taken anything that could counteract it?”

“Like what?”

“Like antibiotics?”

Emory placed her hand on her forehead.  “Over New Year’s, I was sick, and the school doctor gave me something.” 

“New Year’s,”  the doctor said, stroking his chin.  “That fits with the timeline.”

Emory leaned up on her elbows.  “But I know I’ve had a period since then.”  She looked at Wesley for confirmation, but he had no clue.
 
Mason would know.

“Sometimes women have their period the first few months of pregnancy.”  The doctor patted her foot.  “It’s not uncommon.  Or perhaps you simply mistook spotting for your period.  That’s very common as well.”

Emory looked back at the clock, convinced she’d entered some parallel universe.
 
Pregnant, young, alone. 

“You are still early enough in the pregnancy that you have options.  We do have a counselor on staff who can assist you.  If you are going to continue the pregnancy, you need to gain some weight and take prenatal vitamins.”  The doctor handed some pills to Wesley.

“Can I still dance?”  Emory asked softly.

“I don’t see why not, but everything in moderation.  Don’t overdo it.” 

On their way out of the office, Emory swore Wesley to secrecy, but she needed more than that.  She needed a plan.

Mason had been asleep for hours.  It was well past midnight.  He flopped his heavy arm across her flat stomach, stirring her from her past.  She knew she needed another plan.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Wesley needed a jolt before his morning class began.  It was his least favorite class of the week -- a group of twelve year old boys who’d rather be playing video games, but whose parents made them attend, either to lose weight or improve their footwork for some “real sport.”  In fact, Wesley was certain one of the boys was attending his class for some sort of punishment.  None of them wanted to be there for the hour, and Wesley didn’t either.  He typically got a charge out of teaching his classes, but only because his students reflected his own enthusiasm.  This class gave back aggravation and hatred.  It annoyed Wesley, but he never turned a paying student away.  He needed to pay the rent.

An hour before the class, Wesley rolled out of bed and walked to a coffee shop down the street, hoping some caffeine would energize him.  He ordered a cappuccino and bran muffin.  He dropped some sugar and cream into his cup and took a seat at a table near the counter.  He picked at his muffin, waiting for the cappuccino to cool.  He looked around at other customers in the shop -- a man in a suit racing off to an executive-level job, a woman in scrubs grabbing a black coffee before heading into surgery, a young father with kids on their way to soccer.  Wesley wondered about his own place in the shop: a single, gay man living with his college friend and teaching dance below their simple apartment.
 
How long can this last?  Have I done the right thing with my life
?
  He took a sip of his coffee and stared into the cup, taking comfort in the belief his relationship with his family was on a better track and that he had made the best choices he could, as life came at him.  Then something really did come at him.

Tomás walked into the shop, well-dressed as usual, even at this early morning hour.  He noticed Wesley immediately, wearing clothes he knew Wesley had slept in.  Wesley looked up briefly from his cup, and saw Tomás, then adverted his eyes back to the cup, pretending not to see him.  Tomás himself didn’t know what to do: he couldn’t turn around and leave, which would be too obvious, but he had to walk past Wesley to get to the counter and didn’t know what to say.  Tomás noticed a newspaper carousel by the door and pretended to read the day’s headlines while formulating a plan.

Wesley could tell Tomás was stalling, churning inside.  He took a long drink in satisfaction and decided to take the upper hand.  “Tomás,” he called out.

His heart sinking, Tomás put back the newspaper and slowly turned around.  “Wesley, is that you?” he asked, squinting his eyes to see across the small room.

“Yep.”  Wesley motioned him to come over.  “Have a seat.”

Tomás gathered some courage and slowly walked towards the table.  “How have you been?” he asked, taking a seat.

“Pretty good,” Wesley said.  “Can I buy you a drink?”

“No, I just came in to get a paper.”

“Oh, I thought you had the paper delivered to your house.”  Wesley took another sip, delighting in tweaking Tomás, now squirming in his chair.

“I discontinued it a few weeks ago,” he lied.

Wesley picked at his muffin.  “It’s been awhile since we’ve seen each other.”

“It has.”

“Would you like some of my muffin?” Wesley offered.

“No, I’m good. Like I said, I just came in for the paper.”

“Right.  I forgot,” Wesley said, grinning.  “How’s your art?”

Tomás cocked his head to the side.  “Been hard to put ideas on canvas lately.  A bit of a struggle.”

Wesley offered no sympathy.  “We all have our struggles,” he said flatly, then enjoyed the silence that fell over the table, clearly making Tomás uncomfortable.  Wesley took another long sip of his drink, as if to congratulate himself for his zinger.

“How was your sister’s wedding?” Tomás asked, reaching for something to say.

“It’s not until June.”  Wesley paused to pick at his muffin.  “I decided to go.”

“That’s great!  Why didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

“I had asked you to call if you patched things up with your family.”

Wesley stirred his cappuccino.  “I guess I forgot that, too,” he said, then looked directly into Tomás’ eyes.  “Just like you apparently forgot to take care of me when I needed you most.”

“That’s not what happened,” Tomás said, stiffening his spine.  “I wanted you to be true to yourself.”

Wesley smiled.  “That’s the funny thing, Tomás. I was.”

“No, you weren’t.  You. . . .”

Wesley cut him off.  “I was, Tomás.  I was being true to myself.  I’m a gay man -- a scared, gay man -- just doing my best to get by,” Wesley said firmly, without any regard for the eager ears of the other customers.  “That’s me.  That’s how I am at home, at work, and with my family.  Take it or leave it, and you left it.”

Tomás sat back in his chair, surprised by Wesley’s honesty, hitting him like a freight train.  Wesley ordinarily was so full of jokes and clownish ideas, that he rarely, if ever, ventured into any direct discussion like this.  Tomás had always assumed that Wesley’s reluctance to deal with his family was from a lack of pride, never considering it was from a lack of confidence.  He reached across the table for Wesley’s hand, but Wesley pulled away.

“I’m good.  I don’t need that.”

“Please, I. . . .”

“I’ve got to get to my class.”  Wesley stood up and looked down at Tomás.  “But you think about what I said.  You treat strangers better than you treated me.  When you get a handle on yourself, you call me.”

* * *

Mason thought about having breakfast with his mother in the hospital cafeteria, or just visiting with her in the waiting room of the maternity ward.  But he wasn’t hungry, and the waiting room didn’t have real good memories from the day before.  He finally decided on the hospital chapel because his conversation demanded privacy, not wanting to worry about the tone of his mother’s voice around other people, or whether they could hear a sensitive talk between a mother and son.  He also figured it wouldn’t hurt to have some divine intervention.  Mason needed to set things right.  As far as he was concerned, the time for ignoring and bickering and public fighting was over.

He sat alone in a pew in the small, quiet chapel, skimming through a prayer card containing a list of the Ten Commandments.  He hadn’t seen them since Sunday School twenty years ago, now reading them carefully, pausing at the fourth one.
 
Damn, that one is tricky.

“Thanks for inviting me, Son,” Kathleen said, walking through the chapel entrance.  “I can’t remember the last time we had a date.”  She took a seat next to him.

“Me neither.  I thought the chapel would be a fun spot.”

“I’m glad you think about places like this.  Shows I raised you right.”

She reached up to straighten his hair, but Mason swatted her away, smiling.  “You did a good job, Mom.  I know it wasn’t always easy doing it alone.  Steven and I never made your life easy.”

“Still don’t.  But you’re right.  I just did the best I could under the circumstances.”

“I know.”

“And now I have an NFL player and lawyer to show for it.  And, of course, a beautiful new grandson.”

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?  Don’t know how someone as ugly as Steven could create that.”

Kathleen laughed.  “Your brother’s not ugly.”

Mason smiled, then paused, needing to get down to business, as time was short.  “You know how you said you did the best you could under the circumstances?  That’s what I’m doing, too, Mom.”

Kathleen knew where this was going and patted his hand.  “It’s not that I don’t like her, Son.  I do, but you lose all reason when it comes to her.”

Mason rolled his eyes.  “Mom, you know I’m not a rational person.  That’s you and Steven.”

“But you just don’t think straight around her.”

“Of course I don’t, Mom.”  He took her hand and looked in her eyes.  “That’s because I love her.”

“But you passed on a better contract because of her.”

“She didn’t even know about it.”

“It could be your last contract!”

“I don’t care, Mom.  I love her.  I’ve loved her my whole life.”

Kathleen exhaled, twirling the diamond cross on her necklace.  “I just don’t know.  When you were with Alexis, you could focus on your career, and . . . .”

“Mom, please!”  He could feel his blood pressure rising, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck standing up.  “Alexis and I are done.  My career is going to last, what, maybe another five years if I’m lucky.  Then what?  I want to be happy beyond that.”

She patted his hand.  “Son, I want you to be happy,” she said sweetly.  “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I know, Mom, but my version of happiness is different than yours.  And remember, I tried your version, and it didn’t work out too well for me,” Mason said, his voice shaking.  “So if you want me happy, you need to let go a little bit.”  A tear fell from his eyes, and he wiped it away. 

She couldn’t bear it -- her huge son, an NFL quarterback, crying in a small hospital chapel.  She threw her arms around him and squeezed him tightly, Mason putting his head on her shoulder.  “I need your help, Mom,” he said, sniffling.
 
Honor thy father and mother
.
“I really do.”

Holding her son, Kathleen found peace in his words.
 
My boy needs me
.
She couldn’t remember the last time her sons needed her.  It meant everything.  “Whatever you need.”

* * *

Emory held Noah in her arms, humming softly and rocking him slowly in the corner of the hospital room.  Olivia rested on the bed, with Stephen beside her, feeding her an early lunch of roast chicken and mashed potatoes from the hospital kitchen.

“So, Stephen, what did you get Olivia?” Emory asked, tickling Noah’s nose.

He stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork.  “For what?”

“For bearing your child!”  Emory winked at Olivia.  “It’s called a push present.”

“A what?”  He fed her the piece of chicken.  “Is this some rule I’m supposed to know about?”

“Not a rule,” Olivia teased, with her mouth full, “just common courtesy.” 

Stephen scratched his head, then gripped the stubble on his face for support.  “I’ve got more chicken,” he said, laughing.

“Better make sure Mason knows about the push present rule, Emory?”  Olivia winked at Steven, who then narrowed his eyes, urging her to mind her own business.  Emory looked up at them both, confused.  “Oh, come on,”  Olivia said, “feeling faint and puking.  We think it’s great.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Emory then suddenly realized Olivia, and perhaps even Steven, truly thought she was pregnant, and had even discussed it.  Little did they know, she and Mason hadn’t even had sex this time around.  “I’m not pregnant.  Just a little food poisoning.”