She squeals with laughter now. “Okay, first of all, Nora is a cheese-head with little holes in her head, and she’s been lost all these days when she promised me she’d be coming to take care of you and is Lord-knows-where instead. She’s up on cloud nine somewhere, and you’re somewhere else—because these are definitely hormones talking here.”
“I can’t believe he doesn’t want me there. I think someone else stole his phone and texted me. Maybe a stupid whore.”
“Brooke, he’s clearly protecting you and the baby.” Melanie rolls her eyes at me as she searches my Apple TV for something to rent.
The monsters in my head prevail over her words. Baby is doing better. If my doctor gives me the green light, why wouldn’t he want me there? Does he not even miss me?
“I just don’t understand,” I grumble, grabbing one of the same stupid magazines I’ve read a thousand times and tossing it against the wall.
Melanie drops the remote and comes to stroke my hair. “Like they say, men are from Mars. Some of the ones I’ve dated are even from YourAnus—the ass**les. And you, my darling, are very pregnant here. You’ve been stressed about losing the baby, stressed about missing your guy, stressed about your mama and papa not being so supportive, and Nora isn’t any help at all. You’ve been stuck with me, a nutcase, in these same four walls, for three weeks, without even feeling the sunlight. Chicken, this is why everyone who ever appeared on Big Brother went crazy, and at least they had a pool.”
I shove her playfully and laugh.
But hours later, I’m staring at my living room wall, replaying all the scenarios of Remington not wanting me. Remington seeing someone else in the stands he likes. Remington realizing a baby—as it has proven so far—is a little more trouble than a man like him would want. I am torturing myself, and my mind has gained such momentum I can’t even stop it.
“You’re distant. Where are you? With Remy?”
“He must be fighting right now.”
Right now, hundreds of people get to see him. Hundreds of women are screaming his name, lusting after him. Right now those blue eyes will have to look at something or someone else when they scan the audience and I’m not there. And even when he’ll be here, in my city, he doesn’t want me there and I don’t even know what to do.
“Don’t they stream it live on some Underworld site? Come here, I’ll bet they do!” She tugs me to my room, opens my laptop, and starts Googling. My insides jump as I wonder if they do. She squeals when she finds a link and clicks on the volume. “He’s there. Come here! Well, it’s not him—do you think he already went?”
I scan the comments. They mention him, but the commentators seem to be asking when he’ll be coming on. My heart squeezes with wanting to be there, and then Mel snatches up my hand when the announcer uses his most suspenseful voice: “I’m hearing a name out in the crowd. It keeps coming up. Can you all hear it too?” He covers one ear, and the crowd screams, in unison:
“RIPTIDE!”
My butterflies burst alive in my stomach when he goes, “That’s right! That is RIGHT, ladies and gentlemen! Now welcome, undefeated this season with a perfect score, the bad boy wonder, the one and the only, Remington Tate, Riiiiiiptide!!!”
My stomach flutters as he comes out, and the public roars in the background as the camera focuses on the ring. And then he climbs up into that ring, agile and aerodynamic, like he does. He jerks off his RIPTIDE satin robe—and the screams from the women almost break my laptop’s speakers. Far away, I see a sign that reads FOREVER RIPTIDE’S in the air.
Fascinated, Mel and I watch him make his turn. He’s smiling, drinking in the attention. Then I see him stop where he always does and automatically look at my empty seat, and then his smile falters. He pauses for a moment, then cracks his neck and goes back to Riley and turns away from the crowd.
“Aww. I think he misses you too. He never goes to his corner like that.” Melanie sighs. “Brooke? Brooke?”
I’m crying into a pillow.
“Brookey, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.”
“Brooke, what’s wrong? Is something wrong?”
I squeeze the couch pillow tighter and then wipe my eyes.
“Ugh! It’s rained more inches in my apartment than it has in the whole of Seattle,” I groan. Then I stand and get away. I go to the kitchen, get a napkin, and am patting my tears when I hear the scream from the public as a big thunk! is heard. I rush back over and peer into the screen, and a man is splattered on the canvas, facedown, Remington standing before him, feet braced apart, chest heaving, arms at his side. Like a conquering god of war. Who I desire with every aching molecule of my body. Who can have any woman in the world and might not just want me anymore, and I cannot fathom the way my heart will break if I’m to live the rest of my life without him.
“Riptide! Ladies and gentlemen! Your victor, undefeated this season, leading the championship in the number one spot! RRRRRIP-TIIIIIDE!”
My heart swells in my chest, and it throbs, and I grab the computer and turn it to me, see his arm is raised as he catches his breath. He’s not smiling tonight. He’s somber and panting, staring at a spot in the crowd as if he’s lost in his thoughts.
“I love you so much . . . I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m going to make you love me this hard too,” I whisper, caressing his face on the screen.
“You’re going to be a daddy, Rem!” Melanie squeals. “Your baby momma loves you so much!”
Remington turns his head to the ringmaster, and, with a nod, the announcer calls up someone else. My stomach tangles when I realize he’s going to keep fighting.
Melanie answers the phone and I forget to tell her not to.
“Tut-tut! Hush! Now me.”
I eye myself in the mirror as she does her own face. “Okay, I look like a prostitute. They’re going to ask us how much we charge.”
“You ding-dong, we have to make you not look like you.”
“But you still look hotter! You’re a hot grandma—why can’t I be?”
“Because I’m the one who can still walk, and you’re the one in the chair.” She pushes me closer to the mirror and we look at ourselves in our floral dresses. Mel added a little cashmere sweater to hers and a flower to her gray-and-white wig, while my blond wig has an Alice-in-Wonderland black headband holding the hair in place.