Page 50 of Stepping Up

I looked at him, confused. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Erm, I mean, Son, do you want to stay in this relationship? With… the warts and all?” He gestured vaguely toward me, indicating, I guessed, the whole “sharing Carly with my stepbrothers” thing. I thought of how good it felt when all of us could hold her, that night in her bed.

“Yeah, Dad. It’s weird, and… it’s not what I ever pictured. I’m a normal guy, you know? I’ve never really gone too far outside the box. I’m not even brave enough to get a tattoo, much less all the ones Nate has. I think… it’s been hard for me. But if I ignore all the outside stuff, it just all feels… right.”

It felt so much better just to say those words. Dad nodded in that sage way a final time, stroking his chin in thought. Finally, he looked at me with a small, sad smile.

"I think all of that makes sense. You need stability, and… aw, hell. Just something normal. Your life hasn’t been normal so far at all. We both remember how hard it was for you, adjusting after your parents…”

Dwight’s voice cracked, remembering Luanne and Derek Maren, my biological parents who had been his closest friends before the night of their crash. The night Dwight had been driving, and I knew he carried guilt he didn’t deserve about it to this day. He’d hit a patch of black ice, invisible in the darkness. There was nothing he could have done. But it had always been hard for both of us, I think, to fully embrace our roles as father and son. There was a lot of guilt and baggage on both sides.

“Yeah,” I said, swallowing around a hard knot in my throat. “Yeah, I think… I wonder what they would have thought of all of this. I have this image of us as this perfect, conventional family in my head.”

“They wanted you to be happy,” Dwight reassured me. “No matter what that meant. To hell with conventions.”

I felt some of the tightness in my chest loosen, just hearing that belief I’d tried to have about my parents validated by someone who had known them better than I did. Before I could find a way to thank Dwight for that small kindness, he went on.

“As for Carly and your brothers… I know it's hard to face things like this head-on, Son," he said softly. "But all relationships take work, and sometimes, they all hit rough patches. The important thing is that you're willing to fight for what you want, for the people you love."

His words struck a chord deep within me, resonating with a truth that I couldn't ignore. Despite the uncertainty that clouded my mind, one thing was clear. I loved Carly and Ella more than anything in this world, and I was willing to do whatever it took to make things right between us. To have the family we deserved, society be damned.

I just hoped, prayed even, that Carly was willing, too.

31

NATE

It was a stupid fucking thought, but I was painfully aware of how uncool I looked right now, and it only added insult to injury.

My apartment felt emptier than usual tonight, the silence weighing heavily on my shoulders as I nursed a glass of whiskey in the dark, the amber liquid burning a path down my throat. I glanced around at the sleek, modern decor, the remnants of my bachelor lifestyle glaring back at me. It was a cool place, no doubt about it, but lately, it felt more like a prison than a home.

I couldn't shake the feeling of regret that gnawed at my insides, a constant reminder of the ultimatum I had given Carly. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, to force her hand and make her confront the truth about our relationship. But now, as I sat alone, wishing for her body to keep me warm and occupied and her laugh to keep me smiling, I couldn't help but wonder if I had made a colossal mistake.

I took another sip of whiskey, relishing the burn as it seared away the pain, if only for a moment. My thoughts swirled in a bullshit sadness whirlwind, jumping from one nonsensical tangent to the next. Was it possible to drown in self-pity? If so, I was well on my way.

I thought about Carly, about the way she made me feel alive and whole and the way she had shattered all my preconceived notions about love and relationships. How sure I was that she loved me and the guys just as much as we each loved her, and yet it seemed like she couldn't make up her mind about us, about what she wanted.

Shouldn't she know by now whether she loved me? If she wanted to be with me despite whatever societal expectations we were subverting? The questions echoed in my mind, taunting me with their lack of answers. I wanted to shake some sense into her, to make her see that what we had was real, that it was worth fighting for.

But even as I railed against Carly in my mind, a part of me knew that the blame didn't lie solely with her. I had pushed her into a corner, given her an impossible choice to make. And now, whiskey amplifying my emo thoughts, I couldn't help but wonder if I had pushed her away for good.

I sighed heavily, the weight of my own foolishness settling like a stone in the pit of my stomach. I didn't want to lose Carly, didn't want to lose the chance at the happy home and family I had envisioned for us. But it seemed like the more I tried to hold on, the more she slipped through my fingers.

“This is bullshit,” I grumbled to myself. I wasn’t sure, at first, to what exactly I was referring, though I looked at the stupid fucking zebra-print pillow on my sofa that Carly would hate and punched it onto the floor. Of course, it didn’t make me feel better. Much.

“Fuck this,” I said, seeming to repeat myself in my half-drunk stupor. I dialed Logan on my phone, putting it on speaker and setting the stupid thing on the sharp-edged glass coffee table that certainly wasn’t appropriate for any future toddlers I wanted to have with Carly. He was my best friend. Who the hell else was I supposed to call?

“Hey, Nate,” Logan’s voice sounded through the phone. And wouldn’t you know it? He sounded like shit, too. He always sounded grumpy, but I knew him well enough to know when he was grumpy-normal, grumpy-mad, or grumpy-sad. This was the latter, for sure.

“Logan, man, I need you to come talk some sense into me,” I blurted out, my voice thick with liquor and suppressed emotion. "Think you can come over? I have bourbon, if that sweetens the pot." I let out a quiet belch that tasted spicy, as if to punctuate my point.

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Logan answered. “Yeah, sure, I’ll be right there.”

True to his word, Logan arrived at my apartment not long after, a six-pack of beer in hand as a supplement to my bourbon bottle, which was nearing empty, anyway. He took one look at my disheveled appearance and shook his head. “You’re a fucking mess.”

I sighed heavily, the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders. “I screwed up, Logan. I shouldn’t have given Carly that stupid ultimatum. I don’t even care anymore,” I lied. “I just want her back. Her and Ella.”

Logan took a seat beside me, cracking open two beers and handing one to me. “Shit, me too,” he said, his voice full of exhaustion. “But all we can do is trust Carly to make the right decision for herself.”

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