Page 33 of Unexpecting

Dr. Francine Pascal Reid (1941)

“Where were you allweekend?” Morgan demanded as I slid into the booth across from her Monday night. It was Morgan’s turn to pick where to go, and the location—a wine bar downtown—should have given me a heads-up that she had sorrows to drown. She only drinks when something is bothering her. “I called you at least sixteen times!”

″OhmyGod, Morgan, I’m sooo sorry!” With all the David drama, I had forgotten all about Morgan’s breakup with Anil on Friday night. “I’m so sorry; my phone must have been turned off.”

″I know it was turned off. I kept trying to call you to see if you’d turn it on. What if I needed to be bailed out?”

″Bailed out of where? Jail? Why would you need to be in jail? What happened?”

Morgan looked sheepish. “There was a little episode Saturday night.”

My eyes ricocheted between her and Brit. Obviously Brit was familiar with this so-called episode, because she didn’t look at all alarmed. “Morgan, what did you do?” I whispered.

″I think she was totally justified,” Brit said in a haughty voice. “I would have done the same thing. Maybe not Tom’s Armani suit, but definitely the cheaper ones.”

It turns out Anil—Morgan’s now ex-boyfriend—wasn’t content with just ripping out Morgan’s heart on Friday night. Since Anil had been the one who left her, Morgan felt he should be the one to move out. Seems fair enough to me, but it turned out Morgan didn’t exactly have ownership of the house she shared with Anil like she thought. Anil had originally owned the house, but when Morgan moved in with him five years ago, he promised to add her name to the title of the house. But obviously, Anil conveniently forgot about doing this little task, and Morgan’s name was never added to the title of the house, which means Morgan doesn’t technically own any part of the house. And Anil wanted his house back.

″But you’ve been paying the mortgage for years!” I said incredulously. “How is that legal?”

″You’re forgetting Anil is a lawyer,” Brit said in a disgusted voice.

“He said it was an oversight, but of course, I don’t believe him,” Morgan told me, her chin beginning to tremble. “I said something about suing him, but of course, I can’t—not with his whole firm behind him. And it’s not like I have anything in writing. But Anil did say he was perfectly willing to compensate me for what I contributed to the mortgage, minus the cost of rent—rent! Sonofabitch! I decorated that whole house! We lived in it together! I wanted a bigger place, but Anil said he wanted to stay—and now I know why Anil didn’t want to move because it wasn’t my house at all! Rent! I’ll give him—”

″Go back to the police part,” I begged, wanting to head Morgan off before she got bogged down with the legalities I didn’t understand. “Did you call the cops on him?”

″Well, no,” she admitted. “I was really upset when he told me this. And I’d been drinking. A bit. Ever since he broke up with me Friday night…” Tears started to fall silently onto her cheeks.

″Oh, God.” Morgan isn’t really a big drinker, but when she does decide to tie one on, there’s usually some serious consequences. Like the time at university when she fell asleep on the toilet at a bar. Or the time when we went to the pub on campus, and Morgan was stumbling so much she got thrown out ten minutes after we got there. Or when she decided to steal someone’s Christmas lights from the bushes in front of their house. Or when— “What did you do?” I moaned.

″She took all of Anil’s suits from his closet and set fire to them in the front yard,” Brit supplied helpfully before Morgan could say a word. “The fire department came and everything.”

″Oh, my God.” I covered my eyes. And this was happening when I was enjoying myself with David? I was flooded with guilt.

″I wanted to know if she tried to hook up with one of the firemen,” Brit continued. “Wouldn’t that have pissed off Anil, doing it right in front of him? Especially when the police came. It’s a good thing Anil didn’t press charges. Did you at least get one of the cops’ numbers, Morgan? They might not be marriage material, what with having to worry about them being shot and the tacky polyester uniforms, but—”

″Britney,” I said, exasperated. “Were you charged with anything?” I asked Morgan. “What did they say?”

Morgan shook her head. “The one cop was really nice, and I think he must have felt sorry for me. He gave me a warning, but because Anil didn’t press charges—”

″Oh God,” I moaned again and grabbed Morgan’s hand across the table. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t around. I had no idea—I’m sorry,” I told her sincerely. “I just got caught up with a few things.”

″I hope they were important,” Brit said in a haughty voice. “Morgan needed you.” I turned to her with an expression that clearly asked Then where the hell were you? “I was out of town,” Brit continued. “Tom and I were invited by his boss to his cottage for the weekend. I told you all about it. There’s no cell phone reception up there.”

″Are you okay now?” I asked Morgan. “Is the fire out? Do you need me to do anything? I feel horrible I wasn’t around. Do you need to crash at my place until you find somewhere to live?”

″Brit’s already offered, and no offense, but your place might be a bit small for the two of us. Anil says I can stay at the house for this week, but he would prefer I be out by next Monday. Ooh, I want to kick his ass for this! He got off easy losing only his suits.”

The girl could do it, too. A few years back, Morgan got into all sorts of self-defense courses and martial arts. I know she still does kickboxing class a couple of times a week, and if she weren’t so worried about bruising, I bet she’d join one of those female boxing clubs.

″Did Anil say anything to Tom about it?” I asked Brit. Tom and Anil had become pretty good friends over the last couple of years, going beyond the usual boyfriend-of-friends relationship. Tom had even asked Anil tobe one of his groomsmen for the wedding, a little detail I decided not to bring up at this time.

″Tom knew nothing about it. He’s so upset,” Brit told Morgan. “He’s going to talk to Anil.”

This set off a tirade against Anil, his lack of sufficient male genitalia, and men in general, and finished with Morgan in tears again about being thirty-five, unmarried, and unloved. I signaled the waiter for another bottle of wine. This was going to be a long night.

“So what did you do all weekend?” Morgan finally got around to asking after two bottles of wine, a plate of bruschetta (shared with me), a huge bowl of fettuccini (ate it all herself), and a huge slice of cherry cheesecake (Brit had a couple of bites). Apparently, Morgan was doing the feed-the-misery thing. Her eyes and nose were still faintly red, but now her cheeks were pink from the wine as well. Even though I felt sorry for her, I didn’t think it was fair that Morgan looks so gorgeous when she cries. Me, I look like a baby baboon, so it’s better I save my tears for private.

″Well, actually… I was with David,” I said, trying not to sound too smug.

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