by Cora Kenborn
“Zep, I’m not afraid of the idea of us,” I admitted, taking a few steps backward to catch my breath. “I’m just nervous that—wait, what do you mean, prove?”
“I’m taking you out,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Call it our first outing as a real couple.” Dropping his mouth against the hollow of my neck, he groaned as he trailed a heated line of open-mouthed kisses against my skin. “God, Addie, I’ve missed you.”
My head kept telling me to put more distance between us and set the record straight before this went any further. However, the crisp scent of sea salt lingering on his T-shirt told my head to shut the fuck up. Goosebumps erupted down my arms, and I dove my fingers into his messy dark hair, my mouth moving before I could stop it.
“How can we be a couple when you dumped me twenty-four hours ago?”
He let out a groan as his tongue traced my collarbone. “Minor technicality.”
Quickly coming out my lusty haze, I scanned his face while pointing toward the kitchenette. “Minor technicality? Zep, you put a hole in the wall.”
Zep grumbled and threw his head back while tugging a hand through his hair. “Are we really going to stand here and argue about plaster and drywall like a couple of stupid kids?”
Stupid kids.
Although the context was innocent, his words hit me hard, and I swallowed my impending confession. Fear of his reaction drowned any courage I’d managed to compile. “No, I don’t want to argue anymore. Not now.”
“Good. Let’s get some dinner. I’m starving, and if we’re going to put yesterday behind us, we’re gonna do it public.” Entwining our fingers, he pulled me toward the door, glancing over his shoulder and raising an eyebrow as he added, “No booth diving allowed.”
I trailed behind him, nausea from earlier settling back into place. “No promises.”
47
Confessions
Adelaide
New Orleans, Louisiana
“This is ridiculous,” Zep complained, turning completely around to shoot death glares at the booth behind us. “Why would you bring a screaming brat to a public place and ruin everyone else’s dinner?”
And this is where everything goes to hell.
Choking on the piece of bread I managed to force in my mouth, I dropped my hands in my lap and twisted my fingers together. “I’m sorry, did you just call that baby a brat?”
I noticed them when we walked in, and my stomach did a few somersaults at the irony of being seated next to them. A young couple sat with a cute, chubby baby boy, frantically shoving toys, food, and bottles at him in an effort to quiet his banshee-like screams. The baby was having no part of it and threw every item on the floor, punctuating each one with an ear-piercing shriek.
“Yeah. Why people would voluntarily ruin their lives by having one of those fucking noise machines, I’ll never know.” He shoved a french fry in his mouth and shook his head.
Even with Zep’s eyes rolling every third squeal and scream, I tried to force myself to say the words. Four times, I opened my mouth to tell him, and all four times, I shut it just as quickly. Being in public and confessing suddenly became as compatible as peanut butter and lasagna—and if anyone would know, it’d be me. A bizarre midnight craving last night had me pairing the two in an unholy culinary union I’m pretty sure ended up summoning a demon, considering they both made a reappearance ten minutes later.
Realizing the whole night was a bad idea, I stole a fry from his plate and sighed while running it through a glob of mustard.
“That shit is nasty.” Zep wrinkled his nose, his eyes trailing the movement of the fry from my plate to my mouth.
“I can’t help it. I’m pregnant.” I mumbled, popping the fry in my mouth. Zep froze mid-chew, and his eyes widened as I realized my mistake.
Shit.
Silence replaced the buzzing in my head, and my heart pounded wildly in my chest while I waited for him to say something react, hell, or even blink. Instead, he just stared with blank eyes and a clenched jaw.
Why won’t he blink?
“Zep?” I coaxed as the fork dropped from his hands and bounced on the table with a clank. “Did you hear what I said? I’m pregnant.”
His throat worked hard on a swallow, his hands gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white. “With what?”
“A walrus,” I snapped, folding my arms across my chest. “What the fuck do you mean, with what?”
His posture slumped, and he released his grip on the table, rubbing his palm across his brow as if warding off an impending headache. “Addie...”
“A baby, Zep. I’m pregnant with your baby.” Now that the Band-Aid had been ripped off, I dug deep, somehow finding a steady calm for both of us. Pushing my plate away, I placed a hand on his arm, needing to feel some connection.
His muscles stiffened under my touch. “How did this happen?”
I didn’t expect him to start passing out cigars, but his robotic response immediately put me on the defensive. “Really? Well, see, when a mommy and daddy drink vodka out of a snorkel—”
“I know how babies are made, smart-ass,” he interrupted, abruptly clutching my hand with marked roughness. “But we…I mean, besides that one time in the truck, we used protection.”
“Well, apparently, not correctly.”
“Seriously?” he whisper-shouted, finally coming alive as his eyes narrowed in accusation. “Who’s the one who demanded to go full-on reverse cowgirl in the middle of perfectly tame sex? It probably broke then.”
“I did not!”
“You sure as hell did. In fact, I believe you screamed giddy-up before grabbing my balls like a saddle.”
“Enough!” I palmed my forehead and sagged against the back of the booth, the vein in my temple beginning to pound. “You know I can’t remember anything from that night. And are you seriously blaming our kid on a drunken sex position?”
I’d barely finished my tirade when Zep’s face blanched, his hands worrying the ends of his beard. “Our kid. Holy shit, Addie. You’re really pregnant?”
“Sixteen out of sixteen tests confirm it.” Slumping down into my seat, I waved a hand in the air, the effort taking all the energy I had left. “It’s sort of official now.”
Complete shock etched his face, and I battled between the urge to get up and run out of the restaurant and the urge to shake the shit out of him. Instead, I held my breath as his rugged face mirrored all six phases I’d already experienced.
The repeated inhales and long exhales. Shock.
The furrowed brows that masked frantic math calculations in his head. Denial.
The flaring nostrils and grinding teeth. Anger.
The tipped and shaking head staring toward the heavens. Bargaining.
The profuse sweating and refusal to meet my eye. Guilt.
Finally, the dejected sigh and half-hearted shrug. Acceptance.
He remained quiet for a few more agonizing seconds before leveling a calculated stare at me. “All right. So when is the divorce final?”
“Why?” I had no idea what the hell I expected him to say, but that wasn’t it.
The little line between his eyebrows deepened as if I’d said the most absurd thing he’d ever heard. “So we can get married.”
The words flowed so naturally out of him, and I found myself actually considering them before common sense regained control.
“We’re having a baby,” I said, shocked he’d even suggest such a thing. The air around us thickened, and I tugged at the collar of my blouse, suddenly having a hard time breathing. “Who said anything about getting married?”
“I did. No kid of mine is going to grow up without a father.”
“For fuck’s sake, Zep, it’s not 1950. We don’t have to get married just because we’re having a baby.” Just the thought of saying a second set of doomed vows caused a sharp tightness in my chest. “Besides, you actually think I’m going to move into that shoebox you call an apartment?”
“Okay,�
� he said, steepling his fingers while balancing his elbows on the table. “What about your house?”
“Oh, sure, you, me, and Savannah. We’ll be the dysfunctional Three’s Company.”
“Fine. We can discuss living arrangements later,” he conceded, ignoring my outburst. “But the subject is far from closed. Right now, we just need to decide when we’re going to tell our parents.”
What the…? He has to be joking.
“I was thinking after it’s born.”
He laughed quietly. “Try again.”
Most everybody could be broken down into one of two categories; either they were a reactor or a fixer. Zephirin LeBlanc tended to be a fixer. He approached situations with a pragmatic level head and overrode emotional outbursts with logical solutions. Which, from an outsider’s point of view seemed like a good thing, since I was most definitely a reactor. The only problem was that his idea of logic and mine were on two totally different spectrums. Suggesting we tell my parents before absolutely necessary was the most illogical thing to ever come out of his mouth.
“Zep, I can’t tell my family right now. I just found out yesterday morning for fuck’s sake. I’m not ready to—”
“You knew yesterday?” The corners of his mouth turned down in disappointment. “In the kitchen, when I thought everything was over between us, you knew you were pregnant?”
Dear mouth,
Please stop moving.
Sincerely, Addie.
Instead of answering him like he deserved, I bottled everything up and just stared at him, my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
“Look, Addie, I’m not going to argue with you.” Pausing to clear his throat, he softened his tone and scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m still processing this, and you don’t need to be getting all worked up in your condition.”
“Condition? Zep, I’m pregnant not terminally ill.” I gaped at him, wishing he’d yell or scream, anything but the cool, calm, and calculated way he stared at me as if I were a bizarre word problem.
Addie and Zep had sex eleven times. If Zep changed positions seven times, and Addie miscalculated four days, what’s the value of x on sixteen pregnancy tests?
The answer? Eighteen to life.
Aware that our raised voices had garnered unwanted attention, I ran a hand through my hair, ready to suggest that we go somewhere more private to talk when a shuffling movement at the door caught my eye. As recognition set in, I poked my tongue against the inside of my cheek, completely forgetting about the irate father-to-be in front of me. By the time I realized he was speaking, I only managed to catch the last few words.
“Don’t you agree, Addie?”
I craned my neck and peered over his shoulder, unable to take my eyes off the occupant of the booth at the far corner of the restaurant. “I’m sorry, what?”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Zep closed his eyes and paused before throwing his hands in the air in defeat. “Okay, we’re getting nowhere fast with this conversation.” Standing abruptly, he tossed a few bills on the table and held out a hand to me. “Come on. We’ll talk more tomorrow when we’ve both processed this.”
“I’ve already—”
“Well, I need time to process then, damn it,” he huffed, curling his fists by his side. “You drop a bomb on me that I’m going to be a dad, and you don’t think I need to decompress?”
“This sucks,” I shot back, knowing I sounded whiny but not caring. “I usually decompress by drinking vodka with Babs.”
“Addie, no drinking. You’re pregnant.”
I burst out laughing at his statement, the tension finally draining out of me. “Thanks, Captain Obvious, I wasn’t aware of it by the constant need to puke in your lap.” Watching the corner booth intently, I shook my head as the occupant fiddled with her ear and waved the waitress away.
I supposed Zep realized that pushing me was a lost cause because he leaned down and placed a light kiss on my lips. “Leave the truck here and let me take you home. I’ll pick you and Sav up tomorrow for work, and then we can come back for your truck.”
My cheeks heated, the last time I was in his truck flashing through my mind. However, as appealing as it sounded, I had other pressing matters to attend to. “Thanks, but I think I’m going to sit here for a little while longer.”
One thing I loved about Zep was that he knew when to argue and when to back off. Or maybe it was the fact that we were now linked together for life that gave him the peace of mind to trust me to do as I asked. Brushing a finger across my cheek, he nodded and turned toward the door.
Instinctively, I let out a shaky breath, and Zep stopped dead in his tracks. Glancing over his shoulder, his gave me a timid smile, his eyes soft.
“Addie?”
“Yeah?”
“I know neither of us planned on this happening, but I’m not sorry. I want this baby. I want the chance to be a dad.”
Tears welled in my eyes at the raw honesty etched on his face. It was the first time in my life I’d never questioned anyone’s words. “I do too.”
Remaining rooted, he ran a hand nervously up and down the length of his cargo shorts. “So, does that mean you’re not planning or thinking…” His voice trailed off as he swallowed hard.
I gasped, understanding his silent question. Looking into his stormy eyes, I laid his fears to rest. “Getting rid of it? God, no. Zep, I’m prepared to raise this baby on my own if I have to.”
“Thank God.” He let out a relieved breath, releasing the bunched-up fabric of his shorts. “You’re not alone,” he assured me, reaching for my hand and giving it a squeeze. “You’ve never been alone, even when you didn’t realize it.” Lifting my hand to his mouth, he pressed a kiss in the center of my palm then walked out of the restaurant, his step lighter than it should’ve been.
We’re going to be okay.
The phrase echoed in my head, and a warmth replaced the inherent chill that had settled in my bones since I saw the double pink line.
I waited until the dust kicked up behind his truck as he pulled out of the parking lot before placing both palms on the table and pushing out of my seat. In four quick strides, I crossed the restaurant and leaned over her shoulder, pressing my mouth against her ear. “Did you get all that or would you like a transcript?”
“Addie!” she exclaimed, feigning surprise. “You scare me! What you doing in bar?”
A low laugh rumbled from my throat as I slid into the seat beside her and took in her incredibly bright outfit. Dressed in bright red pants and an orange blouse that had dice lining the collar, my grandmother looked like a walking road flare. Huge blood-red earrings dangled from her ears, the weight of them making her earlobes sag toward her her jawline.
“Bullshit,” I huffed, motioning to the device hooked around the shell of her ear. “You can turn your hearing-aid down now. He’s gone.”
Shooting me an unapologetic smirk, Babs tossed back a shot and nodded to the other side of the booth. “He? He who?”
I snorted a bit too loudly, causing a few patrons to glare at me. “I watched you eavesdropping, Babs. What the hell are you even doing here? Did you steal a car in Terrebonne again?”
There had to be some clause protecting the elderly against grand theft auto because Babs had a habit of joyriding in borrowed cars. Only the owners had no idea of their generosity. It’d become such a normal occurrence that when a call came in for a stolen vehicle, Sheriff Tucker just called the house to tell Babs to return it. How she managed never to get charges pressed against her, I’d never know.
Hooking a finger in her cheek, she popped out her teeth and placed them on the table in front of me. “Senior center bus go on ferry casino.” She shrugged as if that explained everything. Raising her slightly inebriated eyes to meet mine, she motioned to the waitress for a refill before elaborating. “I go to until they say it was dry boat. What kind of crazy person gamble sober?”
“What did you do?” Half of me wanted to know, while the
other half feared she was about to spit in on the floor in front of me.
“I ditch old bags and take cab to restaurant for vodka.”
I raised an eyebrow. “A drink?”
She shrugged. “Okay, maybe five.”
“So, I guess you heard,” I said, acknowledging the grain-sized elephant in the womb.
“That you have baby clam in oven? Maybe I hear word or two.” Her defensive expression vanished, only to be replaced by the hardened tough love I knew so well. “Besides being knocked up with love child, you okay?”
I smiled. Babs never bothered to sugar coat anything. Call me crazy, but somehow it was comforting rather than hurtful. “No, but I will be. I’m still in shock, but I know I want to do this.”
Babs raised her shot, pushing her glass of untouched water toward me until I picked it up. “To little bearded clam digger. May his father do right by my Addie or lose tentacle.”
“Testicle,” I corrected with a grin.
“Depend on where I aim, milochka .”
I couldn’t help but note her choice of pronouns. “You know, it could be a girl, Babs.”
“Not with his big head,” she snorted, tossing back the shot. Giving my hips a quiet inspection, she popped her teeth back in with a smack of her lips and grinned. “You might want to consider C-section.”
48
Cracked Nipples
Savannah
New Orleans, Louisiana
“What in the hell is this supposed to do?” I asked, my question going ignored since my asshole of a sister was pretending like she didn’t know me.
She was overreacting, of course. I simply asked one lady if she was ready to have her cookie turned into a catcher’s mitt and suddenly, I was public enemy number one.
I picked up the two plastic cones sitting on the display shelf. They looked like funnels with a thin, medical grade plastic tube snaking out from the bottom where a small bottle was attached. My eyes followed the little tubes as they twisted and hooked into a lunchbox.
