by Holly Kerr
“This is not a ready-made family, as much as you pretend it is. I don’t want a ready-made family, because I don’t want a family. I’ve been telling you this for years. I’m not getting married. I won’t be having children, and I won’t raise one that doesn’t belong to me just to make you happy. Can you please respect my decision?”
Oblivious to her words, Theo gurgles with delight to see M.K. She turns, her face falling as she sees me. “Clay.”
She lowers the phone as I take in her sweet face, the scar stark white as her cheeks turn red. Her blue eyes are dark with anger or guilt.
I can’t read her expression.
“Clay,” she says again. “I need to—”
I turn and walk out of her office, Theo’s seat bumping against my leg.
Chapter Twenty-Three
M.K.
“I have to go,” I snap at my mother. “I hope you know that now you’ve completely ruined my life.” Her protests ring in my ears as I hang up, but my only thought is of Clay.
“Clay, wait!” The patisserie customers gape after me as I rush through, still in my immaculate blue apron. I catch up as he’s at the door. “Clay, please.”
The coldness of his gaze sends shivers through me. He says nothing as he leaves, Theo kicking his stocking feet with delight from the sights and smells of the patisserie. I follow them to Clay’s car.
His brand-new, four-door Audi sedan that he picked up last week, trading in his precious sports car because of Theo.
Everything changed because of the baby.
“Please, let me explain,” I plead.
“I don’t know what you need to explain,” Clay says, his voice unrecognizable. The doors unlock with a beep beep. “You sounded fairly clear on the phone. You don’t want a family. You don’t want Theo. End of story.”
“I was talking to my mother.”
“Is that supposed to make a difference? Are you lying to her now?”
“I didn’t lie to you.”
“You told me you wanted to make this work with me.” He hefts Theo into the car, snapping his seat in place. “Actually, no. You never came right out and told me that you wanted Theo. Or to be part of our family.”
Our family. Like I’ve already been cut out, like a nasty plantar wart I had on my heel once.
“I want you,” I say miserably. “I want you the way things were.”
Clay straightens. For once he isn’t smiling, his blinding white smile that blinded me and led me to love him. “Well, I’m sorry, M.K., but things have changed. And I know you’re not good with change, but I thought you’d make an effort for me. I should have realized you were—I don’t know what you were doing with me.”
“I love you.”
He stares down at me, his eyes icy. Everything we shared, everything that’s happened between us seems to vanish in a puff of smoke.
I want to grab, it but it slips through my fingers.
“If you love me, you love my son,” Clay says, his words cutting through me. “That’s the way it has to be. From what I heard, there’s no chance of that with you.”
He picks his son. I always knew he would, but I had no idea it would hurt so much, like the searing pain I felt when my arm brushed the oven door. Only worse.
Much worse.
“Clay…” I whimper.
A quick, vicious shake of his head. “I can’t let you hurt him. I can’t make you do this. I can’t make you do anything you feel so strongly about. I love you, but I love him, too.”
The tears drip down my cheeks as he gets in the car.
“Clay,” I whisper as he drives away with his son.
Clay
I don’t know how to do it without her.
As I drive away without a glance at M.K. standing in the parking lot, I realize how much I was relying on her to get me through this. Theo is my son, but I needed M.K.
I’m not sure what I needed her for. Reassurance? Help? Help would be nice. The next few years stretch before me, exhausting and lonely, a single father with his son.
Theo is still crying, small, snuffling cries without much behind them. I know he’s upset, but so am I. “There’s nothing I can do, little buddy,” I say to him with a glance over my shoulder. I only see the top of his blond head over his car seat. “She’s gone.”
How could M.K. not tell me she didn’t want this?
Why didn’t I ask?
The realization hits me with a punch. I never once asked what M.K. wanted, what she was okay with. Did she even want children? I implied that we’d get married and have more without even acknowledging her.
I didn’t listen.
I didn’t listen when she tried to explain either.
I try to turn around to go back, but the traffic is too heavy. It’s ten minutes before I can make a left turn to head back to Pain.
When I pull into the parking lot, M.K. is gone.
Did I really think she’d still be standing outside? And if she was, what was I supposed to say to her? That it’s fine that she hates my kid; I can love him enough for the both of us.
Would I say that?
I pull out of the parking lot without stopping. I don’t know what I’d say to her, so it’s better not to say anything.
~
After I drop Theo off, I don’t go back to the office. Driving aimlessly through the city for a bit, I end up at the Baseball Zone, the training facility where I first met Dean. I don’t expect to see him there, but the thought of destroying a few baseballs in the batting cage sounds perfect for my mood.
It’s been a while since I’ve been there, and I don’t recognize anyone as I grab a helmet and a bat and head into one of the cages.
Twenty minutes later, I’m still pounding the balls with my shirt sleeves rolled up and the hem hanging loose over my dress pants. I’ve taken my shoes off because the soles have me slipping over the fake turf.
I had been a serious ballplayer until I went to university. The sport had come easy to me as a teen—I had been a star second baseman with a .340 average, but my interest faded at school, with those continuing to play more determined and focused than I was.
Plus—girls. There were no girls on the baseball team, and there were so many everywhere else.
I need to focus on something other than women for once in my life. Which is ironic, since I’ve met the one woman who makes me forget about everything else.
“I heard you come in,” says a voice behind me, making me swing wildly and miss the pitch. I glance over my shoulder to see Dean standing behind the mesh net.
“How’d you hear that?” I miss another pitch and swear under my breath.
“You’re trying too hard,” Dean says.
“Story of my life,” I mutter.
“Really? I’d say the opposite.”
I turn, and a seventy-mile fastball just misses my shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You just let her go?”
“She talked to Flora,” I mutter, the bat back in position. The next ball goes careening off the right-hand net.
“Would have been a foul,” Dean says.
“I know it would have been a foul.” I grit my teeth, ready for another pitch, but the machine blinks red, signaling the end. With a huff, I turn back to Dean who stares at me sympathetically. I glare at him through the net until finally my shoulders slump with resignation. “What did she say?”
“She was upset.”
“I figured that because of the tears,” I snap, slamming the tip of the bat on the ground.
“You left her crying?” Dean asks, his expression a mix of surprise and disgust.
“What else was I supposed to do?” I demand, throwing up my arms. “She tells me she hates my son.”
“Did she actually say that she hates him?”
“No, but—”
“And did she say it to you?”
“No. I heard her on the phone.”
“And who was she talking to?” he asks patiently.
“I don’t know,” I mutter.
“Flora said it was her mother. And I don’t know M.K. like you and Flora do, but even I know that she’s got a messed-up relationship with her mother.”
I push open the door to the cage with more aggression than I need to, and it flies back into the net. “I know that.”
“Have you talked to her about it?”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“How she feels? Women love to talk about their feelings.”
I flip off the helmet and put the bat back into the rack before running my hand through my hair. No, I don’t know that women like to talk about their feelings because I do everything I can to avoid the topic. Anyone tries to tell me she’s happy-scared-upset, and I’m out of there. At least that’s how I was with my other girlfriends.
But since M.K., I realize I can’t call them girlfriends. Even Abby, the mother of my child, was only a woman I dated. Briefly dated.
We never once talked about our feelings about anything.
Suddenly I feel very inexperienced.
“What do I do now?” I ask, not enjoying feeling so vulnerable.
“Tell her you’re wrong, or sorry, or something. Fight for her,” Dean says. “If M.K.’s what you want. If you want it to work, it’s not supposed to be easy.”
I nod, gnawing on my lower lip. “Do you really think I have it easy?” I ask.
Dean shrugs. “Look at your life. Seems pretty sweet. Not that it’s a bad thing, just how it is.”
I nod again as Dean steps into the batting cage.
Chapter Twenty-Four
M.K.
After Clay drives away, I duck into Fleur, hoping Flora is having a quiet morning. Just as I push open the door, I remember Flora hired Heather, an ex of Clay’s, and say a quick prayer that she isn’t there.
Of course she is.
Not only are Heather and Flora standing behind the counter, but Ruthie slouches against it, the three of them in the midst of an animated conversation that stops when the bell tinkles to announce me.
“Imogene’s having the baby,” Flora cries, her face lit up with happiness. And then her face falls. “What happened to you?”
“That’s great about Imogene,” I croak, wishing I could go a day without hearing about babies. An hour. Five minutes.
“Yeah, but—M.K., what’s wrong?” Flora looks imploringly at me. “You’ve been crying.”
I swipe at the wetness still coating my cheeks and shake my head. “I’m fine.”
“Is it Clay?” Is it my imagination, or does Heather sound excited at the thought?
I refuse to look at her. “He heard me on the phone with my mother,” I say to Flora in a low voice.
“Not pleasant, but not the end of the world.”
“It was about how I didn’t want kids. Didn’t want Theo. I said a bunch of stuff.” I glance at Heather, who quickly replaces the expression of delight with pity.
Flora nods, her face unreadable. “Ah. I wondered about that.”
“About what?”
“About what your mother would say,” Ruthie answers for her. “I’m sure that was a treat.” Being from Niagara-on-the-Lake and the niece of Flora, Ruthie is well aware of the intricacies of the relationship I have with my family.
But I still don’t like the tone in her voice. “She was just being my mother.”
“Let’s go in the back room,” Flora suggests, pushing away from the counter. “In case anyone comes in. Heather, you okay out here for a bit?”
“Sure.”
I don’t imagine the resentment in her tone now.
The back room off Flora’s shop is her workroom, filled with pots of baby flowers and bags of dirt. There’s a musky smell that doesn’t smell very flowerlike. I stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, careful not to touch anything. Ruthie shuts the door behind us.
I love that Flora is so passionate about her business, but I’ve never shared her love of gardening. It’s so, well…dirty.
“Why is your new girl so interested in this?” Ruthie asks Flora, fingering the leaf of a potted plant.
Flora slaps her hand. “Don’t touch anything.”
“She dated Clay,” I explain. The heaviness weighing down my shoulders has nothing to do with Clay’s past relationship with Heather this time.
Ruthie snorts. “That’s…awkward.”
“I know and I’m sorry, but I really need someone with Imogene gone, and she’s a good worker,” Flora says defensively.
“I can’t tell you how to run your business. I wouldn’t even come in here with this, but I don’t know what to do.”
Flora has always been able to point me in the right direction. She may not have a daily planner or a monthly schedule, but she knows what to say so I can manage my life. “What happened?” She gives a heavy sigh. “Tell me everything.”
I tell her about the conversation with my mother, about how I turned around to see Clay in the doorway. “I don’t even know how much he overheard,” I finish, feeling my chin begin to tremble, signaling the onset of more tears.
I can’t cry here, not if I have to walk out in front of Heather.
“We should have finished the conversation I started the other night,” Flora says. “At my place.”
“I didn’t know we needed to finish it. It sounded finished to me.”
“Oh, but I think we do.”
“And what part of the conversation did you feel the need to continue?” I ask.
Flora stares at me across her work table. “Where did you see this going with Clay? Before all this?”
I have no idea where Flora is going with this. “He asked me to move in with him, but then Theo showed up, so that was off the table.”
“How do you know? Did you ask him? Bring it up? I bet he’s been pretty distracted with Theo.”
“I haven’t said anything about it.” I hear the stiffness in my voice, can feel my shoulders hunch forward, like I’m physically closing myself off.
“What about what you have planned?”
“I have nothing planned.”
Flora laughs so loud that even I smile at the absurdity of my comment. “I haven’t planned anything because I don’t know what Clay wants. All he wants is Theo right now, and I want to give him time with his son.”
“But raising him—wouldn’t that be easier with you helping?”
“I’m not a mother substitute.”
“Do you want to be?”
“I’ve never wanted kids.” My voice is louder than it needs to be, filling the tiny room.
Flora pulls at her hair. “Kind of ironic that you’ve always said you don’t want kids only to end up with a guy with a baby.”
“He didn’t have a baby when I met him.”
“Would that have changed things?”
I don’t reply, because I don’t know the answer to that. “What do I do?” I ask Flora, who smiles sympathetically.
Flora meets my anguished gaze. “I don’t know if there’s much you can do. You don’t want kids. Clay has a son. How do you feel about him?”
“I love him. Clay,” I correct. “I love Clay.”
“And Theo?” she prompts.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
She winces. “That can’t be good. It’s hard enough being a parent; it’s impossible to be one if you don’t love the child.”
“But he didn’t ask me to be a parent.” The realization floods me, and I’m not sure if I’m angry or relieved about it. “He said he wants to be with me. That he doesn’t know how to do it without me, which is silly because I don’t do anything with the baby.”
“How can you not love a baby?” Ruthie demands. “I’m in love with Imogene’s belly, and I can’t wait to get my hands on the little lump inside.”
“Well, you’ll just make the perfect mother, won’t you?” I snap. “I won’t.”
“You keep saying that, but you don’t know for sure,” Flora says soothingly.
“Is thi
s about your mother?” Ruthie asks.
“Ben didn’t want kids either,” I protest, hearing how feeble it sounds even in my own head.
“This isn’t anything like Ben,” Flora says gently.
“It is. I spent years with him not wanting kids, and I can’t just change my mind overnight.”
“Why not?” Ruthie asks.
“Because…” Because I have to adjust my life plan. I have to change the way I think about things; look at how it’s going to affect the rest of my life. Weigh the pros and cons. “Because I can’t.”
“You could.” Ruthie nods.
“It’s not that simple,” I argue. “You can go off and traipse around the world at the drop of a hat, meet strangers on buses and fall in love, but I can’t.”
“You fell in love with a stranger in Las Vegas,” Flora points out. “That was very unlike you.”
“But that was Clay.”
“And this is Clay’s baby.”
That silences me, my chest heaving with words I want to say but can’t. So I try another tactic. “How could I possibly be a good mother with the example I have?”
“That’s not the only example you have,” Flora says quickly. “You have your sisters—Meaghan, anyway. You have Imogene. You have my—you have Archie’s wife. You’re not your mother.”
“How do you know that? I find myself sounding more and more like her these days.”
“You can stop that anytime.” Flora touches my arm. “Look, I know you’re scared. Having a baby is a scary thing, and you don’t have nine months to prepare. Clay was just given this—” She pauses, searching for the right word. “This gift, and he’s trying to make the best out of it. Is he worth losing because you’re scared of making a mistake?”
“I’m not scared of that!”
“No, she’s not scared,” Ruthie says, sounding decisive for once. “She’ll make a great mother, or stepmother, or whatever she’s going to be because M.K. wins at everything. You can’t fail because you don’t fail.”
“Thanks?” I say with confusion. To my knowledge, Ruthie has never complimented me once in my life.
