by Rye Hart
It took some time, but my mother eventually took my calls. I was living with Sebastian, and honestly, things were going very well. I just wanted to patch things up with my mother. I was no longer working as Sebastian's assistant, since he felt that might be a conflict of interest. I was working for another company, a job Sebastian helped me land, and that was going extremely well also. I was able to work my way up faster than I thought possible, and I didn't have to worry about it being because I was sleeping with the boss.
I called my mom the day I got the news of my promotion, not expecting her to answer. But she did.
“Mom,” I said, my voice cracking. “I miss you.”
She was quiet for a few moments, but finally she answered me. “I miss you too, baby girl.”
The tears fell, from both of us, as we talked.
“I didn't mean for this to happen,” I said. “It just did. And I wouldn't take it back for the world, but I also don't want to lose you. You're the only family I have left.”
“Do you love him, Violet? Truly love him?”
“Yes,” I said, not even taking a moment to question that. “I do. With all of my heart. And he loves me, mom.”
She sighed. “He's right, you know.”
“About what?”
“I heard what he said to you as you were leaving. How you were done coddling me. He was right. All these months, you were the one taking care of me, when I should have been the one taking care of you.”
“I wanted to do that, mom,” I said.
“I know, honey, but you weren't supposed to. I'm the mother,” she said. “And when I kicked you out, it was all over my own feelings again. I was so caught up in how I was going to lose you, and I pushed you away.”
“I'm still here, mom,” I said. “I always will be.”
“And I'll always be there for you too,” she said. “And if it means I have to come to terms with accepting Sebastian, well, I guess I'm the one with some growing up to do. It's just hard to imagine my baby girl with someone old enough to be her father.”
“He makes me happy, mom,” I said. “And treats me very well.”
My mom was silent for a few minutes. “I don't doubt that, Violet. Sebastian is a good man, I have no doubt about that.”
Hearing her say that filled me with hope.
“Maybe you two should come over for dinner soon,” my mom said. “I'd really like to see you again, Violet.”
“I'd like that,” I said. “And I bet Sebastian would like that too, mom.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - VIOLET
As I stared down at the pink stripes, the answer was clear. This was the second test I'd taken that day and had gotten the same results. Sebastian sat beside me as I stared down at the test then back up at him.
“Positive. I'm guessing two false positives in a row isn't likely.”
I was shaking. Sebastian and I had never talked about having children together. After all, we were just getting started on living together. It became something of a necessity after my mom had kicked me out. A necessity that became a blessing in disguise.
Tears welled up in my eyes. Yes, I wanted kids, and the idea of having kids with Sebastian seemed nice, but things with us were still relatively new. And I had no idea how he felt about any of it.
“Shhh,” he said, pulling me into him, kissing my forehead. “It's going to be okay.”
“I need to talk to my mom,” I said.
For some reason, finding out something big like that – that I was pregnant – made me yearn for my mother even more. We had dinner scheduled later that evening, but I wasn't sure that would be the best time to make the announcement that she might be a grandma. She was just beginning to try and accept us as a couple, so there was that. That was a lot for her.
But as I stared up at Sebastian, I feared maybe he had other plans; plans that didn't include keeping the baby. I tried to get a feel for his thoughts, but without him saying much, it was more than a little difficult.
“Sebastian,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I don't know how you feel about being a father, and I understand if you don't want to be a dad. But whatever happens between you and me, I can't – ”
Before I could finish, I broke down in a fit sobs. The idea of aborting our child filled me with dread. It was weird ,before I even knew for sure I was pregnant, when it was just a matter of my period being late, I knew I wanted the child. Part of me was so happy to see the results, but of course, I was also fearful of what it might mean for my relationship with Sebastian.
I continued, “Whether you want to be in the child's life or not, I'm still going through with it.”
I was strong. I could do this. Even if it meant being alone, I could and would do it. Sebastian stared at me, a serious look on his face, but then he smiled at me. And in that smile, there was so much hope.
“I was hoping you'd say that,” he said. “I didn't want you to feel obligated though. You're so young and have so much life to live still. But I don't have as much time to be a dad. And well – ”
“So you're happy about this?” I asked, suddenly feeling my pulse racing and a sense of genuine joy spreading through my body.
“Yes, I am actually,” he said, appearing surprised at his own answer. “Very much so.”
“So this is it,” I said, letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding. “We're going to have a baby.”
“We're going to have a baby,” he said, taking my hands in his.
***
“Wouldn't you like some wine, sweetie?” my mom asked, pouring a glass for herself and Sebastian. I looked over at Sebastian and he looked at me. I wasn't sure if we were going to tell her tonight or not, even though I was bursting at the seams to share the news. I was afraid she might not take it too well. Things were moving a little fast.
“No thank you,” I said, sipping my sparkling water. “I'm trying to drink more water.”
“Good girl,” she said, smiling at me. “You were always such a good influence on me.”
I tried to keep my mom eating healthy, even after what happened to dad. She sunk into a pit of despair and often turned to wine and chocolate to soothe her feelings, and I was there to convince her to replace her wine glass with bottled water, her chocolate with something that might better fill her stomach.
I looked down at my hands, not wanting to look at either her or Sebastian, afraid I might give something away by the guilt written on my face. I hated keeping anything from my mother, and this was something huge. Sebastian reached over and took my hand, squeezing it. As I looked up into his eyes, I couldn't help but smile.
We were having a baby.
Such joyous news, and I was dying to share it with my mother. More than anything.
“Go ahead, if you'd like,” he whispered to me.
“Now?” I mouthed.
“What are you two lovebirds whispering about?” my mom said, obviously trying to show she was okay with our new relationship, but it still came out awkward and stilted.
“Uhh well, Sebastian and I have some news to share,” I said. My hands were shaking, but Sebastian kept them still and calm in my lap by holding onto them for dear life. “I know it seems really sudden, but sometimes, things happen and well, we're having a baby, mom. You're going to be a grandma.”
My mother dropped the wine glass to the table with a loud clank and stared at me slack jawed. She looked between Sebastian and myself, and I feared the worst. She was going to flip out and kick us out again, I just knew it. I had to prepare for the worst, but this time, Sebastian was here for me. He would take care of me and we'd leave, if it came to that.
“You're pregnant? But-- How?” My mom cringed at her own question. “No, don't answer that. I really don't want to know. Are you sure?”
“Yes, mom. We're sure. It's unexpected, but were happy,” I said.
My mother looked at Sebastian, then back at me. I watched the wave of emotions cross her face, and I feared the worst. But she kept her cool, and I had to
commend her for that. “Wow. So I'm going to be a grandma? Well, I didn't expect this, but congratulations, honey. That's great news.”
Sebastian cleared his throat, and both my mother and I turned to him.
“I just wanted to say,” he said, turning to me, “That while things have moved incredibly fast between your daughter and I, that I fully intend to keep my promise to you, Angela.”
“What promise?” I asked, turning to look at my mom. She looked as confused as I did.
Sebastian pushed the chair back from the table, and before I knew what was happening, he got down on one knee and pulled out a ring. My heart pounded in my chest as I started crying before he even said the words. “Oh God.”
“Violet, I intended to ask you anyway, but after what we found out today, I figured there was no time like now,” he said. “Will you marry me?”
I stared into his eyes, and it took me a moment to realize this was real. That he was really asking me to marry him, and I barely managed to mutter, “Yes,” before we embraced, kissing and nearly forgetting about my mom sitting across from us.
As soon as I remembered where we were, I looked over and she was also crying. For the first time in I don't know how long, she was crying happy tears.
“Thank you,” I whispered to my mother.
“I just want you to be happy, sweetheart. And obviously, he makes you very happy.”
And in that moment, I realized something very important, something I never thought possible.
Yes, Violet. Dreams can come true.
The End
Rock Hard Lumberjack
A Lumberjack And A City Girl Romance
CHAPTER ONE: SAM WASHINGTON
OMG I HAVE THE BEST PRESENT FOR YOU!!!
As soon as I see the text message from Lacey I know that I’m in for an interesting afternoon. Not only does Lacey not traffic in subtlety, I’m not sure she’s ever considered the alternative.
Back in junior high, while I was a junior and Lacey a senior, she made an effort to cheer me up after my first hangover. Lacey covered the car of a boy who had jilted me in graffiti. She was on the verge of slashing his tires when the high school rent-a-cop startled her.
I, of course, didn’t know this until later. It did cheer me up. I’m not sure if that says more about Lacey or me. But we take our fun where we can get it.
Life is meant to be lived, right?
Or, in my case, I take whatever fun comes my way. This is one of my problems- I have always relied on other people to bring the excitement into my life. I’m not so good at drumming it up for myself. Good thing, most of the time, I have people like Lacey around to send cryptic texts that I know will have volcanic consequences.
But for now, you’re probably wondering what I needed to be cheered up about. Honestly, cheering up isn’t quite the word. Here’s the least you need to know for now: I had been dating a guy named Owen for a year. I knew him well before that, but we only dated for about a year. Owen was…jeez, I’m not sure how to put it - except to say that Owen was Owen. He was just…there. Kind of like how gravity is just there. You don’t really think about it, and since it never leaves, you forget what life is like without it.
Owen had a coin collection. Has. I’m sure he hasn’t gotten rid of it. I initially thought it was a cute hobby but it revealed itself as more of an obsession. He used the word “numismatics” constantly. That means coin collecting. Maybe you already knew that, but I didn’t. Over time I began to suspect that the only reason Owen started collecting coins was that he learned the word numismatics, couldn’t find a way to work it into a normal conversation, and could not therefore use this addition to his chick-slaying arsenal. Stupid Owen.
You might be asking yourself, “What kind of woman gets turned on by a coin collection? Or a collector?” Well, silly me, that’s who. But before you relegate me to the pathetic bin of women who don’t aspire to enough, just know that Owen was my first real relationship. I didn’t know what I didn’t know. And coins weren’t really what did it for me. I actually fell for his inner nerd. I don’t want to be too harsh on him, since I was the girl that chose him in the first place. He shouldn’t take all the blame.
That’s not actually true.
In my calmer moments I keep forgetting that Owen cheated on me. The problem is, really, that I’m not good at being harsh on people. My best friend Lacey, on the other hand, is a different story. When you ran afoul of Lacey you placed yourself in the path of a pitiless kamikaze, which would have terrified a legion of Spartans. A good person to have on your side.
I met her downtown at a hotel bar called The Morocco. I don’t know what it has to do with Morocco except that the waiters have to wear those curved knives on their belts like they were sultans or sheiks. Okay, full disclosure before returning to Owen’s nerdiness and shortcomings: I am a history buff. Well, buff doesn’t really do it justice. All I ever want to do is read about history and take myself back in time. Lacey says this is because I “can’t tolerate the present.” Maybe she’s right.
When I get there Lacey is already a couple of minutes (and probably a couple of drinks) into a conversation with a hunky Maître D.
Knowing her, she will have him in her bed as soon as we end our gift exchange or whatever this is going to be. I’m not always jealous of her lifestyle, but a part of me honestly envies her confidence.
As soon as she sees me she sends him away. He scurries into the corner like he has been waiting for her command his entire life.
“Sam!” she says, jumping to her feet. Her dress has so many sparkles on it that it’s like seeing a sequenced hourglass rush towards me. I needed the hug more than ever. Stupid Owen.
“That stupid piece of garbage,” says Lacey as soon as we sit down. “He has no idea what I’m going to do to him. Oh, but he will.” She tightens her grip on her glass and her knuckles turn white.
“Maybe, let’s not go there yet,” I say, trying to get the bartender’s attention. “Let’s talk about my infinitely lame stories at the tabloid. I’ve got to do something to land a real gig, or I’ll claw my own eyes out from boredom.”
Lacey clears her throat and taps the oak bar with one long-nailed finger. As if she has turned on a switch in his brain, he comes over and smiles at her with a dopey look on his face like he just drank too much cough syrup.
“This fine lady is going to have as many of whatever she wants on me,” says Lacey. “And if you hurry, there will be a gargantuan tip in it for you. Go. Show me how fast you can move.”
It’s like she has waved a checkered flag. He races away and then returns, putting a whiskey sour in my hand so fast that I barely even remembered ordering it. While I sip at it, Lacey reaches into her purse and takes out a package that looks like it has been wrapped by a pro from Saks Fifth.
I see myself in the bar mirror. I look good. Tall, nearly 5’10.” Gorgeous auburn, thick hair that goes almost to my waist. Smooth, clear skin. Green eyes.
Stupid Owen.
“Oh my God I can’t wait for you to open it!” says Lacey. To prove it, she starts tearing at the bow herself. I wrench it away.
“This is my cheering up present,” I say. “And as thoughtful as it is, maybe you should let me open it.”
“Okay, just hurry. I’ll sit here and think about how to get back at Owen. You’re better off, believe me.”
Actually, I already do feel that way.
Owen cheated on me. That’s how it ended. And we’re all better off without cheaters, right? The fact that I had been so bored with him seemed like it should have mitigated the blow, but there’s really just no easy way to be utterly rejected, even if it’s by someone who thinks finding a Buffalo Eagle coin from the nineteenth century is like winning the lottery.
Owen’s actions said … I don’t want you.
You’re not enough for me.
I’m better off without you.
You’re not as good as she is.
She’s better in bed than you are.
> Okay, so that last one was in my head, mostly.
“Once you told me that he couldn’t get you off I started praying for him to cheat on you,” says Lacey, ordering herself another drink.
I get the bow off and start tearing the corner of the wrapping paper. “Guess that’s proof that God exists.”
“Oh, I didn’t tell you who I was praying to,” says Lacey. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
The first time Owen and I had sex—and the second, third, or the hundredth, for that matter—I thought to myself: Is this it? Can that really be what all the romance novels are about? What caused the Peloponnesian War and the siege of Troy? This is why Romeo and Juliet died? This is why Lacey is always glowing and looking for her next conquest?
The easiest answer was to blame myself. I was probably the one doing something wrong. Owen had always seemed to be enjoying himself. During, I mean. But he enjoyed sex the same way he enjoyed coins and ramen noodles: with gravitas and decorum. Not exactly the stuff to set anyone’s bed and panties ablaze.
“It’s high time you get some satisfaction,” says Lacey.
“Oh, what’s the occasion?” says the bartender, coming over to watch the festivities. The Maître D appears at his side just in time for me to remove the lid from the box.
Inside is a vibrator which looks like it’s about the size of a Nerf football.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” says Lacey, pulling it out of the box and pointing at my face. “Owen who? That’s what you’ll be saying. Tell her, boys!” She waves the vibrator at the two guys who are now receding into the background, vanquished by the suggestion that their anatomy is now superfluous to our conversation. “This is what you need to be writing about. Owen 2.0 right here. You’re bored with all the local gigs? Take this bad boy for a spin and you’ll burn the damn front page down.”
“Oh my God.” I grab it away from her, stuff it back into the box, and put the lid on. In my haste I manage to knock the box off my lap. When it hits the floor the vibrator spills out at the feet of an elderly couple who has just arrived.
