by Shandi Boyes
“You look pretty, Mommy,” he mumbles.
He places his cool hand on my inflamed cheeks. “Did you have fun at the party?” He stutters when he says the word “party.”
My eyes shoot up to Mrs. Mable when she fails to conceal her deviant snicker by pretending to cough.
“It was very interesting.” I clasp Joel’s hand in mine before standing from my crouched position. “Thank you for watching him.”
“It was my pleasure, sweetie. Anytime.”
She has said on many occasions that Joel keeps her young. She loves babysitting him. Although I do make sure her hearing aid batteries have been replenished before she watches him, I never hesitate to leave him with her. They have a unique bond that grows stronger with every moment they spend together, so I refuse to let Mrs. Mable’s age create a barrier between them.
After thanking Mrs. Mable with a kiss on the cheek, Joel and I exit the back sliding door.
“What did you want to do today?” I ask, opening the gate so Joel can enter before me. “I was thinking DVDs and a pizza?”
Joel screws up his nose and gags.
“No?” I say with a shake of my head and pursed lips.
“We had pizza last night. Grandma likes olives and anchovies.” His face pales like he's going to be sick at any moment.
I laugh. “Okay, so no pizza. What about--”
“Pancakes!” he pipes up, his voice high as excitement takes hold of his vocal cords.
I grimace. “I’m sorry, honey, Mommy used all the eggs this morning.” Teaching a bad man a valuable lesson.
Joel’s lower lip drops into a pout.
“But I can duck down to the store later this afternoon, and we can have pancakes for dinner,” I suggest.
Joel’s eyes bulge. “Really?”
I smile and nod. “Really.”
Joel shares the story of how Mrs. Mable fell asleep with her mouth open as we walk into the back entrance of our home.
“She was drooling too. It was gross--”
He stops talking, and his head lifts in slow motion. The more his neck tilts back, the larger his mouth gapes. “Who are you?” he asks with his head fully cranked back.
My head swings to the side so fast, my neck screams in protest. There standing before us in all his six-foot-five glory is Hugo.
Shit.
Eleven
Hugo
My eyes dart between Ava and the little boy standing at her side, clutching her hand. I stare at him. Not a general stare—I stare, stare at him, absorbing every little feature of his adorable face. Big plump lips, smooth caramel skin, a crazy mess of ringlet hair on the top of his head, and the biggest pair of blue eyes I’ve ever seen. I take a step back, flabbergasted.
Holy shit. It can’t be.
The little boy’s eyes run the length of my body, from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. When his eyes reach their final destination, his jaw slackens. I’m not surprised to see little white pegs of perfectly straight teeth in his mouth. His mom is a dentist after all.
“Who are you?”
Even his voice is adorable.
Ava flinches before her head rockets to the side. Her eyes travel the same path the little boy’s just did, but when she reaches her final destination, her mouth doesn’t gape open in surprise, but her eyes do.
Ava musters a fake smile across her ashen face before she bobs down in front of the little boy. “Sweetie, go into your room. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“But, Mom—”
“No arguing. Go!” Her voice is stern and authoritative, a tone I’ve never heard her use.
The boy clenches his hands into balls as he screws up his nose. With a loud huff, he storms down the hall. “You’re not being fair!” he yells before slamming his bedroom door shut.
His abrupt closure of the door is so powerful, the picture frames lining the hallway rattle from his force, making Ava balk. She runs her hands down the front of her white-washed jeans before standing from her crouched position. When I step toward her, she holds her hand out in front of her body, demanding for me to stop.
Her moisture-glistening eyes lock with mine. “He isn’t—”
“Don’t you dare,” I interrupt, my words coming out sterner than I was anticipating. “I know he's my son.”
He's the perfect mixture of both Ava and me. My hair coloring, her curls. My eyes, her lips. His nose is a combination of us both. He's my son, and nothing Ava could say would change my mind on that. Even if I wasn’t looking at an exact replica of my eyes, I can feel it in my bones. He has my blood pumping through his veins. He's my son.
My eyes bounce between Ava’s. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Ava’s head flings back as she laughs. It isn’t the beautiful, soulful laugh I'm used to hearing. It is a laugh that expresses how much she's hurting. It is crammed with pain and sorrow, and it breaks my heart just hearing it.
Once her laughter settles down, her eyes glare into mine. “And exactly how was I supposed to tell you? Put an ad in every newspaper in the state… or perhaps the entire country since I didn’t know where you’d gone?”
She glides her hands through the air, dramatically expressing herself like a fight promoter holding a press conference. “Naïve virgin fucks high school crush in his childhood bedroom, stupidly forgot to check if he's wearing protection, falls pregnant the very first time she has sex. If this sounds like someone you know, please call 555-I’m-a-naïve-idiot!”
Ice-cold fear grips my heart when tears prick her eyes. I take a step closer to her, wanting to offer her comfort. She angrily shakes her head and takes a step backward. My heart hammers from the dejected look in her eyes. She looks broken. Utterly heartbroken.
Stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jeans, Ava’s gaze strays to her feet.
“Babe.”
Her eyes snap to mine. “Don’t call me that,” she sneers, her words dangerously low. “You lost the right to call me a nickname, any name, when you left me pregnant and heartbroken.”
My stomach twists. “If I’d known, Ava…”
“If you didn’t run, you would have known! You would have!” she yells. “But you ran. You were a coward who ran!”
The pounding of my heart increases, but I remain quiet, unable to negate her truthful statement. I was a coward who left, but if I’d known she was pregnant, I would have… Fuck, I don’t know what I would have done.
When Ava’s angry voice bellows down the hall, she intertwines her hands and gathers her composure, not wanting to startle her son… our son. I stare into her heartbroken eyes as she takes a step closer to me. Her legs shake with every stride she takes. Her eyes are packed with hot, salty tears threatening to spill at any moment.
“Hugo.” She stops talking and scrunches her brows. “Is that even your name anymore?”
Even though she's asking a question, she continues talking.
“Maybe you changed it. What is it now? Slade, Jesse… Oh, I know! You’re the asshole who has five seconds to get the hell out of my house before I call the police and tell them a stranger is standing in the middle of my home.”
“I get it, you’re pissed.”
“I’m not pissed, Hugo, or whatever the fuck your name is now. I'm way beyond pissed. You have no clue what I’ve been through the past five years. I walked through the gates of hell to keep our son fed, to keep him looked after. Because of you, I nearly lost everything! And now, just as everything is finally panning out after an exhausting five years, you come waltzing back into the picture, throwing a wrench into the works. I’m not the stupid and naïve Ava you remember. I’m not going to let you ruin everything I’ve worked so hard for—again.”
Her words cracks as the first lot of tears splashes down her cheeks. I take a step closer to her, aspiring to stop her tears. Every one that falls down her face adds more cracks to my already decimated heart.
“Please leave,” she begs, her pleading eyes on mine.
The constrict
ive hold on my heart tightens. “He's my son, Ava. I can’t leave him. I can’t leave you.”
Tears flood her cheeks. “Please, I'm begging you. I'll fall down onto my knees if I have to.”
The squeeze on my heart turns deadly when she locks her dispirited eyes with mine. “If you cared for me at all, if you ever loved me, you'll walk away. Please don’t drag our son through the hell we’ve both walked through.”
My heart is a massive mess of confusion, torn between wanting to ease Ava’s pain and wanting to meet my son.
Her lips quiver as a fresh batch of tears streams down her face. “If you can’t do it for me, then do it for him. He doesn’t deserve to be thrown into this mess. Please, Hugo, I'm begging you.”
As hard as it is for me to do, I walk away.
Twelve
Ava
When Hugo slips out my front door, my knees buckle and I crumble to the ground. I gather my legs in close to my chest and cry. I cry for all the years we missed. I cry for my son who has never had a chance to know his dad, and I cry from the sheer pain that washed over Hugo’s face when I begged him to leave. My words cut him deep, but I’m angry, and rightfully so.
I went through hell the past five years. I lost my best friend, my soul mate, and a man who was like a grandfather to me within a matter of months. It was one horrific blow after another.
With everything going on, it took me a while to realize the churning upsetting my stomach every morning and late afternoon wasn’t caused by grief. It was a baby, a baby I’d created with Hugo. Even after six pregnancy tests, I still didn’t believe it. I was pregnant. After attending an appointment with Dr. Tagget, it was clear I’d gotten pregnant the very first time Hugo and I were together.
That night, I was so caught up in the moment, I didn’t even consider checking to see if Hugo had used protection. I’d never filled in the birth control prescription my local gynecologist gave me. I didn’t see the necessity since I was not sexually active and my periods were as regular as clockwork.
At first, I saw our baby as a blessing, a final gift from both Jorgie and Hugo. It was only when I discovered I was due two months before I officially took my position at Gardner and Sons did my opinion on the matter change. Although Mrs. Gardner is a lovely lady, she's also a business woman. Like any rational business woman, she handled my situation respectfully while assuring her business wasn’t negatively impacted by it, which meant my offer of partnership was given to another intern, leaving me unemployed and heavily pregnant.
In my seven month of pregnancy, I sold my apartment on Hamilton Street. The impressive nest egg I’d been ecstatic about growing was put toward my hefty tuition debt. Although my payment chewed a sizable portion off my debt, I was still left with an outstanding balance. For the following two weeks, I stayed at Mrs. Marshall’s house.
Although it has always felt like home to me, the house had too many memories of Jorgie and Hugo, and my restless sleep worsened during my weeks there. After a heartfelt discussion, Mrs. Marshall suggested I move into Jorgie’s place. It took days of deliberations before I agreed to move in, and even then, only on one condition: I wasn’t going to use the master bedroom. That room belonged to Jorgie and Hawke. I didn’t feel comfortable sleeping in there.
A few weeks after I moved in, Marvin started sniffing around. He would turn up with bags of fancy restaurant food any pregnant lady would salivate over, and sneakily paid my heating bill when I got a little behind on a payment. He asked what I was planning on doing once the baby was born, and reminded me that just because I was becoming a mom, it didn’t mean I had to give up my dental career. I could have both if I wanted. I’ll admit it, I was shocked. Marvin had never been a positive man, but he was the only one encouraging me not to give up on my dreams.
Over the next few weeks, the reasoning behind his interest was exposed. Marvin and Hugo are as opposite as they come. Hugo is a tall brute of a man; Marvin is waif-thin and average height. Hugo favors females with rich, caramel-colored skin and dark features; Marvin prefers blondes with fair skin and blue eyes. Hugo has a large cock; Marvin doesn’t.
Although Marvin loves beautiful blonde bombshells, his father is a proud African American man, and he wanted his son to follow in his footsteps. During my vulnerable state, Marvin convinced me that aligning could be beneficial for us both. He said if I agreed to pretend to be his girlfriend, he would assure my position at his family practice was waiting for me after giving birth. He benefited from our situation by getting his dad off his back about settling down and getting married. He was convinced it was a win-win situation for us both.
It was… until twelve months ago. Marvin didn’t want to pretend anymore. He wanted us to become a real life couple. I was hesitant. Joel knew of Marvin, but their contact was severely lacking. Neither was interested in getting to know the other. When I hesitated, Marvin was quick to remind me how he guided me through the storm and that without him, I would have had nothing. After swearing his indiscretions would end and promising to put more of an effort into our relationship and Joel, Marvin and I became an official couple nine months ago.
Nothing changed.
Our relationship followed the exact same path as the previous four years. Marvin’s indiscretions never ended. Not that I mind as it keeps his focus off me. He continued to live in his apartment on Pinter; I remained in my house, and he has never spent any time at all establishing a relationship with Joel. That is why I was so shocked when he proposed. Neither of us are ready for marriage. We are barely a couple, let alone ready to walk down the aisle.
Although Marvin is an asshole and he irks the living hell out of me, I would have been lost without him. He did save me. So like all things in life, I accept the good with the bad. People believe Marvin is using me, but I’ve used him just as much. We are as bad as each other.
My head lifts from my knees when Joel rushes out of his bedroom and charges down the hall. His little face is lit up, and his eyes are wide and clearly excited.
“I knew it!” he squeals loudly, his eyes bouncing in all directions.
“It’s him, isn’t it? The daddy in the pictures, my daddy,” he says, his words coming out in an excited flurry.
When he fails to locate Hugo, he runs into the kitchen, clutching a photo frame in his hand. My heart squeezes painfully when he emerges from the kitchen not even two seconds later. The excitement on his face has dampened, and his shoulders are slumped and hanging low. He looks utterly devastated.
“Where did he go?”
I gesture for him to come sit with me by outstretching my arms. Tears pool in his eyes as his slowly trudges to me. All the excitement on his face has vanished, and his lips have turned downwards. When he sits into my lap, I run my fingers through his thick hair before pressing a kiss on his sweat-beaded forehead. After peering down at the photo frame in his hand, Joel locks his tear-drenched eyes with mine. My heart breaks when I glance into his beautiful eyes. His eyes are identical to his dad’s in every single way.
“Was it him?” Joel hands me the picture frame.
Fresh tears spring in my eyes when I look at the photo he's offering me. It is a picture Mrs. Marshall snapped of Hugo and me dancing at Jorgie’s wedding. It was taken mere seconds before Marvin interrupted us, requesting to dance with his date. I’m not ashamed to admit that nothing but love is projecting out of me in this picture. I loved Hugo for years, and Mrs. Marshall’s photo captured that.
“Yes, sweetheart, it was him,” I answer, my voice shuddering from the pounding of my heart. Although I could lie to him and say Hugo isn’t his dad, I’ve never been one for deceit. If you tell a lie once, all of your truths become questionable.
Joel inhales a quick, sharp breath. “Is he coming back?”
His eyes stare into mine, begging for me to say yes. I run my hand across his forehead. His heart is beating so fast, I can feel his pulse raging through his temples.
“I don’t know, sweetheart.” I run my index finger under his e
yes, removing a few stray tears seeping free. “Maybe he’ll be back?”
His tears dry as his eyes drift between mine. His eyes are like his father’s in another way: they can see straight through to my soul. He also knows I'd do anything in my power to ease his pain. Even breaking my own heart.
I don’t need to see Hugo to know he's here. I can intuit his presence without needing to physically see him. We round the corner of the Marshall family residence, moving toward the back patio where the monthly Marshall brunch is held. To celebrate Hugo’s return, Mrs. Marshall organized an special invited attendees-only brunch. I’ve never missed a Marshall brunch the past six years, and today won’t be an exception. I have many treasured memories from the Marshall family brunch. I even went into labor at one.
Joel spots Hugo before me. His grip on my hand firms and a dimpled grin stretches across his face. I’ve never hidden Joel’s dad’s identity from him. I shared photos and stories of Hugo with him many times the past four years. Joel even has the Marshall last name. No matter how often Marvin begged for me to pretend Joel was his biological child, it was never going to happen. The Marshall family suffered enough loss to last a lifetime. I wasn’t going to add another name to their already extensive list. Hugo is Joel’s father, and no amount of hurt or anger will ever change that fact.
Exhaling a deep breath, I drift my eyes to Marvin. “I’ll be back in a minute,” I advise, my words low.
Marvin slits his eyes as his jaw gains a tick.
“Please don’t create a scene,” I say, stopping his callous words before they can escape his lips. “He needs this.” I gesture my head to Joel, who hasn’t taken his eyes of Hugo.
