by A. C. Bextor
Am I positive the only way our fathers will accept this child as one in their family is for us to marry? Yes.
“I’m positive.”
Rubbing his jaw, Thomas lets loose a quiet, “Fuck.”
Not exactly the response I was hoping for, but then I hadn’t thought of what his initial reaction would be. Mostly because I didn’t care. I’ve already decided I’m keeping the baby, whether he wants to be in its life or not.
“Okay,” he adds, this time with an assuring nod.
Walking from the front door, Thomas watches carefully as he takes a seat on the couch at my side.
Squeezing my thigh, he reassures, “We’ll be okay, Katherine. No matter what happens, I’m here.”
Expelling a fabricated laugh, I question, “Are you saying this for you, for me, or the baby?”
Smiling, Thomas casts a quick glance down at my still flat stomach. “I honestly have no idea.”
“I’m sorry,” I return for lack of anything to say. “I know you weren’t expecting—”
“I wasn’t,” he agrees, rubbing my upper back for comfort.
Thomas’ touch is clinical. The caress comes from a man who doesn’t know what to do with a crying woman. Not the gentle, intimate, caring touch of a man who loves a woman and wants to help shoulder her worry and despair.
“What do you really want?” I ask, searching his blue eyes and hoping they have the answers I haven’t been able to find.
“Does it matter?” he counters, not in anger or agitation, just indifference. “This isn’t about us.”
Thomas is five years older than I am. He’s already graduated from college. After our first official date, where he left me alone and later let me leave with Mason, I never imagined we’d be here.
Four months have passed since Mason left. Since, I’ve been longing for the only man I’ve ever trusted. To see his face, to touch his body, to have his arms around me.
Only a few weeks had passed when Thomas showed at my door, asking me to lunch so he could apologize for letting me ‘slip away.’ Initially, I had refused, not wanting to chance my heart to another. Mason wasn’t here, but I still felt as if I were in some way cheating. Thomas kept his insistence—sending flowers and stopping over. Because I was desperate for distraction, I finally said yes.
Lunches turned to dinners.
Dinners turned to dates.
Dates turned to sex.
Sex turned to this.
All my plans of finishing college have been derailed.
Everything has changed.
And worse, Thomas and I have nothing in common.
Thomas loves history—he thrives on learning the way the world once was. He doesn’t spend money without good reason. And he refuses to pay full price for anything. He enjoys the taste of foreign beer.
I love sports—namely baseball. I love to read about anything but history. If I could, I’d spoil myself in cutoff shorts and flip-flops of all kinds. Give me an evening out in the back of a pickup, with music blaring in the middle of nowhere, and I’m happy.
Thomas and I also don’t run in the same social circles. Other than our fathers’ friendship and business, there’s no real connection between us at all.
Yet, deep down, I know the last man who touched me before Thomas isn’t coming back. The only man I’ve ever loved is forever out of reach. After our night of saying goodbye, neither Mason nor I have fought to see the other again. No plans to visit have ever been made.
The first few weeks after he’d gone, he called. Several times. Sometimes just to hear my voice. There wasn’t a lot to say and being that I was hurt, afraid to tell him how badly I wanted him back, silence took up the space between us.
After a few empty calls, he stopped calling at all.
I still think about him, though. A few times every day, in fact. I’ve thought about where he is, what he’s doing, and if he’s found someone else to care about.
He’s in San Diego.
He’s happy.
He’s moved on.
And I’m alone.
“Marry me,” Thomas suggests simply. “I know what we have isn’t ideal, and maybe you’re not in love with me, but we’re going to be parents.”
“You want to marry me? You want this baby?”
“I do,” he says quickly. “I care about you. And I think eventually we could be happy together.”
Eventually? Could be?
Caught off guard, I return, “But don’t you think this is fast? I mean, you’re just starting your job.”
Wrapping his arm around my shoulders, Thomas brings me into this side. “I am, but we’re already seeing each other. I care about you.”
He cares about me.
“And our families are tight. We’d have their support in this. Not as if our future hadn’t already been mapped out since the day you were born.”
This is hardly the fairy tale I considered as a child.
But…
“Marry me,” he pushes.
With Thomas, I’d have a husband.
“I don’t know,” I return.
With Thomas, I wouldn’t have the baby alone.
“We can do this. I know we can.”
With Thomas, I’d have the security of knowing, no matter what happens, he’ll have our family’s best interest at heart.
“We’ll make a life together. It’s not one we imagined, but still. We can do this.”
With Thomas, though, I’ll never have the man I once dreamed of marrying.
I have to let Mason go for good.
Looking up into Thomas’ hopeful gaze, I nod once, and he smiles as I say, “I’ll marry you.”
“I THINK I’M GONNA TELL McButterpants he’s taking me shopping for my birthday this year,” Averie tests, smiling into the shelf of emoji stress balls and grabbing one to check its durability. She tosses it back, deciding against purchase.
Averie took more of a liking to Mason than I originally thought. However, Mason is not taking her shopping. Not only because he wouldn’t have the time, or the desire, to spend a Saturday afternoon cruising the mall with a new teenager, but because I won’t let him.
Two weeks have passed without a word. Two long, torturous weeks since I knocked on his door, bursting in with all my frustration, to be sent back home with nothing for it.
“Honey, you know he’s busy,” I express, looking around the store to find the group of teens we saw earlier gathering near the counter of costume jewelry.
My nerves have been on edge since we first walked in.
My initial concern was the crowd of teenagers standing outside the front door. All wearing black clothes and heavy makeup, and those were the boys. The girls were much the same, but worse. When they noticed my daughters walking in at my side, they whispered and scowled.
I’ve also felt eyes on us. Someone watching from afar maybe. I’ve never felt unsafe shopping. But today, for whatever reason, I regret the attempt at girl time.
“He won’t be too busy if I tell him not to be busy,” Averie insists, moving on to a basket of pens, erasers, and writing pads filled with colorful paper.
“Grow up, Averie,” Amelia snaps, as she walks to a shelf of screen-printed tee shirts. Mindlessly thumbing through a few, she says, “You met Cole twice. Hardly enough time to ask him for a favor. Guys like him don’t shop.”
“But Cole likes me,” Averie challenges.
“Cole doesn’t know you…” Amelia replies on an eye-roll. “Obviously.” She scoffs and asks, “Have you seen his clothes? He doesn’t shop at the mall, Averie.”
“Rude,” Averie utters, irritated.
Amelia ignores her sister’s frustration and includes, “You’d be better off asking Dad to take you on your stupid shopping trip this year.”
“Dad’s gonna be gone for my birthday,” Averie complains. “And besides, Dad hates shopping, too.”
“Cole probably has a date that weekend anyway,” Amelia puts out.
My eyes slam shut hearing Amelia point out w
hat’s likely true.
“He won’t,” Averie argues.
“How ignorant are you?” Amelia triggers back. “Cole’s hot. No way he won’t have plans.”
“But it’s my thirteenth birthday,” Averie declares.
“And why would you think a guy like him cares about how old you are?”
Again, shrugging off her sister’s mood, Averie gives, “Everyone cares about birthdays.”
Rolling her eyes, Amelia mutters, “God, you’re immature.”
“Why are you so mean?” Averie snaps, tossing a pen back in its basket and throwing visual daggers at her sister. “Is Aunt Flo in town or what?”
“Enough,” I call sternly.
Amelia walks away, irate for no reason other than she’s fifteen and confused. Her body is changing, her friends aren’t true, and her family is under duress. She feels it.
And it’s my fault.
Thomas is gone and she’s rebelling in the only way a girl her age knows how. She’s putting her stress and dislike for the world in a safe place. On us—her family. Those who will love her without hesitation or conditions.
But damn it’s tiring.
Averie turns to me and quietly asks, “Mom, what’s her problem?”
Running my hand down Averie’s concerned expression, I explain, “When you’re her age, you’ll act out in the same way.”
“Ha!” she cries. “When I’m Amelia’s age, I’m gonna do whatever I want.”
Oh, the naïveté of being young.
“I guess we’ll talk about that when the time comes.”
“Mom!” Amelia calls from a distance.
When I turn to her voice, my well-dressed, usually well-mannered, daughter is standing with another girl who looks about her age. Yet, this girl is wearing far less clothing than I’d ever allow either of my own to be caught around the house in.
“Hi,” I get out with surprise as the two head our way.
Is her new friend’s hair purple?
“This is Zodiac,” Amelia introduces. “That’s what people at school call her.”
Zodiac lifts her chin in lieu of a proper verbal greeting.
Lovely.
“Well, hello, Zodiac,” I test the name and am relieved to hear my tone come as even and not sarcastic.
“You can call me Zoe,” Zodiac replies, still an actual greeting. “That’s what parents usually call me.”
As I take in what’s in front of me, Averie comes to my side, stops swiftly, and does the same. Her small gasp doesn’t go unnoticed, and for that, Amelia narrows her eyes to keep Averie quiet.
Zoe is dressed in all black. From her hair tie to her motorcycle boots, beneath a straight black cotton skirt. Her shirt has a small mix of purple matching her hair that yes, is actually purple.
Where in the world are her parents?
Amelia senses my hesitation and steps in between us. “So, Zoe’s having a party tonight and I was wondering if I could go?”
“A party?” I query. “Will this party be at her house?”
“Yeah,” Amelia answers.
“Yes, not yeah,” I correct. “Will her parents be home?”
Zoe scoffs.
Amelia’s eyes grow wide as she snaps, “Mom!”
“My parents are in London for two weeks. They said I could have friends over,” Zoe adds.
Without caring if her parents aren’t home or why, and not caring what they give her permission to do or not do, I stand straight and tell Amelia, “Then no. You aren’t going.”
Another gasp comes from Averie as Zoe pulls out her cell phone. Her fingernails are painted black. Which considering that’s the only color she’s wearing, they match nicely.
“Why can’t I go?” Amelia argues. “You always say you trust me.”
“I do, honey. But this party will have no adult supervision.”
“I have unsupervised parties all the time,” Zoe chimes, her tone bored as she uses her thumb to flip through the programs on her phone.
“That’s good, Zoe,” I reply, barely holding back all I’d like to add which would be….
Your clothes are ridiculous.
Your makeup is too dark.
Your demeanor isn’t only rude, it’s absurd.
Looking down at Amelia’s state of annoyance, I tell her, “But my answer is still no.”
“Mom, please!” she argues. “You aren’t going to consider this?”
“Amelia,” I warn.
“What do you care if I go?” she counters.
“What do you mean, what do I care?”
“Are you serious?” she hisses.
I’m not only serious, I’m also confused.
“Sweetheart, talk to me,” I voice low.
Is that wall ‘cause her dad’s never home?
“You don’t pay attention anymore!” she shrieks. At this, Averie wraps her hand in mine and Zodiac looks up from her phone to smile.
Bitch.
Amelia marches on, taking two steps away from her new friend. “You don’t talk to any of us anymore,” she accuses.
“Not true,” Averie prevails. “Mom talks to me all the time.”
“Shut up. You’re a kid. You don’t know shit.”
“Amelia Terese! What’s gotten into you?” I question, noting but not caring we’re quickly gaining a teenage audience.
Your girl Amelia has something on her mind.
“You, Mom! You’re here, and you’re home, but you’re really not.”
Whatever it is, she’s having a hard time gettin’ her head around it.
Disappointed, she calms and adds an uttered, “Ryan will be there.”
Averie, being who she is, can’t help but grab a hold of this. Astonished, she clarifies, “Ryan McCallister?”
Narrowing her eyes, Amelia scolds, “Don’t even talk about him like you know him.”
Averie’s eyes turn to saucers as she replies, “Oh, I do know him, Amelia. Everyone knows Ryan McCallister.”
“Shut up.”
Averie steps forward, questioning, “Will his girlfriend, Chasity, be there too?”
Shit.
“I hate you!” Amelia snaps.
That’s it. We’re done.
“Out!” I yell, my voice pitching. I don’t recognize it as my own.
“I’ll call you and give you the time and address,” Zoe boldly informs, talking to Amelia. She’s also smirking at me as if she didn’t just hear my final answer—repeatedly.
“Right,” Amelia utters on an eye-roll, walking away from all of us.
Once we’ve reached the door to the store, Averie grabs my hand and comforts with, “And you thought me asking McButterpants to take me shopping was going to be the craziest thing that happened today.”
In every way, Averie is right.
And whether I want to admit this or not, Mason was right too. My beautiful daughter is struggling.
I’ve got to find a way to help.
Past…
“MOM, I REALLY HAVE TO run,” I repeat for the third time, bending to pick up another piece of the ripped-to-shreds baby blanket that Thomas’ new puppy, Duke, must’ve torn to bits when my back was turned. “Really, I promise. Thomas and I are fine, but I do need to get off here and get dinner started before he gets home.”
“What you need is help, honey,” Thomas’ mother redirects, for the fourth time. “You can’t keep going on like this. I can hear how tired you are over the phone. You forget I’ve been married to Thomas’ father for nearly forty years. I know how difficult raising a child and taking care of a man with the Dyer name can be.”
“I’m not tired, Elaine,” I counter, this time using her name. “I’m busy and I’m okay.”
Since our youngest daughter, Averie, was born ten months ago, Thomas’ mother has called once a day to check the status of my chaotic home. She’s offered that she and Thomas’ father would pay for us to hire and keep on a full-time nanny. She’s even gone as far as to say she’d be an active member on the
interviewing panel.
We’ll need a list of potential candidates, she insisted. This was before I cut her off, of course.
We don’t need a nanny. And if we did, Thomas’ annual salary is more than enough to afford us one. Not to mention, I wouldn’t agree with my mother-in-law’s choice of hire.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Elaine Ann Kelsey Dyer.
Until her, I’d never had any kind of mother in my life. But after Thomas and I broke the news we were expecting the unexpected with our first born, Amelia, I gravitated toward the woman who had a child of her own. I asked her advice on everything from decorating the baby’s new room, to what kind of safe laundry detergent I needed to buy to keep the baby’s skin protected.
So while I greatly value her position in my life, I don’t need her inserting herself inside of it every single day.
“Call me later?” she pleads, still worried.
“If I can get the girls to sleep early tonight, I’ll try.”
“Kiss them for me. Tell them Grammy loves them and I’ll see them soon.”
Our girls are very lucky to have the family they’ve inherited. My dad has taken to the growing family well. He’s here at least once a week to visit and calls even more often.
Thomas’ family is obsessed with ours—to the point of frustration.
Obviously.
“Always,” I return with a smile.
Hanging up and tossing the phone on the couch, I brave an agonizing look around our oversized front room. If this weren’t my house, my situation, I’d laugh.
Bottles, blankets, and toys, both the girls and the puppy’s belongings litter nearly every available surface. The stench of wet dog hair, dirty diapers, and baby vomit has invaded my living space, as well.
Thomas doesn’t notice.
Once we were married, which was only a few weeks after he proposed, he started working longer hours. He also started traveling here and there. He said he needed the experience before his father retired. I never told him that I assumed his long hours and travel were for the sole purpose of not having to be home.
In his absence, my life has fallen to routine. Up with the girls, spending our days muddling through an occasional doctor’s appointment or trip to the store, before bathing them and putting them to bed. I quickly became the ideal housewife, living only to ensure my family was taken care of as they should be.
