by Daphne Swan
“Here you go,” he says as he comes sailing back into the room like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
But when he leans over to hand me my mug and registers my expression, his manner instantly shifts. With a furrowed brow, he cocks his head to the side and says, “What?”
I set the mug down on top of the nightstand on my side of the bed, and then I gesture towards the other nightstand—or more specifically, at his phone.
“Good news, Eric. Ted has arranged to set up direct deposit for your new apartment on Third,” I inform him.
His frown deepens.
“What a wild coincidence that you found a second apartment for way beneath market value,” I add. “And on the same street, no less! I mean what are the chances, right?”
“Okay,” he says with a sigh, setting his own mug down on top of the bureau. “I get it. You know about the rent. There’s no need to be sarcastic.”
I respond with a bitter laugh.
“Why are you so pissed off?” he asks.
Is he fucking kidding me? I can’t believe how relaxed he is right now, leaning buck naked against that freshly polished bureau, looking at me like I’m being the unreasonable one here.
“Um...maybe because you flat out lied to my face?”
“Oh, come on, Molly. You’re an exceptionally clever girl. You must have known on some level that I was going to kick over a significant chunk of your rent.”
“I fucking well did not.”
Or did I? Was there a part of me that didn’t buy the story about the elderly billionaire who wanted to offer someone the deal of a lifetime? I don’t know. I think I accepted the story at face value.
Eric obviously doesn’t think so, though. The look he gives me makes it clear that he thinks I’m full of shit.
“Don’t try to turn this around on me,” I tell him. “You’re the one who made up some elaborate lie, even going so far to involve that realtor. Was he even an actual realtor or did you hire an actor to play along in your charade?”
“Are you serious? Of course he’s an actual realtor. Stop acting like I’ve done you some grave injustice here.”
“Stop acting like you’ve done nothing wrong,” I fire back at him. “You lied to me, Eric. You lied right to my face. How will I ever be able to trust you again?”
That’s it. I can’t stand to be here for one second longer than necessary. Throwing back the covers, I roll out of bed with as much grace as I can manage, given the fact that I’m nearly seven months along now.
He reaches down to give me a hand, but I slap it out of the way. I don’t need—and I sure as hell don’t want—any help from him.
Once I’m upright, I reach for the bag I brought that contains a fresh outfit, and I start pulling garments out and getting dressed.
“Are you seriously going to storm out of here in a huff instead of talking to me?”
“I’m so pissed off right now; I can’t even look at you.”
I finish hooking my bra on and hurry to step into my panties.
“Jesus, get a grip, would you? You’re acting like an entitled little princess. And you’re making this way more of a big deal than it needs to be. Fuck, man. You’d think I’d lied about having a secret family stashed away somewhere, or that I’ve just confessed to being a child molester or some shit. But, no! I’m helping you out with your rent! Ooh, I’m such an asshole! You need to grow the fuck up.”
“Fuck you, Eric!”
I throw on my sundress and strap on my sandals as quickly as humanly possible.
“I can’t believe you’re actually speaking to me like this!” I say as I round up the various things of mine strewn around the room and throw them into my bag.
“Why, because you’re Daddy’s perfect little angel and you can do no wrong?”
Whoa. I stop what I’m doing and turn to him. I can’t believe he’s mocking my relationship with my father, bringing up Dad’s pet name for me. Well...the former pet name. I’m pretty sure my father will never again refer to me as his little angel.
Shaking my head, I finish loading up my bag. I zip it closed and sling it over my shoulder before turning back to Eric.
“I don’t want to see you again until after the baby is born.”
“How many times to I have to say this? Grow the fuck up, Molly. You don’t have the option of turning your back on me right now. We have a child on the way.”
“He won’t be here for another six and a half weeks. There’s no reason for us to have to see each other in the meantime.”
“What about the Lamaze classes?”
“I’ll ask Nina to come with me to the remaining classes. Or I’ll ask my mom or one of my sisters. And I’ll ask one of them to be there with me in the delivery room. You are no longer welcome.”
“What? That’s fucking bullshit. I’m the baby’s father,” he says, following me through the apartment.
“Tough shit. I’m the mother, and what I say goes. Do you think the doctors and nurses are actually going to let you stay in the delivery room with me crying and begging them to kick you out?”
He stares at me agape, like I’ve just kicked his puppy or something. I wonder if I’ve allowed my anger to take things a step too far.
“You can’t do this to me, Molly.”
“Watch me.”
I reach for the handle and swing the door open. I step outside and slam it closed behind me. I wait until I’m outside on the street before I burst into tears.
24. ERIC
Well, I sure as shit got that wrong. Molly O’Neil hasn’t changed at all. She’s still the same spoiled little brat she always was. That sensible, mature woman I thought she’d grown into never even existed in the first place. It was all an act. When push came to shove, she shed that newfound maturity in the blink of an eye and I found myself face to face with her true colors.
Even so, it took me a while to fully accept what’s going on here. I figured she needed a little time to cool off, so I didn’t contact her for a couple of days after she stormed out of my apartment. But when I did give her a call, it went unanswered.
After that, I sent her a text—a totally chill text saying I hoped she was doing well and asking her to get in touch when she could. And I still haven’t gotten a reply. It’s been over a week now. I haven’t sent any more texts, but I have called a couple more times.
Nothing. No contact.
The fact that she’s ignoring me like this scares the shit out of me. Is this what my life going to be like for the next eighteen years? Every time I piss her off, is she going to keep me from seeing my own kid? Will she be using him as a pawn to get back at me when things don’t go her way?
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
I know there are certain steps I can take to protect my interests—and more importantly, to protect my kid’s interests. It would just take one phone call to my manager, who could put me in touch with the lawyer who worked on my contract. I’m sure he’d be able to refer me to a family attorney, who could start preparing for the possibility of Molly and me ending up in a custody battle.
Assuming all the courtroom dramas I’ve watched on TV over the years are based on reality, it’s safe to say that the courts favor the mothers when it comes to custody issues. That being said, I’ve got a lucrative career with a bright future, not to mention way more money than Molly does. I’d say the odds of us getting shared custody are pretty decent.
Fuck, man.
I hate that I’m even thinking about this. Things were going so great. We were having such an awesome time together—getting ready for the baby, fixing up his nurseries in both apartments, talking about names, speculating on what sort of kid he’s going to be.
My mom flew in at the end of June, and she and Molly took to each other right away. Mom was pretty full on, and I could imagine a lot of women maybe shying away from her intense energy, but Molly was totally open to it. She didn’t even blink an eye when Mom started caressing her belly twenty seconds
after I introduced the two of them.
Needless to say, Mom gave Molly her stamp of approval and started dropping hints about the two of us getting together for the long haul.
And...shit. I hate to admit it, but I’d been thinking along those same lines. Hell, we already have a pretty good foundation to build from. We have fun together. We’re on the same page in terms of values and stuff. Our sex life is off the charts. And we’ve got a baby on the way, for fuck’s sake. Don’t we owe it to him to at least try to build a family for him to grow up in?
Anyway, that’s what I thought before Molly freaked out on me. And I think it’s probably the reason why I’m hesitating to get lawyers involved.
Shit, man.
I really need to talk to somebody about this, but the only people in my life who know about the baby—apart from Coach and his family, obviously—are Mom, Ryan and Alex. I can’t talk to Mom. I don’t want to stress her out by putting her in the middle of this. And since neither Ryan nor Alex has had any children yet, I don’t think they’d be able to relate.
I know it’s crazy that I haven’t called up Ben and Nathan and told them the news, but I’ve just been so busy over the past few months, I never got a chance. And I really don’t want to break the silence by dropping the bombshell about the baby and then start whining about what a pain in the ass his mother is being.
Stretched out on my sofa, I toss my phone up in the air and catch it again and again and again.
Who can I talk to about this?
Maybe it’s time to let someone else in on the secret. After all, it’s not going to be a secret for much longer. The baby will be here in five weeks, and sooner or later a whole lot of people are going to know that Molly O’Neil and I had a kid together.
Fuck it. I need another perspective here, and I know just the guy to call.
“Hey, man. What’s up?” Cody Washington says when he answers.
“Hey. Not much, man. You got any free time today?”
“Hell to the yeah. With only four days left until training camp starts, I’m taking it easy, chilling at home. Why? What’s going on?”
I tell him I’ve got a situation I was hoping to get some advice about. He says I’m welcome to come on over, and that I should bring my swim trunks if I like. I order a Lyft right away, and ten minutes later, I’m heading down to Battery Park City.
Cody and his family live in one of the luxury high-rise buildings amongst all kinds of A-list movie stars and other household names. Unlike me, a relative newcomer, Cody has been a member of the team for over ten years now, and on top of his fat salary, he has a bunch of sponsorship deals.
After signing in at the front desk, I take the elevator up to the penthouse level. A uniformed maid greets me at the door and leads me through the spacious apartment out to the roof deck that features an in-ground swimming pool.
“Hi, Eric!”
Cody’s wife, Annette, is stretched out on one of the sun loungers wearing sunglasses and a big, floppy hat. She waves me over with a big, gleaming smile on her face. Cody is otherwise preoccupied and doesn’t even notice that I’ve arrived. He’s busy splashing around in the pool, chasing after one kid with another one hanging off of him like a little spider monkey. It’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve seen in a long time. The kids are shrieking with glee.
I can’t help but imagine myself in Cody’s place, playing with my own kid. Man, I absolutely cannot wait to meet the little guy.
“Hey, Annette!”
I walk over and lean down to give her a kiss on the cheek.
“You’re looking gorgeous as always.”
“Oh, you stop now.” She laughs and gives me a light slap on the arm.
We make a little small talk before she calls an end abrupt to playtime.
“Cody, look who’s here!”
“Hey, man. Glad you made it!”
“Yeah, good to see you again. Thanks for letting me come at such short notice.”
“Of course.”
I think he can sense that I’ve come to talk to him about something fairly major because instead of inviting me to change into my swimming trunks and join them in the pool, he swims towards the edge of the pool and lifts himself up out of the water.
“No, Daddy! I wanna play some more!” the little cries.
“No fair!” her brother adds.
“Kids, Daddy will play with you later,” Annette tells them. She leans down to grab a beach ball off the cement surface and tosses it into the pool. “Here. Play with this.”
The little girl swims after the ball and then tosses it to her brother. He tosses it back, and their sense of injustice is instantly forgotten.
Jeez. I hope Junior is going to be this easy to appease...
“Hey, Eric. It’s good to see you,” Cody says as he dries himself off with a big, fluffy towel.
“You too, man. It’s been a while.”
I still feel guilty about flaking out on his charity event. I ended up texting him that night with some bullshit excuse. I can’t even remember what I told him. But Cody is not the sort of guy to hold a grudge, so I do what I can to shoot down my feelings of guilt.
After towelling himself off, he pulls on a blue terry cloth robe and steps into a pair of flip-flops. He motions for me to join him at the wrought iron table set up on the other end of the roof deck.
Once we’re both seated, he pours me a glass of lemonade from the pitcher on the table and says, “So, what’s up?”
“Thanks,” I say, taking the glass from him. I go ahead and take a sip, and then I look him in the eye and say, “Okay. Here’s the thing: one night last November I took this chick home and had fucking awesome sex with her. She told me her name was Margaret. She took off not long after we finished, and she wouldn’t give me her phone number, so I thought I’d never see her again. But as it turns out, I did...”
I proceed to tell him the entire story, from the altercation with Coach in the coatroom of that hotel where he hosted his charity fundraiser to Molly freaking out on me when she found out about the rent, and her subsequent silent treatment.
When I’ve finished, Cody exhales a huge lungful of air.
“Holy shit,” he says.
“I know, right?”
“Whoa. I knew there was some weird shit going on between you and Coach, but I never would have guessed it was this.”
Fuck. This isn’t exactly good news. I hate to think of the whole team speculating about what the deal is. Anyway, this is not the time to obsess about that.
“Well, it is what it is,” I tell Cody, taking another sip of that delicious lemonade. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking about hiring an attorney on retainer, setting up a strong defense in case push comes to shove. I intend to take care of this kid, to be a good father, and I want to make sure I’ve got everything in place to do so.”
“Don’t do it,” he says immediately.
“Really?”
I’m surprised. I figured we’d debate the pros and cons about getting the law involved.
“Really. You need to just leave it alone for a while.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. From what I’ve just witnessed—and from what I’ve always known to be true—Cody Washington is a devoted dad who’d do anything for his kids. So why is he telling me to just sit around like a jackass while my rights as a father hang in balance?
This is bullshit.
“Are you actually trying to tell me that you wouldn’t do anything to stop her if Annette was icing you out and keeping you away from your kids? And I know my kid isn’t born yet, but still...”
“No, man. That’s not what I’m saying at all.” He sighs. “Listen. I guarantee you that Molly is scared out of her mind right now, and if you come loping in like Rambo, bitching about your parental rights or some shit, it’s only going to make things worse.”
“I don’t know.”
“I do,” he says with conviction. “Molly is how old? Twenty? Twenty-one?”
“She t
urned twenty-two in March.”
“That’s still really fucking young. Annette was twenty-nine when she got pregnant with Opal, and even though she thought she was ready—hell, we even planned the pregnancy—she would still go through these periods where she’d freak out about how she wasn’t ready, how she was going to be a shitty mother and she wouldn’t be able to handle it. She was so scared that the baby was going to die on her watch. Totally unreasonable fear, right? But she wouldn’t listen to reason.”
So Annette was unstable during pregnancy. So what?
“What’s your point, Cody?”
“My point is that Annette’s behavior was totally normal. It’s normal to be shitting bricks at the thought of giving birth to a child and being saddled with it for the rest of your life. At least when it comes to your first child. Annette had seven more years than Molly did to prepare for it. And unlike Coach, Annette’s family was behind her one hundred percent. We’d been married for almost five years and we had plenty of money. Molly’s situation is a hundred times more stressful. You need to cut her a little slack.”
Shit. He may have a point there.
“Try to understand the rent thing from her point of view. She’s trying to provide for the kid the best she can, and now she finds out you’ve been working behind the scenes, pulling the strings—not to mention lying to her,” he says, giving me a pointed look. “Of course she’s upset about that.”
“You know as well as I do that two and a half grand won’t get you shit in the Manhattan property market,” I point out.
“Yeah, I know. But that’s not the point. I’ve been through this before, and I’m telling you: everything she’s saying right now, everything she’s doing is driven by fear. Sure, she’s pissed at you about the rent thing, but it sounds like she was just looking for an excuse to blow up and let off some steam. It sucks that she freaked out on you, but I think you’re going to have to take this one for the team.”
Maybe he’s right.
“Trust me. Just give it some time. She’ll come around eventually. Try not to push it. Maybe send her a text once a week or so, saying you hope she’s doing okay.”
