Baby Be Mine (Spinsters & Casanovas Series Book One)

by Wanitta Praks

  “Clarice, darling. Let go of your mother’s skirt and come over here.” Her father called her over to him, speaking to her in fluent Khmer, her mother tongue. But she didn’t budge from her spot, her little fingers still clinging to her mother’s skirt for dear life, too afraid to look at all the strangers’ faces staring at her.

  Who are these people? she thought, eyeing the many strangers through her small spectacles perched upon her nose. They came to welcome her when she got off the plane. They looked just like papa, with blond hair and blue eyes, the likes of which she had never seen before in the Cambodian refugee camp in Thailand.

  “Welcome to New Zealand, my dear.” One lady leaned in, smiling.

  Then another one came and crouched in front of her and asked her with a pretty smile, “How old are you, little missy?”

  Clarice didn’t know what to do. They were talking to her, but she couldn’t understand them.

  Her father came over and translated in Khmer. She held out both of her hands and made the number six to the strangers.

  “Does she not know English?” the old lady asked her father.

  “It’s my fault. I only taught her basic greetings. We conversed in Khmer all the time in the camp,” her father said.

  “Well, I’m sure she’ll adjust and come to fit in school just fine with all the other children,” the young lady said.

  School! Now that word she knew. Papa had taught her that word in the camp.

  *

  “Go back to your own country, you four-eyed monster.”

  “Yeah, pancake face. Go back to where you came from.”

  “We don’t want you here. Go away.”

  Clarice cried when the others at school wouldn’t stop their bullying. She couldn’t understand what they meant, but the physical abuse they bestowed upon her, pushing her and pulling her pigtails, sure hurt her little wee heart. That night she cried on her mother’s lap.

  “Chantee, my dear, don’t cry.” Her mother smoothed her hair while she cried her eyes out. “You have to be brave and strong.”

  “But they pulled my hair on the first day of school,” she complained. “I hate those people. Why can’t they be nice? I don’t like this place. I want to go back to the camp.”

  “Chantee, I know you’ll meet nice people soon. And who knows? You might even be friends with them for life. There are many great people here in New Zealand. And when you meet them, you’ll know how lovely this country is.”

  Clarice’s mother was right, because the very next day at school, when she was in the middle of being bullied again, a girl appeared, jumping off the monkey bars and announcing to the whole school that from now on, this little Asian-Caucasian girl would be under her protection. The girl who saved her was named Whitney, a boisterous girl that was like a hot air balloon.

  Clarice’s first real friend was a sight to behold, dressed all in black, with the palest skin, like a sheet of paper. She was a little witch, casting deathly spells on anyone who dared hurt her and her little friend. And now that Whitney had taken her under her wing, Clarice was no longer afraid of anyone.

  *

  “I’m afraid I can’t let you participate in today’s sport, Clarice.”

  Clarice wasn’t happy. She’d been looking forward to this day for ages and now that it had finally arrived, she wasn’t allowed to participate because of her shoes.

  What could she do? It wasn’t her fault her shoes had more holes than the number of craters on the moon. Her PE teacher said it was unfit for sport. Simply speaking, it may cause her injury.

  “You can use my spare pair,” a quiet little blonde said beside her.

  Clarice turned and smiled.

  This little girl, who was three years younger than her, was called Elise. She was a quiet, methodical girl who hardly spoke but had a heart the size of an ocean. She was a charming, innocent, and pure-hearted girl, much like a cherry blossom on a nice spring morning.

  With Elise’s spare shoes, Clarice was able to participate in school activities along with Whitney. From that point on, the three girls were now like the three musketeers, sticking together like glue.

  *

  “Honey, I’ve been made redundant.” Clarice heard her father speak to her mother in their bedroom.

  “Oh no, Michael. What will happen to us?”

  “Don’t worry, Montha. I’ll make sure you won’t starve.”

  That night, Clarice sat forking her rice and tuna. Yes, she was starving. That small portion wasn’t enough to supply the fuel for her growing teenage body, but she didn’t say anything. She told her parents she was full and went off to bed.

  At that point, Clarice made a life-changing decision. She would never go hungry again. She would do anything to support herself and her family.

  “Don’t worry, Papa. I’m going to get a job. You don’t have to pay for my education anymore,” Clarice vowed to herself.

  The next day she applied for the paper run. She got accepted on the spot because she was good at running. From that point on, she saved her money like her life depended on it, which to her it did, because she knew she wasn’t born with a silver spoon in her mouth. And if she wanted to get into University, then she would have to work hard.

  *

  It was on Clarice’s thirteenth birthday that she was able to attend high school, along with her two best friends. That night while her friends were sleeping, preparing for their new adventure ahead, she was still slaving over the iron, trying to press the secondhand uniform she had bought with her own money.

  Clarice knew her friends would arrive with newly pressed uniforms that had been serviced by professional launderers because her friends’ families were far better off than hers, but she’d never complained about her station and worked hard to achieve a level of comfort for her parents and herself. In order to achieve her goal, she must be frugal and mindful towards everything.

  *

  “Mum, I want to go to Cambodia to help out the children and adults,” Clarice said to her mother one day after she turned sixteen. She was watching the documentary about Cambodian kids not having enough dental care, leading to poor oral health and losing their teeth at such a young age.

  At that moment, Clarice had made a lifelong decision. She was going to become a dentist so she could help provide dental care in her mother’s homeland, Cambodia. It wasn’t until ten years later that she and her team of dental professionals accomplished that goal, setting up a practice in the heart of Battambang Province, donating free dental care for all who would utilize their service. She usually frequented Cambodia on her holiday at least once a year to check on the progress of the children there.

  On her twenty-fifth birthday, Clarice went into the world of periodontology, wanting to further study the subject of gum disease, so she could provide more service to the community. And she did that within three years.

  *

  Clarice stared at the flickering candles, her mind flitting back to reality. All the goals she had planned she’d accomplished. Everything she had wanted she’d received.

  But now Clarice, aged thirty, was lost.

  She bit her lip and stared at the candlelight dancing in front of her, those flames providing just enough light to illuminate the many smiling faces that now stared back at her—the faces of her many nephews, eyeing her weirdly, not understanding why their aunt would be fabricating mass saltwater production down her cheeks; her cousins and their husbands, holding each other’s hands, eyeing her with mixed feelings of sadness because they seemed to know what she was going through, since they were of similar age; and then her mother and father, hugging each other at their ripe old age, looking at her worriedly.

  Clarice took all of this in. And then a painful cord struck through her heart and she reached a moment of epiphany, that single moment when she finally realized what everyone was talking about for the past two decades.

  Love. Marriage. Family. Children.

  Too busy was she trying to achieve her statu
s, her career, and her reputation that she had totally forgotten all about that other important aspect of her life: love.

  Sifting through her memories, Clarice tried to place any fond memory where she was actually in love with someone. Her mind drew a blank. There was none, nothing, a big fat zero, just a single goose egg. She had never had her first kiss, never had her first dance at a formal during high school, never went to a nightclub, never had a boyfriend, never had or experienced anything that a girl her age should have done while growing up.

  In her entire thirty years of life, she had been working. In high school, she spent her days working, if not studying. When she finally entered university, again she was so busy studying and working she had forgotten to go to the annual dental ball, forgot to look around her as her other classmates eyed each other across the room and asked one another on dates. And even after she graduated from dentistry, she still forgot to have fun, forgot to go out and celebrate her success at achieving such a high degree. And now she was about to enter the big three-zero zone. By midnight tonight, she would be officially a spinster, on the shelf, tough as leather

  Who would want to chew this tough beef anyway, when everyone at the supermarket would go for the veal?

  To say she never had any interaction with the opposite sex was also preposterous, because she had. Growing up, she had always been surrounded with her many nephews, cousins, her male classmates, and now her patients also, but to associate them with the L-word, now that would be preposterous. Although she did have many proposals, ranging from eight-year-old boys to eighty-six-year-old men, namely her patients, how could she take any of them seriously?

  Her biological clock was screaming at her. Her hormones were on rampage as tears streamed down her face and all those thoughts spun through her mind. She couldn’t suppress them. She hadn’t hit menopause yet, but here she was having an emotional breakdown because she was turning thirty and wanted a family of her own. That sudden feeling of wanting another person there at night, lying close to you while you rest. Yes, that strong yearning suddenly hitting her like a ton of bricks, and she couldn’t help but burst out and cry even harder.

  Clarice’s mother, Montha, sensing something was horribly wrong, came to comfort her daughter.

  “What’s wrong, Chantee? Why are you crying on your birthday?” she asked, patting her daughter’s back. Whitney and Elise came to her side also. Their singing faltered and they stared dumbfounded when they saw her in this state.

  How could she tell her mother and the rest of her family and friends that she wanted her own family, that she wanted love? But it was too late now. No man would even look at her. She had passed her prime.

  But she couldn’t tell them that now, could she? Well, not when they were all smiling before her. To tell them the truth would ruin the whole mood. So she lied.

  “I’m just so happy you did all this for me. And you both, coming all the way here from Dunedin, just for my birthday.” There, now the smiles were back, except for her two friends who eyed her, clearly broadcasting, We’ll talk to you later about this.

  “We wouldn’t miss it for the world, darling.” Her mother hugged her.

  Just then, her little five-year-old nephew came and tugged at her skirt, asking in his little high-pitched voice, “Aunty Reece can I open your presents?”

  Children and their presents, she thought, smiling as another sob erupted. She tried to hold back but almost choked on it, so she let nature take its course and more waterworks escaped her eyes.

  “Why are you crying, Aunty Reece?” Timmy asked her.

  Clarice lifted her nephew to straddle her hips, then hugged him tightly, feeling that warmth emitting from his small body.

  “Because I’m so happy to be here, celebrating my birthday with you,” she replied.

  “I love you, Aunty,” Timmy said, wiping away her tears. “So don’t cry anymore.”

  “I love you too, Timmy.” She hugged him again. Then after she released him, she walked to the present table. “And which one would you like to open first?”

  “That one!” he said, pointing to the largest on the table with his little wee fingers.

  So cute, so adorable—her motherly instinct cried out to her.

  After she finished cutting the cake and everyone got a piece each, they all said their congratulations, and a little while later, they all left her apartment. Her mother and father were the last to leave.

  “Chantee, are you sure you’re okay?” her mother asked her worriedly.

  “I’m fine. Just tired from work, I suppose, and then when I came home, I got a full-blown surprise.” She laughed drily, hoping her mother would believe her excuse.

  “I didn’t want to surprise you too much, but Elise and Whitney suggested it,” her mother replied, hugging her warmly.

  Clarice eyed her friends as they both eyed her from the couch. She knew they were waiting for her to explain what happened before.

  “Thank you for today, Mum, Dad.” She went to hug them both, then led them out the door. “When are you heading back to Dunedin?”

  “Tomorrow. Max will drop us off. You take the day off too. You work too hard.”

  “I don’t work too hard. I’ll drop you off instead. Speaking of Max, where is he?” Clarice suddenly realized her favourite cousin wasn’t present during her birthday party.

  “Not a clue, Chantee. You just make sure you look after that boy, though,” her father said, rubbing his temple.

  Clarice knew her father had a lot to deal with when Max was in Dunedin, since both of his parents were away overseas, but now since he was here in Auckland, her father grew even more worried. That little cousin of hers was more robust than a rodent. There was no way of knowing when he would explode and cause trouble for them all.

  “I will. I don’t understand why he can’t study in Dunedin when you’re both there to look after him.”

  “It’s because he’s worried about you and wants to make sure that you’re fine,” her mother answered her instead. “He’s a boy, Chantee. He can look after you until Mr. Right comes along.”

  “Yes, Mum.” Clarice kissed her mother and father, then closed the door as they departed. She sighed heavily, leaning against the door, glad everyone had left. But as soon as the door was closed, both Elise and Whitney rushed to her side.

  “Explain!” was all Whitney said.

  Clarice knew immediately what Whitney was referring to, but she didn’t want to elaborate about her dilemma tonight. Tonight she just wanted to drown in self-pity, maybe do something bad, like drink a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice without even waiting thirty minutes to brush her teeth, or better yet, flag the whole brushing of her teeth altogether so they would rot away in that acidic environment in her mouth.

  “I…” she began but then choked on her word.

  “I’m going to get some tissue.” Whitney sighed, patting her back. “I have a feeling we’re going to cry over this.” Whitney jumped from the couch, motioning for Elise to follow.

  All alone now, Clarice brooded in self-pity. What could she say when the others came back? That she was scared midnight would strike in two hours and when she woke the next morning she’d have white hair and wrinkly skin, with no one beside her but a walking cane as her only companion.

  “Cuz,” a deep voice said from behind her, startling Clarice out of her thoughts.

  Clarice turned around and saw her cousin Maximilian, the subject of her earlier conversation with her parents. She smiled, seeing her favourite young cousin, all dirty-brown hair and dimples.

  Maximilian was her cousin on her father’s side. She didn’t have any relatives on her mother’s side, as they did not survive during the war. Her mother was the only one that had made it alive. She lived in the Khao E Dang camp for many years before meeting her father.

  Maximilian had full-on typical European-Kiwi features, fair skin, with a few sprinkled freckles dotted on his nose and cheeks; while she had the typical Asian features in her ge
nes, making her traits stand out more than her other cousins, with thick black hair and fair porcelain skin. When the two were seen out and about together, no one would even believe they were related.

  “Happy birthday, you.” He hugged her from behind, almost strangling her neck in the process. “And I’m not going to congratulate you for turning thirty, but I’m definitely gonna get some of that cake on the table over there.” He laughed cheekily, eyeing his favourite white chocolate cake.

  “Max, you rascal.” She swatted his hand and stood up, facing him. “Don’t think you can come to my birthday party without congratulating me. Now be a good boy and say your part.”

  “Nah.” Max shook his head, smiling.

  “Maximilian Henry Christopher Mason!” Clarice warned him, knowing Max hated it whenever anyone used his full name.

  Max screwed up his face in disgust. Why his parents had decided to name him Maximilian was beyond him. Clarice did mention his mother was a historical romance fanatic since reading that book from her favourite author Alexia Praks, called The Duke’s Revenge or something along those lines, with the hero being called Maximilian. His mother had become so addicted to the story that she had declared if she ever had a baby boy, she would name him Maximilian. Then lo and behold, just three months later she was pregnant. And now he was stuck with the name.

  “Not going to,” Max said, determinedly stubborn.

  “Fine then. I’ll just grab Sweet Elise and Madam Witch, who will tear your ears down.”

  “What? They’re both here too?” Max asked in fright.

  “Why wouldn’t they be? They’re my best friends.”

  “But…”

  “What’s wrong, Maxy boy? Scared of us?” Whitney asked from behind him.

  Max was already shaking in his boots.