Vegas Baby

by Winter Renshaw

  I don’t stick around.

  I can’t.

  After yesterday, after finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, I can’t stand here and listen to his mother call me garbage and insult me. She doesn’t get to do that.

  I snatch my bag from Crew’s truck and run back to my apartment.

  This world is full of nasty people spewing hate. I won’t be a part of it any longer.

  My phone is buried at the bottom of my purse. I haven’t looked at it since yesterday, and I bet the battery is almost dead.

  It only takes me a minute to find it, and by the time I pull it out, it vibrates in my hand. The Caller ID lighting up the screen sends a jolt clear through me.

  Havenhurst Academy is calling.

  “Hello?”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Crew

  “What kind of mother takes off without her baby?” Mom scoffs when she notices that Calypso bolted.

  “Mom,” I grit. “If you’d listen for one Goddamned second—”

  “Do not speak to me that way.” She flies up, palm open and ready to slap. Her gaze lands on Emme for a second and she recoils. “You’re lucky you’re holding a baby and I’m a decent woman.”

  “The baby is mine.”

  Her expression morphs from anger to confusion and back.

  “This is Emme. Your granddaughter,” I add.

  Mom stares at Emme as if she’s someone’s shedding Pomeranian and not her own flesh and blood. She moves another step back.

  “I met someone a year ago,” I say. “Things happened and—”

  “What do you mean things happened?” She huffs. “Things can be prevented. Very easily.”

  “Yeah, well, details aside, this is what happened. And she’s here to stay, Mom. She’s not going anywhere. Emme is my daughter. Everything else is . . . secondary.”

  Her shoulders slump forward, her head shaking. “I’m disgusted right now, Crew. I don’t even know what to say. What to think. You can’t come home with . . . that. You can’t bring her home to meet your father. He’s not well. He’ll have another episode. He’ll be so disappointed in you, Crew. I’m disappointed in you.”

  I refuse to apologize for disappointing her. I’m not sorry. It is what it is. I won’t apologize for one of the best things to ever happen to me.

  “Why are you here anyway?” I ask.

  “I’m on my way to have brunch with Aunt Marilyn,” she says. “I was stopping by to invite you since you didn’t answer your phone. Consider my invitation null and void.”

  Thank God. I couldn’t stomach another brunch with the two of them. Aunt Marilyn is my mother on steroids and crack.

  She checks the gold Chanel watch on her wrist and flicks it until the face is straight.

  “Ugh,” she sighs. “I’m running late because of you and your shenanigans. We’re not done with this discussion.”

  “Yeah, we are.”

  Her brows furrow. “I’ll be back later.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  Mom’s mouth tightens, her red lipstick seeping into the tiny lines around them.

  “Until we figure out what we’re going to do about your situation, you’re not to be around your father. Do not show up at the Tahoe house for Easter, do you understand me?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” I’m being facetious. She hates that I don’t take this issue seriously. I see it all over her face. To me it’s a non-issue. Emme’s here to stay. As her dad, I go where she goes. If she’s not welcome at the Lake Tahoe house, or in my mother’s life, then neither am I. “It’s a shame you don’t want to get to know your granddaughter.”

  She walks away, back turned to the both of us. It’s a symbolic moment and an image I’ll never forget as long as I live.

  “But it’s okay,” I say. “’Cause I don’t really think you’d be that great of an influence on her anyway.”

  Mom groans. I can imagine she’s rolling her eyes. She’s never going to get it. She’s too old and set in her ways. No one’s ever forced her to second-guess her way of life. No one’s ever pointed out how black and shriveled her heart is, how her life is guided by fear of losing control, how she’s never truly known what it means to love someone unconditionally.

  Her loss.

  “Just wait until your sister finds out about this.” Her manicured fingers wrap around the doorknob.

  Too late.

  “At least one of my children has sense enough not to shit all over the beautiful life I’ve created for them.” My mother rarely swears, but I don’t let it distract me from her message.

  “Other people’s lives aren’t yours to create.”

  I make a silent promise, right here, right now, to Emme. Whatever she wants to do, she’ll have my support.

  Within reason, of course.

  I sure as fuck won’t be dropping her off at any brothels or Vegas strip clubs eighteen years from now.

  “Goodbye, Crew. I hope you live a very happy life with the very poor decisions you’ve made.”

  “I’ll send you a wedding invite.” I don’t think about the words before they come out. “I’m going to marry Calypso. Just telling you now. Heads up.”

  My words are meant to spite, to rouse.

  It kind of frightens me how easy it was to say them.

  “No son of mine would ever marry garbage.” She draws her words out slowly, with intention. She has one foot out the door when she stops. “Save the stamp.”

  My mother’s final words to me bounce right off and fade into the background when I look into my daughter’s eyes.

  “I think I just got disowned,” I say.

  Mom slams the door on her way out, but it’s okay.

  I don’t need her drama and manipulation.

  All I need in this world, I hold in my arms.

  I release a harbored breath and carry Emme back to her room to get her diapered before she pisses on me, and then I call Noelle.

  ***

  “Oh, my God.” Noelle throws her bag on the floor when she shows up a half hour later. “Mom is crazy. I mean, we knew that, but I don’t think we knew just how crazy she could be.”

  “I just feel bad for Calypso,” I say. “I can’t imagine standing there and hearing someone talk about you like that.”

  Noelle takes a seat on the floor beside Emme’s swing. “Your grandma is cray-cray.”

  “So, guess I’m not going to be at Easter this year.”

  She whips her gaze toward me. “I can’t do Easter without you. I . . . I can’t.”

  “Just go. Play five marathon games of Monopoly with Dad and ignore Mom.”

  Noelle shakes her head. “You know she’s going to tell me about all this, and she’s going to expect me to agree with everything she says.”

  “Right.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my mouth shut.”

  “That’s why you need to hang out with Dad the whole time. She won’t tell you any of this if Dad’s around.”

  “I can’t go without you,” Noelle whines, then pouts, then reaches for Emme’s chubby fingers. “Can’t we just have our own Easter dinner? Here? You, me, and my adorable little niece?”

  “That’s your call.” I walk past the phone charger to see that my keys are gone. Calypso must still have them. I need to check on her anyway. “You mind watching Emme for a sec?”

  She bats me away. “Go. Go to her.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Calypso

  Just like that.

  One phone call and my dreams are shattered.

  I’m on the floor, sobbing into my hands. I have no control over the wretched cries that come from deep, dark, guttural places.

  The admission advisor’s words play on repeat in my head.

  “We’re so sorry, Calypso, but your high school diploma is from a non-accredited school. We can’t find records for a Shiloh Springs K-12. We’re going to have to deny your admission at this time. Feel free to reapply in the future, once you’ve earned y
our GED.”

  Someone raps on my door.

  I’m a sobbing, snotty, leaky mess in a heap on the carpet of my living room.

  They knock again.

  “Calypso, open up.” It’s Crew.

  I don’t want to see him. Not now. Not like this.

  I want to be alone, mourn my beautiful future, and figure out what the hell I’m going to do in two months when the doors to the Tipsy Poet close for good and I don’t have a single red cent to my name.

  “I know you’re in there,” he says, knocking some more. “You have my keys. I need them.”

  Damn it.

  “Just a minute,” I call out. Dashing to the bathroom, I wash my face, pat it dry, and accept the fact that I couldn’t hide these bloodshot eyes if I tried. When I return to the front door, I gather myself for a second before yanking it open. His keys are on a table next to the door. I grab them and hand them over. “Here you go.”

  I try to shut the door, but he blocks it.

  His stare is heavy. I don’t have to look into his eyes to feel it.

  “Can I come in for a sec?” Crew runs fingers through his hair, combing everything flat. It still sticks up at the sides, reminding me that an hour ago, we were warm in his bed.

  “Yeah.” I back out of the way and then shut the door behind him. My arms are folded, my face lowered.

  “My mom,” he says, “is an awful person. I’m sorry you had to hear all that.”

  “You don’t have to apologize for her. Can’t control her.”

  “I feel awful.”

  “No need.” I bite my lip; it trembles every time my eyes water. I just want him to go. Now. I want to be alone.

  “I’m officially disowned.” He says it with a smile and lifts his hands to his face like some ragtime singer.

  It makes me chuckle. My stomach muscles are tender and sore from crying.

  “Why’d she disown you? Because of Emme?” I don’t like that woman.

  “That,” he says, “and I kinda told her I was going to marry you someday.”

  I laugh again. I don’t care if it hurts. That’s hilarious.

  “You were trying to get her riled up,” I say.

  His tongue grazes his bottom lip, and he flashes a million-dollar smile.

  “Yeah,” he says. “Something like that.”

  He closes the space between us, cups his hand under my chin and lifts my gaze.

  “I hate that my mom made you cry like that. None of those things are true.” Crew brushes a wayward strand of hair from my face. “You’re one of the best people I’ve ever met. I know that’s a weird compliment to give. It’s kinda general. But I don’t know how else to describe you, so . . . yeah.”

  I laugh, turning my face away. He pulls it back toward him.

  “Don’t cry anymore, okay?” he asks. “I’m not good with this shit. Crying and emotions and all that.”

  I bite my lip and suck in a long breath. He smells like his sheets. I want to be there right now, warm and curled up. Nestled in the crook of his shoulder.

  “Havenhurst Academy called this morning,” I say. “Apparently the school I attended my entire life wasn’t accredited. Shiloh Springs never bothered to get their accreditation. I’m, technically, uneducated.”

  Crew bites down on his lip before shaking his head. “That’s fucking bullshit.”

  I shrug. “There’s nothing I can do about it. They basically told me to get my GED and better luck next time.”

  “That’s why you were so upset?”

  “Ninety-nine percent of it was that. The other one percent was your mom.”

  “Okay, then get your GED and go next year. No big deal. What’s one year?”

  “My shop closes in two months. I need to find a job first. A place to live. Do you know how hard it’s going to be to find a job—a decent paying job—when you’re twenty-four and you don’t even have a high school diploma?”

  “Play poker. I’ll teach you everything.”

  “I don’t think I’m a poker playing kind of gal.”

  He lets me go, dragging both hands through his hair and pulling it taut.

  “Move in with me,” he says a minute later.

  “Ha. Great idea.”

  “I mean it. Live with Emme and me. I’ll pay you to be her nanny, so you have a job with a good salary, and at night you can work on your GED.”

  I try to imagine what it would be like living with him. Would I be stepping over his clothes all the time? Picking up after him? Would I get roped into cooking and cleaning on top of childcare? What about the weekends? Would I have them off? What if he brings women home or goes on dates? How would I feel about that? What if I get too attached to Emme and never want to leave?

  “Calypso,” he says. “Stop overthinking it. Just do it.”

  “I feel like it could get really complicated.”

  He sighs a sigh that expands his chest and releases it with a groan. “You don’t have a choice here. You’re two months from being homeless. Two and a half months from starving to death. Move in with me. We’ll figure everything out later.”

  I chew the inside of my bottom lip.

  “What? What are you thinking about?” he asks.

  “It’s just risky.”

  “Everything’s risky. But I’m a gambling man. I know when to bet and when to walk away.”

  “When do you bet?”

  “When the stakes are high and you can’t afford to lose.”

  “What’s at stake?”

  “Never seeing you again.” Crew shoves his hands in his pockets and straightens his posture. “Fuck, Calypso. You don’t even have a last name. You move away, I’ll never be able to find you again. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering.”

  I try not to smile, but his words make my heart warm in a way I can’t ignore.

  “Wondering what?”

  “What might have been if I spoke up when there was still a chance,” he says. “Still a chance that you might consider seeing where this goes. All I know is that I barely know you, and I want a chance to get to know the rest of you. You’re the most complex, intricate, interesting woman I’ve ever met. You grew up in a fucking commune with crazy parents and a goddamned narcissistic cult leader. You’re real as hell, Calypso. I’m never going to meet anyone else like you. And I don’t want to.”

  I amble toward the sofa and sink down, resting my elbow on the matted arm.

  Crew puts up a convincing argument.

  And he’s right. I don’t have anywhere to go. I have no back up plan.

  “I’ll even give you the library,” he says. “That’ll be your little corner of the house, when you want quiet, when you want to get away. All yours.”

  I tug at a loose piece of fringe on a nearby throw pillow before pulling it into my lap.

  “Emme needs a mother figure,” he says.

  “You’re playing the single dad card,” I say.

  “Don’t I get to?” he teases. “Is it working?”

  I glance up at him through wet eyelashes. “Kind of.”

  Half his mouth pulls up, and I’m reminded of how badly I wanted to kiss him last night, but I wouldn’t let myself. He wanted to talk last night as we laid in bed, and I wouldn’t allow myself to do that either.

  Last night I thought I was going to Havenhurst. Last night I didn’t want to think about how incredible we could be together if we really tried.

  Funny how everything can change with a single phone call.

  “So what’s it going to be?” Crew takes the seat beside me and pulls me into his lap. “You going to move in with me? Make me the luckiest single dad this side of Vegas?”

  “If I watch Emme all day, what are you going to do? Aren’t your poker tournaments at night?”

  He shrugs. “I made enough the last few years to invest in my business. I’ll flip more houses. That should keep me busy. I need a nine to five. I need to be home at night with Emme.”

  “Just like that, you’re go
ing to give up that high-stakes, fast-paced life?”

  “Don’t have much of a choice.”

  “Are you going to miss it?”

  “Nah,” he says. “I’m replacing it with something better. I have a feeling this is gonna be more exciting than any poker game I’ve ever played.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Crew

  One week later…

  “Pizza’s here,” I call from the front door of the house we now share.

  Calypso calls it my Tuscan villa. She even nicknamed it Villa Avorio for the ivory stone on the front façade. She says houses this size should be named.

  We’re all moved in. Still unpacking. Getting organized. We spent all afternoon organizing Calypso’s library and neither of us felt like cooking, so it’s pizza for dinner.

  For the third night in a row.

  Still a bachelor at heart, living a bachelor lifestyle. Only now I have a hot as fuck woman by my side, loving on my daughter and generally making life a hell of a lot more tolerable.

  Calypso secures Emme in her high chair and I break out the paper plates.

  She takes a slice of pizza and hunches over the counter for a second. Her face is white, and her forehead glistens.

  “You alright?” I ask.

  She raises a finger, turns her head, and then nods. “Yeah. Just felt sick for a second.”

  I fix her a glass of ice water and she takes a seat, taking tiny nibbles from her pizza.

  “Must be coming down with a stomach bug or something,” she says.

  “Yeah.” I sit my pizza aside and watch her fight off what are clearly waves of nausea, and then I do some quick math. “Are you . . . are you pregnant?”

  Her tired eyes meet mine, and her hands immediately go to her breasts.

  I laugh.

  She doesn’t.

  “I . . . I kind of feel like I might be.”

  Without hesitation, I rise and grab my keys.

  “Where you going?” she calls after me, but I’m already bursting through the garage door on a mission. By the time I back my truck out, I spot Noelle’s little silver BMW pulling up.