by JA Huss
“I did know that, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Do you have pictures?” she asks. “Of the baby? I bet Elias is so proud.”
“Have we met?” I ask. “I’ve been introduced to so many of Elias’ friends over the years, but I don’t recognize you.”
She cocks her head at me, like she’s wondering if I’m serious. “We have met before. But it wasn’t here in Denver. Justin and I just relocated. I was so happy to see you here at the party. Friendly face and all.”
Are we friendly? I find that very unlikely.
“You really don’t remember me,” she says. Not as a question, just a statement of fact.
“No,” I say. “I’m sorry. You do look familiar, but I can’t place you. Can you refresh my memory?”
“Well, I was…” she looks around, then at her husband. She leans in to me, like she’s sharing a secret. “Your father’s mistress,” she whispers. “I’m almost relieved you don’t recognize me, to be honest. It’s good to know that one’s reputation does not precede her.”
“Ohhhhh,” I say, nodding my head. Snap. Out of the fantasy life I’ve been living for the past four years and right back to the real world.
“I’m Justin’s mistress now. And you’re with Elias?”
“And Quin Foster,” I say. I can’t let that opportunity pass.
“Mmm-hmmm. I did hear that as well. It doesn’t surprise me.”
“What doesn’t surprise you?” I ask.
“That you enjoy two men at the same time.” She laughs. Heartily. “You’re a lot like your father.”
Uh. I feel sick.
“But you have your mother in you too. I can see that as well.”
Does she think this makes it any better? Or did she say that on purpose? You’re just like your parents, Rochelle. I want to slap her. I want to scream at her. I want to ask her, right here in front of Denver’s most powerful people, if she ever thought about me when she was fucking my father. “Do you?” I say, instead. I hate the fact that this woman knows me. Both the old me, and the new me.
“Justin was just invited into the Club,” she says, changing the subject. “I’m really looking forward to spending time there. Maybe we’ll see each other?” She smiles. A kind of… sick smile.
Yuk. That is disgusting. I cannot imagine any scenario where I would end up in that basement with this woman. Gross.
“I doubt that,” I say, still using my fake high-society manners. “I don’t belong in the Club. Elias and Quin keep me far away from that life. But I’m sure you’ll have fun with all the other…” I want to say tramps, but it’s not fair, because they’re not tramps. They’re just people. People like me and Chella. So I don’t. I say, “Partners,” instead.
“Why, thank you,” she says. But I’ve offended her because she presses her lips together. “Do you still play music? I know you had that guitar hobby back when you were a child. In fact, I’m the one who talked your father into giving you your first guitar back when you were eleven. I can still picture you that one night he brought me home to your house for a party. You were—”
“Excuse me,” Bric says, pressing into me. “Helen, is it? I’m going to steal Rochelle from you. I’m dying to dance with my lover.”
I almost laugh. Almost. But the sting of that last statement is enough to quell it.
“Would you like to dance, Rochelle?” he asks politely. As if I would say no.
“Love to,” I say. “Can you hold my drink?” I ask the woman. She takes it out of habit, mumbling something about it being her pleasure, but I don’t wait and thank her—can’t wait and thank her, because Bric is pulling me away.
“What the fuck was that?” he asks.
“Apparently,” I say, as Bric puts his hand on my waist and we begin to dance, “that was my father’s old mistress. How wonderful it was to see her again.”
“I bet,” Bric says, smiling down at me.
“What a cunt. God.”
“You’ve never mentioned your father before.”
“No,” I say. “For good reason. He’s an asshole.”
“And your mother?”
“Stepmother, you mean. Another cunty bitch. My father loves the cunty ones.”
“Got it.” Bric laughs. “So where’s all this animosity come from?”
Really? Tonight, of all nights, in public, he wants to ask me about my old life?
“You don’t want to talk about it,” he says.
“Got it in one,” I say, trying to keep the mood light. But he’s serious now, so I try again. “No. Not here, anyway.”
“Do you think we’ll ever meet them?” he asks.
“Will I ever meet your families?” I counter.
He shrugs. “Not mine. They live far away. But Quin’s family is in town.”
I picture this meeting in my head. I know his father passed away a few years back. So no worries there. But his mother is still alive.
“Would you like to meet his mother?”
“Have you met her?”
“Of course.” Bric laughs. “Kitty and I are old friends.”
“Kitty,” I say, trying out her name. I wonder what Kitty Foster would think of me? Probably exactly what I thought of that woman back there. Gold. Digging. Slut.
“I haven’t seen her much lately, but we bump into each other every once in a while.”
“Well.” I sigh. “I’m going to pass on that. I can imagine that if I meet Kitty, the two of you would demand to know someone from my family. And I can’t think of a single person I’d be happy to introduce you to.”
“Not one?” he asks.
“Not even one,” I say. I wonder if he’s talked to Smith lately. I wonder how much Smith really knows about me? “I don’t want to think about my past, Bric. And I certainly don’t want to associate with my father’s ex-mistresses. I left my life behind for a reason. I don’t want her reminding me of that.”
Bric leans down to kiss me. “Hey,” he whispers into my mouth. “Don’t worry about that woman.”
“She says that Justin guy is a member of the Club. Just got an invitation.”
“I can uninvite him. And I’m going to make that very clear to Justin tomorrow. She’ll never talk to you again.”
“You’d do that?” I ask. “Give up a member just because I’m uncomfortable?”
“Why not?” he asks. “Do you really think I need another member? The only thing I care about these days is you, and Quin, and Adley. I will do anything to keep us happy. Kicking out a new member doesn’t even require a moment of consideration. It’s done.”
I sigh. Then smile. “Thanks,” I say. “But it’s really not necessary. I’m fine. I’ll probably never see her again. It’s not like the Club is my life anymore.”
“It’s not. You’ll never have to go there again. Not even for breakfast. We’ll find another place to call our own. Hell, maybe I’ll just buy another restaurant down in LoDo. Make it easy for everyone to stay away. The past is the past, right? No need to go backwards.”
“I could kiss you right now.” I laugh. “Somehow, you always know the right thing to say.”
He frowns.
“What?” I ask.
“Except when you came to me last year. To tell me about your pregnancy. I wasn’t thinking, Rochelle. I’d like you to know I’d never ask you to have an abortion. I would’ve stuck by you. Maybe I didn’t know it at that moment, but I would’ve figured it out.”
“I know,” I say. “It really wasn’t you. It was… Quin.”
“Have you talked about it yet?”
“A little. But I don’t want to bring it up again. He was mad at me. He had a right to be mad at me. And now he’s forgiven me, so let’s just leave it there.”
“Done,” he says. “And hey, if you wanna leave the party, I’m all for it.”
“No,” I say. “Don’t be silly. You’re here for business. I’m fine.”
“Well, shit. I was hoping you’d say yes and then we could fuck in the car
before we got home.”
I laugh. “Yes, Mr. Bricman. You really do say all the right things.” And then I lean up on my tiptoes, until my mouth is right next to his ear, and I whisper, “I promise. After dinner, we can take a quick trip to the car for dessert.”
Chapter Twenty-Three - Quin
Adley and I are sitting on a blanket on the floor of her room, playing blocks. She’s a good stacker. Great stacker, actually. She got two the first time, then three. Three blocks stacked. She’s probably a genius-level stacker.
“Are you hungry yet?” I ask her. She takes the red plastic block out of her mouth to drool and smile at me. I think she’s getting teeth. I looked it up on the internet and this is the age when they first start appearing. Bric is a genius as well. That comment about checking for how-to-diaper-a-baby videos was legit. They have everything you can think of on the internet when it comes to babies.
All day at work I was searching. How to make a bottle, what kind of bottle you use (we’re already using the good kind—Rochelle is a genius too), what kind of diapers to buy. How many times a day they need changing. I tried changing her as soon as Bric and Rochelle left, just to have one under my belt before the real deal happened.
I’m basically a baby-diapering prodigy because I got it right the very first time. Some dads said they put them on backwards. Some said the diaper fell off because they made it too loose. But me—sailed through that lesson like a champ.
I have no experience with babies at all. None. So I’m pretty proud of myself. “I’m good at this, right, Adley?” I ask her.
She drools and smiles again.
I take that as agreement.
“We’re a whole family of geniuses.”
I get a giggle for that.
“What do you say? You want a bottle?” I ask. She squeals and knocks our tower of blocks down.
I stand up, pick her up, and hold her close to me. Babies smell good, too. She smells sweet. Like soap. Nice soap. Not guy soap. Baby soap. I looked up soap too. And baby powder. So much shit to know about babies.
“But I’m learning, right?” I take her into the kitchen. I know she likes to be held when she drinks a bottle, so I settle her on my hip as I get the bottle out and put it in Rochelle’s little bottle warmer thing. I looked that thing up a couple days ago. No idea what it was. Who knew mothers had these secret appliances that warm bottles?
That’s when I spot the baby food. “Ohhh,” I say, picking up one with a very colorful label from the counter. “This looks good. Tropical fruit. Do you like tropical fruit, Adley?”
She laughs. Which is another yes in my book.
“I’m dying to try out the spoon. If Bric can do it, I can do it, right?”
She kicks her legs.
“But I think we should do the bottle first. I think that’s more important.” I read that online too. I’m practically an expert now.
The little warmer thing dings, so I get the bottle out, open the lid, still balancing Adley, and make sure it’s not too hot.
Nope. Perfect.
I got this shit down.
We go over to the couch and I put on a Nuggets game. They’re losing, but I don’t care. “I got you, huh, Adley? Who needs basketball?”
I settle her in my lap and as soon as I aim that nipple at her mouth, her little chubby hands grab it. She looks at me as she sucks it down, her little fingers tapping on the bottle.
God. I love this dad stuff. I had no idea babies were so cool.
“I think you have my eyes. Do you think you have my eyes? They’re blue, like mine. Nice bright blue. Just like mine.”
I have to admit, I have been thinking about her eyes more than I should. I really think she has my eyes. Bric’s eyes are dark. Really dark blue. Not like this at all. And I read that babies with fair skin and light hair can change eye color as they get older. But she’s six months now. I think these are her eyes and I think they look like mine.
“I’m definitely your real dad,” I say.
Then I want to take it back. I shouldn’t say that in front of her. She probably doesn’t even know what I’m saying, but if we’re gonna all be together, she needs to think Bric and I are both her dads. Not one over the other. We might as well just get the DNA test if it matters.
I decide it doesn’t matter. I know she’s mine. No need to rub it in.
I was with Rochelle way more than Bric was. He didn’t even see her every night he was supposed to. I did.
Adley is definitely mine.
If this lasts, who knows? Maybe we’ll have another one. Maybe next time we’ll be more careful about it. Plan it and shit. I spend the next several minutes thinking about having a whole pack of kids. “We’d need a bigger house,” I say.
Adley kicks her feet.
“You’d probably want a pony.”
Her little pink lips form a smile around the nipple.
“And a kitten. And we’d need to look for a good school. Hey, you could go to our school. That would be neat.” Our kids will go to the school Bric and I went to. Of course, that was middle and high school. We’re gonna need to find a pre-school and an elementary school.
So many things to plan for now that Adley is here.
She throws the bottle aside and I lean over and pick it up, offering it to her. She throws it again.
“Done? Cool. Now we get to try baby food.” I get up and walk into the kitchen. “But first we gotta wipe that milk off your face.”
She shakes her head and squeals when I do that.
Kids.
Man, do I rock this daddy stuff, or what?
I get the spoon and the jar of tropical fruit, and take Adley over to her high chair. I really did need a video to understand this thing. That little hidden latch almost got me. But nope. I find it now, slide the tray down, put her in, and slide it back up.
So fucking good at this.
“OK,” I say, popping the lid on the jar of food. “I’m ready, Ads. I’m gonna feed you with a spoon for the first time. Are you ready?”
She spits out some drool, but it’s a happy spit. I can tell. Dads know this shit.
I dip the spoon in the jar, scoop up the goop, and head for her mouth. It’s wide open. No here-comes-the-airplane trick for me and my kid.
Mouth closes, lips smack, food gone.
“So easy,” I say, getting another spoonful. She gobbles it up. She gobbles up about ten spoonfuls, but then she starts kicking and getting cranky.
I think I smell the reason why.
“OK. It’s go time. The real deal, Ads. Don’t worry, I got this.”
I get her up on the changing table, clean her up (like a pro, I might add) and then decide it’s a good time for the bath.
“You want bubbles?”
I take her into the bathroom, holding her on my hip—really hoping she doesn’t pee on me, since she’s naked now—and start the water. Rochelle has this ring thing for Adley to sit in the tub. It’s new, I think. But when the water is the right temperature and depth, I set her in and she knows just what to do.
Splash.
Her skin is pink from the warm water. I start thinking about the hot springs and how I’ll need to lower the temperature in the pool if we want to take Adley swimming.
I picture her at my house.
Then stop.
My house is so… sterile. And not in a good way. It’s clean, yeah. But sterile as in… not homey, like this place. My condo is a place for adults. I’ll have to work on that.
“Hey,” I say, taking my attention back to Adley. There’s bubbles in the tub now and Ads is kicking her feet and laughing.
But she’s all flushed. “Is it too hot?” I ask myself, feeling the temperature. Rochelle will kill me if I burn her in the tub.
No. Seems fine.
But damn, her skin is so pink. In fact, I think it’s getting pinker as I watch. Red, almost. And right before my eyes, little dots start appearing under her neck.
Like… hives, or something.
&
nbsp; “Holy shit,” I say, forgetting I’m not supposed to swear around her. “Holy fuck. Holy shit.” I grab my phone from my pocket and search ‘baby rash.’
Noooooooooo. Insect bites, food allergies, pollen, illness… it’s a long list. I was doing so well. I had this shit down!
I pick Adley up from the tub, wrap her in the little baby towel Rochelle keeps in the back of the door, and take her in to her room to get a better look.
Maybe I’m imagining it.
Six more welts have appeared on her stomach,
No. I’m not imagining it. I poisoned her. I fucked something up. She got bit by a black widow spider. This is bad. Oh, my God. She’s got welts all over her little body and she’s crying!
Diaper, sweat suit. Socks, no shoes.
Pick her up and run for the elevator.
I suck. I suck as a dad. I totally suck.
Rochelle trusted me for one damn night and now I have to call and tell her we’re on our way to the hospital.
I am the worst dad ever.
Chapter Twenty-Four - Bric
I give Rochelle props for keeping her cool. When Quin called and said he was taking Adley to the hospital, there was a moment. One long moment where I had enough time to imagine a full-fledged freakout from Rochelle.
But I said—in the calmest doctor voice I could manage—“It’s probably an allergic reaction, and nothing more.”
And she took a breath, nodded her head at me, and dealt with it rationally.
Of course, people die from allergies every day. But I left that part out.
We were five minutes from the hospital once we got in the car. Closer than Quin was, for sure. So he was only there a few minutes before we arrived and a nurse was already assessing Adley’s condition and reassuring Quin.
“Oh, my poor baby,” Rochelle says, rushing towards Quin. He’s holding Adley in his lap. She’s doing that little hiccup-cry kids do when they’re done crying, but can’t actually stop. She holds her arms out to Rochelle as she gets close and they hug each other.
Rochelle’s eyes close in relief.
“So what do you think?” I ask the nurse. “Food allergy?”
