Football Dick (Big Girls, Bad Boys, and Babies)

by Violet Blaze

  “Don't you think it'd be kind of fun to have babies at the same time?”

  “Are you serious? This isn't a joke, Ariana. He already told me how he doesn't do romance.”

  “He said that?” she asks with a crinkled nose. “Well, if he said that then he's definitely into you.”

  “What? That doesn't make any sense.”

  Ariana stands up and straightens her suit jacket out.

  “I'll make us some tea. Listen, if a guy has to go out of his way to say he's definitely not interested in having a relationship, then he definitely is interested.”

  “That's … that doesn't make any sense. I'm sorry, but I don't believe that.”

  Ariana shrugs at me and moves into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

  “So don't. Figure out what you want to do. I say first thing is to break up with Walter. With this little …” A crooked smile takes over her face as I glare, but at least my faux anger towards my friend is helping me not to freak-out here. “Technicality. You definitely need to mop that problem up. And then maybe things will get a little clearer?”

  I groan and roll onto my side on the couch.

  Now all I have to do is break up with my fiancé and tell the stranger I have a crush on that our safe sex wasn't so safe.

  Not so hard, right?

  Wrong.

  My date with Walter is set for Wednesday, so I make sure that on Tuesday, I show up for dinner at my dad's house, suffering through the usual stuffy atmosphere until I can finally corner my father alone in his upstairs office. I feel like it's only right to let him know before I tell Walter. After all, this could change everything for him.

  As I pace outside his door, I almost lose my nerve. If I do this, I'll be the bad guy, the one that cost my family everything. I can't do this! I think as I clamp a hand over my belly and make myself breathe deep. I'm pregnant with another man's baby after cheating on Walter not once, not twice, but three times. How awful is that? I … I never felt like we were a couple, and that's a problem.

  This whole thing is just a hot mess.

  “Dad?” I knock softly at the door as my heart thunders and I start to feel dizzy. I'm almost thirty years old and my daddy makes me quake in my boots. Not good. What right do I have to be a mother? “Is it okay if I come in?”

  There's a long pause and a sigh. It hurts that my dad doesn't want to talk to me, but why should he? Things between us have been tense since he moved that woman into my mother's house. I don't think I'll ever get over that.

  “Come in, but please, this needs to be quick, Della. This salmonella scare is blowing up in my face.” I move into the room slowly, like once my dad sees my expression, he might guess what I have to tell him. And right now, this is only about Walter. What happens when he finds out I'm pregnant? I try really hard not to think about Rhoden's story, about Walter possibly hiring thugs to beat up his friend.

  This pregnancy is like a black mark on a calendar, telling Walter exactly when I started sleeping with Rhoden. What if he's right? What if Walter does something to him? Something worse than firing him?

  “Dad, I …” I move over to the couch in the middle of the room and sit down, refusing to imagine my mother as she balanced on a stepping stool and placed all the little boat figurines that my dad collected over the years on the top shelf of that bookcase. They still sit there to this day, one of the few reminders that she was ever here. Wicked Witch of the East got rid of practically everything else she owned, without once stopping to consider if I might want any of it.

  I squeeze my hands into fists, take a deep breath, and look up at my dad. He's on his computer, hardly giving me the time of day here.

  “I have something important that I need to talk to you about,” I tell him, my tone grave, my words quavering a little as my mind puzzles out how best to say this. I close my eyes and search for strength. If it's this hard to do this in front of my dad, how am I going to look at Walter across a table and tell him the same? “Dad.” Deep breath. “I've decided that I'm not going to marry Walter.”

  Okay, now he does look up, his wrinkled face turned down into a deep frown.

  “Della, don't be ridiculous,” he says and then refocuses back on his computer screen. My mouth gapes open.

  “Ridiculous? Dad, I don't love that man. In fact … I'm not even sure that I really like him. I'm sorry. I know how important this was to you, but I can't be happy in a marriage with Walter Virgil.”

  “Della.” Uh-oh. That's my dad's no-nonsense voice, the one he usually only whips out in boardrooms or at press conferences. When he rises to his feet, I know I'm in trouble. “I just made a multimillion dollar deal with Walter's company. And we already sold the Adders to him.” Not my idea, I want to add. I keep my mouth closed instead. “I'm not sure if you're aware, but your stepmother and I have been looking for a new house, with a generous gift from Walter. We're in escrow; we close next week. Don't you see? This family is already married to the Virgils. I'm sorry, Della, but this is beyond you at this point.”

  My mouth is practically dangling from the rest of my face as I stare at my dad in stunned disbelief. Did he … just tell me that I don't have a choice? Screw that.

  “Um, how is any of that my fault? I didn't even want to date Walter, or marry him. That was all you.”

  “What are you doing with your life, Della? Writing articles on the computer? You have yet to make a positive contribution to this family or the life I've blessed you with.”

  “That you and mom blessed me with. Or have you forgotten how she worked two jobs to get you through school?!” Tears spring up in my eyes and I try not to sob, wrapping my arms around my tummy to hold back a wave of nausea. Maybe it's the pregnancy? Or maybe I'm just in shock that my dad would say those kinds of things to me. “I don't owe you anything,” I say, looking up at him and trying to keep my voice strong.

  You can do this, Del!

  “Walter Virgil is not a man that you say no to, Della,” my dad snaps at me, nostrils flaring with rage. There's a knock at the door and then my stepmom moves into the room, blond hair coiffed, a real fur robe wrapped around her shoulders. When I was little, I was convinced she'd personally murdered puppies to make that thing, just like Cruella de Vil. Honestly, I still believe that.

  “What's going on? I heard shouting.”

  Liar, I think as I narrow my eyes at her. You were eavesdropping at the door.

  My stepmom tugs at her million dollar diamond earrings.

  “Della's up and decided that Walter's not good enough for her,” my dad roars, finally losing that famous temper of his as he storms around the desk and gets in my face with a raised finger. “You will marry that man.”

  “Says who?” I ask, feeling so sick I might throw up. “It's still a free country, isn't it?”

  “Della, this is not up for debate. You will marry Walter Virgil in the spring.”

  “The spring?!” I gasp because seriously? Not only can I not decide who I marry but also apparently not when. “That's ridiculous. I'm sorry, I don't know who you think you are, but you can't make me marry him.”

  My dad moves over to me, looming large even though he's barely an inch taller. He pins me against the back of the couch with his presence. My stepmom is right behind him, eyes wide, hand clutching her robe across her chest like she's just discovered a scandal. If it's a scandal she wants …

  “If you say a word about this to Walter, you'll be sorry. A man like that has the means to get what he wants, Della. There isn't a person in this world that says no to money like that.”

  “I'm pregnant,” I whisper and my stepmother gasps dramatically while my father's eyes pop out of his head.

  “With Walter's baby?” my stepmom asks. The quiver in her voice tells me she doesn't think it is.

  “No,” I say and the room is suddenly so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

  There's a long, quiet moment before Verna grabs my father's shoulder and squeezes it.

  “Reuben, step outside
for a minute and I'll handle this.” My dad nods as I blink confusedly up at the pair of them. My stepmom watches as my dad leaves the room and then turns a wicked glare down on me.

  “Now, for the life of me, I can't figure out why Walter wanted you,” the way she says that, I can hear the venom dripping from her lips, “instead of Reagan or Emery. It's beyond me, but guess what? For some reason, Walter likes you. This is the only thing that can save this family, Della.”

  “I'm sorry you feel that way,” I tell her, trying to gather my resolve around me. “But I won't marry a man I don't love just so you can have a bigger house and a nicer car.”

  When her hand strikes out and slaps me across the face, I gasp and then gape up at her in shock. I'm not prone to violence, but there's nothing in that moment I want more than to stand up and pummel the shorter woman to the floor.

  I rise to my feet and look down at her.

  “I could have you arrested for that,” I say but Verna doesn't look afraid. Why should she be? I'm just the fat loser stepkid she's been bossing around her entire life.

  “I have a doctor that's very discreet,” she says, like we're living in the year 1350 and being pregnant out of wedlock is worse than the bubonic plague. “We'll take care of that, and Walter never has to know.”

  “If I wanted an abortion, I'd go to Planned Parenthood in the shimmering sunlight with my back straight and my chin up. But guess what?” I say, my heart slamming into my rib cage like a drum. “I don't. I want this baby, more than anything else I've ever wanted.” As soon as I say the words, I know they're true, and I'm shocked to my core. Completely and utterly shocked. “So you and Dad and your snotty little daughters can eat shit.”

  I shove past her and storm out the door, tears streaming down my cheeks as I take the steps two at a time.

  “Della!” My dad's shouting at me from the top of the staircase.

  “Della, what's wrong?” Hal asks as I shoot past her and fly out the front door, down the porch steps, and over to the driver's side door of my Range Rover, slamming it shut hard before I peel out of the driveway.

  I'll be damned if I keep letting my family make decisions for me—especially about my baby.

  Mine and Rhoden's.

  Now I just need to figure out how to tell him about this.

  As soon as I get home, I strap Little Dick's leash on and take him down to the dog park. Just because I'm feeling like crap doesn't mean he should have to suffer. I cannot believe the nerve of that BITCH, I think as I reach up a hand and touch my fingers to the swollen redness of my cheek. Over the years that woman has perfected the art of slapping and it hurts.

  I sigh as I walk through the thin dusting of white fog on the sidewalk like a zombie, my mind preoccupied with the million little things I have to do. In the span of an instant, my life has been turned on its head.

  The suede boots I bought last week drag across the cement as I force myself to keep up with Little Dick as he makes a beeline for the gate and then explodes like a shot when I take the leash off. I drag my numb butt over to a picnic table and plop down on top of it when I realize that I'm not alone.

  Billy the Kid comes sprinting through the mist with a yellow-green tennis ball clutched in her mouth. A few seconds later, Rhoden's emerging in a pair of what are definitely Target jeans, and a black button-up over a white tee. He looks sexy and mature and put together.

  The complete opposite of what I'm feeling.

  But then, I know he's not really all that mature and put together, is he? He's a party boy who dates a different model every week, who gets fined tens of thousands of dollars for showboating, and who … is going to be a dad.

  A dad that's going to be shocked shitless when he finds out that I somehow magically got pregnant through a condom. It's that big dick of his, I think sourly, running my fingers through my curls. Probably broke the damn thing.

  “Della,” he says, like he's genuinely surprised to see me here. Wow. Yet another chance meeting? We seem to have fate on our side in spades. “Forget about it. For a second, I thought there might be something here, but I was wrong.” His words echo in my head again and I shake them off. “Are you alright? You look like shit.” He tries to smile to soften the joke, but it doesn't work. All I can do is clutch my hand over my tummy and stare at him.

  The words are desperate to come tumbling out of my mouth, but I hold them back. First, I break up with Walter. Then, I deal with this.

  But then I realize that I literally have no way of getting in contact with Rhoden; I don't have his number and I don't know which apartment is his.

  I'm pregnant with the guy's kid and I have no contact information for him?

  I groan and drop my forehead to my knees, glad that I'm still pseudo dressed up from dinner.

  “Rough day?” he asks, but I can't answer, can't force my lips to move without saying the P-word. “Is it Mr. Virgin again?”

  I laugh, but the sound is bitter and distant.

  “No, it's not. In fact, I'm planning on breaking up with him tomorrow.”

  Rhoden stiffens in front of me, his entire body going rigid at the statement.

  “What?”

  I look up and find his dark gaze laser focused on my own. I stare at him for a long moment, the distant sound of cars echoing in the background. Our street, though, is fairly quiet at this time of night.

  “Is it because of what I said at the party?” he asks, but I'm already shaking my head.

  “I decided before that, actually. To tell you the truth, I just kind of … I actually hate the guy a little bit.”

  Rhoden stares at me for a long time and takes a breath, looking away suddenly like the sight of me is too much for him to handle. This, the same guy who lifted me up and had sex with me while I was balanced precariously on a metal railing. Fine. Great. Whatever.

  “This isn't about us, is it?” I look up at him and try to read into the strange tone he's using. What the hell? I glance over at the dogs as they bow and leap at each other with faux growls, wrestling in a wiggling pile of fur and tails.

  “Actually, yeah, a little bit.” Rhoden cringes and I purse my lips tight. “I cheated on Walter three times with a guy I barely know. How does that bode well for a future marriage? He deserves better, especially since I find his company kind of … deplorable. I feel bad for my dad and my sisters, but it's not my job to sacrifice my happiness to keep them rich.”

  Rhoden sucks in a long sharp breath and digs his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

  “Me and you,” he says and my heart skips a beat. “We can't be together. You know that, right?” I stare at him in shock, a sharp pain dancing through my chest. I didn't … I wasn't at all thinking that Rhoden and I would be together, but for him to just say it like that …

  “You're a fucking dick,” I snap at him, putting my fingers to my lips and whistling hard. Surprisingly, Little Dick comes running.

  “If you're breaking up with Walter because of me, you should reconsider.”

  “Go to hell,” I tell him with a mean half-smile on my face. Once again, I consider telling him about the pregnancy, but I decide against it. I don't want to tell him in anger; I'll wait till our charity date and tell him there, give him some options. He can be a part of this kid's life or not, his choice.

  “I'm sorry, Della,” he tells me as I turn and he reaches out and grabs my upper arm, his fingers warm against my bicep. I jerk myself from his grip and storm off toward the gate, taking the puppy with me.

  Oh, and I'm so totally changing the dog's name.

  I dress up for my date with Walter. I feel like if I'm comfortable in what I'm wearing, if I feel good about myself, it'll make this easier.

  I sit down and type up a quick blog post before I go. Like I said, I've been using this site as my diary for years. It's been beyond helpful getting me to open up.

  Tonight, I'm dressing to the nines, folks. I've got to do something hard, really hard. One of the hardest things I've ever done to be hon
est with you. But I decided I would take my life into my own hands, make my own decisions.

  Tonight, I'll prove it.

  P.S. I'm wearing a fit and flare dress in green and white, a pair of Manolo Blahnik polka dot heels, and a white leather motorcycle jacket. I'll upload pictures when I get home!

  The laptop lid snaps shut as I take a breath and hear a knock on the door. When I stand up, I check my dress, making sure the knee-length fabric is wrinkle free, that my tights have no runs, that I can still remember how to breathe.

  I check my purse and make sure the ring is still in there, so I can give it back to Walter later. Just so he doesn't get suspicious from the get-go, I slip it out and put it on, moving over to the door and answering it with a smile.

  Walter's there in his usual twenty thousand dollar suit and loafers, his hair slicked back and shiny, the scent of cologne wafting around me in a cloud. He gives me a peck on the cheek and offers his arm.

  “It's so good to see you,” he tells me, admiring my outfit. Conservative enough for you, you prude? I smile back at him and pat his hand, my nerves climbing up into my throat and making me want to choke. I was going to wait until after dessert to tell him, but then I decide I won't make it past the appetizers.

  A tiny niggling part of my conscious wonders if my family said anything to Walter last night or this morning. I mean, I'd hope they wouldn't, but it feels more like they're engaged to him than I am. Wouldn't necessarily surprise me if they'd already talked.

  But Walter seems jovial enough, leading me into the elevator and discussing how my father's eco-friendly farming equipment is revolutionizing the way Donsanto is doing business. It sounds more like he's talking to a boardroom full of stockholders than to his fiancée, but that's okay. This part of my life is almost over and I couldn't be more excited. An entire year of sitting with my dad and Walter while they ignored me and talked over me and disregarded my opinions was a year too long.

  “After you,” he says when we reach the lobby, gesturing for me to move ahead of him and then catching up with his hands in his pockets. I crook an eyebrow because this Walter is the friendliest, most talkative version of the man I've ever met.