by P. Dangelico
“Calvin has cold feet,” my mother adds.
“He does not have cold feet, Ma. He flat out does not want children. He’s told me a million times.”
“He should’ve thought of that before––”
“Thomas,” my mother cuts in.
“It’s not his fault, Dad. You see…uhhh…well, Calvin had a vasectomy. We’re both shocked that this happened.”
Confusion blankets my father’s face. “Is this a prank? Is this some kind of Youtube challenge thing?”
“This is not a prank, Dad. Nor is it a Youtube challenge thing. Sometimes, after a vasectomy, an opening can develop in the…umm…vasa that allows sperm to get through.”
Shit, this is awkward.
“So we’re going to have a baby?” Dad reiterates.
“Yes.”
“Calvin will come around. You’ll see.”
“Don’t count on it, Ma. He’s very stubborn and very committed to what he wants. He doesn’t take this lightly. I don’t want you to blame him if he never comes around.”
“Camilla, sometimes people don’t know what they want until they have it.”
“I hope you’re right, Ma. I really hope so.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hot September nights roll into brisk October days. All along the Palisades, high above the mighty Hudson River, trees are turning so many different shades of red to yellow that they put Pantone to shame. Shortly after Cal’s visit, the Titans’ started losing. Although their season isn’t a total loss just yet; they’re still in second place within their division.
I know Cal is training hard, focusing on work, doing what he’s always done to manage all the emotion he has no idea what to do with. Most days I love and miss and worry about him, praying that in time he’ll come to his senses. Other days I want to buy a ski mask, dress in black, and break into his house to gut him like a feral pig.
Over three weeks have past since the scene at Amber’s place. Meanwhile, I haven’t received a single text, or email from him. My mother’s convinced he just needs time to have his ‘come to Jesus’ moment. I’m not so sure. If Calvin is anything, he’s stubborn and committed. When he makes his mind up about something, nothing gets in the way. That’s what worries me most.
“Camilla Ava Maria DeSantis.” I turn at the sound of a sexy masculine voice. Chuckling, I counter with, “Ethan Fancy McButterPants Vaughn.” I get a heated glare for using Amber’s new nickname for him.
He walks up and hugs me, throwing a heavy arm around my neck as we stroll lazily through Central Park on the way to Sarabeth’s.
Ethan’s been great. I’m not sure if Cal put him up to it, but he found me a part time teaching position. And I’ve already been on a couple of interviews for full time positions. When I explained what an impossible feat that was, he smirked and said I needed to stop underestimating people. He may be right.
“You’re getting fat,” he says and rubs my teeny tiny bump. I slap his hand away.
“If I didn’t love you so much, I’d get Amber to kick you in the nuts.” He feigns fright and I laugh at his dramatics. “That’s how we became best friends, you know. She beat up Jimmy Murphy for me. I’m sure he’s still feeling it.”
“How’s the job?” The part time gig is at a tony, uptown private school. It pays well, and more importantly, I’m back to doing what I love. With the baby coming, time and money will be in short supply.
Central Park is packed. All around us, skaters and cyclist zip by, women push designer strollers while jogging, and people parade their dogs around. I can’t help noticing all the couples out with their kids. Ethan notices it, too.
“Amazing. I can’t ever thank you enough.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll find a way for you to thank me.” He smirks suggestively, and I swat him. Avoiding his perceptive gaze, I say, “Are you going to make me ask?”
Ethan exhales loudly and rubs the back of his neck. “Not good. He got in a fight with Harper the other day at practice.” At this, my head snaps in his direction, shock splashed across my face. For all of Calvin’s grumpiness, he never gets violent. There could be mayhem swirling around him and he remains calm and in control, no doubt it has something to do with growing up with eight siblings in a doublewide trailer. “I’ve never seen him like this, not even when he found out Kim was screwing around.”
“What happened?”
“Don’t know. He barely speaks to me. He’s not returning any of Barry’s calls, either. It’s starting to worry his teammates.” Ethan stops walking and turns to look at me. “Let me force the paternity test. Come on, Cam.”
“No.” I start walking again. There’s no way I’m going to coerce an apology, or a reconciliation with a paternity test. He had to come to that decision on his own. “He needs to trust me. If he can’t do that then he doesn’t know me. And if he doesn’t know me, he doesn’t really love me.”
Cal and I have glaring trust issues, no surprise there––with our past, it’s impossible not to––however, I’ve made a conscious effort not to let it influence my future. I would never make Cal pay for what Matt did, and I sure as shit am not about to pay for Kim’s sins either. I turn when I realize Ethan is no longer walking next to me. “Are you coming?”
“I have a charity thing Saturday night,” he grumbles. “Will you be my date?”
“How the heck are you ever going to get laid when you show up to an event with a pregnant woman on your arm?” Life’s sense of humor makes an appearance with impeccable timing. A tall, blond chick with a perfect body rollerblades past us, her head swiveling to get a good look at my smokin’ hot friend. “Hey, baby,” she croons.
“Who says I’m not getting laid?”
The look of pure delighted surprise on my face checks him.
“Oooo, tell me all the sordid details,” I purr, wringing my hands. “And don’t leave out any of really filthy parts.” At this, he looks pained.
“They’re not really all that filthy.”
“Well then make some up, for goodness sake!”
He throws his arm around my shoulders and says, “Okay, but I need fuel if I’m gonna do this right.”
I practically jog to Sarabeth’s. Because single and desperately horny pregnant women need to get it any way they can.
“Do I look fat?”
“Only around the belly,” says my best friend. I give her the finger because I can. I’m allowed to be irritable when I’m feeling vulnerable and large and being forced to dress up. Looking in the floor length mirror, I decide that this is as good as it’s going to get. The black jersey Donna Karan gown that fit me perfectly for years still does––everywhere except the middle. I left my hair down. Though I don’t think it’s going to distract from the girth.
“Wassup, Fancy McButterPants,” Amber shouts at poor Ethan, who is patiently waiting for me to find my cellphone. She walks from her bedroom to the kitchen in a pair of super small t-shirt shorts and a thin tank top. She’s always been pretty carefree about her body because there isn’t much of it.
As I’m digging into my tote for my cellphone, I watch Ethan’s eyes track her across the room with an equal mix of naked fear and fascination on his face. He thinks he’s being discreet about it. Yeah, as discreet as a sledgehammer. Men, smh. Before Amber can do irreparable damage to Ethan’s self worth, I grab my purse and push him out the door.
“What event is this again?” I ask him once I’m safely buckled in his Audi and we’re on our way.
“You know––the event for pediatrics cancer research. You’ve never looked more beautiful, by the way.” Something in my gut churns uncomfortably and it’s not a baby. More like suspicion.
“Nice try, counselor. But you know those shenanigans don’t work on me.” His grin spreads from ear to ear. “The one Mrs. Davis founded?” Mrs. Davis––the wife of the owner of the Titans. I get a small nod in reply. As soon as we step into the Metropolitan Club, my suspicion is confirmed. Many of the Titans players are in atten
dance.
“What the hell is going on? Why are the guys here?”
Ethan has the grace to look guilty. “Mrs. Davis planned it for the bye week.”
Across the room, a man as beautiful as sin stands in a corner by himself, staring absently into space––the weight of the world on his broad shoulders.
Oh for the love of…
His head turns and a pair of unblinking crystal clear gray eyes take me in from head to toe. My stomach flips just looking at him. No one ever tells you that being in love feels a heck of a lot like food poising. He needs a haircut again, it’s curling around his ears, and his jaw is covered with scruff. God forbid he should actually use a razor. I can’t take my eyes off of him, of course.
“I’m going to the bar,” Ethan mumbles. I don’t even have time to lay into him; the coward leaves skid marks. As Cal gets closer, I can see the faint yellow-green ring around his eye. Looks like Harper got a good shot in. I’m secretly pleased at this. Before Cal reaches me, the wife of one of the younger players approaches, a very bubbly blond I remember meeting at the charity carnival held at team facilities. She chatters on, jumping from topic to topic while her eyes flicker to my stomach. It was either wear a dress that shows off the bump, or a tent that makes me look like a whale. I sense when she can no longer pretend she doesn’t see it.
“Are you…are you pregnant?”
Awkward. What do I say when the congratulations start? And do I admit it’s Calvin’s? Right about now, I want to take a running start and punch Ethan in the face.
“Eight weeks,” I answer and hope she leaves it at that. Scanning the room, I find Ethan and head over to the bar area. “Cindy, will you excuse me for a moment? I have to ask my date something.” I’m gone before she has a chance to respond, undoubtedly leaving behind a wake of confusion.
At the bar, I tap Ethan on the elbow. The bartender hands him a beer and, turning, he drapes his arm around my neck. For the first time ever, his open show of affection makes me a tad uncomfortable, seeing that we’re under surveillance.
“He’s watching,” I murmur.
“I know,” he whispers in my ear. Goodness this man is devious. I really need to get him and Amber together. Although that may be like pairing up chaos and mayhem, or shock and awe…or Cagney and Lacy.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” My eyes are glued to the stormy expression on Cal’s face as he stalks in our direction. One of the defensive players is about to say something to Ethan when Cal reaches us.
“Beat it, Simms.” The glare does the trick. Simms walks away shaking his head. His eyes skip between Ethan’s arm and me. “What the hell is going on here?”
Oh no, he didn’t...
He’s standing with his legs spread apart and his arms crossed, his biceps bulging through the fine wool of his suit. At the moment, I’m not sure what I want most, to kiss him senseless, or castrate him and wear his balls around my neck.
“Cal––”
“Shut up, E.” His scowl, though, remains directed at me. “Ethan go away.”
“Ethan don’t you dare.”
“I haven’t heard from your lawyer, yet.”
And there it is, the opening salvo. If he was trying to get a rise out of me, he just succeeded. “Really? You want to do this here? With Mr. and Mrs. Davis watching?” I say through gritted teeth.
“Wasn’t that your plan?”
I can’t…I can’t keep trying to deal rationally with an irrational man.
“My plan?” Rage is taking over. I can feel it. I’m going Hulk on his ass. “My plan was to live a quiet, drama free life. But then you come along with your perfect ass, and your sulky mouth, and your goddam leaky pipes! You wanna blame someone, Cal? Blame your shoddy surgeon!”
I’m so frigging angry and frustrated right now that I may do and say something I’ll regret, so I turn to Ethan and say, “I’m out of here. Please tell this larger-than-life-size prick that he can take every red cent he has and shove it. Any further communication can be sent through you.” Then I turn to the prick in question, point to Ethan, and say, “Meet my lawyer,” and walk away.
I get as far as the coat check when the noise of a large man moving fast finds me. He swipes my coat from the poor coat check girl with one hand, startling her, and grabs my arm with the other.
“Get your filthy hands off of me.” He rears back a little and releases my arm. I grab my coat from him and he follows me out onto the sidewalk. Except for the limos and SUVs lining the street, it’s blessedly empty.
“I’ll drive you home.” His attitude is much more subdued.
Good choice.
“The hell, you will,” I say raising my arm to hail a cab.
“Don’t be stupid. You’re not riding in a cab in your condition.”
“What condition would that be?!”
“Calm down.”
Whhhhyyyyy? Why would anyone in his or her right mind say calm down to an angry hormonal woman?
“Did Harper knock the last bit of sense out of you? Don’t tell me to calm down when you’ve been acting like a frigging lunatic for two months now!”
His fingers go to the bruise under his eye, touching it gingerly. He doesn’t respond, just stares like he’s waiting for something. An inspiration from God? Who the hell knows what goes on inside this man’s head, but the silence continues. In exasperation, I turn my back to him.
Where the hell are all the cabs in Manhattan when you need one??
“I miss you.” His voice is low and quiet. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. “Did you hear me? I miss you so much it’s physically painful.”
“Whose fault is that?” Okay, so I’m being bitchy. But come on…after what he’s put me through. He’s standing close, radiating body heat and a surfeit of emotion.
“How do you feel?”
The urge to turn and drink in the sight of him is greater than my willpower and my common sense. He looks so forlorn that I almost feel bad for him. Almost. I love this man, this man that may never come around, may never realize what a gift we’ve been given. I try to cross my arms in front and find it impossible with my new gargantuan breasts so I drop them.
“Fine. Just…swollen,” I grumble.
“You look…” He takes a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. “You’ve never looked more beautiful.”
Why doesn’t he just punch me in the heart? It couldn’t have hurt more. This man does not hand out compliments. I’ve accepted that about him. And, quite frankly, respect the heck out of it because the ones he does so meagerly dole out, mean that much more.
We stand there quietly a little longer; I refuse to be the one to cave. In the meantime, his eyes move over every inch of me, noting all the changes. His hands tighten into fists by his sides. Then, before I can even consider what to allow or not allow, he reaches for me, slips his warm hand around my neck, and holds me in place for the sweetest kiss he’s ever given me.
It’s tentative and searching, tasting of raw pain and love. My brain short circuits. I completely lose the ability to reason and melt in his arms. With all his faults, I still love him more than is wise and more than my pride. However, love can’t thrive without trust and the thought of him not trusting me kills my amorous mood. I pull away and he lets me. Watching me intently, he waits for me to speak. It’s now or never.
“You know what hurts the most? That you don’t know me, that you believe I would deceive you for money––for money, Cal.” He’s shaking his head before I even finish the sentence. He runs his fingers through his hair and rubs his temples.
“I was mad. I know you wouldn’t––”
“Calvin,” I say, cutting him off. “I love you beyond measure. I know I’m hanging out on a limb here, but I’m willing to risk the fall because I can’t live with regret. I’ve lived with too much of it already and the cost is too rich for my blood. Regardless of the past, I choose to trust you. I’m making that choice knowing that you’re human and you may disappoint and
hurt me, and that’s okay too because you’re worth it.
“I certainly didn’t plan for this baby. But I’m not gonna lie, I couldn’t be any happier about it. Now you can either get on board, or walk away for good. The choice is yours. But make no mistake, nothing will stop me from ensuring that this kid feels loved and treasured––I will not have you fuck with that. Got it? Make a choice and commit to it.”
A myriad of emotions cross Cal’s face. Lady Luck is on my side tonight. I’m about to walk away when a cab pulls up. With his hands shoved in the pockets of his pants, he doesn’t make a move or say anything as I shut the door. And yet, something tells me that my words will remain with him long after I’m gone.
Chapter Thirty
Two days later, Amber and I are kicking back on her couch, eating dinner while we wait for Monday Night Football to start. While she’s flipping through channels at warp speed, I’m busy inhaling my pasta with broccoli with one hand and rubbing my bump with the other. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. What’s that about? Anyhow, I’m busy doing stuff when a familiar voice grabs my attention. Not missing a thing, my very clever friend flips back to ESPN.
“My legacy?” Calvin murmurs to the reporter. He’s dressed in his practice uniform, the helmet hanging from his fingertips. He wipes his sweaty brow and squints in the distance. He looks lost, rudderless and adrift. Unhappy. It kills me to see him like this. “That’s not up to me to decide. My legacy is how I’m remembered by everyone else…by the people I love, and the ones that love me.”
Did I just hear him right? The bottom has fallen out of my stomach. The pasta doesn’t taste nearly as good on the way up as it did on the way down.
“Did I just hear him right?” I say, covering my mouth.
“If you’re referring to the people I love comment, then yes,” Amber faithfully reports.
He’s looking directly into the camera, and it feels like, directly at me. Then he walks off screen, leaving the reporter stunned at his sudden departure.
“Men are so fucking dumb. No wonder they believe they rule the world.”
