Claiming Her_A Romance Collection

by R. R. Banks

  Suddenly her voice comes through the door, startling me out of my thoughts.

  "Child, you're going to wear a rut down in the marble doing that."

  "I'm sorry, Gigi," I say.

  "Don't be sorry," she says. "If you do, I'll just fill it with water and call it a moat. Come on in."

  I step into the apartment and fill my lungs with the smell of my grandmother. It smells just like my childhood and comforting memories of long afternoons and sleepovers spent in this space with her wash over me. My friends always thought I was silly for talking about having a sleepover with my grandmother when she lived in the same house with me, but that's how it felt. Walking through the door to her apartment was like leaving the rest of the house and going somewhere completely different. It still feels that way now as I walk into her living room. Gigi's on the floor in front of her television, wearing iridescent tights and approximately a single yard of neon pink Lycra turned into a death-defyingly high cut leotard with a bright purple belt around her waist. She doesn't turn to look at me as I approach, but stretches her legs out in front of her and lifts one by the ankle, bending it at the knee and reaching her head in the direction of her calf.

  "What are you doing?" I ask.

  "Yoga," she says. "Haven't you heard? It's all the rage now."

  "Gigi, I think yoga has been all the rage for a few thousand years."

  "Not around here, it hasn't."

  That’s a good point.

  "I'm not sure I recognize that position. What are you trying to do?"

  "I'm trying," she says with a strained voice as she pulls her ankle and tucks her head deeper, "to put my legs behind my head."

  "Why would you want to do that?"

  "For fun," she replies. "I saw a video with one of those super bendy, skinny, diaper-wearing yogis and he had both his legs thrown behind his head like it was no big deal. They were all crossed up and he just sat there on his mat like a totally at peace pretzel. I decided that being a pretzel might help me get a little closer to enlightenment, but even if it doesn't, it's still a pretty good party trick."

  I laugh. "How's that been working out for you?"

  "So far I can't even get one back there."

  "How long have you been trying?"

  "Since Tuesday," she says.

  Suddenly her slightly shuffling gait makes more sense.

  "Well, I'm sure the yogi didn't learn it in a week. You've got plenty of time."

  She drops her leg and looks at me.

  "You're right," she says. "I'll keep working on it. So, what brings you by, sugar plum? I've been listening to you pacing around out there. I thought you'd worry yourself into a fit."

  "I still might," I say.

  Gigi has been trying to get herself into yet another complicated pose, but now she stops and looks at me questioningly.

  "Why would you say that?" she asks.

  My hands start to shake again, and I can already feel tears welling in my eyes.

  "Gigi, there's something I have to tell you."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Olivia

  "You went to her first?" my mother asks, obviously hurt.

  "And why wouldn't she?" Gigi snaps. "I am her grandmother, after all."

  "And I'm her mother. She should have told me first about something like this.”

  "What if she had? What if you were the first person she came to right after she left the doctor's office? Would you be as calm, put together, and supportive as you are right now?"

  My mother stops the pacing she's been doing since the minute she heard me say the word pregnant, and tosses the handkerchief she's been wringing between her hands on to the coffee table.

  "I don't know how I would have acted," she says." I didn't get a chance."

  "Is this about Olivia and this baby, or is it about you, Annabelle?"

  "Calm down, Gretchen," my father says from where he sits on the couch with his elbows propped on his knees, his hands rubbing against each other.

  He tends to talk to my grandmother that way, seeming to forget that she was the one who started a tiny fledgling business that quickly developed into the powerful empire he now runs. His family was only moderately successful compared to her, and it wasn't until he married my mother that he really experienced luxury, privilege, and influence. It understandably infuriates her.

  "Don't tell me to calm down. Do you want to know the real reason Olivia came to me first rather than going to either one of you?"

  "Yes," Mama says, on the brink of tears.

  "Because she was afraid of how the two of you are going to react. This little girl is absolutely terrified that the daddy she adores is going to turn his back on her because of this. She is scared her mother is going to look down on her and change how she feels about her because of this one little thing."

  "You have to admit," my mother says, "this is not just some little thing.”

  "Nothing's big enough to change the fact that Olivia is your daughter and deserves for you to love and respect her."

  I hold my grandmother's hand tight. The conversation with her was even easier and better than I could have hoped for. There wasn't a single second that I felt judged or like she thought any less of me. Even when I told her about Vincent.

  "Who's the father, Olivia?" my father asks.

  My mother's eyes widen.

  "What do you mean, who's the father? Obviously, Philip is the father, though I really believed he is the type of respectable young gentleman who I could trust with my daughter."

  "He is," I say. "I mean, he is the type of respectable young gentleman you can trust with your daughter."

  "You don't mean…"

  I shake my head.

  "Philip isn't the father."

  "Then who is?" Daddy asks.

  I let out a slow breath.

  "A man I met at the resort on Catalina Island."

  "When you went with Charlene?" he asks.

  "Just some man you met at a resort?" my mother interjects, clearly horrified.

  "He's not just some man," I say, feeling cornered and needing to defend myself.

  "Then who is he?"

  "I don't really know," I admit.

  "You don't really know? What was it, a masked one-night stand?"

  Now it's my turn to be horrified that a thought like that would even exist in my mother's mind.

  "It wasn't like that," I say. "We spent nearly my whole vacation together. It was only one time."

  My mother throws her hands up in the air.

  "I don't need to hear this," she cries.

  I suddenly feel like I’m back to being a teenager and it makes me furious.

  "I'm a grown fucking woman, Mother."

  "Olivia!" she gasps, pressing her hand over her heart.

  I hear Gigi's muffled laughter and feel strengthened. If nothing else, at least I know she is on my side.

  "You're talking to me like I'm a child. Yes, I made a mistake. Yes, I did something I shouldn't have done with someone I probably shouldn't have done it with. But like it or not, I'm in my twenties. I'm an adult and adults have sex. Most of them a hell of a lot more than I have."

  "You don't need to be so coarse," my father gently reminds me.

  "She can do whatever she wants," Gigi snaps. "Like she said, she's an adult, and she's pissed off for two now. Let her get it out. It's not going to do any good for her to keep it bottled up."

  "I really cared about Vincent," I tell them, trying to swallow the tears. "I know that probably doesn't mean anything to you or change anything, but it's true. We might not be together now, but he wasn't just a random hookup."

  "But he's a stranger, Olivia. A couple of weeks doesn't tell you anything about a person."

  "Pffft." Gigi makes a dismissive sound. "I knew your father less than that," she says.

  Mama straightens and tilts her head at her own mother. Obviously, this information is new to her.

  "Papa? You knew Papa for less than a couple of weeks when you
knew you were in love with him?"

  "Not your Papa," Gigi says. "I said your father."

  Mama's mouth falls open and choking sounds come out of her throat. I'm worried she's going to faint.

  "Papa wasn't my father?" she finally manages to squeak.

  "No, he was, but that makes you feel a whole fucking lot better about Olivia, doesn't it?"

  My mother's face goes from ghastly pale to bright scarlet in half a second.

  "That's not funny, Mother."

  "It wasn't meant to be funny. It was meant to make a point. And no, I didn't fall in love with your father in just a couple of weeks, but I certainly wasn't married when we made our first baby. I carried your brother Albert right down that aisle with me. And trust me, there isn't enough white taffeta and tulle on this planet to cover up a bride with morning sickness and an aversion to wedding cake."

  My mother sits down hard on the ottoman positioned close to my father. She looks like she has just about reached her limit of what she can take in during one afternoon.

  "But at least you had known him for a long time," she says, working hard to take the sting out of finding out her mother was pregnant at her own wedding. "You two had been courting for years. Being an unwed mother carrying a baby that belongs to someone she barely even knows, however, is a completely different situation. This is the stuff life-altering scandals are made of. It isn't just about Olivia. This could put the reputation of the entire family, even the business, at risk. And right now, we can't afford any more difficulty with the business."

  Those words fall like stones into my stomach.

  "Is there something going on with the business?" I ask.

  My father waves his hand in front of him like he's dismissing the whole thing.

  "Nothing for you to worry about."

  "Mama wouldn't have mentioned it if it wasn't something to worry about."

  "There have just been a few discrepancies in the last couple of months."

  "What do you mean discrepancies?"

  He shakes his head and now waves both hands, trying to wipe away the topic as fast as he can.

  "I said it's nothing for you to worry about, and that's what I meant. There are other things you need to be thinking about right now."

  "Do you plan on telling the father?" Gigi asks gently.

  It's a leading question. We already talked about this issue in her apartment, but she knows my parents are thinking the same thing and it will come out gentler if she asks.

  "I don't know," I say honestly. "I have no idea how he would feel about the idea of a family or even only a child. It's not something we ever talked about."

  "That much is obvious," my mother snorts derisively.

  Gigi gets to her feet and takes a step toward my mother, who looks locked in place.

  "Now, you listen to me. I know you think you are something really special and can perch on your little throne high above anyone else, but let me tell you something. All this," she gestured to the house around her, "is because of me. I grew up dirt poor where the wrong side of the tracks would be a step up in the world. Everything you have and the status that's so important to you all came from the acid-widened mind of a hippie who lived more in a few years riding in the back of a van than most people do in their entire lives."

  "My determination to see it grow is how I found your father. And no, we didn't 'court' for years. We danced and traveled and had sex and smoked and protested and loved. We got married when I was pregnant and had dreams of a family. Then the business got bigger and more successful, and soon his way of life overshadowed mine and we came back to reality. As much as I had introduced him to my experiences, he taught me what it meant to be secure, responsible, and in charge of something. We took literally nothing and built this life. And like so many of the flower children before me, I ended up with a yuppie for a daughter. Except you didn't care so much about having your own career in the business as you did finding a man who would. And you most certainly did."

  "So, I should be ashamed of my status and success?" my mother asks.

  "No. I would never want you to feel ashamed. But you should remember where you come from and know every family who turns their nose up has something in their past they might not want people to remember or to think about. For every debutant, chivalrous man, and virginal blushing bride you see, there's a dirty hippie making love in the mud. I don't care what you think of the choices Olivia has made. I don't adore her any less and I applaud her for even having the courage to do what she’s planning. I didn't really have all that far to fall from grace when I was making mistakes. She does, yet she's brave enough to try. I'm telling you right now that we're not going to let her fall, and even if she does, we are going to be here to catch her. No one is going to treat her any differently. By the time this baby comes, it’s going to be seen as the blessing it is, do you understand me? And if you have a problem with it, then Olivia can just come live with me."

  "In your apartment?" I ask.

  I don't really understand how moving a few hundred feet through the house will make a difference.

  "No," Gigi says. "I've been thinking recently that I've been cooped up in this house for too long and I need a change of pace. I'm planning on going to stay at the country house for the season and maybe into the new year. You can come with me. The fresh air and relaxation will be good for you and the baby. Speaking of which, I don't think we should tell the father."

  The way my grandmother says 'we' warms my heart and puts me more at ease. I’m still scared but at least I know I'm not alone.

  "I don't, either."

  "What?" my father says. "You're just not going to tell him?"

  "All I know about him is what I learned during those three weeks. I don't know anything about his family or where he grew up. I don't even know his last name." I leave out that one of the things I do know about him is his ability to be unrepentantly vicious. "I don't know how he would react to the baby or our family. I think it would be a benefit to me, and to the rest of us, if we don't involve him."

  "I agree," Gigi says. "There's no need for him. We'll raise this baby as a family. It will have more than enough love and everything else it could ever need."

  "And when someone inevitably asks about the father?" Mama asks.

  "We don't have to tell them anything," Gigi says. "We're under no obligation to justify Olivia or any of her decisions to anyone. If we must, we tell the truth. The baby is a product of a hopeful relationship that didn't continue. That's all they need to know."

  "What about Philip?" Daddy asks.

  "I'll tell him," I say. "I'll find a way to explain it to him as gently as possible. He'll know it isn't his. It can't be. And if there are any questions from anyone else, it should be fairly obvious when the baby is born. The father looks nothing like Philip."

  For the first time I imagine a baby in my arms that looks like Vincent. I imagine it will have his dark hair and find myself hopeful that it will have his dark, soulful eyes.

  "You better prepare yourself for a challenging road ahead," my father says. "Even with us behind you, this is not going to be easy."

  "I know," I say, nodding. "And to that end, I think I will take Gigi up on her offer to go live with her at the country house. It will be good for me, and it will give you time to process all of this."

  Gigi takes my hand and helps me up from the chair where I've perched stiffly at the edge throughout the conversation.

  "We should start packing then."

  We walk out of the room, and I feel a shift in my life. Part of me hates the decision I've just made. Vincent deserves to know about his child, and the baby deserves to know it's father. At the same time, I barely know anything about the man, much less what kind of father he would be. After everything I've gone through, I don't have it in me to deal with the drama of facing the possibility that he might exploit me and his position as the baby's father to gain access to our business, influence, and money. After what he's already done, I can't tak
e the risk. I'm also struggling with the intense feelings for him that haven't quite disappeared yet, and have only increased since our final, painful interaction weeks ago. I can't imagine how hard it would be to have him around and involved with the baby but not as my partner.

  As hard and confusing as this all is, though, I walk into my bedroom and start taking clothes from my closet with confidence and a sense of peace. I will likely always feel torn about my decision, but I owe it to my family to not cause them any more difficulty than I already have. I know that society will bristle at the sudden pregnancy with an unnamed father and a single mother, but I feel it's better to be strong and independent and willing to face that storm than to have my family dragged through the mud. I have to accept that we weren't meant to be and that my new path in life is to be the best possible mother to this baby.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Charlene

  Two years later…

  "Do you think she's actually going to show up?"

  I glance at Tia over my shoulder and laugh, before turning back to watch the woman in front of me paint my nails. Each stroke has to be absolutely perfect. I have an important event tonight and I can't show up with a messy manicure. I can't wait for everyone to see who my date is.

  "You can't be serious."

  "She was invited," Tia points out, lifting one hand to check out her own manicure. "I'd think she would at least come to the engagement party for one of her dearest friends."

  I don't even bother to try to conceal the smile that comes to my lips.

  "She was invited, sure," I say. "But that doesn't mean she's actually going to show up. We haven't seen her in almost two years. I would hardly say that qualifies as her still being one of our dearest friends. Oldest, maybe, but not dearest. I still don't understand why Sandra invited her in the first place."