by Fran Louise
“Just press that button over there,” the doorman said. “Enter six-three for Mr. Fitzsimmons. He’ll send the elevator down for you.”
He had his own elevator? I stared at the doorman for a hot second of disbelief before nodding. How long had Jay lived here? To think we’d spent the best part of three months wrapped up together in that tiny apartment of mine in Brooklyn back in the day… and why had he been staying at the Four Seasons when this was here, for that matter?
It was with a million burning questions that I pressed a button next to the elevators. A screen flickered to life above it. I stared at the rolling ‘Please Wait’ text, wondering, worrying, when suddenly Jay’s distracted profile was staring back at me. The noise in my head quietened for a moment as I took in his handsome features.
“It’s me,” I said, inanely.
His brows lifted. “So it is.”
The elevator doors next to me swished open with an entitled ping.
“Come on up,” he said.
I smiled, feeling foolish, and pushed the pram into the elevator.
The doors opened on to a hallway floored with cream marble. An antique chair and a console table sat against the staid wall. There were two doors, one at either end of the hall. I stood for a second, staring between the two before the one on the left opened. Jay, dressed in suit pants and an open-necked white shirt, appeared in the doorway. His eyes flickered over me for only the briefest of seconds before dropping to the pushchair.
I resisted the urge to blow out a breath. Why did he have to look so fucking together all the time? Harried after the move yesterday and a fractured night’s sleep, his sleek, effortless gleam—something that usually attracted me—was irritating.
“Come in,” he said, his voice polite.
I turned the pushchair and approached him. “Do you want me to leave this out here?”
His brows lifted. “Do you normally leave her outside?”
An abrupt, faintly hysterical laugh escaped me. “Not Nina, the pushchair,” I said.
His brows inverted. “Whatever you think,” he said, clearly at a loss. “Do you need it?”
Pulling myself together despite the nervous urge to keep laughing, I looked around at the pristine hallway and the apartment inside. The floors were parquet, so no carpet to dirty, even if the place did seem a bit sterile. “I’ll bring it in,” I said. “She’ll need a nap soon, anyway.”
Once we were inside, he stared at the tiny body in the pram for a moment before looking at me. His eyes flicked over my features. I wondered if he was looking for likenesses. Considering he’d presumed I’d just suggested leaving her in the hallway, I guessed he didn’t have a lot of experience around babies. This had to be an absolute trip for him. Was he awed or terrified, or just uncomfortable? I couldn’t tell a thing from his blank expression.
“Follow me,” he said, turning. He made his way down the hallway.
The walls were a pale blue colour, the woodwork pristine white; ornate light fittings and dark wood furnishings gave it the feel of a Georgian mansion. In fact, I had the sense of being in a museum, the air just as barren and odourless. In the midst of this, Jay seemed aloof. He had the same kind of unmarred polish, I realised with a start—today, at any rate. It was the untouchable brand of success that people were only ever born with.
The pram wheels turning in slow, gritty circles on the parquet was like nails across a blackboard. I wanted to cringe. Like we were a dirty secret, as we glided down the hall past one door and then another, I had a sense of being rushed through the house unseen.
He finally stopped at a door at the end of the hall—the study. He gestured for us to enter and then closed the door behind us. The feeling intensified. A guest should be shown into the living area, surely, not the study. The study was a place where people went to take care of business.
That said, the room was marginally less oppressive than the rest of the apartment. Pale grey, it had open windows looking out over the park, and the mussed air of a home. Books littered the shelves and the desk was covered with devices and papers and all manner of random bits and pieces. I noticed, however, a distinct lack of family photographs.
I glanced at him, wondering, not for the first time, who he was. It was surreal that this man’s family was Nina’s family. I might know his body intimately; I might know how he liked his coffee in the mornings: I might know that he slept naked, and always on his side, but I had no idea where he came from. There was a strange woman out there somewhere who was my daughter’s grandmother. I suddenly realised that the boorish, arrogant man I’d seen getting a blow-job from his P.A. was her grandfather.
“Take a seat,” he said, and I did so gratefully, my head spinning again. He tossed an expensive-looking phone down on the desk with disregard. “Do you need anything?” He frowned into the pram. “Does she?”
I gathered my wits. “Nina,” I said, pointedly.
He nodded.
“I’d like to see the test results,” I said, uncomfortable already. I angled the pushchair towards me. Sure enough Nina’s large eyes were hooded with fatigue; she looked ready to pass out.
He moved to the desk and rummaged in some papers. “Here,” he said, and handed me a standard letter sized sheet of paper. He was doing his best not to stare at the small occupant inside the pram but I could see his eyes being dragged back there time and again as though magnetised. He didn’t seem altogether entranced; he had the kind of look people often had when watching a crazy person loose in the street.
Shelving the ambivalent swirl of troubled emotions this stirred up on me, I turned my attention to the piece of paper. Imagen Technologies was printed in bold at the top, followed by ‘Observed Phenotypes’. There were two rows of three columns: mother, child and tested man. There were a bunch of numbers under each, more or less the same but not exactly. There was a lot of explanation, and I dug in, planning to read every word.
Jay obviously didn’t have the patience for that. Standing next to the fireplace, hands in his pockets, he said, “The first test is on the surfer in California,” he said evenly. “You can see that the numbers don’t match. The second is mine, and the numbers do match.”
I didn’t look up. “I get it,” I said. “I want to read it.”
“You don’t need to read it, Stella. Look on the other side.”
It was an effort to ignore him. I moved my eyes back to the start of the paragraph.
He waited a beat before exhaling. “Stella, the summary is on the other side.”
I turned the paper with a sigh.
“The first test is the surfer’s-”
“He’s a surf coach,” I said, irritated. “His name is Aaron.”
“Well, Aaron the surf coach’s test is inconclusive,” Jay said dryly. “Mine is conclusive; Nina and I share DNA.”
“How can you say this isn’t illegal?” I asked, the paper falling limp in my hand. “I mean, where did you get this DNA to test us? You can’t just test people, randomly, for parentage. Did you have someone following us?”
He paused for a fraction of a second, but long enough for me to notice. “I told you,” he said. “I have a friend in Washington who took care of it.”
“Yes, but was he sneaking around swabbing our cups? Where did he get Nina’s DNA?” Not for the first time since the fashion show, I was pricked by genuine alarm. It slithered across my skin like leeches.
Who is this man?
“And how did you find Aaron? I only ever told you about him in the vaguest terms.”
“None if this is important, Stella.”
I tossed the paper aside. “Don’t tell me what’s important, Jay. It’s important to me.” I stuttered for a moment, too many questions colliding in my head.
After a few deep breaths, I aimed for reason. “I realise I should have agreed to this earlier,” I said. I clasped my hands together in my lap. “But I didn’t refuse it, either. I just—didn’t believe it, didn’t think it was necessary. That doesn’t excu
se your going behind my back.”
“Quite the contrary; I’d say it perfectly justifies it.”
“You’re married.” The accusation spilled over the edge of my control. “You’re clearly not particularly family-focused, Jay.” I glanced around at the comfortable but sterile room before resting my gaze back on him. He loomed above me, as cold as a bronzed statue. “What’s your wife saying about all of this?”
“Will you please stop going on about my marriage?” he said sharply. “It’s got nothing to do with this.”
I laughed despite myself. “You might want to check with your wife on that first.”
“I’m serious, Stella. I told you she wouldn’t be here today. I don’t want to discuss her.”
Sensing I’d hit a nerve, I reeled my emotions in a little. He crossed to the other side of the fireplace, hands firmly pressed into his pockets. I had no idea what kind of marriage he had to this woman. He’d been cheating on her despite what he’d told me, I knew that much. As far as I knew our original affair had happened before they’d married, but he’d lied to me since, so he could have been lying about that, too. Perhaps she knew and tolerated it.
“Jay, I have no interest in causing trouble in your marriage,” I said with a sigh, finally.
He watched me carefully, the dark, intelligent eyes assessing. “You might be interested to know,” he said, with deadly lightness, “that your little surf coach was the one sending me the notes.” His expression didn’t falter when I stilled. “Aaron Anderson and some girl he’s been—dating, for want of a better word. Seems like he was worried you might hit him up for child support.” Jay laughed suddenly. “Considering it was a long shot, he hit the fucking bull’s eye.”
“Aaron?” I panted a little, disguising it as a humourless laugh.
“Yes, Aaron,” he said. He watched me with renewed interest in his gaze. “The surfer.”
Nausea curled around me like a snake.
“Did you tell him about us?” Jay asked me.
I shook my head, and said, “No. Well, I had nothing to hide, but not in any detail.” An approaching storm rumbled in my mind, dense and impenetrable. “I mentioned you once, I think, and he knew your family.”
God almighty—Aaron had been sending notes to Jay? Was he trying to extort money from him?
“I’m sorry,” I said, finally, unable to think of anything else to say. “You and I always used protection. And if Aaron was suspicious, I don’t understand why he wouldn’t just ask me.”
“We weren’t always careful, Stella,” Jay said, and his voice rasped as he added, “obviously.” He rubbed his face as though exorcising a lingering sensation. “Paternity tests can be expensive. I get the feeling your ex isn’t exactly flush right now; he probably thought this was the cheapest way to solve the problem, especially if you’d refused to get tested. He had to know I’d eventually do it for him.”
“But he didn’t even sign the birth certificate,” I said, confused. “He was under no obligation-” I stopped. “What do you mean, if I’d refused to be tested?”
Jay shot me a side-long glance. His hair fell over his forehead, obscuring the best part of his expression.
“You said it wasn’t illegal, what your friend in Washington did,” I said, only lowering my voice when I realised Nina was sleeping. “You were supposed to get my consent.”
“Yes, and you were supposed to agree to the test when I asked you. None of that matters now,” he said, tossing the phone down again with an impatient twist of his hand. A heavy platinum watch glinted in the half light. “We have to decide what we’re going to do. You have to let the surfer know he’s off the hook, for a start.”
Off the hook? Meaning Jay was now on the hook?
“Will you stop telling me what matters and what doesn’t?” I came to my feet. After checking on Nina, I stepped away from her towards the fireplace. I was careful not to approach Jay; he was intimidating today, and in a way that made me feel like I was meeting him for the first time. He seemed angry, frustrated. He was not the man I’d so willingly gone to bed with a couple of weeks ago.
“Your ex might be the one who started all of this,” he said, his voice hushed but intense, “but you’ve been adamant that Nina isn’t mine ever since I brought it up. You wouldn’t even entertain the notion.”
Frustrated, I rolled my eyes and turned away.
“I had to go behind your back to get her tested,” he said. “What if I hadn’t done that? I might never even have known that I have a child.”
“That’s not true!” I turned on him again. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything. Aaron was just about the worst thing to happen to Nina. If I’d known you were her father I’d probably still be living in my own house. I wouldn’t be sleeping on friends’ sofas and flat-sitting.” It was only when I’d stumbled to a halt that I noticed Jay was watching me with what looked like shock.
“What does that mean?” he asked. “What about your house?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, already regretting the outburst.
“Where are you living now?” he asked.
“Why?”
He glanced at me impatiently. “You’ve just told me that you and my daughter are homeless.”
“We’re not homeless, Jay. We’re—between apartments.”
“I’m starting to wonder if you’re capable of giving a straight answer to anything.”
“Well, you have your answer about Nina.” Though I hated myself for reacting like this, his accusations were like salt on an already raw conscience. “What are you going to do about it?”
He stilled at my hushed, rapped out question. His mouth tight, I could see he was warring with something in his head. His eyes remained opaque.
I relented with a sigh. “What are you going to do, Jay? I’d like to know what your intentions are going forward.”
“To provide for my daughter,” he said.
The grated words were not exactly full of expectant joy. Provide? That could mean a lot of things. In the content of the life of a Fitzsimmons, it most likely meant money. Last night’s dream flashed behind my eyes and I had to look down.
“I need some time,” I said, the words leaving me of their own volition.
“For what?”
“To think things over,” I said. “I know you think there’s a big conspiracy behind all of this, but I’m actually still a bit shocked. There’s nothing wrong with taking a bit of time to consider our options.”
“I’m surprised you still think there are options, Stella.”
My mouth gaped.
He blew out a breath and said, “Why are you so determined to push me away?”
“Up until Friday I was convinced another man was my daughter’s father,” I told him. “Whether you want to believe it or not, that’s what I believed.”
I wavered, something inside my chest tearing at the lingering accusation in his amber eyes. I caught the light scent of his cologne and the tear widened. With all the stress of the last few weeks, I hadn’t expected to add Jay to my list of problems. Quite the opposite.
“I’m not pushing you away,” I said. “I’m just— need some time to assimilate things.”
“What things?”
My hackles rose again. “The fact that my daughter’s father’s actually a married man, for example.”
There was a pause. His jaw flexed. “I won’t tell you again,” he said, and threat rumbled behind the words, “that’s irrelevant to this discussion. To any discussion about Nina going forward.”
I shook my head, my mouth opening and closing but no words coming. “Fine,” I managed through my teeth. “Well, I’ve got a busy day ahead of me. You’re so determined I’m pushing you away—you’re in such a rush to organise me and my life this morning—why don’t you tell me what your plan is for the next eighteen years.” I grabbed the pram and angled it towards the door. “For you and your wife, for that matter. Because I’ll be very interested to know once both of you decide.”<
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CHAPTER FIVE
Jay
I was staring at the stack of paper in my hands, but, as I had been for the last few hours, inside I was reverberating from the impact of seeing my daughter. My daughter ... Nina Fitzsimmons. The disbelief wouldn’t give me peace for more than ten seconds. Her sleeping face was imprinted on my brain. Before it had been a result on a piece of paper, now it was real, a live human being.
I’d never wanted to be a father. Why, then, did I just feel like the kid who just got exactly what he wanted from Christmas?
“Are you listening?” Elizabeth said.
My father and Elizabeth were watching me from the other side of the table. Stiff-backed and perfectly-coiffured, they could have been sitting for an elegant, if faintly miserable, family portrait.
“No,” I said. I swallowed back the gluey mess of emotions.
My immediate family glared back at me with poorly-concealed malice. No, I wasn’t a family man, not by a long shot. My parents and their ilk pampered their pets better than their children. What did I know about bringing up a child? This euphoria was just an errant response to a disruption in my otherwise predictable life. It was nothing more that misplaced macho pride in my own fertility.
I went back to the stack of paper with grim determination.
“Your father is talking to you, Jay,” Elizabeth said, her tone disapproving. “I’m used to your derision, but there’s something terribly wrong with you if you can’t behave in a dignified manner with your father in the room.”
“What kind of man doesn’t treat his wife with respect?” Abel commented in a low, disapproving tone. “Ante familia nihil venit.”
Ante familia nihil venit: nothing comes before family—my mother’s family crest. My father generally chewed up the words until they were intelligible, much as he treated the principle itself. I let out a long-suffering sigh at their melodrama. There was never a good time for it, but it was especially irksome today. I just wanted to be left alone to assimilate the fact that I was actually someone’s father. That I potentially had a family that I might be able to put before everything else.
