by K. Webster
“Uh-uh,” I stammer. But when I once again see that hopeful glint in Jackson’s eyes, I cave. What will one meeting hurt?
With a simple nod, I agree to something that scares the shit out of me.
“Over there.” Jackson points to a table in the coffee shop as he guides me by the hand.
A blond woman probably in her early forties, clearly waiting for someone, stands upon seeing us. “Mr. and Mrs. Compton?”
Jackson nods and extends a hand. “You must be Mrs. Grimes. Please, call me Jackson. This is my wife, Andi.”
I quickly shake her hand, hoping she doesn’t notice how clammy my palm is. So this is the grandma who is eagerly waiting to getting rid of her grandchild?
“Nice to meet you both. Call me Laura. My husband, Richard, is at work and my daughter, Jill, went to the restroom. Please, have a seat. I can get you a coffee or a tea if you’d like.”
The mere mention of coffee makes me want to scream.
“I’ll have water,” I reply.
“Andi, please sit. I’ll get us something.” Jackson, who seems just as nervous, strides away without an answer.
I gulp down my nerves and sit down across from Laura. She seems nice enough, looking every bit the normal American mom. I don’t understand how she can be so quick to get rid of her grandchild. Teen moms make it work all the time with the help of their mothers.
“So, Trish tells me you’re expecting?” she asks after we sit down at a bistro table big enough for four. Her voice is hesitant—like she’s uncertain about whether or not her question is prying.
And even though I shouldn’t feel that way, I do feel pried upon.
“I’m eighteen weeks. We’ve had several miscarriages. This pregnancy has thus far been the most successful.”
She smiles broadly at me. “I’m glad to hear that.”
My lips don’t move because I can’t smile back. There’s nothing I want more than to freaking get this over with already. I stroke my belly, which is just swollen enough that I know I’m pregnant whereas not many others can tell right off. As we sit here preparing to discuss them not wanting their baby and their desire to give it to us, I feel angry. When so many of us struggle, others are ready to give them away to the highest bidder.
“Mom, did you get me an iced coffee?” a very young voice asks as she approaches our table from behind me.
Laura smiles when she looks up and pushes a frosty drink toward an empty chair beside her. “Yes, baby. It’s right here.”
Baby?
When I turn my head, I gasp. The girl is so young. Jackson never told me how old she was, but she most certainly is a baby herself. Her wispy, blond hair is pulled into a long braid down her back, which makes her look even younger.
A child.
“Jilly, this is Andi. Andi is expecting as well.” Laura’s voice is tight and wobbly.
Jilly? A child’s pet name.
Jill looks in my direction and raises an eyebrow. “If you already are going to have a baby, why do you want mine?”
Good question. I’ll let Jackson answer that pointed one.
“Babe, I got you a low-fat bagel with turkey and cheese with a side of hummus and carrot sticks,” he babbles as he sets a plate and ice water down in front of me.
My sweet Jackson.
I pick the bagel sandwich up and send him a look of gratitude, which is received with a smile that could warm any heart.
“If she’s having a kid, why do you want mine?” Jill asks again, directing it this time at Jackson.
“Jilly, that’s not nice!” Laura chides.
Laura chides her child. Laura teaches her child manners.
A child. Having a child.
Jackson clears his throat and stiffens in his chair beside me. “Well, uh, we’ve been going through the adoption process for some time now. We’ve done all the classes available. The adoption agency has us on a list, as does the inter-country adoption agency. We’ve been screened and processed. Social workers have visited our home. Everything is in order—well, of course, except the child portion. We’re still waiting.”
Jilly the child cocks her petulant eyebrow once again. In this moment, I don’t feel pity for her mother. I don’t feel compassion for the troubles they are facing with her being a teen mother. No, I feel anger.
I hate this child.
“So, you want two babies? At once?” Her voice is full of disgust and utter shock.
Before I can reach across the table and yank her by her braid, Jackson intervenes. He must sense my fury, because he places a comforting hand on my thigh. A hand that says, “Babe, I’ve got this.”
And I let him get this so I’m not hauled off for child abuse. Abuse on Laura’s child.
“Actually, we want many children. We’ll take them how we can get them. We aren’t choosy. We’re a loving couple that wants to spread our love.”
The girl pins him with her annoyed glare before turning her attention to me. Sweet, young Jilly is just a little bitch.
“And how do I know that, once you have my baby and then you have yours, you won’t favor yours over mine?” This question is for me directly.
I stare at her, my jaw hanging open. Laura looks down into her glass, clearly incapable of controlling her own daughter. No wonder she wants little Jilly to adopt the baby out.
My stomach roils. This kid has some nerve to question my potential parenting skills when she got knocked up as a teenager.
“I’m willing to take care of your baby and my baby—loving them both—while you’re willing to give your baby away so you can go back to the mall,” I snap. I don’t mean to bitch this kid out, but honestly, I cannot take any more of her rude questions.
Little Jilly has the sense to look appalled. Laura’s jaw drops open in horror.
“I’m sorry. Andi isn’t feeling well lately. Maybe we can do this another time—” Jackson begins, but I cut him off.
“No. We’re done here. I won’t be treated like this. As if we haven’t gone through enough. I don’t need this stress,” I tell him as I slide off the seat.
The little girl is glaring at me.
“And for you, you little shit.” I point a finger at her. “You need to cut the tough-girl act. If you want that innocent baby to be raised by good, solid people who can provide him or her with a great life, then you need to stop acting like a little snot. Otherwise, you’ll find yourself trying to pay for college all by yourself one day on your McDonald’s salary. Mull that one over in your head, little Jilly.”
I’m already storming off when she calls after me. “It’s a him, Andi. He doesn’t have a name yet. I’d hoped to give the adoptive parents that gift.”
And just like that, I’m gutted. Her words are no longer immature and snotty. They’re loving and caring.
I hate her.
“Goodbye, Jilly.”
I storm from the restaurant with Jackson hot on my heels. He hasn’t spoken, but I know he’s angry.
Not with the child.
But with me.
The moment we step out of the café, I ignore the hunger pain from not having been able to finish my meal, and search for George with the car. Once I see him coming our way, I wait impatiently by the curb. When he pulls up, Jackson opens the door for me and offers his hand as I climb in. His grip is firm and he’s quiet.
Jackson is pissed.
After George begins driving, I sneak a glance over at my husband. He is staring out the window with his jaw clenched. The thick cord of muscle that stretches along his neck twitches angrily. Both of his palms are resting on his knees, and he’s giving off the façade of being calm.
But he is not calm.
I want to tell him that I’m sorry. I want to beg for forgiveness because I ruined a perfect chance at an independent adoption. I want to bury my face in his lap and let him stroke my hair while he promises that we’ll have more chances.
But I don’t.
Instead, I gaze out the other window. The sea of yellow c
abs mesmerizes me as we drive and I wonder how it will all work out. This pregnancy has to be successful. We need this baby. To fix us.
The entire drive back to the office is silent. Not a word is spoken between us, but so much hangs in the air unsaid.
He thinks I overacted.
I think the girl is a spoiled little brat who needs a reality check.
He thinks our chances of adoption are ruined.
I think we can put adoption on hold since I am pregnant.
He’s worried.
I’m angry.
“Here’s your stop,” George calls back to us, breaking both of us from our spell.
Jackson turns to look at me with his hand on the door handle. He wants me to apologize—to beg him to stay with me and not go back to work. His eyes nonverbally plead with me.
Tears well in mine.
With a slight shake of my head, I break his vulnerable gaze and stare back out my window.
“Have a good day at work,” I mutter. A sob hangs in my throat, begging for release.
He curses under his breath and all but throws himself out of the car, slamming the door behind him. As George drives away—away from my life, my husband, my forever—I release a gut-wrenching wail.
I can’t do this without him.
But why is it so hard doing it with him?
We need to hurry up and have this baby before I push him so far away that he’ll never come back to me.
Unfuckingreal.
We had the perfect fucking opportunity to go through with an independent adoption, but Andi decided to let her hormones take over and told the mother off instead.
Yes, I understand that the little girl was a brat.
Yes, I understand that Andi is rattled by all of this.
But.
She knows how much it means to me. And she didn’t care. She crumpled our opportunity up and tossed it away. What I want didn’t matter to her in that moment.
And I’m pissed.
“Who ran over your dog?” Dena laughs when I stalk past her toward my office.
“Not today,” I growl without even making eye contact. Once inside, I slam the door and stride over to my desk to sit down.
There are piles of shit to do, but I can’t fucking look at any of it. I should be home with my wife. Talking through her meltdown at the café. But I needed a breather. She blew me off in the car, so I’m done today. We both need a moment away from the other.
When my door swings open, I nearly throw my stapler at the goddamned wall. Expecting to see Dena, I prepare myself to fire her ass. Again. But instead, Bray walks in and saunters over to my desk.
“Grubler file is done. I’d like a second set of eyes before I send it off though,” he says and drops the file on the growing pile of shit.
I grumble at him as I rest my elbows on my desk and thread my fingers through my hair. I’m silent, just waiting for him to leave, but he doesn’t. Nope. The fucker sits down across from me.
“What’s up, man?” His voice is understanding. He knows it has something to do with Andi.
Five years ago, I urged to punch him in the fucking face every time I saw him. The man sitting across from me, twisting his wedding ring around his finger, is the same man who nearly killed my wife. She wasn’t my wife back then, but he became the source of her “dark days” the moment he slept with another woman while engaged to her. Fate twisted our lives together, and now, he’s married to one of her best friends. And honestly, he’s one of my best friends. Of course, neither of us will admit that out loud.
“The sky.” I’m always a sarcastic shit with him. He’s used to it.
“Dude, cut the crap. What happened? You look like you’re about to cry.”
My eyes burn, and I curse under my breath. Finally, I angrily look up at him. “We had a chance at an independent adoption. Today, Andi and I met with the family. It didn’t fucking go well. Andi flipped her shit, and now, that golden opportunity is gone. Wasted. Because my wife didn’t like the bratty teenage mom. Instead of talking to me, she fucking bailed mentally. Now, she’s probably at home eating that hummus shit and chatting with those nosy bitches on that website she’s always on. They’re turning her into a hypochondriac!”
My chest heaves while he stares at me, his eyes wide. Obviously, he was not expecting my outburst.
I sigh and turn my attention to my computer. My website—or what I thought was my website—pops up. Holy shit. What in the fuck did Dena do to it?
“You should take the rest of the day off, man. Clearly, you two should talk some stuff out,” he suggests quietly as he stands. “You’ll get her through this. You two are right for each other—don’t let bullshit get in the way.”
I nod. He’s fucking right. In the end, all that matters is having a happy Andi at my side. The rest is not important.
“Thanks. Send Dena in.”
He gives me a thumbs-up on his way out, closing the door behind him. Seconds later, I hear him say, “Shit, Dena. You’re in trouble.” And then, “Hey! Don’t hit me. I’m just the messenger.”
My door opens and she pops her head in.
“What did you do to my site?” I demand.
Her eyes widen in fear and I want to watch her squirm.
“Well, I, uh . . . Just calm down, killer,” she attempts to say calmly.
“Sit.” My words leave no room for negotiation.
Nervously, she takes her sweet-ass time making her way to the chair across from my desk. Once she sits, I turn my screen to her.
“You did this? All of it?” I question. My voice is even and serious, but my gaze is hard and unrelenting.
She begins fretfully picking at her nails. “I did. But before you left, I told you I was going to work on it. One thing led to another and I got a little carried away.”
“Carried away? You changed the whole fucking look.”
She bows her head shamefully. “I can fix it back.”
I flick my gaze at the screen before glaring back to her. “Hell no, you won’t fix it back. It’s badass and you’re going to work on it some more.”
Her eyes fly back to mine and she grins. “Shit! You’re an asshole. I thought you were going to fire me.”
I roll my eyes at her. “I’ll probably still fire you. Now, change that font to match the one over here and it’ll be perfect. I have to run home for the rest of the day.”
My life might be going to shit, but at least my website kicks ass.
As I unlock the front door, I’m met with eerie silence. Instantly, my heart thumps into overdrive against my chest.
“Andi?” I call out as I stalk toward our bedroom. When I enter the bedroom, I sigh a breath of relief to see her curled up on top of the covers. She’s still wearing the clothes she had on from earlier, and I’m so fucking glad to not see her in a nightgown.
Careful not to wake her, I quietly kick my shoes off and shrug out of my blazer. After untying the knot of my tie, I crawl into the bed behind her.
“Babe,” I whisper against the back of her head as I snuggle against her, “I love you no matter what.”
When she sniffles, I realize she isn’t asleep. My wife has been crying. Again.
“I’m sorry I was an ass earlier,” I murmur.
A ragged sob pierces the air, and I pull her tight against me.
“J-J-Jackson, I’m th-the ass,” she stutters through her tears, “I’m so sorry.”
“Come here,” I growl and help her roll over to face me. Leaning forward, I plant a kiss on her swollen, pink lips. “Did you eat anything?”
She shakes her head sadly. “I’m not hungry right now. I’m too upset. How could I have ruined that for us? I was just so angry at that little girl. Life’s not fair, Jackson.”
I swipe a stray tear and study her heartbroken face. “Babe, life is not fair. At all. But together, we’ll find a way. I just want you to be happy. Whatever it is that makes you happy, I’ll do it. If you think hummus and no sex is good for the baby, then I’
ll eat that shit right there with you and get familiar with my hand again. If you want to just focus on this pregnancy and not look into adoption for a few more years, then that is exactly what I’ll do. I love you more than I could ever express with stupid words. Let’s just find a way to be happy. You’re in charge here. You just need to lead the way and I’ll follow.”
My beautiful wife smiles and it lights up the entire fucking room. “Thank you, Jackson. I think we should call the Grimeses back. My emotions got the best of me, but I do want to go forward with the adoption. Hopefully they’ll still consider us. And you know what else will make me happy?”
I raise an eyebrow at her and smirk. “My cock in your mouth?”
She giggles, “No, you animal! Tamales from El Juarez. Oh my God, I can practically taste them right now. My mouth is watering for them.”
This is music to my ears, but . . .”Are you sure you aren’t drooling over my cock?”
“I might want that for dessert,” she teases.
“How about for an appetizer?”
She swats at me and I grin. I place a chaste kiss on her lips before launching out of the bed to put my shoes on. I’m fucking hungry as hell and we’ve been eating entirely way too much healthy shit lately.
She slowly climbs out of bed and walk over to me. Her hair is a disheveled mess, she doesn’t have makeup on, and her clothes are now wrinkly as hell. But she looks like an angel.
My angel.
“God, you’re beautiful,” I mutter under my breath.
Her eyes fly up to mine and she searches them for any humor. There’s nothing funny about my words. They’re the honest-to-God truth.
“Jackson Compton, I’m lucky to have you.”
I give her a lopsided grin and stalk over to her to envelop her in my arms. She fits perfect. Together, we’re perfect.
“There’s no luck involved, baby. We were meant to be. Now, get your skinny ass in gear. I’m hungry.”
She laughs as we break apart. Once our shoes are on and she’s scooped her purse up, we make our way out of the loft and down to the street. When I guide her along the sidewalk, she looks up at me in confusion.
“Where’s George?”
I point up at the sunshine and grin. “I’m doing Dr. Sweeney’s homework. Walking a couple of blocks to the restaurant on a nice day is a completely nonsexual and healthy way to spend time with my wife. I’ll earn brownie points for sure.”
