by Berri Fox
Nothing is going to stop me.
Seven
Heather
In the middle of a steamy yet unwelcome dream featuring a dark-haired woman with sparkling brown eyes, my alarm blares and wakes me. I groggily pull the sheets over my head, silently pleading for five more minutes.
Some time later when the sun begins to beat down on my face, I finally pull myself into a sitting position. I rub my eyes and reach for my phone, nearly dropping it when I take note of the time.
"Shit!" I overslept by an entire hour. Running around the room like a madwoman, I rush to pull on some clothes and brush my teeth.
Finally shaking away the dream about Rafaela, I brew some coffee and dial the number for work.
Rachel picks up after only one ring, and she's raging. "Heather where the heck are you, I'm drowning in work here!"
"I'm so sorry, I couldn't sleep last night and Emma took a while to settle down. I'll be there I promise."
"How many times have I heard that before?" Rachel pauses, and I hear her trying to calm an angry customer in the background.
"I'll leave the house in ten minutes max. Just have to get my daughter up and ready."
The customer in the background begins to yell, and Rachel calls Sara in to help though it's not her job. "I can't get the shop's accounts to balance, and the landlord is giving us Hell again about the rent going up. I don't need the additional stress of wondering whether or not you're coming to work every day!"
Her comment hits me the wrong way and my cheeks redden with anger. "None of that is my fault!"
"Maybe that would be true if you showed up for once!" Rachel huffs, the sounds of the store's chaos diminishing as she hurries into the back room.
My brows knit and I can't believe the words I'm hearing. "Maybe I'd show up if I didn't have endless bills, a young child, and nobody to help me out with her at home!"
Silence echoes from the other line, and I toss my half-empty coffee cup into the sink. I'm in no mood for it at the moment.
"Look Rachel, I'm trying my best." Tears sting at my eyes as the frustration builds. I really do want to be a good employee, but it's harder than it seems.
The owner of the book shop takes a deep breath before continuing. "I know you are. I'm sorry for getting upset with you, there's just a lot going on here and we need your help."
I feel as if I'm fighting with a sister. We really do care about each other, and I understand her point of view. "I'm sorry too, after I get Emma ready I'll be right in."
"Maybe you're right. Maybe you do have too much going on." The way she says it concerns me, and I suddenly feel the need to backtrack on my previous point.
"Well, it's not so much that I can't handle it, I just need a break once in a while." The free childcare at work is a perk, but caring for Emma alone at home can be difficult.
Rachel misunderstands my point completely, and says something that makes my heart drop. “I agree, I think the best thing for the both of us right now would be a break.”
My breathing becomes ragged as I practically watch my job slipping away. “What do you mean?”
She takes a moment to think, most likely wondering how to say whatever she’s thinking so she doesn’t offend me. “You should take some time off. Don’t worry, your job will still be here when you return, but just think of it as a mandatory vacation.”
I can tell that she’s trying to put my health and sanity first, but I don’t need a break. I need my job. “That won’t be necessary, just let me come in today and we can talk about it then.”
“No Heather,” Rachel’s voice is firm but empathetic. “Please just take a few weeks for me. Once you come back refreshed, you’ll feel so much better and your work performance will naturally improve.”
“That’s completely unnecessary. Trust me I can handle the job, it’s just the other problems that are causing me stress.” My voice gets louder and I groan when Emma begins to stir in her room.
“Honey it’s not a suggestion.” I hear Sara calling for her assistance, and Rachel promises to come to her rescue soon. “Look, just the time off, and contact me when you’re ready to commit to coming in on time.”
I’m so overwhelmed that I hang up without thinking. Regret pulses through my veins and I don’t know why I didn’t fight harder. There’s no way I’m going to be able to pay my bills now.
As I’m wallowing in my own self pity, my baby begins to cry. Her soft sobs drift down the hallway and into the kitchen, and I soon find myself crying as well. When she was born I promised her I’d always provide for her, but it looks like I just broke that vow.
“Mommy!” Emma begins to wail like she always does when she’s cranky, and I rest my face in my hands. I can’t do this alone.
I debate calling Rachel back and begging her to reconsider. She and I are good friends, and one little fight shouldn’t derail everything we’ve worked for at the book store. After all, there’s no way I’ll be able to find a temp job while trying to care for Emma at the same time.
In a fit of desperation, I pick the phone back up and dial the only person that may be able to help.
“Rafaela speaking.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, the hot tears streaming down my cheeks as I try to sound as calm as possible. “Hey, it’s Heather Cook from the Cozy Nook.” I hope this call doesn’t end in another disaster, but Rafaela is my only hope.
She seems rather pleased to hear from me, which is a huge relief. “Of course I remember you. The girl with the adorable laugh.”
I blush at that, clearing my throat while trying to remain professional. “You and I had a conversation last night regarding a certain transaction. Do you remember?”
Rafaela chuckles, and it makes me smile despite not knowing why. “Of course I remember. Have you changed your mind about my offer?”
I take only a second to make sure I truly want this, and when Emma calls for me again, my mind is made up. I would do anything, no matter how crazy, to provide for my child. “I called to ask if that offer is still on the table.”
“Of course it is.” I can imagine her dark eyes glistening as she realizes she’s won. “I’ll drop by to pick you and Emma up right away so we can discuss this in person.”
“Sounds good. I’ll text you the address.” We exchange goodbyes, and I hang up with a feeling of uncertainty in the pit of my stomach. Hopefully, Rafaela's help will be just what I need.
Eight
Rafaela
I’ve never been much of a kid person. Whether that’s because of the life I live or by conscious choice, I’m not completely positive. My father’s business doesn’t exactly create a conducive environment for children to be around.
There’s something about little Emma, though, that pulls at my heartstrings. She’s absolutely adorable with her auburn waves and freckles. The term that comes to mind is, cute as a button, and I’m not usually that sappy.
I never would have imagined that spending the morning with a preschooler would be a productive use of my time, but I can’t think of anything better right at the moment. It’s worth it to see Heather in this light. She gazes at Emma with so much admiration that her eyes light up and her face literally beams with motherly pride.
Emma is the perfect mini me of Heather and watching the two of them together creates all kinds of feelings stirring in me that I’m not sure how to put words to. Contentment. Satisfaction. Longing. This whole situation started as a bet with my cousins, but I’m having trouble remembering that.
We end up at a kid friendly restaurant. Emma hops up in the booth excitedly, and Heather slides in next to her. While I would rather be seated pressed up against Heather, I slide in across from the two of them, enjoying the unobstructed view.
“Order whatever you’d like,” I instruct.
“Oh, mama, can I have cakes?” Emma squeals, picking up the crayons that the hostess set in front of her. She starts scribbling on the paper menu.
“Pancakes.” Heather clarifies, looking m
y direction. “They’re her favorite.”
“Pancakes sound amazing,” I say to Emma, and she grins brightly.
“Cakes, cakes, in a pan. I like to eat them with my hands.” Emma starts to sing.
I give Heather a quizzical look. “Don’t you know? Everything can be turned into a song,” she says.
I’m completely floored by the sheer amount of happiness and exuberance emanating from the small body across the booth. “Can I help you color, Emma?”
“Yes,” she says in her sing song voice.
I pick up the green crayon and make a few lines under the array of scribbles that Emma has drawn. The waitress walks up to the table, and we order pancakes for everyone. This elicits another round of giggles and song from Emma.
Her happiness is so innocent, so pure, so contagious. I don’t try to stifle the laughter that bubbles up my throat. I can’t remember a time that I ever felt so carefree.
“I’m glad you called,” I tell Heather sincerely.
“Me, too,” she says, with a small smile.
“I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to offend you by making it sound like a…a proposition. I would like very much to date you, and I always help out the people I date. It’s just who I am.”
Heather seems to relax a bit from my words and we fall into an easy conversation. As we enjoy our breakfast, my curiosity gets the better of me, and I ask her about Emma’s father before I can stop the words spilling from my mouth.
She doesn’t seem affronted by my bluntness. The story she shares of how the only time she ever had sex and the boyfriend, who was less than honest about using protection, nearly breaks my heart.
I’d like to find the son of a bitch and cut off a vital body part, but I tamper down my anger as I reach across the table and place my hand over hers.
“It left me disillusioned and pregnant,” she says, wistfully, looking over at Emma whose shoving humongous bites of pancake into her mouth. Syrup drips from her chin. “But, I wouldn’t give up my baby girl for a thousand second chances.”
Moving to a happier note, she regales me with the story of how she got involved with the bookstore. I can’t help but crack up as she explains how she tripped over a display and sent books careening across every inch of the floor.
“Rachel was impressed by how well I restacked everything. She hired me on the spot.”
We’re both laughing when the little bells on the door jingle a chaotic tune, and my focus shifts that direction. A group of men fills the tiny alcove. It’s my father and several of his capos.
He stands for a moment, surveying the scene. When he’s satisfied with what he sees, he strides my direction. My heart sinks just a little, and I have the strongest urge to throw myself in between him and the two people that sit across from me.
There’s an heir of authority that surrounds my father, along with a don’t mess with me unless you’re trying to die, type of attitude. It’s a bit disconcerting, to say the least, and my eyes move back to Heather and Emma, knowing full well that I haven’t prepared them to meet him just yet.
I bristle as I realize that my brother has to be behind this. He must have told my father that I was serious about a girl. There’s no other reason for him to step foot in this restaurant.
My suspicions are confirmed the second he opens his mouth. “Who are you to be having a meal with my daughter?” He demands, staring down at Heather. She seems to grow smaller in her seat.
“Father, this is Heather and her daughter, Emma. Heather, this is my father, Salvatore Giovani,” I say, making sure he can tell by the tone in my voice that I’m not going to put up with any of his games.
He slides into the booth next to me, and I’m even more convinced that I’m right when he lets loose the third degree on Heather. Firing question after question at her, it feels as if all the air has been sucked from the room.
Heather’s uncertain gaze bounces between my father and myself, but she holds steady under his inquisition, answering every question honestly and confidently. Everything from her parents, to Emma, to her finances, to what she wants to do with life. Nothing is left untouched.
“You ask more questions than I do,” Emma’s tiny voice breaks through the onslaught.
My father halts mid-sentence and narrows his steely gaze on her. Then, he laughs. It’s loud and jovial, echoing through the room. My heart misses a beat. I don’t think I’ve ever heard my father laugh before.
“You will bring these two to Sunday dinner in two weeks.” It’s not a suggestion. Then, he gets up from the booth and leaves that restaurant, his slew of capos trailing behind him.
It takes a minute for my mind to completely process what just happened. I stare at the door in stunned silence, before Heather’s nervous giggle cuts through my shock. She passed. Holy shit! She passed, and with flying colors, too.
Nine
Heather
Wow! Just…wow! Rafaela’s dad must be super successful. He came in here with an entire entourage, for crying out loud. I don’t think he’s famous, or at least he’s not someone I’ve ever heard of before, but he’s obviously a pretty important guy.
A nervous giggle burst from between my lips. Rafaela’s gaze meets mine, and we both erupt into laughter. Emma joins in, although I’m fairly certain she doesn’t get what we’re laughing about.
“I think it’s safe to say that you passed the inquisition.” Rafaela lets out a breath as if she hadn’t been breathing the entire time her dad was sitting here. “He’s never ordered me to bring a friend to Sunday dinner before. Hell, I didn’t even believe he knew what laughing was until five minutes ago!”
I’m thrilled to have made a good impression on him. For a few minutes, I was almost certain he was getting ready to lunge across the table and eat me for breakfast. He was spitting questions at me so fast, I was having trouble keeping up and terrified I was going to sputter out the wrong thing.
For reasons I don’t want to put a voice to, just yet, it means a lot to me that Emma and I have his approval to be a part of Rafaela’s life. There’s something about her that pulls me in. I want to be with her, and I don’t think I would be able to stay away, even if we didn’t have his blessing.
Although, there’s also a little part of me that is just about positive he could make me disappear if he had the desire to do so. I’m not gonna lie, his bigger than life persona, is absolutely petrifying.
“So, what was it you were telling my father about your love for animals?” Rafaela asks.
“Oh, right. I’ve always had a passion for animals, especially hurt and injured ones. When I was little, I would pretend that I was a vet or an animal rescuer. Someday, I’d like to be able to work in an animal rescue,” I explain.
“What’s stopping you, now?” She wonders.
“It’s just a little hard, right now. I can’t afford to go to school to get into the industry, and I don’t have the time outside of work and Emma to put in the volunteer hours necessary. Maybe someday.” I can’t keep the longing from creeping into my voice.
“I guess I’ve never been in your shoes before when it comes to not being able to afford something. I am hoping to take over the family business someday when my father retires. He can’t seem to choose who would be best for the job between my brother and me. It’s hard not knowing for sure if I can make it happen.”
It doesn’t sound like she’s being boastful, just that she understands wanting something, and the uncertainty of being able to attain it.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
“Let me take you out on a proper date,” she says suddenly, her voice filling with excitement.
“Yes! I would love that! We can drop Emma off with my dad.” I’m excited by the prospect of introducing Rafaela to him. I’m sure he’ll be just as mesmerized by her as I am.
How completely wrong was I? We’re standing awkwardly in my father’s foyer. He hasn’t let us get five steps in, even though Emma went barreling into the living room the second w
e arrived.
My dad is on full alert. He’s glaring at Rafaela as if, at any moment, she might sprout a second head. The protectiveness is both embarrassing and delightful. It makes me wonder if he was ever like this when I was a teenager, or if it’s a result of the aftermath involving how I ended up with Emma.
“And where is it that you’re taking my only daughter,” he demands. The degree of hostility in his voice is disconcerting.
“I have an entire day planned out. I can email you the itinerary if you’d like,” Rafaela responds, unfazed. Does she really have an itinerary?
I can see my dad’s jaw tighten, as he grinds his molars together. “Papa, can I paint a beautiful picture to hang on the fridge,” Emma asks eagerly, drawing his attention to her.
She wraps her arms around his leg and peers up at him. His face softens as he glances down at my beautiful girl. “Of course, angel. That sounds like fun. Why don’t you get out the paints and the paper and I’ll be right in to help you set up?”
“Yay!” She squeals, as she races back through the house.
“I love you, baby girl. I’ll see you later,” I holler after her, but she’s too focused on retrieving the paints to pay any attention to me.
“You be careful with my little girl,” he tells Rafaela in a voice that leaves no room for argument.
If I thought Rafaela’s dad was intimidating, I was sorely mistaken. I’ve never seen this side of my dad before, and if I didn’t know him, I’d probably be scared out of my mind.
“Of course, Mr. Cook. You should know, I’m extremely fond of both Heather and Emma. I will do everything in my power to make sure that nothing bad happens to either of them.” Rafaela says sincerely.
“You’d better not.” My dad warns.
“Alright, you two. I think the pissing match is just about over. I love you, daddy.” I raise up on my tip toes and press my lips against his cheek.
