Baby Makes Three

by Carrie Davis

  It was my first time alone with Lilabeth. Actually, it was my first time alone with any baby, and needless to say, I was more than a little nervous. “Keep in mind that Uncle Dex is new to this, so take it easy on me, princess.”

  Lilabeth simply looked up at me with big blue eyes, and I knew the little girl would have me wrapped around her finger before she uttered her first actual words. She was a mixture of Amanda and Alex, and she was perfect.

  Beautiful. Sweet.

  I held her for a long time after feeding her, and mentally, I was listing everything Matthew and I would need to do to prepare our apartment for the little girl’s arrival.

  The guest room would need to be converted into a proper nursery, with a crib and all the other necessities, and we would need to begin baby-proofing everything. Sure, it would be a while before Lilabeth was mobile, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

  Matthew and I needed to discuss what would work best as far as childcare—a private nanny or a daycare center. It was overwhelming. But I knew we would handle everything, one step at a time. No, neither of us had ever thought we would actually be in this position, even when Alex and Amanda drafted their official Will and Testament, but the unimaginable had become reality, and together we would do whatever was best for the little girl left in our care.

  In the meantime, I decided there was something I wanted to do for Matthew, and when Mrs. Sutherland returned, I left Lilabeth in her care.

  After changing into fresh jeans and T-shirt, I grabbed my wallet and the keys to the rental car.

  “If Matthew and Jenna get back before me, just tell him I won’t be gone long,” I told the accommodating neighbor.

  Mrs. Sutherland promised to give Matthew the message, and less than twenty minutes later, I parked in front of Griffin’s Pub. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Raymond. Once, I had respected the man. He had treated me with respect—more so than he ever had Matthew—but once I came out, Raymond suddenly had no use for me, and while that was insulting, what made me hate the man was his total disregard for his son, the man I loved more than life. Anyone who hurt my husband could happily kiss my ass. Raymond included.

  Hell, as far as I was concerned, Raymond especially could kiss my ass. If I never had to see the man again, that was fine, but I wasn’t going to stand back and leave it to Matthew to try and reason with Raymond when he was already shouldering more than enough reasonability. His mother was really leaning on him, and frankly, Jenna ranked far higher than Raymond in my book.

  I wasn’t surprised by the surge of annoyed disgust I felt when I finally spotted Raymond’s truck in the pub’s parking lot, proof the man was indeed inside drinking when he should have been with his wife, estranged or not, supporting her through the ordeal of arranging their daughter’s and son-in-law’s funerals.

  Gathering my emotions as best I could, I got out of the car and walked into the pub.

  It was small, dark, the smell of cigarette smoke hung heavily in the air. After a moment, my eyes adjusted, and I spotted Raymond in a corner booth. He had a shot glass and a bottle, and I clenched my jaw as I crossed the room to stand beside his table. He looked up at me with bloodshot eyes that instantly grew chilled.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked with a sneer.

  I wanted to punch him in the face, but logically, I knew it wouldn’t do him any good, and I didn’t want to add to Matthew’s burden by getting myself arrested for assaulting his bastard father.

  “What am I doing here?” I snapped, glaring at him. “You know, I could ask you the same fucking question, Raymond, because this sure as hell isn’t where you need to be.” Not wanting to cause a scene, I sat down across from him, and he returned his attention to his shot glass, staring down at it rather than facing me. “Jenna and Matthew are trying to organize funerals for Amanda and Alex, and they could use your support, but instead you’re here, bellied up to a bottle like the fuckin’ lush you’ve become.”

  Honestly, I didn’t see any reason to pull my punches. Raymond wasn’t someone who would respond to gentle reasoning—no, he was a blunt man, and he needed someone willing to be brutally blunt with him. I figured I was up to that task. More than Matthew. My love was a gentle soul. He had already had one nasty confrontation with his father three years earlier, and they hadn’t spoken since, so it was my turn to deal with Raymond Sullivan’s bigoted ignorance.

  For a long moment, neither of us spoke, and I knew Raymond was being purposely difficult. “I get that you hate me,” I went on, “and believe me when I say Matthew knows exactly how you feel about him, Raymond, but I do know you loved Amanda. I think you respected Alex. And I guess at some point, you and Jenna were a typical couple in love. Something tells me you still love Jenna.”

  “Is there a point to this?” He reached for the bottle, or tried to, but I plucked it from his reach and set it aside, which drew his red-rimmed eyes back to mine.

  “The point is, Jenna needs you to be there for her.”

  “She has Matthew.”

  “Thank God for that, but you’re her husband—”

  “We’re separated.”

  It was a weak argument, and I rolled my eyes. “Fine, you’re separated, but you aren’t divorced, and even if you were divorced, Amanda was still your daughter, and you owe it to her to be there for her mother.”

  “What makes you a fuckin’ expert?” Raymond snapped, snatching back the bottle and pouring himself a shot, which he quickly downed. “Both you and Matthew think you fuckin’ know all there is to know about all there is to know, but...” He laughed, but it was a bitter, hollow, and angry sound. “I don’t need some faggot telling me what I should do and what I shouldn’t do, and I don’t need you preaching to me about what my obligations are to Jenna and Amanda. I fuckin’ know. I know my daughter is dead, and there ain’t anything anyone can do about it, so why the hell should I plan some damn funeral, huh? Why? What good will it do to sit around and cry? Amanda and Alex will still be dead. So don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, ’cause all I want to do is sit here and drink, and if you’re so worried about Jenna, you and my fuckin’ fag of a son can handle everything.”

  I shook my head. “Christ, you are so selfish!” I leaned across the table. “Fine. Matthew and I will help Jenna. You stay here. Drink and look for answers in the bottom of a bottle, but I’ll tell you this: as soon as you sober up again, the facts will still remain—your marriage will still be in shambles, Amanda and Alex will still be gone because a drunk like you decided to drive when he shouldn’t have, and you will still have a son who is a better man than you could ever hope to be, you miserable bastard.”

  Standing, I looked down at him, but he didn’t lift his eyes. “I came here because Jenna wanted to know if you were okay, and she had some foolish hope you would finally step up and act like a husband and a father. But I can see you will never be anything more than a tragic embarrassment to your family. It’s sad. And you’re disgusting, and I can’t believe I was ever stupid enough to see you as worthy of my respect.”

  I didn’t give him a chance to respond. There was nothing the bastard could say that I wanted to hear. He was drunk, angry, bitter, and so self-involved he couldn’t see past himself to care for anyone else, and I hated him because I knew his refusal to be a husband and father would cause Jenna and Matthew pain. Again. It made me furious, but there really wasn’t anything I could do, and I decided Raymond wasn’t worth my time or Matthew’s.

  When I made it back to Jenna’s, I noted her car was in the drive, which meant she and Matthew were back from the funeral home. Other cars lined the drive as well, and as I didn’t feel up to making conversation with anyone other than Matthew or Jenna, I went in the side door to the kitchen.

  Mrs. Sutherland was there, and she told me Jenna was in the living room with a few ladies from the church she attended. Matthew was upstairs, and I opted to check in on him.

  “Matthew’s exhausted, and I’m more than a little w
orried, so if anyone asks for him, can you maybe tell them he’s resting?” I looked at the kindly neighbor imploringly, and she smiled and assured me she would run interference for a while. I decided the woman was indeed a saint. It was a relief to know someone so dependable and kind had been there—and was still there—when Jenna needed her. I made a mental note to thank her properly later as I bounded upstairs to Matthew’s old bedroom where I had dropped our bags after we arrived.

  Matthew was there, sitting on the bed, and he looked up when I stepped inside. I could see he had been crying.

  Wordlessly, I kicked off my shoes and sat on the bed with my back against the headboard. Matthew shifted easily so he was sitting between my legs, and I wrapped my arms around him.

  “I never knew so many decisions had to be made when planning a funeral and...” Matthew shook his head. “What type of casket. What kind of flowers. Who will be speaking, and do we want the funeral home to find a clergyman or do we know someone. I finally just told the guy what I thought Amanda would like, flower wise.”

  “Red and white carnations,” I offered. Those had been her favorite.

  “Yeah. I said the same for Alex. I didn’t think it would matter to him, and likely, he would want whatever Amanda liked.”

  “I agree.”

  “And we got…the coffins are matching, as if that matters, but the funeral director said it would look nice at the service.” Tiredly, he sagged back against me. “My mom knows a priest who will speak, and I said I would say something, and I… When the director asked if we wanted to have a viewing, or open casket at the funeral, I said no, because Amanda wouldn’t have wanted that. I’m sure of it. I remember Amanda, after our Grandma Patty died…after the funeral, Amanda said there was nothing more morbid than people standing around looking at a body and talking about how ‘nice’ the person looks.” He laughed a little, at the memory of a time with his sister, but I could tell he was crying as well. “She said she wouldn’t want people just standing there and looking at her, and today…today, sitting in that office, I recalled that conversation, and I could almost hear Amanda saying ‘don’t you dare let them put me on display’, so I told the director no viewing and keep the caskets closed.”

  He was sobbing by the time he finished, and I turned him in my arms, cradling him against my chest while he cried, and I allowed myself to shed a few tears along with him. It was all still so raw, so painful, and I wanted to tell him it would get better, but I suspected hearing that wouldn’t make the pain seem less agonizing in that moment. All I could do was hold him. He needed this chance to release some emotions, to fall apart a little, because Jenna needed him to be there for her, and he wouldn’t be able to support her if he didn’t properly balance her needs with his own need to grieve for Amanda and Alex.

  Finally, the tears began to subside, and he lifted his head to look at me, his beautiful face wet with tears and something familiar in his blue eyes.

  “Dexter, I need you.” He whispered the admission, his hand fisted into my shirt, and I swallowed hard because the vulnerable and raw emotions churning inside of him called out to me. “Maybe that makes me horrible, wanting you now, but I… God, I need to feel more than grief and pain, and I...”

  I captured those beautiful lips in a heated kiss, filled with passion and desperation, and Matthew responded, opening his mouth and shifting in my lap so he could better wrap his arms around my neck. He was trembling with need. And I knew just what it would take to satisfy that need.

  This wasn’t the time for leisurely lovemaking. Matthew craved something hard and passionate, the kind of coupling that was driven by pure need, and I was more than willing to give him just that. Whatever he wanted. Anything.

  I was just as zealous, wanting him—needing him—and I maneuvered us from the bed long enough to quickly strip Matthew and then myself, leaving clothing tossed carelessly to the floor.

  Tangled together, we fell back onto the bed, and I kissed Matthew again in a clash of lips and tongue and teeth. It was a frantic kiss, and Matthew responded with enthusiasm.

  “Love you, baby,” I whispered, kissing my way down his body, over his chest and stomach, paying close attention to the particularly sensitive patches along the way. I could feel him tremble beneath my touch, and I loved it. I loved turning him on, tasting him, and bringing him the pleasure he needed as my lips wrapped around his straining cock and Matthew tangled a hand eagerly in my hair while gasping my name. I knew it would not take long.

  He was too tense, too close to the edge, and I lifted my eyes so they were locked on his as my tongue snaked around him. I cupped his balls in one hand, rolling, gently tugging, doing all the things I knew he liked, and with a strangled cry, he came hard in my mouth, and I swallowed every drop with greedy delight.

  The sound of Matthew whispering my name had me kissing my way up his body to claim his full lips with the intense hunger that always burned between us.

  For the next hour, I showed him how much I loved him, again and again, giving him exactly what he needed.

  Matthew

  The following day was a blur of people coming and going: friends of Alex’s and Amanda’s, coworkers, neighbors. There was a wonderful outpouring of comfort, and for my mother’s sake, I was grateful for it, but the endless parade of people left me unsettled. I wasn’t much for talking about my feelings with strangers, or with people who weren’t strangers. The only person I had ever truly opened up to with any success was Dexter. It was okay to be vulnerable with him. If I cried, I did it on his shoulder, somewhere hidden away from prying eyes, and I did my best to appear emotionally sound when facing visitors and with my emotionally fragile mother.

  I paid a visit to Alex’s parents. His father was indeed in bad condition, and his mother wasn’t much better, but she thanked me for handling the funeral arrangements and asked me to please keep her updated on Lilabeth.

  “I know your life is in New York,” she assured me, “and I think that Alex and Amanda made a wise decision when they selected you and your husband to be Lilabeth’s guardians.”

  It meant a lot to me to hear her say that, but as I expected, others weren’t of the same opinion, and I found myself confronted by a cousin of my father’s later in the afternoon. The woman was positively outraged by the prospect of Dexter and me raising Lilabeth. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t natural.

  It was the same basically brainless argument every homophobic bigot spouted, and I ignored her for the most part, but I sensed that she was pushing Dexter’s buttons, so I took his hand and we went upstairs to look in on Lilabeth, who was sleeping peacefully.

  I still couldn’t believe we were now responsible for her. It was a huge responsibility. I knew we could handle it. I knew Dexter loved Lilabeth as much as I did, but it would require a great deal of adjustment, and while, yes, we loved the little girl, the fact that she wouldn’t have any real memories of Amanda and Alex chewed at me.

  It wasn’t fair.

  Amanda had been so excited to become a mother, but in the end, she had only spent nine short months with her baby daughter. The unfairness of it left a bitter taste in my mouth as Dexter wrapped strong arms around me, and I leaned back in his always comforting embrace.

  “I remember when this was Amanda’s room,” he whispered in my ear, and I nodded, feeling nostalgic.

  “Want to know a secret?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  “I used to go crazy when you and Amanda would come up here and close the door because I thought… Well, you can only imagine what I thought you two were doing.”

  “Were you jealous?”

  “At the time, I wouldn’t have admitted I was jealous, not even under the threat of torture, but yeah, I was insanely jealous, and I couldn’t decide who I hated more.” I laughed at the memory. “It seemed so wrong that not only was Amanda beautiful and graceful and Dad’s favorite child, she had the hottest boyfriend ever.”

  “Hottest boyfriend ever, huh?”

 
“Please.” Though he couldn’t see it, I rolled my eyes. “As if you didn’t know you were freakin’ gorgeous, Every time I saw you, I had to hide behind a book or a piece of furniture to keep from totally humiliating myself.”

  “Well, my love, let me assure you, whenever Amanda and I were up here with the door closed, she was on the phone with Alex, or gushing about Alex, while I sat here and wished I was down the hallway, alone with you in your bedroom.”

  “Really?”

  “Matthew, I was crazy about you back then but too damn insecure with myself to do anything to let you know I came over here to be near you, not Amanda.”

  I turned in his arms and looked up at him. “We were both more than a little insecure back them, but I… I’m glad we finally figured it out, because I love you so damn much, Dexter.”

  “I love you, too, Matthew.”

  “If I ever lost you...” I shook my head, and Dexter pulled me closer to him.

  “Don’t do that. Okay? Don’t worry about losing me. Don’t think about all the bad things that could happen, because worrying like that will just drive you crazy, babe.”

  I knew he was right, and I nodded as I laid my head against his chest for a few minutes, simply enjoying being close, wrapped in Dexter’s arms.

  I was safe.

  Dexter’s strength and his warmth soothed me, and I was about to tell him again that I loved him when there was a light knock on the door, and a second later, Mrs. Sutherland poked her head inside with an apologetic look. I started to smile and assure her she hadn’t interrupted anything, when she shocked me by calmly announcing that my father was downstairs in the kitchen. With my mother. And he wanted to see me.

  What?

  I looked back to Dexter and noticed a slightly surprised look, along with a guilty shift of his eyes, and after Mrs. Sutherland slipped away, he admitted he had paid my father a visit the day before.