He nodded. “I think this might be more important,” he said and took my hand in his.
“The sister, the one they told me about yesterday, she uhm… she died in prison...apparently she was stabbed. The social worker didn’t have details.”
“I’m so sorry.” Melissa said and put her hand on my arm.
“It’s worse, or more confusing at least. She’d just given birth to a baby girl. Eight pounds, three ounces. Since I’m her next of kin, they want to know if I intend to raise the baby.”
Les looked shell shocked but his mother gasped. When I glanced at her, tears were springing to her eyes.
Ignoring that, I turned toward Les. “Do you want a baby?” I asked. “Do you think we’d be decent parents?”
Les nodded, “Yes… always. I’ve always wanted a family. I just didn’t think it’d happen like this. Do you want a family?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I never even considered it. I’m still in shock about learning I have a sister or – had a sister.”
He grabbed my hand and I looked up at the people who’d become my family. “What about you all? What do you think?”
It was unusual for this group to keep their opinions to themselves and they’d all been so quiet while Les and I talked. I would’ve normally been concerned if I hadn’t been so preoccupied with my own world.
When I asked though, they all started talking at once. From what I could discern, they were all in favor and that was confirmed when they began passing the photos out and oohing and awing over the little one.
The following day, CPS walked through the loft, informing us what we’d have to do to make the home baby friendly. They told us what we’d need for her. Things like a crib or bassinet, a car seat for when we were traveling with her, formula, diapers… as the woman talked, my head swam.
Luckily, Melissa had taken the tour with us and assured the woman that they were well versed in child rearing and that Les’ family had everything we needed.
CPS ran background checks on both of us. After confirming we had everything we needed to care for a baby, they brought her to us.
In less than a month after finding out she existed, Leslie Shannon Cooper, as we named her, was officially ours. The little one came into our lives like an angry hurricane screaming her displeasure at having her life upended.
Les’ family took turns coming to stay with us and helping to comfort the baby. I was so lost the first couple of weeks after she arrived, I didn’t know whether I was coming or going. Les fell into the role of being a dad like he was born to it, and through his patience, I eventually settled into it myself.
By the end of the first month, Shan seemed to accept that we were who she was supposed to be with. Although she was far from sleeping through the night, she screamed a lot less.
Sunday afternoons was when the entire family came to hang out in our loft. If you’d thought a screaming infant would put them off, you’d be wrong. Loud was just part of Les’ family and Shan fit right in.
Our loft was huge and open and accommodated the entire family without everyone being crowded, and of course because Les had purchased a huge flat screen TV that could be seen from all parts of the living area, it made for a perfect place to watch Sunday football.
As had become my custom, I sat in a rocking chair/recliner combo Les’ dad had purchased for us when Shan had arrived. It didn’t match our streamlined décor, but it was one of the few places we could sit comfortably and rock her. Only this seemed to help her settle… at least somewhat.
I sat with Shan in my arms as the family bustled around me. Shan seemed to do better with the chaos, which was the opposite of what was usually the case with children, at least according to the one book I’d found in the library and had frantically read between Shan’s outbursts.
She seemed to thrive on the chaos of Sunday afternoons.
I scanned the crowd of people I’d come to know as my own and sighed with happiness. When I peered into Shan’s little face, she was looking back at me. For the first time since she blew into our lives, I saw the similarities in our faces. I knew I had the same features as my dad. It was often a feeling of great horror to me; if I looked like him, did that mean I’d become like him? Of course, as I matured, I accepted that wasn’t how things worked. I could choose to be something more. But my father’s facial features were similar to his father’s. They seemed to be dominant, because as I looked at Shan, I saw the same in her.
I still had a lot to learn about her mother. I questioned the CPS case manager who’d been assigned to us, and she’d shared what little she could. My sister had spent most of her life in foster care and it sounded like she was a tortured soul. It hurt me to know this about her. I’m not sure I’d have been much help even if I’d have known about her. My grandfather was an ass. He’d likely known and done nothing to help.
I whispered to Shan, “I couldn’t help your mom, but you’ll never have to worry.” Just saying this, I could feel a fierceness bloom inside me. I’d never felt this kind of protectiveness for anything or anyone before.
I sat back and watched the Cooper family. Les and his brother tossed popcorn at one another over something that had happened with the game and I knew unlike me or her mom, Shan would grow up knowing nothing but love and how a real family interacted with one another.
The game ended with the typical sadness that washed over the Coopers when their team lost. I couldn’t help but chuckle at how much they loved their football, a sport I never understood or cared much about.
But I did care about them. They were mine forever and always. Mine and little Shan’s.
Les must’ve been watching me because he came over and whispered, “You are staring at my family like you’re a puppy whose just found his master.”
I smiled and said, “that’s because I am a lost soul whose finally found his people.”
Les leaned over and kissed Shan on the forehead then lifted up and kissed me.
“I love you,” he whispered, which caused warmth to bloom inside me once again.
“I love you too.” I replied and leaned back into him as he stood up behind me.
If you’d asked me if I ever dreamed of having this, I’d have flat out told you no. People like me didn’t get this kind of dream. I shook my head. No, that isn’t true. If nothing else, the Coopers had taught me family has nothing to do with deserving something; and that their love was unconditional. It was like the weather; it was just there, whether you wanted it or not. I chuckled at the reality of that thought.
Growing up, I didn’t even know how to dream for this. It was such a foreign concept to me. But with them I discovered how beautiful a family could be.
That night, after everyone had helped clean up the loft, and then departed in hugs and teasing, I turned toward Les after he stumbled back into bed following one of Shan’s many nightly moments. I had to pinch myself with the happiness of knowing this was my husband. He was the light that shone into darkness chasing off the shadows that loomed around me in every corner. I was just about to drift off when I heard the baby whimper.
I sighed, knowing if she was awake it was better to just go sit with her. If I didn’t, she’d end up screaming like a banshee until I did.
I kissed Les on the cheek and whispered that I was going to comfort her. When I reached the bassinet and looked inside, the moon shone on that precious little face. I was about to pick her up when she kicked and waved her little arms and I swear she made eye contact with me and smiled.
I turned back toward the bed where Les lay facing away from us then picked the infant up into my arms cuddling her to my chest and kissing her sweet face. “You and I are so lucky,” I whispered… I turned her toward him and continued. “that beautiful man over there is ours and you and I belong to him.”
As I sat in the rocker, the baby cooing happily in my arms, my mind continued to focus on the fact that because the incredible Les Cooper was part of our lives, we had indeed found where we belonged. I doubte
d I’d ever be able to repay him for what he brought into our lives, but I’d certainly do everything I could to try.
>>Keep reading for the Prologue of Blake’s new titles:<<
The Chance Series
Prologue for
The Chance Series
by
Blake Allwood
Another Chance
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Love By Chance
-
Taking A Chance
Coming Soon
On
Amazon
Peter was always acting silly, so I didn’t pay much attention when he crawled in front of me, blocking my view of the TV. We’d just gotten back from visiting his horrible mother and were cuddling in front of an old Christmas movie.
“Martin, I’ve loved you since we first met. I don’t want to spend one more night without you being mine. Would you do me the honor of being my husband?”
I stared at him for what must have seemed like ages because it appeared he was about to start panicking, as if he expected me to say no.
“Martin?” he finally prompted.
I stared at the ring and caught my breath. “Peter? You’re serious. You want to marry me?”
Peter smiled, a tear leaking from his eye. “More than anything in the world, I want you to be my husband, Martin.”
I drew in a deep breath. Was I ready at twenty-three to marry a man I’d met less than a year ago? I was overcome with how much he meant to me. “He makes me happy every day, he’s my best friend, and he gives a really good blowjob.” I only realized I’d been talking out loud when I saw Peter smile.
“I do give a good blow job,” he said. “So, what do you say, wanna put claims on this mouth… so it belongs only to you?”
“Oh, hell yeah! I really do,” I said and threw myself into his arms.
The next morning, we rushed to my parents’ home to make the announcement. Both my parents pulled Peter into a bear hug, welcoming him to our family. I was so proud of them. They were conservative Texans, but their love for me overcame everything else. They were the definition of good people.
Unfortunately, it didn’t go so well with Peter’s mom. I referred to her as Matilda the Hun because the woman was the epitome of hate. No, not against gay people, she loved them and would drone on and on for hours about her involvement with PFLAG. No, she didn’t hate gay people, she hated me.
We didn’t get the chance to tell her until a week before Christmas. She’d been suffering from intense migraines that kept her locked in her room with the lights out for days on end. She refused to go to the doctor because, according to the beast, “That’s what ridiculous people do who don’t have anything better to do with their time or money.”
His mom was still struggling with a headache when Peter decided we couldn’t put it off any longer. We stopped by her house one evening to announce our news. She smiled, but I could tell she wasn’t happy.
She managed to kiss Peter and congratulate him, but when she kissed my cheek, she whispered, “We’ll see about this,” then leaned back and smiled like she hadn’t just threatened me.
I just shook my head. I’d had enough of Matilda the Hun. If she wasn’t happy for us, then so be it.
When I told Peter what she’d said, he laughed it off, as usual, dismissing it as ‘just her way.’ “The headache probably just made it sound harsher than she meant it to be.”
Despite what Peter said, our engagement did nothing but raise the heat in that particular oven. What had previously been abuse, which had been bad enough, shifted to being downright evil.
Christmas Eve had been Peter’s family day. He’d explained to me that his family usually celebrated on Christmas Eve, then they’d spend Christmas Day with Matilda’s sisters. I’d agreed to spend Christmas Eve with him at Matilda’s house, then I’d spend Christmas Day with mine. That night, well, let’s just say it was one for the history books.
Matilda was clearly on the warpath from the minute we walked in. Throughout the evening, when Peter was around, she’d smile and say how nice it was that he’d found true love, but when she got me alone, she slammed into me with well-rehearsed venom.
As things escalated, it took everything in me not to just walk out, but I was so surprised by the new level of hate, I wasn’t able to get my wits about me in time to stand up for myself.
By the time the evening ended, the witch had called me every name she could think of. I’d been called a whore, slut, social climber, and an asswipe.
The most memorable moment was while I was warming up a casserole I’d brought. She snuck up behind me and said that if she’d been a man, she would’ve beaten my ass in the street.
Finally, I’d had enough. I was going to have to leave or, at least, get away from her. I sat in a chair in the living room, pretending to watch a football game. Luckily, other guests were in there, and the bitch couldn’t get me alone, which saved me from any more of her verbal abuse.
After we left, Peter was obviously upset I had disappeared. He laid into me for leaving the table and not helping with clean up.
“Peter,” I replied. “Did you not hear all the crap your mother said to me tonight?”
He turned his gaze on me momentarily as he drove us home. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“Peter, your mother pulled out all the stops. I’ve never been insulted like that before. She even told me I smell like ass.”
Peter laughed. “No, that’s just her odd sense of humor.”
“No, this was not her sense of humor, Peter. This was a series of vicious attacks against me. The fact that she did it so you couldn’t hear means she didn’t want you to know. That isn’t humor. That’s deliberate hatred.”
Peter immediately became defensive. “My mother doesn’t hate anyone; she’s the most supportive woman I know.”
“Yeah, to you, she is, but not to me.” As the conversation went on, and I told Peter more and more of what Matilda had said, he became angrier, but not at his mother. He grew angrier with me.
When we arrived home, Peter marched straight into the house. As I walked in behind him, he turned to me with the same derision I’d seen in his mother’s face earlier that night. “I won’t be forced to choose between my mother, a loving and caring woman who’d do anything for me, and you, who clearly has some strange agenda going on.”
It was impossible to describe how, at that moment, all hope, happiness and joy that I’d associated with loving Peter Reed began to crumble. I stared at his face, which expressed all the bias I had heard in his words. I wanted to scream at him, tell him that if he loved me, he wouldn’t let his mother win this stupid war she was waging against me. Instead, I saw Peter for what he really was. He was not someone who would love me unconditionally. He was not the man I’d agreed to marry.
As my broken-hearted tears cascaded down my face, I stared at the man I was engaged to. “I love you, Peter, with all my heart, but I won’t allow you, your mother, or anyone for that matter, to treat me this way.”
Peter, still angry, replied, “Thankfully, I got to see you for what you are before we get married.”
The comment crushed what little hope I had left. I gathered a few of my things, got into my car, and drove to my own family’s house.
Managing to call them on my way to let them know I was coming, I was met at the door by my ever-solid father and mother. They both held me while I cried.
We sat in the fancy living room they’d decorated for Christmas, and I told them everything. Although it was clear my parents were shocked, they didn’t question me, and when I was done, they both hugged me again.
“I will not be insulted and ridiculed,” I said at last.
My mother kissed me on the forehead. “No, honey. You were taught that you are valuable and worthwhile. You were taught to love yourself.”
“I loved him, too,” I said, and then cried even more. After the final bout of tears had fallen, I stood up and kissed my dad and mom on the cheek. “I think he was right.
It is better that we found this out before we got married.” Then, twisting the commitment ring off my finger, I went up to my old bedroom, leaving my parents downstairs.
As I lay in my childhood bed, I thought about all that had happened, how much I’d loved Peter, and how much I was going to miss him. By the time I finally drifted to sleep, I had assured myself I’d rather be alone than with someone who wouldn’t stand up for me. I hadn’t offended his mother or put her in a situation where she felt uncomfortable. That’s what she’d done to me, and instead of Peter standing up and holding his mother accountable, he’d taken her side. That was something I’d never be able to forgive, even if he showed up and begged for it.
The next morning, I got up early. I knew Peter planned to go to a friend’s house to see their kids unwrap Santa’s presents. I drove to the apartment we rented together, packed up as many of my belongings as I could, and piled them into my old Subaru.
I left a note on the table that simply read, You were right. It is best to know now. I left my key, as well as the commitment ring on the table next to the letter.
I knew I’d always remember Peter as my first love, but that wasn’t enough. I needed my spouse to support me. As I drove, the pain became so intense I had to stop several times on the way back to my parent’s house in Smithville and take long deep breaths to compose myself. When I got back, however, something had shifted inside me. A spark of life had reignited in my core, a spark that indicated that I’d survive this.
At the end of the day, I’d been confronted with a vicious and unfounded hatred. And I’d chosen to stand up for myself. I vowed that from that day forward, I’d never allow anyone to speak to me the way Matilda the Hun had. I’d be my own champion. I’d never again expect a man to be that for me.
__________
It was ‘all hands on deck’ the week after Christmas. My best friend, Janice, moved in with my parents as I processed being single again. Even my sister Rachel was uncharacteristically nice to me as I wallowed in self-pity.
Romantic Renovations Page 20
