by Kendra Riley
They did everything for her, and she was going to do everything for her child. It took a while for her to come into terms that her father had evaded a lot of debts accumulated over the years, in an effort to keep appearances and to make Aniya and her mother happy. Aniya’s mother never found out, and her father took that to his grave as well, leaving her homeless after authorities seized the Comptons’ bank accounts and properties.
She had been left an orphan, a poor orphan, at that. She was the outsider to the family, the bi-racial child (a term she hated), borne of a Spanish mother of Dutch descent and an African-American father.
That move from Spain to America was a bit of shock to her, but her aunt and uncle never wavered, and they loved her like she was their own.
And now, now she was pregnant. She had barely turned twenty-two, but she was frickin’ pregnant and alone, miles and miles away from her family. How was she going to break it to them? She couldn’t keep her pregnancy under wraps forever. For a moment, she panicked, and she had been panicking frequently the last few days. Was this alright for a pregnant woman? Panicking?
This was something inside her, a little person; a human being. Abortion was out of any of the options available. She had been raised a Catholic, but she stopped going to church after her parents died. Her Aunt Rhonda and Uncle Leonard didn’t force her to, knowing her condition. Leonard had been her father’s eldest brother, a beefy man who had retired early on from the NFL B-list due to chronic pains from various injuries. He made good as a high school coach, and had retired a few years ago, just enough time for Aniya to finish high school.
She had betrayed all her uncle and aunt’s hard work with this slip. Slip was an understatement, actually. This was a disaster.
Aniya took a deep breath, and she swung out of bed slowly, feeling dizziness take over. How was this going to work out? She needed to tell her boss. Would her boss fire her? She stared at the wall for a few minutes, before realizing she was going to be late. She sighed and moved out of bed, intent on finishing the day without feeling negative. She had always been a positive child, and when she lost both parents, she was consoled by the fact that other people still loved her, and that they were still family. Family was what mattered, she thought, and this little one growing in her was going to be her family.
There was little she could do now, except move forward. Jose Aguirre was going to be a terrible father, an absentee father, a far cry from her father and father-figure.
She barely survived at work, and it had only been half a day. She felt nauseated and tired. It hadn’t even been two months of pregnancy. Please don’t give me a hard time, she implored to the little human growing inside her. Whoever said that art galleries were relaxed- well, that was a total lie… She did the curation if her boss was too swamped with work. Thysenn-del Prado Ltd., was a world-class art powerhouse, and she kept telling herself how much of an honor it was every time she felt like quitting.
Quitting was out of the question, unless they fired her.. But why would they fire her? She was good at her job, she was competent- a little undereducated, but she knew she wasn’t stupid. She was weighing the cons of telling HR that she was pregnant, a story that wouldn’t last too long as a secret, of course.
How would her boss react? That was her main worry. Señorita Anna del Prado wasn’t the owner, but a supposed cousin to the one who owned the art gallery. Anna was a no-nonsense woman who disliked the word ‘no’, except for when she said it herself. Would she say ‘yes’ to this kind of concern? Especially from someone who was so new?
She greeted her boss with a ‘good afternoon’, after she calmly dumped a stack of papers on Aniya’s desk, right outside of her own office. “Aniya, could you scan through these, por favor. I want an update by 2pm.”
Aniya nodded, breathing out as soon as Anna del Prado got into her office. Their office building was beautifully restored, as it had been in the 1950s. Large windows let in a lot of natural light, something that even she liked. The main gallery hall had smaller windows, but taller ceilings, perfect for those larger-than-life pieces that they oftentimes had.
Someone (perhaps another secretary), had taken the liberty to print out the photographed artworks and the profiles of the budding and more senior artists that have had exhibits in their galleries. She took another breath, and she began to read through their profiles, careful to underline anything that could spell PR disaster for every artist available.
It was thoroughly done research, she had to admit. From substance abuse, to multiple failed marriages, all those negative qualities and positive ones made the artists whole. Of course, not everyone was getting a chance in the spotlight. It was why Anna sometimes sent her on incognito trips, to check out smaller galleries for hidden gems.
She had seen the figures the art galleries made, and it was no petty sum. People paid for fine art, people paid for nonsense art, and people paid for art when their emotions were swept away by what was in front of them.
She had been swept away by Jose, in the very least. His eyes were unkind, but his smile made her melt. She had thought he would never notice her, as she had been exploring Madrid like the tourist that she was during the early days of her stay. She had seen him twice, around the Plaza Mayor Area, and he was surprisingly easy to spot in a sea of people. He was some Spanish model, she had thought at first. It turned out, he worked for Aguirre Estates, and his father owned the business.
Aniya didn’t want relationships at that point, she was single, and happy to be single. He made her think otherwise, and she embarked on a non-committal, physically intimate not-quite-a-relationship with him. At first she had thought it was liberating, and then she felt the burden of it after a month.
The actual burden was now, she thought. She forced herself to concentrate on reading the files in front of her, and she felt her eyes close on their own accord.
“Need coffee?” someone asked her.
Her head snapped up. In front of her was Belen Hoya, HR assistant. Belen was holding her own cup of coffee, while holding a folder in another hand. She looked at Aniya with concern on her face.
“Just a sleepless night,” Aniya said, forcing a smile.
“Congratulations on your fifth month,” Belen whispered. “If you can drop by my office later so you can sign some papers for the private insurance and those other benefits I need to explain.”
Five months? Had it been already five months into this kind of work? She smiled again. “Wow.”
“You don’t seem excited,” Belen said.
“I am.”
“Need coffee to perk you up?”
“I don’t think I can- I mean not now,” Aniya replied, “have to finish these. Maybe later, in the pantry.”
Belen grinned. “There’s some pastries from a client.”
Aniya thought about her weight. How was she going to eat healthier? She ate anything, tried anything, and enjoyed her liquor. The moment she found out, she stopped completely. Thank god, smoking had only been a phase in high school. But still, she wasn’t a natural at this, she realized. I can do this, she told herself after briefly closing her eyes. This is my kid, and I’m going to be a good mom, I’m going to be the best mom there is.
Chapter2
Three years later
It wasn’t easy at first, leaving her child in daycare. She had asked HR if she could bring along her child, if only for the first few months. They agreed, and Isabella Alves Compton spent the first months of her childhood in the office pantry or behind Aniya as she worked. As soon as Isabella got past a year old, Aniya knew she had to leave Isabella somewhere else. Daycare had been the answer. Her daughter would come home with sniffles or allergies, and she would spend sleepless nights taking care of her child.
The cycle would repeat every few months, and she would take it all with quiet dignity. Her child had never set foot on American soil, but she had gotten her child dual citizenship as soon as she could. Her aunt and uncle had been there during labor, and her aunt sta
yed for a month before going back home- something she was eternally grateful for. Single parenting was exhausting, but she never looked back.
Isabella had become her purpose in life, and while she knew she had purpose, something she was still searching for -- Isabella kept her grounded and in touch with reality. This was her life, and it was something unexpected, and yet it was something beautiful. Isabella never gave her any problems, and it was as if her little baby knew that her mother was a single mother, and if she as so much whined and threw a tantrum, it would make things even more difficult.
A lot of things had happened after she gave birth. Her hard work had paid off as well, and she had been promoted to Assistant gallery manager, something she never thought would happen, her being a single mom and all. It made work easier, she didn’t need to remember so many things, but she still had the habits of a secretary, writing it all down to she wouldn’t forget. She had arrived at the daycare center in high spirits, seeing Isabella playing with a smaller child, exchanging gibberish that only kids could know.
“Isabella,” she called out. Isabella turned to face her, and she gave a toothy grin.
“Mama,” she said, running towards her. It was her favorite part of the day, after long hours of work; she was rewarded with her daughter’s unconditional love.
“There’s my favorite,” Aniya said, embracing her daughter tight.
“There’s my favoritest,” Isabella said.
“We need to work on your grammar soon,” Aniya murmured with a laugh.
“What’s a grammar?” Isabella asked in her accented English.
“It’s something you’ll learn soon enough,” Aniya replied, placing her inside a stroller for toddlers. Their apartment was a good two-block walk away, but she didn’t mind, knowing this was the sort of exercise she needed.
Isabella had been her mother’s second name, and it was only fitting she name her child that. She looked at her daughter’s hand against hers, and she noticed that significant skin tone difference between them. Isabella had lighter skin, almost always reminding Aniya who the father was. She hadn’t seen him in over three years, avoiding the places where they had dated, knowing he would take girls to the same places. He was a bit predictable, but she wasn’t able to predict right away that he was a douche.
She was relieved that Isabella had never asked her who her father was. Aniya knew she would have to brace herself for it, brace herself for that dreaded question. That day hadn’t come yet, and she would have time to come up with some story about how he was never present, or that maybe he was a soldier or something.
She didn’t have the heart to tell Isabella that her father was a businessman, who enjoyed the perks of money, a man who dated multiple women at the same time, and replaced them whenever he wanted to. Her eyes were a hazel brown, and sometimes people would stop and ask her if Isabella was indeed hers. Strangers who normally weren’t supposed to care.
Aniya didn’t mind. She reveled in knowing Isabella was adored by people they’d never met. They’d stop because of her daughter’s eyes, they’d stop because of her smile. Her daughter had the most beautiful smile. A beautiful smile for a beautiful little girl. She would start with preschool in the fall, and she felt a pang of bittersweet happiness, knowing that Isabella was growing up too fast. She had wanted to hold onto that months old baby, sniff that sweet, almost vanilla-like scent she had, constantly if she could have.
Potty training wasn’t so bad, either, and Aniya also reveled in the fact that her daughter liked picture books, and not just TV and a computer screen,. They had mostly weekend dates, like walks to the park, and ice cream runs. Aniya’s life, she realized, revolved around the little human that changed her perspective on things.
As soon as they got home, Aniya wasted no time in cooking dinner. She read Isabella a bed time story, and as soon as her daughter fell asleep, Aniya began rushing about, cleaning and doing the laundry in their little, one bedroom apartment.
Aniya had lived in the same apartment for nearly four years now, the only changes in it being children’s items, like a growth chart, and a high chair, and a little blackboard where Isabella practiced writing and drawing. She hadn’t expected Isabella to be artistic, but her little girl certainly had inclinations for it. Coming from a mother who didn’t have any artistic talents of her own, she was proud of the budding little painter. Aniya’s mother had been a self-taught artist who enjoyed oils in her spare time. Aniya enjoyed cooking, and it was that only kind of oil that she knew how to use.
Checking on Isabella once in a while, Aniya would find herself smiling. Creepy mom, she thought wryly. Those chubby, angelic cheeks and fingers with the dimples on them… she sighed and went back to work, using a battered old laptop to keep her files in check. It looked sad, but it still worked, and she was in no position to do buy unnecessary things, even though she did earn a bit more. Her position was but a title, she knew, but she enjoyed her job.
She enjoyed her job so much, she never found the time to date, finding it unnecessary in all aspects. After all, who would date a single mother?
***
He was happily single, happily dating women all over Madrid and beyond. He didn’t commit, but he was a gentleman through and through. When the dates stopped, the women understood. They were barely bitter towards him.
Perhaps, it was one of those fortuitous moments, where he looked like his socialite mother, and his regal looking grandfather on his mother’s side. He looked haughty, he knew, but his warm, blue eyes made up for it.
He saw a magazine laid out on his table, a tabloid, actually. There on the bottom page was his photo. Another damned article about him, huh? He shook his head, not wanting to read it. His secretary had included it amongst his usual business dailies. Why must you do this, Rosa? He knew his secretary was highly interested in celebrities and socialites, and he wasn’t even one. They just wanted to include him, out of spite, maybe? His mother had sued the papers once for spreading about false stories.
Sighing again, he flipped through the pages, and saw a half page article on him, with a photo of his last date, some Castillan minor royal.
“Dante Guerrero Santoro, 28, seen with his now rumored ex-girlfriend, at Madrid City’s annual charity and gala night,” the caption said.
“Ladies, if you’re single, good news. Dante Santoro, Madrid’s perennial bachelor and one of Spain’s most eligible men, has reportedly called it quits with model and socialite, Yasmin Consuelo. The pair had reportedly dated for three months.”
He frowned, disliking a little biography about him at the bottom of the article. God, did they even have to include this, too?
It mentioned how his mother had royal blood, and how his father had been a product of a long dynasty of successful businessmen, and how he was a perfect mix of these two people, good looks and the smarts. People were voracious when it came to gossip. This tabloid was basically gossip. He crumpled the paper hastily, and then threw it into a stainless steel trash bin, and it didn’t even fit, balancing itself on the rim. He shook his head again, knowing gossip itself was difficult to rid of.
Yasmin Consuelo had been a fun date. They weren’t necessarily exclusive, but everyone had made it seem so. He just didn’t quite like being pressured into marrying anyone that his family, or his contemporaries found perfect for him. Whatever royal blood he had wasn’t important anyway, they weren’t in line for the throne, and if they were, he’d have to be the 500th heir. He laughed, imagining he had dodged a bullet there. He couldn’t bear being in the public eye like that, criticized for his every move and every expense. The private life he led (even though media was as annoying as ever), was fine in all aspects.
Why didn’t it work out? Someone has asked him, he had forgotten who specifically, it was someone from the country club, someone he didn’t like immediately. Just because their companies had done business together, didn’t give that man the right to ask him such a question.
He shook his head and smiled, saying
it just didn’t work out. There were reasons why every date never worked out. He had been labelled as a perennial playboy, and he certainly wasn’t, at least he thought he wasn’t. Playboys cheated and thought girls were easily replaceable, like objects, and he certainly didn’t want to disrespect women like that. He had a younger sister, for crying out loud, a sensitive soul, whom he adored and showered with affection, something he didn’t show his dates much.
Yasmin had been fun, yes, but she complained constantly about how boring things were, and she wasn’t exactly filled with gratitude, sometimes forgetting her manners with servants, or waiters. It was telling, Dante knew, on how a person treated another very much ordinary worker. Yasmin wouldn’t do in that aspect.
His phone rang and he smiled, shaking his head. “What?”
“Is that how you greet me? We haven’t spoken in weeks,” Pilar Lopez said in her throaty voice.
Ah, good old Pilar. Always the trusty, ex-girlfriend. They had dated since high school, and had broken up a few years later, when they had both turned nineteen. It had been painful for a few weeks, and then Dante realized it was for the best. They were better as friends, in fact, they were great as friends. They caught up with each other every few months or so, the calls were more frequent than the meet-ups.
“Alright, how are you?” he asked her.
“I just read a filthy tabloid on my desk.”
“You got the same thing?” he groaned. “Why? You work in a bank, for crying out loud.”
Work in a bank was an understatement, as Pilar’s family owned one of the largest banks in that side of Europe.
“My secretary probably thought we’d still make a great couple.”
