by Ella James
"Yes, of course."
I sit in Sky's bed, holding Eden while she sleeps. I guess I could put her down, but I don't really see the point. If I were a little cuddly baby and someone set me on a hard bed, and I wasn't able to roll over or cover myself up or anything, I'd probably be pretty fucking affronted.
I put a pillow under my elbow and try not to stress-scroll on my phone. Instead I turn on the TV. I don't really even know what I like to watch. Most days in the last month, I've been on the yacht or at the church. Sometimes I read on my phone. Bunch of other times, I sketch. I turn on the history channel and find something about rock music, which is enough to take my mind out of the present.
The next time I check my phone, I'm relieved to find Sky has texted: ‘She already said some unwise stuff to our lawyers. Also, a few things that don’t quite add up. She’s pleading mental illness. They asked if she wanted to keep baby, and she said she never did. She just wanted to be paid.’
I can't help feeling a rush of relief. ‘So...if we paid her?’
I feel weird after I send it, knowing I can't pay her what she probably wants. What we’re really doing is discussing whether Sky would pay her.
‘One of the things she said was that she was with two other men who claimed to be us.’ He sends an eyeroll emoji. ‘Obviously, I don’t think those men existed. But she says they offered 80k’
'Well...shit.' My throat tightens painfully as I look down at our Miss Baby. Guess she might not be ours after all.
'I already decided what account I want it to come out of. I just wanted to get approval from you first.'
Fuck. Like, just...fuck. ‘Sky, are you sure?’
‘Oh, c’mon, V. You know I’m sure.’
I laugh, a loud puff of air that makes Miss Baby squirm a little. 'Are you buying me an eighty thousand dollar baby, baby?'
‘Anything you want.’
My heart fucking melts at that. Sky has wanted babies for a long time. He might even want them more than I do.
I blow a breath out, settling Miss Baby against my chest. I try to puff my abs out more, so it’s more comfy. I don’t have a lot of fat on me right now, though. I chew my lip and look at the phone. 'It doesn't matter that she didn't come from one of us?'
'Does it to you?' he asks.
'Not at all.'
'It doesn't to me either,’ Sky texts. ‘At all.'
There’s a moment’s pause, during which I see the little dots that mean he’s texting. Finally, I get a text: 'You wanna do it, Vanny?'
I look down at her. ‘I do. If you're sure it's okay.'
'I told you what's in our accounts, but let's look at them tonight, husband. If something ever happens to me…you're going to have a lot on your plate.' He sends a winky symbol.
Oh damn, we didn't sign a prenup. Does he realize that? 'Sky...I just realized we didn't do a prenup.'
He sends me a laughing emoji. 'Of course we didn't. Why would we?'
'Ummm...because your net worth.'
'If something happened to me, I would be pleased for you to be in control. YOU might not be. We need a plan, and I'll make it all legal. So it doesn't fall onto your lap past the point where you would want it to. But...you do need to know the basics.'
I send laughing emojis of my own. ‘I feel like a kept man.’
'You're the keeper of my heart. You're the keeper of our baby.'
I send the blushing smilie. 'You're the keeper of mine too, Sky babe. So like…if we send her the money, is Eden formally ours? What if something happens?'
'I can set it up so she isn't paid until she's signed the papers. I believe that's doable.'
I blow a breath out.
‘Will this seem like confirmation to the tabloids that we had sex with the mother? And will that be okay for work for you?’
‘Everything is okay.’ Hmm. That’s weirdly certain, and I guess weirdly optimistic, too. 'Do you want to take a few days to think?’ he asks me. ‘It's okay if you do.'
'Do you?' I ask Sky.
'I've wanted to be a father for a long while. Starting a family with you sounds better than almost anything to me. I know all this is newer for you.'
'Why? Because I'm an artist and not a pastor? ;) It's not new for me. I want a family too. I want our family.'
I see him typing and deleting for a moment. 'Okay, I'm going to set the wheels in motion, Rayne.'
18
Vance
I sit around for a while with the TV on mute. Thinking, I guess. Thinking about my mom and how I know she really would be proud and happy. Thinking about my dad, and how...I don't know. Fucking sad it is, really. It's not new, but this angle of it is. More than anything, I think I just feel like I got unlucky. At least with my father. Mom was amazing, and I miss her every day. It still stings, though, that the sperm donor doesn't want to know me. I think it always will. I think if it didn't, then I wouldn't be me. I'm a guy who feels shit. I don't think there's anything wrong with that.
I think of Sky, dating the girl I saw kissing him that night in his office. Wanting just to have a life. A real one. I think of me always so fucking restless back in Chelsea. Then I look at Eden, and it seems too good to be true. I feel that old familiar feeling of the other shoe about to drop. Just plain ole anxiety, wrapped in a not-so-special package, coming to me like something I've got on repeat delivery.
Maybe I should get out. Just go for a walk or some shit. It's kind of windy, but I could bundle her up. Maybe I could put one of Luke's bulkier socks around her little head as a hat. I could use a pillow case as a pouch.
The more I think about it, the more I decide that after I give her another bottle, I'll carry that car seat by its handle, and I'll walk around the block. Maybe stop and get a veggie burger. If I wear a beanie, no one will know who I am. Not having much hair has been good for that: most of the pictures of me, including the hospital video, show me with my longer hair.
"What do you think?" I whisper to Eden. "Should I be a long-haired Daddy? Would you like to be tickled by my soft hair?”
Her eyelids flutter, and I bounce her some, to get her back to sleep. But she's awake. And it's okay. She doesn't even cry. She starts to move some, and then she brings a hand to her mouth, and I think that's the universal cue for hungry.
I'm surprised and glad when Sky calls as I make her bottle.
"You know, this is the most I've heard from you in a workday in a while,” I tease him.
"I know." His voice sounds heavy. “I was nervous, but I’m not now. Now I really just don’t care.”
“Did something happen?”
“Got some calls about our wild night. Some people pissed off. But I’m happy. I’m allowed to go to Vegas and get married. And if I’m not.” He makes a soft sound. “We’ll do something different.”
Shit, does he think we’re going to have to? I don’t ask that. Instead, I change the subject.
“I’m thinking of taking this baby down to get a veggie burger.”
" Wish I was there." He sounds restless.
"Do you think you should take tomorrow off or something? Just so you won't feel left out of the bonding?"
"You gonna be home tomorrow?"
"Do you want me to be?"
He laughs. "Hey, this is a two-man marriage. You do what you want to, Rayne. You don’t have to ask permission.”
"I want to stay with her,” I tell him. “I want it to be one of us at first. She's...so little. I want her to know who we are before we pull in someone else to watch her all day."
"I like that. I'll see if I can leave work after lunch tomorrow. Just a little juggling, and I might need to do a quick meeting at home around four."
"That would be good. What would we do?" I ask, smiling.
"Maybe we could go around the city. I don't know. I don't know what babies like." He sounds surprised to find this is true.
"Well, just ask her. She'll tell you. She's a chatty one, this little cupcake."
"We should take her out somewhere,
” Sky says. “I don't know where. Somewhere that doesn't require getting out of the car much."
"Let's do it. And maybe we can set up a bedroom for her?"
“We could,” he says. “But I don’t want her in there yet. I think she should be in our room. Assuming we don't think a baby would remember..."
"Fucking?” I whisper in mock secrecy.
He laughs softly. "Yeah. That."
"We can do it when she's sleeping,” I say.
He laughs again, sounding embarrassed. "I guess so."
"Let's get a dinner nanny. Here's an idea: What if you go in to work, and I stay with her every morning. Start the day."
"I could go in later sometimes, too,” Sky says. “I could arrange for that. For at least this first year or so. I'm the boss.”
"Then every day around 1:30, I'll go in,” I go on. “Get there at 2, work till 5 or 6, like you. We come home, have dinner some nights—like maybe once or twice a week, the nanny stays till 7. Or like every Saturday night is date night."
"I like that,” Sky says.
"And anyway, we fuck at the church. Like...a lot."
That makes him snicker. "I think I need to designate a room for us."
We chat a little while longer and then Sky has to go. I think about how much more confident he sounded about things with us today as I start getting the baby dressed.
"You'll have more clothes soon,” I tell her, frowning at her white clothes. “I think this white is too boring for you. You need colors and excitement, don’t you?”
She blinks her pretty eyes.
"You do. But this will work for right now. I'll find you a blanket, maybe a pillow case or something? And we'll go out really quick. Is that okay? Does that sound like a plan?"
I change her diaper, feeling better when that's done, and then I set about wrapping her in a shirt of Luke's (so she can smell him), a pillow case (one of the thick, satiny ones), and a small blanket that was with her when she got here last night.
The thing looks like shit—not even soft—so I ordered a few more, but for right now, I feel like she should have a blanket.
"We're just making do, aren't we? Now it’s time for Daddy to get dressed. I’m gonna need a ball cap. If people see us out together, it’ll cause a scandal. Isn’t that weird?”
We go out and down the street. I’ve got a blanket draped over the baby carrying thing so no one can see my tiny companion, even though that feels a little sad to hide her away. As I cross onto a busier street, I feel like people are staring, but I tell myself they aren't. No one knows who I am.
If they read the story, they'll know. Everybody knows Luke’s house is right around the corner.
But I try to shake all that off. I wish I had one of those baby pouches people wear instead of this carrier thing. I stop on a street corner and peek inside, worried she’ll be upset at being strapped in, but she’s sleeping.
“It’s okay,” I murmur, mostly to myself. A couple blocks later and I’m at the burger joint. They’ve got this hut thing out front, so you can order right there on the sidewalk if you want pickup. I flex my forearm, squeezing the squishy rubber stuff on the handle of the carrier. Someone behind me whispers.
They’re not talking about you.
The guy in front of me steps over into the other line, having ordered his food, and the woman off to my right steps up. I thought I was in front of her, but whatever. It’s all good. There’s another woman with her—a redhead, maybe fifty?—and her eyes flicker to my face. Then she pulls her phone out…I guess texting? Her eyes boomerang to my face, and I look down at my shoes.
No one knows who you are, Vanny.
The women step from the order line into the wait-for-food one, and I swear, I hear another whisper from behind me.
I fix my eyes on the short-haired person who’s about to take my order. Then a low voice says, "Vance...Rayne, is it?"
I grit my molars and ignore the guy.
"Is that your stolen baby?"
Ignore him, I tell myself.
"Imagine, the son of a millionaire, stealing a baby. A gay man who can't even father children, stealing one he doesn’t have a right to."
I glance over my shoulder—a split second before turning away. "Don't know what you're talking about, man.” My words sound soft. My heart is hammering. I clutch the baby carrier closer, and the person at the register says, “What can I get you today?”
"What'd you say?" The low voice corresponds with movement behind me. For an awful moment, I wonder if Eden will get hurt if this fucker hits me.
I turn around, holding her carrier slightly behind my back.
In the calmest voice I can muster, I say, "Just said you don't know about our situation, dude."
"Did you call me dude?"
“Listen, I’m not looking for trouble. Just came here to get a burger—”
“Are you him?”
I want to turn around, but I’m scared of a hit from behind. If I drop the carrier…all I can think about is Eden’s floppy neck.
“Am I who?” I glance at the crowd that’s gathered around this rage-a-holic, hoping someone will say something so I don’t have to. All of them are quiet and wide-eyed, some holding up phones.
“Are you that faggot, Vance Rayne? I know you are. Take off that hat.”
“I don’t think—”
The fucker snatches my hat off. As I grab for it—moving just on instinct—two things happen: I realize I’ve taken my grabbing hand off the baby carrier, which shifts the weight of it to my hurt shoulder; also, Eden gives a soft cry.
“Dammit.” I look down and then back up at the guy.
“Look at that scar,” he sneers. “That’s the one.”
A woman beside him, wearing a normal-looking black dress, says, “It’s almost like kidnapping.”
“What?” another woman says, looking confused.
I turn partway around, toward the employee taking orders. “I don’t think I’ll order. Thank you.” I’m walking quickly away when something slaps my head. I blink, getting an eyeful of my ball cap, and that’s when something locks up in my shoulder. I’m about to lower the carrier to the ground before I fucking drop it when somebody grabs my pins-and-plates elbow.
“What the fuck?” I wrench the arm away, toss off my cap, and am horrified to find Rage-o crouching right beside me on the sidewalk, reaching for the carrier, where Eden is now wailing loudly.
I shove his shoulder, and the guy shoves me back. Since I’m crouching, balanced on my heels, I wobble, grabbing onto the handle of the carrier to right myself. Then, before he can do anything else, I pre-empt and sock the fucker in the jaw. As I dash off, clutching the carrier and jogging toward the crosswalk, my heart doing ninety miles a minute, I laugh at the sheer audacity—I just punched some damn stranger.
Wouldn’t have done it if my arm weren’t hurt. I needed a second to ensure a safe getaway.
I jog across the street in lite traffic, holding my hand up at cars, which let us pass.
“Vance!” Someone’s shouting.
What the fuckshit?
“Vance! Get in!” I look up, and right ahead of me is the blonde from the atrium—the one from Netflix. She’s holding a car door open.
19
Vance
“What the hell?”
“Don’t look behind you! Just dive in and lock the door,” she—he—says.
I just…do it. As soon as the door slams shut, there’s banging on my window. I see something flash, and then my driver jets off into traffic.
“Fucking shit, dude.” Netflix guy looks over his shoulder. “That baby okay? Are you okay?”
I realize Eden is really going at it, piercing wails and all; I just didn’t notice as we ran from that asshole. I lean over the carrier and try to give her warm little roly-poly body a hug.
“Hey, I’m sorry…” I touch her face.
I didn’t even realize until now that I’m shaking a little.
“You okay?” my driver asks
.
I look up at— “What is your name? Sorry.”
“My legal name right now is Anna.”
Eden starts rooting around, and I check the carrier for the bottle I packed for her as to-go food.
“Glad we got this,” I whisper as I guide it to her mouth and she clamps down like a damn snapping turtle.
“I think I need to hear this baby acquisition story,” Anna says.
“Like you haven’t read it.” I make a soft scoffing sound, and he laughs. “Okay, guilty as charged. I still want to hear it from you, though.”
“Why were you there?” I ask, feeling skeptical. “Why were you parked there by the street?”
“Truth?” His eyes meet mine in the rear view. “I’d been planning to drop by your house. Since I heard you were home—some reporters I know saw you at the blinds—I thought I’d ring the doorbell, or walk up to the gate. I saw you leave, though, so I figured I would get some lunch.”
Oh, okay. “So you were stalking me.”
“Not exactly.”
I change the subject. “You said your legal name. What’s the one you prefer, though?”
“Thanks for asking.” Not Anna pops a cookie into his mouth, and I realize he must have stopped at the really good cookie place around the corner from the burger joint.
“Ollie is my preferred name. And he/him. Please.” He laughs, a husky sound. “I’ve never said that before—at least not outside the internet. It feels good.”
“Glad to be the guinea pig. And thank you for the ride.”
My hand is throbbing. I look down at it and realize my knuckles are bruised. Fuck. I blow a long breath out. “I hit someone. That’s gonna be some bad press.”
“Were you provoked?” Ollie asks me.
“Fuck yes.”
“Maybe not so bad, then. Do you want to do a documentary with me? I’ll make you look all sparkly and angelic.”
I snort. “I don’t want spin.”
“Well, you are pretty sparkly. Maybe the film should really be about you. The self-sacrificing artist.”
“If I hurl in your car, you gotta clean it.”
