by Kat Addams
Aiden: That’s what friends are for! Support. And we will both need the help of your parents. I am excited to meet them. I will pick you up at five.
Me: It doesn’t take that long to get there! Plus, they know I run late a lot.
Aiden: I know, but I want to swing by somewhere first. Maybe pick something up. Can you be ready by five? Actually, a quarter till? Let’s plan on that. Because if I say that, you’ll be ready by five for sure. Deal?
He knew me so well.
Such a good friend.
Me: Deal.
I tucked my phone back under my boob and blew out a breath. My family would love Aiden, and he’d love them too. There wouldn’t be any issues there. The only concern I had was, they might love him too much. He had the type of personality and charm that anyone could easily fall head over heels in love with. I knew. Not that I was head over heels in love, but if I didn’t put the brakes on my irrational, hormonal thoughts, I could see myself going down that road.
“Eat up, little mama. I don’t need any hangry ladies on this truck. I deal with that enough at home with Maisy,” Betty said, sliding the door open and handing me my plate.
“How’s mom life, Betty? Is it scary? I’m scared.” I propped the plate of tacos on my belly.
“It’s good,” she sighed, sitting next to me. “Look, it’s hard. I’m doing it with a little girl. Not a baby. So, it is different for me. But I will say, it’s hard as fuck. No one told me how hard it would be, and that’s probably because I would have run the other way. But those little cards they make for you with crayons, the macaroni necklaces, the colorful weeds they pull in the backyard to make a bouquet—all those little things they do for you to show you how much you mean to them make it worth it. It’s worth the snot rockets, the stomach bugs, the tantrums in the middle of the store, the sleepless nights, the wild energy. All of it. Somehow, it balances out. I don’t know how because it sounds crazy, saying it out loud. I mean, who the hell wants to exchange a sleepless night for a damn weed? But it’s true. You’re going to dry that weed out and put it on your mantel like it’s the prettiest damn flower you’ve ever seen.”
I took a bite of my taco, crunching rudely when she finished speaking. “I believe it. It doesn’t sound crazy to me. Even now, she kicks the hell out of me, but it’s kind of cute in a way. I still love her. I’ve never felt love like this before—a mother’s love. I’ve heard it described, but I guess you just don’t know until you have a child of your own. Or a child of someone else’s or … you know what I mean!” I stammered, remembering Betty had recently begun the process of adopting Terrance’s daughter, Maisy.
“It doesn’t matter if it’s blood or not. Mother’s love is mother’s love. Now, eat those tacos, rest for a few, and I’ll come get you for the lunch rush.” Betty rose, patting my head before leaving.
It was true. I’d seen the change in her as soon as she became serious with Terrance and Maisy. Betty would always be Betty, but she’d softened around the edges once that little girl came into her life. I would never have thought my best friend would feed me tacos and pat my head.
Mom life didn’t worry me. The only worry I had at the moment was my situation with Aiden. I didn’t want to ruin what friendship we had, but damn if I didn’t want more than that—with him or anyone. But mostly, him. He was my baby daddy after all. If Aiden didn’t take me on, who would ever want me as a single mom? I was destined to be alone—stretched out missile belly and all.
I stuffed the rest of the taco in my mouth and stifled my sobs.
SIX
Aiden
I’d had a pep in my step since I’d found out I was having a little girl without a football noggin. My business kept growing, my baby girl kept growing, and my excitement kept growing. At our last appointment, Deb the doula had slipped me her number in case of emergency. I’d called it twelve times already. I had questions. So many questions!
Will the baby need a bath thermometer?
Should I buy a car seat that grows with the baby, or is it better to switch them out?
Can Layla eat deli meat?
Won’t the baby get cold if she can’t use a blanket?
What about feet? What size shoes does she need?
Shoes … shoes.
Layla had mentioned something about shoes. She’d said her feet ached and wouldn’t stop growing.
When I’d asked Deb about the never-ending feet on my baby’s mama, she told me that was absolutely normal too. Along with a lot of other weird symptoms, like something called a linea nigra. She explained it as a dark line going straight down Layla’s belly. Not that I would see it outside of the ultrasound room, but she told me just in case I happened upon it and any purple-hued stretch marks that Layla was surely to have with the way her stomach stuck out from her hips.
She also not-so-subtly told me Layla’s vulva might look different. Not going to lie. I Googled vulva. I knew it was her naughty bits, but I had no idea which part. Thanks to Google, I now knew everything I ever wanted to know about the female genitalia. Deb told me that Layla could have a swollen vulva with achy, bulging veins too. I’d shuddered, protested that Layla and I were just friends, and hung up the phone as quickly as I could. I tried to be involved, but I wasn’t sure I could handle a big, swollen purple vagina—ahem, vulva.
I showered, shaved, combed my hair back, and slipped into my usual slacks and jacket before dancing out the door to pick up Layla. I missed our dance lessons and our backseat tango sessions. But I knew better than to push anything with her, especially while her hormones were all over the place. As much as I wanted to take our friendship out of the friend zone, I wanted to take things slow and see if they naturally progressed from there first. Or maybe, wait to see if Layla would make the first move—if that was what she wanted. These days, I had no idea what she wanted, except sugary foods and compliments. Both of those things came easy for me.
I slid into the leather seat and buckled up, fighting back the tingling nerves bubbling inside of me. I hadn’t met anyone’s parents in ages, and Layla’s parents would become a part of my life through my child, their grandchild. I had to get along with these people, and they had to like me or else I would have a lifetime of drama ahead of me. Not that I was too worried about my first impression. Parents usually loved my charm and warmth—or so I’d been told in the past. Perhaps it was because I still missed my parents terribly. I longed for that kind of family connection.
I thought about my parents and how they’d never get to meet Layla or my daughter, which led to thoughts of my ex’s child back in Australia. I wondered how my ex’s baby boy looked today. I’d only had a few moments with him before she told me the truth and sent me away, refusing to communicate with me about anything and cutting me entirely out of her life. I guessed her feelings of guilt had forced her to push me away, or perhaps she had planned on getting back with the birth father and didn’t need me around, messing that up. I harbored no ill feelings toward her anymore. It didn’t matter now. That part of me I’d left back in Australia. I’d grown into a different man today. I had a successful restaurant, a second one in the works, a healthy baby girl on the way, and a fantastic friendship with my child’s mother.
I swallowed hard and pulled into Layla’s driveway. I’d been by her place once before, picking her up for dance lessons because she’d insisted on taking a ride in my new car. I happily obliged, curious as to where my mate lived. When I’d rounded the corner of her neighborhood, I’d immediately spotted Layla’s house, but she never invited me inside.
She’d painted her front door the same color of robin’s-egg blue that she tended to wear often. Her flowerbeds overflowed with rose bushes, and even her mailbox looked as if she’d hand-painted it to look like the scales on a mermaid’s tail. When I’d asked her about it, she’d laughed, telling me how upset her neighbors were when she did that. But she didn’t care. It was part of an art assignment that had scored her major points with her professor.
Layla�
��s eclectic sense of style was one of the first things I’d noticed about her. The first time we’d met, she’d shown up in a leopard-print dress with red heels. The second time, she’d worn a hot-pink top with black leather pants. With Layla, I never knew what I would get besides excitement—and friend-zoned.
I shut off my engine just as she waddled out of her blue front door, wrapped in a lime-green kimono with pink flip-flops. I smiled, hopping out and running to the other side of the car to help her inside.
“Thanks,” she said, hugging me. Her breasts squished against my chest, almost knocking me back.
“You look beautiful. I love this. Is it a kimono?” I reached out, touching the thin, crepe-like fabric.
“Yes. I slipped it on as I was heading out because,” she said, untying it and pulling it open, “look.” Her boobs burst forth, overflowing from the top of the white dress she wore underneath.
“Wow. That’s, um … it looks painful. Do you not have any dresses that won’t strangle you like that?” I helped her into her seat before she tied the kimono around her again.
“I did. This was one of them,” she sighed. “I guess I can always use an excuse to go shopping.”
“Good! Because that is why I picked you up early. We’re getting you new shoes and new clothes. My treat,” I said before shutting the door and coming around to the other side.
“Really?” Her bottom lip quivered.
“Of course. That’s what—”
“Friends are for,” she finished. Her head rested against the window.
“Aye, mate! Now, let’s get down to business. Tell me all about your mum and dad, so I know how to prepare myself. What kinds of things do they like? If possible, I’d like to swing by and bring them something,” I said, watching the screen in front of me to make sure I was backing down her driveway safely.
“Wine. They love wine. They have this little ritual they do nightly. After dinner, they have a glass or three of wine on their patio. Sometimes, they even screw out there. I only know because I’ve walked in on them. Lots. So, yes, let’s bring them a bottle of burgundy.”
“Oi! Seeing your parents have sex is one of the most traumatic memories a person can have! I never experienced that myself, thankfully. But I will say that nightly ritual sounds lovely. What a great way to connect and unwind at the end of the day,” I said, driving carefully toward the shops.
“My parents are goals,” she said, patting her belly.
“Mine were too.” I smiled. “Soul mates, is what Jay and I say. I never saw two people so in love before. Hardly ever argued. They were great role models on what to look for in a partner. Maybe that’s why I haven’t …” My voice trailed off as I realized what I was saying might offend Layla.
“Settled down?” Her voice came out low.
“Well … yes, and no.” I gulped. “I’m not saying I haven’t met the right person. I’m just saying it takes me a while to know for a fact that a person is right for me. I want the soul-mate experience—or at least, to be best friends.” There. I’d said it. I put the possibility out there. Now, if only she’d take the bait.
“I get it. I’ve not found anyone in Outer Forks worth settling for either. Except this one right here.” She pointed toward her stomach.
Well played. Well played.
“We don’t even have to settle for her. She is the grand prize. A dream come true. The princess. And you’re still a radiant queen.” I reached over, squeezing her knee before patting the basketball-sized hump resting on her lap.
“And you’re such a Prince Charming.” She shook her head and giggled, sending my head swimming again.
We pulled into the shop’s parking lot. I considered myself a strong man, but hoisting her out of the car was like reeling in a baby whale. Morning jogs with my brother and the occasional body-weight exercises kept me in shape, but I reminded myself to push harder next time and increase my core strength. I needed it for Layla.
After I finally helped her out, we both grunted, moaned, and laughed before leaning against my car to catch our breaths.
“It’s not all me! This is your baby too! I don’t know what you ate before you knocked me up. Protein powder? Growth hormones? Sheesh. I won’t make it the full forty weeks,” she huffed.
“Forty weeks! I thought it was thirty. Where has my head been? You have how many left?” I hooked my arm in hers, steering her toward the sidewalk before pausing. I had no idea where to buy women’s maternity clothes. I only knew where the shoe shop was, which was where I had initially planned on taking her.
“Aiden! Have you not been paying attention?” She curled her fingers around my bicep, digging into me.
“I’m just kidding! I know it’s forty. And you’re coming up on twenty-two weeks soon.”
“Third trimester will be here before you know it. I’ll be as big as my house.” She pulled me past three shops before stopping in front of what I assumed to be the maternity store.
Mannequins with small, taut baby bumps stood in the windows. They were posed with their hips out and their hands to the side, as if they were on a runway. Their tiny plastic bumps stuck out like chic cantaloupes. Meanwhile, Layla stood next to me as if she needed to pop a squat and drop an egg. Her hands rested on her lower back as she stretched backward, poking out her never-ending belly.
I did a double take. Her stomach couldn’t have grown since we left the car. I wondered if our little girl was doing flips in there or lying down with her feet poked out to trick me into thinking she was gigantic.
“I hope this place has elastic in their bras and pants. Otherwise, it’s muumuus for me.”
I opened the door to the shop, stepping aside to let her pass. The smell of her honeysuckle hair as it swished by me set my fingertips ablaze. I needed to reach out and touch those long locks. I wanted to run my hands through it while I crawled on top of her and buried my nose in her floral scent. I had no idea what a muumuu was, but if we did this whole lovers thing again, I hoped it was something that slipped off easily.
Layla tried on eight different dresses, three pairs of leggings, and six tops before settling on two outfits that she felt worked. I thought she looked dazzling in everything, but she huffed and puffed until throwing her hands up in frustration. I carried the dress and leggings to the register.
“Is this a muumuu?” I asked her, holding up her clothes. The dress looked as if it were a pillowcase made for a rhinoceros.
“No.” She laughed. “But it will work. Let’s go. We’re going to be late.”
I paid for the items and dragged her toward the shoe store before leaving for dinner. “I know we’re short on time, but I have to buy you new shoes. You can’t wear flip-flops all summer. Let’s get you at least two comfortable pairs. Please? I need the mother of my child to be comfortable.”
She put her hands up in protest. “You will not! You just bought me maternity clothes. I’ll be fine.”
“I insist. We’ll hurry. Let’s go.” I brushed my hand against her lower back and nudged her inside.
She smiled, leaned over to kiss my cheek, and began browsing the aisles. She handed me shoebox after shoebox to carry to a bench, where she plopped herself down and began trying them on. She leaned forward, grunting.
“I can barely touch my feet! It’s not that she’s huge in here, but I feel like she is wound up in a ball and poking her entire being out into my lap! Look at this!” she said, pushing herself as close to her feet as she could get.
“Let me help.” I knelt before her, opening a box and pulling out an orthopedic sandal. I gently took her ankle in my hand and slipped on the shoe before holding her foot up and out so that she could see the fit. I tried to keep my eyes on the shoe, but it was no use. My gaze followed all the way up her toned leg, past her growing bump, up her heaving breasts, over her parted lips, and straight into her sparkling eyes.
“You really are Prince Charming, you know,” she said, meeting my gaze before lowering her lashes.
I kissed
her ankle, patted her leg in a friendly manner, and smiled.
“Anything for my best mate,” I answered, sucking in my breath. I wanted to keep kissing Layla’s ankle, working my way up.
Sure, I wanted to jump her bones. But I felt more. I needed more. I wanted to hold her. There, in the middle of the shoe store. I wanted to close my eyes and whisk us away somewhere she and I could both feel safe enough to tell each other these feelings that we were too chickenshit to say.
She quickly changed the subject, and we spent the rest of the shopping trip and the drive to the wine store and her parents’ house in comfortable silence. By the time we arrived at dinner, we were forty-five minutes late.
“I’m so sorry I made us late,” I said, pulling into the shaded driveway.
“It’s okay. My parents know how I am. Besides, we brought wine! You’re forgiven already.”
Layla waited for me to come around and hoist her out of my car again. I held on to her tight, pulling her up and steadying her as she wobbled across the cobblestone path toward the front door.
“I see where you get your green thumb,” I said, nodding toward the landscaped flowerbeds.
“Like mother, like daughter. I wonder if our little girl will like flowers. I used to want to name my daughter after something floral. Daisy, Rose, Meadow, Violet.”
“You changed your mind?” I turned toward her, pulling my brows together. I loved those names.
“I’ve been thinking about it. We’ll see. We need to talk about that!” She pushed the doorbell right as her mom flung open the door. In front of me stood Layla’s twin, except about thirty years older.
“Come in! You must be Aiden! It’s so nice to meet the dad!” Layla’s mum threw her arms around me before shuffling us inside.
“Aiden, this is my mom, Barbara. Barbara, Aiden. And also, my dad, Stan.” Layla pointed to the man rising from a recliner in the back. She grabbed the wine from me and gave it to her mom while I shook her dad’s hand.
