After getting groceries, we took them home, where Alex promptly fell asleep on the couch watching Finding Dory, giving me a chance to put groceries away and start laundry.
Now I make myself some microwave popcorn and grab my Rolos, and I’m hit with déjà vu because this is what I was doing a week ago when Brock showed up. I sit back on the couch and put my feet up on my coffee table. After getting comfy, I pull up Netflix and then Grace and Frankie. I love this show so much, the characters and dialogue, and it’s a great balance of funny and serious.
I pop a Rolo into my mouth, letting the chocolaty caramel goodness melt on my tongue. A moan slips past my lips the way it always does when I get that first Rolo into my mouth.
I’m just finishing my second episode when my phone dings. I pick it up and don’t recognize the number, but there’s a text.
Unknown: Can we talk?
Ripley: Who is this?
Unknown: Brock. I’m outside your front door. I didn’t want to wake Alex if he was already in bed.
There’s a pause.
Unknown: There is no pressure and it’s okay if you won’t talk to me.
What is there to talk about? Does he want to make sure I understand that he doesn’t love me? I swear, I do get it, I just don’t want it rubbed in my face. I take slow steps toward the door and my heart begins to pound. My palms are sweaty as I take a deep breath, reach out, and unlock the deadbolt. “You can do this,” I whisper to myself right before I pull the door open. I push the screen door open and he steps past me, then I shut the door behind us.
His back is to me and I hate admitting that it is one sexy back. His t-shirt is molded against it and I can see the tattoos peeking out under the short sleeves of the shirt. He’s wearing basketball shorts that show off his muscled ass and legs, and Brock’s definitely more cut than he was before. He’s lost that slightly boyish look he used to have and is much more chiseled now.
“I’m sorry to just drop by like this, but I just wanted to talk.” He finally turns and looks at me. Unwelcome thoughts enter my mind, but just as quickly, I push them out.
“What did you want to talk about?” I’m so proud of myself for sounding strong.
Brock moves toward me until we’re almost touching. “I lied,” he whispers.
My heart beats wildly. I should push him away, but I don’t. Instead, I whisper back, “Lied about what?”
“I lied when I told you I no longer loved you. The truth is, I’ve never stopped loving you. I shouldn’t be here. I keep telling myself you’d be better off if I just left you alone, but I can’t. My thoughts are constantly consumed by you.” His hands slide into my hair, tipping my head back.
“Mommy.” I look around Brock and find Alex standing at the bottom of the stairs. He bends over, vomits all over the floor, and starts to cry.
I move around Brock and rush to Alex. “Oh baby, what’s the matter? Does your tummy hurt?” He nods his head. “Let’s get you cleaned up okay?”
He looks at Brock. “Where’s Tiny?”
“He’s at home bud,” Brock tells him. Then he looks at me. “You get him cleaned up and I’ll take care of this.”
“Are you sure? It’s not the most pleasant thing to take care of.” I pick Alex up in my arms.
“It’s not a big deal. Seriously, he needs you, and I’ll deal with this.”
I give him a grateful smile. “Thank you. Cleaning supplies are under the sink.”
In the bathroom, I pull Alex’s shirt over his head. His little face is so pale, and him being sick is one thing I hate more than anything. Luckily, he’s been a pretty healthy kid. I miss the warning signs that he’s going to get sick again, so when Alex bends forward and throws up right on my chest I let out a loud squeal, scaring him. Now he’s really starting to cry.
“Oh baby, it’s okay. Mommy is sorry she scared you. Let’s get you cleaned up.” I take a warm washcloth and wipe his tear-stained face as I kiss his forehead. “Stay by the toilet while I get you new jammies. If you feel like you’re going to be sick, put your head over the toilet, okay?” I stand up and turn around to find Brock standing in the doorway.
“The floor’s all good and I lit a couple of your candles for the smell. You had a lemon-lime pop in the fridge so that’s sitting on the coffee table along with a bowl in case he gets sick again. Why don’t you get cleaned up and I’ll get him settled on the couch?”
I see he’s got a set of Alex’s pajamas in his hand, and my heart twinges. Brock hands them to me and I quickly change him, then Brock picks Alex up and my boy snuggles into his arms. I suppress my reaction to seeing them together because right now I want to curl up on the floor and cry. Instead, I whisper my thanks and watch them disappear into the hall.
I shake off the feeling in the pit of my stomach, quickly strip off my clothes, and jump into the shower to rinse off. Once I’m done, I wrap a towel around myself and rush into my room to throw on canary yellow cotton shorts and a white cami with a blue quarter-sleeved cardigan on over it. Back in the bathroom, I pile my hair up on top of my head and pick up my vomit-covered clothes, Alex’s clothes, and the towels.
I walk quietly down the stairs and freeze at the bottom. Brock is sitting on the sofa with his feet on the coffee table and my son curled up in his lap, fast asleep. He looks up at me when I step farther into the room. “I had him lie down at the end, but he crawled into my lap.”
“I-It’s fine. Thank you for l-looking after him. I’m going to throw this stuff in the washer. I’ll be right back.” I step through the kitchen into the little laundry room. It’s a stackable washer and dryer set, and with just the two of us, it works perfectly. Once the stuff is washing, I take a deep breath and head back into the living room just as the sound of Alex getting sick again hits me.
Brock still has Alex in his arms and he’s got the bowl in front of him. I move quickly, sitting next to them, putting a comforting hand on Alex’s back. Thankfully, he has finally has stopped getting sick, and my poor baby immediately falls back asleep against Brock’s chest. “Here, let me take that.” I grab the bowl and take it up to the bathroom, pouring it down the toilet.
Back downstairs, I find that Brock has drifted to sleep too. I grab the afghan that’s draped over the back of the couch and cover them both. In my room, I grab the blanket off my bed and head downstairs, curl up on the other end, and just watch them both.
This should’ve been us, Brock and me and the child we made together, a child created out of our love. I love my son with every fiber of my being, but he wasn’t conceived out of love. I wish he had been, but that doesn’t make me love him any less. Alex deserves a father who will love him unconditionally and teach him how to be a man. My father was so excited to take on that role, and he would’ve been a wonderful role model for my son, just like he was for Brock. My stomach rolls and I chalk it up to nerves and stress, and the fact that my son is asleep on top of the only man I’ve ever loved.
As much as I hate him for leaving me, I want to curl up with him right now while he holds my son so tenderly. My stomach rolls again as a tear slides down my cheek. Should I believe him when he says he lied? I can’t afford to let him break my heart again, because it’s not just mine that could possibly get involved. Honestly, he may not even want that. Oh sure, earlier I thought he might kiss me, but maybe it was just the heat of the moment.
I bolt off the couch, flying up the stairs and making it to the toilet just in time as I begin to retch. I get sick over and over again, clutching the sides of the toilet as my body curls in on itself. I start as I feel a hand stroke my back, though I know it’s Brock. When the retching stops, I rest my cheek on the toilet seat.
“Where’s Alex?” My voice is hoarse and soft.
“I laid him down on your bed. The garbage can is next to the bed and there are several layers of towels next to him, just in case he doesn’t move fast enough.” I watch as Brock grabs a washcloth and runs it under the tap. He then swipes it across my face and around my m
outh before tossing it in the sink. “Do you want to try getting in bed?”
I nod and don’t argue when he lifts me up and carries me into my bedroom. Sure enough, Alex is curled up in a little ball on one side of the bed. Brock lays me down on the other side and helps me get my cardigan off then pulls the covers up over both of us. “I’m going to sleep on your couch, okay? I don’t want to leave when you’ve both been sick.”
I’m so grateful to him. I reach out and grab his hand, giving it a squeeze, then snuggle under the covers as my eyes drift shut.
My eyes flutter open and the sun shines brightly into my bedroom. I roll over, expecting to find Alex next to me; thankfully he didn’t get sick any more last night. Instead I find an empty spot that’s cold to the touch. Very slowly, I get out of bed, slipping my cardigan back on, my stomach rolling only slightly. Across the hall in the bathroom, I cringe when I look at myself in the mirror. My skin is pale, I have dark circles under my eyes, and my hair fell out of my bun and looks like a rat’s nest.
I run a brush through it and throw it back up in a bun, wash and moisturize my face, and brush my teeth before heading downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs, I freeze yet again. Alex is lying on the couch and Tiny is sitting next to the couch with his head resting by Alex’s stomach, whose hand is absently rubbing the dog’s head.
I squat down by my boy’s head. “Hi, baby. How are you feeling?”
“My tummy still hurts. Brock is making me toast and bananas.” I kiss his forehead and give Tiny a rub behind the ear.
In the kitchen I find Brock buttering some toast and slicing up a banana. He smiles when he sees me walk in. “How are you feeling?”
My hand goes to my stomach. “I feel blah,” I say with a pout. I’ve never been a good sick person. When I’m sick, I tend to be bitchy and whiney. Brock throws his head back with a laugh. “Don’t laugh at me!” I even stomp my foot like a petulant child, which only makes him laugh harder.
“I see you still behave the same way when you’re sick.” He points to the table. “Sit. I’ll make you some toast too. I’m going to take this to Alex.” I watch him disappear into the living room. Why is he being so nice? It makes it very hard to hate him and push him away when he’s taking care of us. God, it feels nice to be taken care of. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always taken pride in my independence, but it’s nice to be able to hand the reins to someone else sometimes.
He returns a minute later and I ask, “How did Tiny get here?”
After buttering my toast, he brings it over to me. “Alex asked for him when he got up so I had my granddad drop him off. I hope that’s okay. The traitor hasn’t left Alex’s side since he got here.”
“That’s fine. It’s sweet he likes Alex so much.” I take a bite of my toast, forcing it down my raw throat, and a cup of tea is set down in front of me. “Thank you.” I take a sip and my stomach rolls; this time it doesn’t feel like it’s going to come up, but maybe down.
I fly up from my chair, through the house, and up the stairs. As soon as I clear the bathroom door, I shut it and lock it. I hear Brock’s voice through the door a moment later. “Are you okay?”
Embarrassment fills me. “Go away!” I shout. The asshole chuckles. “You’re a dick. Get the hell out of here.” Tears fill my eyes and I cover my mouth so he can’t hear me cry. Why am I crying? I take a deep breath and suck the tears back. “If you grab my phone, you can call my mom to come sit with Alex.”
“Don’t cry. I’ve got Alex, and I want you to go get in bed, okay? Alex will be fine.”
“Thank you.” I hear his ‘you’re welcome’ through the door and then pray for death.
12
BROCK
After checking in on Ripley, who is thankfully asleep, I head back downstairs and find Alex asleep on the floor with Tiny lying in front of him like a giant protector. I squat down in front of them and stroke my hand over his blond hair. I can’t help but look him over and try to see if I can recognize the other half of Alex’s DNA.
I can’t though; Alex is all Ripley, just the male version. I cover his little body with the afghan from the couch and then grab the clothes out of the washer and put them into the dryer. My phone rings and I pull it out of my pocket to see that it’s Tiffany calling. I don’t really have time for this, but I can’t be a jerk.
“Hey. Tiff,” I say as I answer.
“Hey. Sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to see how you were doing.” She’s sweet as hell, and I wish I felt more for her.
“I’m good. I’ve got my mom all settled into her new place, and Tiny’s being spoiled rotten by everyone.” Her light laughter through the phone is a welcome sound after a stressful week.
“That’s great. H-How are things g-going with your ex-girlfriend?” Her voice is quiet, unsure. A part of me wishes I had just kept my mouth shut about Ripley; Tiffany is hurt, and that’s on me.
I keep my voice casual. “We’re heading toward closure, which is a good thing. Things ended ugly before, and when I come back, I’ll feel better about things between her and me.”
“Well that’s good then. D-Do you still have feelings for her?”
This is getting into territory I’d rather not venture into. “It’s complicated. I’ll always have some sort of feelings toward her.” I want to lie, but that’s not fair to her. Even if the truth hurts her, it’s better than lying and leading her to believe there’s something between us.
She’s quiet for a moment. “I get it. I truly do.”
“Brock?” I turn to see Alex standing at the mouth of the kitchen, and of course, Tiny is standing right next to him.
“Tiff, hold on a second,” I say into the phone before turning back to Alex. “What’s up buddy? How’s your stomach?”
“Good, I’m hungry. Tiny wants you to make me peanut butter and jelly.” The bond they already have is amazing; I’ve never seen anything like it. Tiny looks at me then at Alex before butting the boy’s head until his arms wrap around his neck.
I can’t help but smile widely at them. The difference in their size is fucking cute; Tiny is tall—so tall that when he jumps up on his hind legs, he’s almost taller than I am—and Alex is just a little boy. “Okay buddy, go watch your shows and I’ll make you something in just a minute.”
“Okay. Come on Tiny.” They disappear back into the living room. Alex’s little boy voice can be heard talking to the dog, and again, he makes me smile.
“Brock?” Oh shit. I forgot Tiffany was on the phone.
“Fuck, I’m sorry.”
“He sounds adorable.” The hurt in her voice is clear, but I don’t really know what to do about that right now. I have bigger things to worry about. My eyes drift up toward the ceiling.
“He is.”
“Well I’ll let you go. I just wanted to check in. We’ll talk later?” I can hear the hope in her voice.
“Yeah we’ll talk later. How about I call you when I get back to my grandparents’?”
“That sounds good. Bye Brock.” I end the call and stick my phone back in my pocket. To start, I make Alex just a half a sandwich. I figure if he keeps that down, then he can another half.
Alex is sitting in front of the TV when I bring him his sandwich and he gives me a big smile. Tiny starts leaning toward the sandwich as I hand it to Alex. “Tiny, no.” He backs off and then lies down like he’s in pout mode. “Alex, I’m going to go check on your mom. I’ll be right back.”
Silence greets me at the top of the stairs. I step inside her room and find Ripley curled up in the middle of her bed. Half of her is out of the covers, and I’m embarrassed to say I check out her body. She’s in a tank top and little white panties that turn me the fuck on. Six years ago, she was a petite thing, but now she’s got gorgeous curves. I should turn around and walk out the door, but I can’t. On autopilot, I move toward the bed. I grab the covers and pull them up and over her, and her eyes flutter open.
“Shit, sorry I woke you. I was just coming up to see if you
were okay. How do you feel?”
“Where’s Alex? Is he okay?”
“Alex is fine, he’s downstairs with Tiny. I want to know how you are.” My hand reaches out of its own accord and strokes her cheek.
“I’m just tired.” Her voice is sweet, soft, and groggy. “Can I go back to sleep? Jonah will come get Alex so you can go.”
“Baby, I’ve got him. Just sleep and I’ll check on you later.” She’s asleep before I even finish speaking. What would she have done had she been alone with Alex? Why doesn’t Alex’s father help? What is the story Jonah wouldn’t tell me? I lean down and press my lips against her cool forehead.
Downstairs, I find Alex leaning against Tiny, his little eyes droopy like he’s ready to fall asleep himself. Tiny has no problem taking the boy’s weight. “Alex, do you want to go lie down in your bed?” I don’t have a lot of experience with kids, but with Ripley, I wanted them—a lot of them. We wanted a big, loud home filled with lots of love.
Alex gazes up at me. “Will you read me a story? Can Tiny sleep with me?”
“Yeah bud, I’ll read to you, but I don’t think Tiny will fit in your bed.” The little boy’s chin wobbles and a sense of panic fills me. “Uh-Uh, how about Tiny comes with us and we’ll see if he’ll fit, okay?” Hopefully once Alex sees for himself that Tiny won’t fit, he’ll be okay.
“Okay.” I lift him into my arms to carry him upstairs, and he snuggles into me with his arms wrapped around my neck. In his room, I set him down and he climbs into his bed. Tiny looks at the bed and then looks at me. He curls up next to the bed and I wait for Alex to get upset, but instead he reaches down and rubs the dog’s head. I grab a book off of his bookcase, one about a llama. He scoots over when I come back to the bed, and I honestly don’t know how I’m going to fit.
I have Alex get up and I climb onto his bed, then he crawls into my lap and snuggles against my chest. I pick up the book and begin to read.
Then There Was You: A Single Parent Collection Page 44