by Seven Steps
“It was my first party, first drink. I normally stay at home. Now I know why.” He shook himself and refocused on me. “But it doesn’t matter,” he said. “It happened and there’s nothing we can do about it now. Anyway, the second reason I’m here is because I’ve been thinking about how to prepare.”
“Prepare?”
“Yeah. For the baby.”
How do I respond to that? Do I agree? I don’t know how to fake prepare for a fake baby.
“Mmm.”
“I already looked at a couple of baby books but didn’t buy them. I thought it would be better if we bought them together.”
I nodded slowly. “Makes sense.”
Is he for real? Homer would’ve been in another state by now, not researching baby books. This was getting worse by the minute. The guilt expanded and constricted my lungs. I pushed the feeling aside and twirled my hair.
“I’m an old-fashioned kind of guy, so I think, if it’s cool with you, we should think about being a family…officially…as in husband and wife.”
I choked on air, and hacked out a cough.
Husband and wife…was he serious? I couldn’t be a fake wife. I was only sixteen!
Oh God, please make it stop!
He must’ve seen my panic because he threw up his hands in a defensive gesture.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be a good husband, I promise. My mom’s pretty happy and I’ve seen how my dad treats her so I kind of know what I have to do, but, I mean, we should talk about what your expectations are, like with chores and the baby and…stuff.”
Husband? He was sweet, but this was getting out of hand. He seemed so excited about this. How could he be so excited about this? I was scared to death, and I wasn’t even pregnant!
“Um…you know what? Maybe we should wait a while on the wedding plans, at least until the baby comes.”
I wanted to barf in my mouth. This was insane.
“Yeah, okay, but I want the baby to have my name, so hopefully before you hit seven months—you know, just in case the baby comes early.”
This is bad—really bad.
“I guess.” I twirled my hair even faster and pulled on it to prevent myself from fleeing from Julius and this crazy awkward conversation.
“I was hoping maybe we could start things off by getting to know each other better.”
Well, at least that was better than a proposal of marriage.
“Sure. I’ll give you my number and you can text and call whenever you want.” I wanted to call Clay and tell him to speed things up so we could finish this pregnancy farce. Things were getting way too intense for me.
“No, I meant, like, we should go out together.”
My brows furrowed. “Like a date?” An incredulous tone seeped into my question.
“Yeah, a date, so I can learn about you, and vice versa.”
I struggled to keep my face from scrunching in disbelief. Did Julius even know my last name? God, when would this nightmare be over?
“Um, okay.”
“Good. What about tomorrow night?” He smiled again, and it seemed to lighten the heavy mood. “I can pick you up here and we can go grab a bite to eat?”
“Sure. What time?”
“What about six o’clock? Does that work for you?”
“I’ll be ready.” I forced myself to grin, while on the inside, I wanted to run upstairs and scream into my pillow.
His foot came off the tree. “You should smile more. You’re beautiful when you smile.”
My lungs locked. My mouth dropped. He thought I was beautiful? I lost the ability to breathe for a couple of seconds.
He pushed a stray hair behind my ear, and my entire face went hot. I didn’t breathe again until he moved away from me and walked backward toward his car.
“See you tomorrow, Megera.”
“Bye, Julius.”
Then he was gone.
The situation was awkward and wrong on so many levels.
I was only sixteen. I didn’t want to marry anyone.
Even someone who thought I was beautiful.
Even someone who was ready to give up their life to make sure I was cared for.
Crap. Crap. Crap!
What am I going to do?
5
I really shouldn’t be doing this.
I should’ve told Julius I didn’t want him involved in the baby’s life, or mine.
I shouldn’t be dressing up and going out to dinner with a guy I’m lying too.
This is a bad idea.
A super bad idea.
The mother of all bad ideas.
But, let’s face it: bad ideas were kinda my thing at the moment.
The house was empty when Julius came to pick me up in his Nissan Maxima—and not even a new Maxima. A powder blue, 2000 Maximin with a big dent in the back passenger side door. The day before, I’d been too shocked to notice the car he drove, but now it was painfully obvious.
What kind of rich kid drives an old, dented car? Plus, Julius was so big he barely fit in the thing. He needed something bigger, like an SUV, or a pickup truck, or a Goodyear blimp. Seriously, this guy needed to get with the times. Was he cheap? Was the car some sort of family heirloom or good luck charm?
I swallowed my car comments, stepped out the door, and locked it behind me.
By the time I turned around, Julius was already at the gate, dressed in the most perfectly fitting jeans I’d ever seen a guy wear in my life, and a blue and white plaid button-up shirt. He was clean shaven and his hair was extra glowy.
Crap. Couldn’t he look less amazing? How was I supposed to spend my night lying to him if he looked so handsome?
I continued my journey down my front steps, glad I’d gone with my casual jeans, pretty purple tunic top, jacket, and flats instead of the plum-colored dress I’d been considering.
My stomach twisted with worry. What were we going to talk about? Our “baby”? Our impending “marriage”? The truth? Ourselves? I felt completely unprepared for this dinner.
Julius held open the wooden gate for me and smiled.
“Hi,” he said.
It took Herculean effort to keep the frown from my face. What guy opens gates for girls anymore? Do people still do that?
I forced a smile and tried to calm my racing heart.
Relax. Be cool. Confident.
“Hi.”
His eyes drifted down to my flat belly then back up to my eyes.
Sorry, dude. No bump yet.
He walked slightly ahead of me to the car, and the feminist in me guffawed.
No way. I don’t walk behind men!
I was about to pick up my pace when…he opened the car door for me.
My brain momentarily froze, and I just stood there, my eyes bouncing between Julius and the open door.
His smile turned nervous.
“It’s clean,” he said. “I made sure to get all the dog hair out before I left. I even took it through the carwash—twice.”
My face felt tight.
First the gate. Then the car door. So, he opens things…for me…on purpose.
I must’ve looked insane, because he looked inside the car then back at me.
“I only have the one dog, and the car’s clean, I swear,” he said. When I still didn’t move, he continued rambling. “And there are no cats in there. I don’t have a cat.” He frowned. “Are you allergic to cats?”
Cats? What was he talking about? What was I doing? Why was I standing here, gawking at his car like an idiot?
I smoothed my features and forced my feet forward. I had to stop acting like I’d never seen chivalry before. I mean, granted, no one had ever held a door open for me, or a gate. When Homer and I were together, I could barely get him to pay the tab at dinner. God, why did this whole thing make me feel so…weird?
“No, I’m fine. Just fine,” I said, climbing into the car.
I reached for the handle, but he slowly guided the door shut instead. I stared at the inside of the door like
it was Medusa’s head on a spike, and then mentally slapped myself.
Be cool. Stop acting like you’ve never been on a date before.
I strapped myself into the car, crossed my legs at the ankles—because that’s what ladies do—and placed my hands in my lap.
I had to get a hold of myself and not have a mental breakdown whenever he did something nice for me. I had to remember this was for my family. For my future at school. I had to make Julius believe. If I didn’t, everything I loved would be ruined.
He climbed into the car, shut the door, and slowly pulled away from the curb.
“So,” I said, “where are we going tonight?”
“Nowhere too fancy,” he said with a smile. “The Blue Fish.”
“The Blue Fish? In City Island?”
He nodded. “We went there once for my parents’ 25th anniversary. Best sweet potato pie ever, and I read that pregnant women should eat sweet potatoes. I hope that’s alright with you.”
For some reason, I burst out laughing—not chuckling or tinkering or little feminine giggles, but full-blown laughing. The kind that makes your eyes run and your nose burn. I was laughing so hard it felt like an out-of-body experience, like I was standing outside of myself, watching myself be a complete and total fool.
But I couldn’t stop.
“Are you for real?” I asked, giggling like an idiot.
His mouth was smiling, but his brows were lined and his eyes looked confused.
“For real about what?” he asked. A single laugh left his lips, but I could tell he didn’t find me particularly funny—weird and crazy, maybe, but not funny.
“About you? This whole opening gates and doors and looking up pregnancy stuff and this car and going to City Island. What rich person goes to City Island?”
I wiped a tear from my eye, my laughter finally subsiding.
I couldn’t help it. The whole thing was ridiculous. The situation, me, Julius, the fake baby—it was all 100%, absolutely, positively ridiculous.
Julius’ face hardened, and he didn’t reply. A few awkward—and painfully silent—minutes later, he pulled off the Grand Central Parkway, turned onto a local street, pulled over beneath a streetlight, and turned off the car. He released his seatbelt and rotated his body until he was fully facing me.
My stomach dropped.
Uh oh. Maybe I shouldn’t have laughed.
“Look, Meg. There are some things you should know about me, and it’s best that we get them out the way before we go any further.” He let out a deep breath and ran his hand over the back of his neck. “I’m not rich.”
My brows rose in surprise. Before I could say anything else, he kept going.
“My dad’s a bricklayer, and my mom stays at home. I’m only at this school on a football scholarship. We’re a working class family, and even though we don’t have much, we get by.”
My heart sank.
Julius was at St. Mary’s on a scholarship? That meant if he left school, he wouldn’t be going to another private school, he’d be going to public school—or, even worse, no school at all.
Did Clay know about this? Why hadn’t he told me? What am I doing? What have I done?
“The second thing you should know about me is that I’m real. I’m not just one of those guys who pretends to be chivalrous. I open doors for girls, I kill bugs, I go pick up the takeout, I fix stuff. I’m that guy. It’s not an act. It’s who I am.”
The truth blazed in his eyes, clear as day.
Great. Now I felt like a complete jerk for laughing at him—just one more thing to add to the guilt-soaked rain cloud that kept pouring onto my head.
I unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned my back against the door. I worried my lower lip between my teeth, and I felt downright contrite for how I’d been acting. I couldn’t apologize for all my bad decisions, but I could apologize for the ones I’d made tonight.
“I’m sorry I laughed at you,” I said. “It was rude, and I’m sorry. I’m not really used to guys being so…gentlemanly.”
He nodded. “All is forgiven.” His eyes dropped to my belly and back again, as if he could see a tiny person in there that I couldn’t. “How about we skip City Island and grab some fish tacos instead? We can hang out in the car and just talk.”
I smiled, a genuine one this time.
“I’d like that.”
He smiled back, slowly, like warm butter spread over fresh bread.
“Me too, and I know a great little spot—lots of light, lots of people, and a great view.”
He started the car, and we pulled away from the curb.
Before I’d spoken to Julius Samson, I thought he was just another jock. But, now that I’d gotten to know him a little better, I was finding he was a really nice guy.
A guy who, just maybe, didn’t deserve what Clay and I were doing to him.
The thought nagged at me as we drove about ten minutes away to a taco truck next to a park. It was around seven o’clock now. A few kids still hung around playing hoops and trash-talking. A few benches sat not too far from the courts, overlooking a giant globe. The unisphere in Corona Park had once been the centerpiece of the 1964 World’s Fair. Now it stood still, telling of times long past.
The night was crisp, and I pulled my jacket tighter around me as Julius and I ordered our food. It was just a simple Mexican taco truck but, somehow, it still felt special.
Julius ordered a pulled pork taco, while I ordered the fish. He paid for it in cash, grabbed the tray filled with tacos and drinks, and led us to a bench directly in front of the unisphere.
He was right—the view was amazing.
He set the tray between us, and we both took our first bite. It was amazing. The savoriness of the fish, the fresh lettuce, and the spicy sauce all mixed together in a flavor explosion. Who knew food served from a truck could be so good?
Julius swallowed his taco in four bites then sat back while I took small, ladylike bites of mine.
“Do you like it?” he asked, casually laying his arm on the back of the bench.
I chewed three times and swallowed before I answered.
“It’s incredible,” I said, dabbing my mouth. “How did you find out about this place?”
“My dad did some work around here a few years back, and I helped him out on the weekends. I ate tacos for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for two days straight.”
“It’s really good.”
He smiled, clearly enjoying the fact that I was enjoying it.
“So, what’s your story. Who is Megera Kotopuli?” He leaned forward, and I took the last bite of my taco before answering.
“That’s a pretty broad question.”
“I’m a pretty broad guy.” He chuckled, and for the first time, I noticed the little dimples in his cheeks. I tried not to think about how cute they were.
“You know what I mean,” I said.
“Yes, I know what you mean. Let’s make it easy—you ask me a question, I’ll answer, and vice versa. I’ll set my timer for five minutes.”
I threw my head back and laughed while he actually set a timer on his phone.
“It’s timed?”
“Of course. That way there’s no thinking about anything. Everything is real, from your gut, you know.”
My smile shrank. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. If I got too real, Julius would know what I was up to, but I couldn’t back out now. It would look like I was hiding something…which, technically, I was.
“I’ll go first,” he said. “Parents?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Like, do I have any?”
He scoffed and picked up one of the brown napkins from the tray.
“As in, number of. And names, if you’re comfortable.”
He reached the napkin toward my lips, but before it connected with my skin, he raised his brows, silently asking permission.
I nodded, though my heart picked up speed. The paper felt rough against my skin, and with his strong hand behind it, my senses felt overloaded.
“Meg?”
Oh God, are my eyes closed? I couldn’t help it. Even through the napkin, his touch felt nice. My lungs unlocked as he pulled away.
What was happening to me? I had to get myself together.
I cleared my throat, trying to gain some ground.
“Two. Marco and Maria.”
“Two for me too,” he replied. “Adam and Millie. Now, it’s your turn, and make it quick.” He glanced at his phone. “We only have four minutes.”
“Okay. Um…siblings—zero.”
“Siblings—eight.”
I choked on air.
“Eight?” I asked.
“Yup. The famous Samson octuplets.”
I looked at him hard. That hair…those eyes…
“Your mom—she’s Millie Samson. I saw her on television. You guys are famous.”
“My brothers and sisters are famous. I’m just the older brother who got a quick and ongoing lesson in infant care.”
“Wow. Your house must be nuts with eleven people in it.”
He looked at me intently—too intently.
“Your house must be lonely with only three.”
I blinked and dropped my eyes from his knowing gaze. I didn’t know if it made me more or less comfortable that he was so observant. Maybe he wasn’t just some dumb jock after all.
“One, mostly. My mom has stage four breast cancer. My dad spends all his time taking care of her so, most of the time, it’s just me.”
His gaze never wavered from my face, making me feel open, exposed.
“I’m sorry.” He didn’t offer anything other than that, no scriptures or promises about her getting well or questions about funeral arrangements like most people did. Just a simple ‘I’m sorry’. It made me like him just a little bit more.
“Do you love the quiet or hate it?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Sometimes both.”
It was the most honest thing I’d said to him since this whole thing started.
“So, when the baby comes, no one will be around to help you at home?”
I was momentarily confused before I remembered my deception. I sat up straighter on the bench.
“I’ll manage.” My voice was a little too hard and defensive. I consciously softened it. “Can I ask you a question?”