by Paige North
“You haven’t been there long enough to witness real change. Honey, the game is starting. Call me tomorrow, okay?”
“Sure thing.” I hang up, because I can’t take another minute of my mother’s disapproval. And here I was thinking it’d be nice to call her, share some happy news, get unconditional love and approval once she learned that I was finally—for the first time ever—seeing someone.
So much for that.
I head into the kitchen for a glass of water, and soon, a pair of arms are crushing me to death. “You okay? Someone looks like they could use a hug.” Then I feel a tiny pair of arms being forced around my neck. “Help me hug her, Olivia. Hug Miss Bailey. Come on…”
As cute as this kitchen attack is, I want to cry. My mom’s validation was important to me and she made me feel like a fool. Is it true what she said? That people don’t change that quickly? That this whole relationship is just a recipe for disaster? Or is that her old mom mind going into warning mode? I know lots of people who fall in love with single moms and dads. Why would this be any different?
Zayden and Olivia put on a funny show of picking up kitchen utensils and rocking out like they’re heavy metal instruments. Of course, Zayden does all the theatrics for Olivia, while Olivia just laughs her baby butt off at everything Zayden does. And then I see it—the glint of pure happiness in Zayden’s eyes. Those thirty minutes alone with Olivia while I isolated myself to talk to my mom on the phone have opened up a portal of total cuteness in Zayden. He’s in full dad mode, a happy little kid making the most of his time with his daughter. I’ve never seen anyone so content as I’m seeing right at this moment.
And I know my mom is wrong.
Because my mom isn’t here.
She’s not seeing what I’m seeing. She’s thinking about the horror stories she’s heard in her lifetime, not this amazing little family blossoming before my very eyes. She can’t know. She’s in Ohio living her life of Monday Night Football while I’m in New York City falling in love with my billionaire boss and his baby. Our lives could not be more polar opposite.
Zayden gets a call and hands me the baby so he can answer it. I put her on the floor, because she’s antsy and dying to walk though all she can do is hold onto cabinets for support. I sit on the floor and take photos of her. I plan on putting them all on social media tonight.
Then, as I’m taking a bunch of action shots, an amazing thing happens—Olivia, giving me a look of pure determination—lets go of the cabinet and trickles her little feet my way. She gets about four steps in before she tumbles into my arms with a joyous smile.
“Zayden!” I cry out. “Come see this! Your little girl has just taken her first steps!”
I’m so happy, I cover her with kisses from her head to her chubby toes. I pretend to munch on her toes and she laughs, wriggles her way out of my grasp, and crawls to the cabinet so she can try walking again.
“Zayden!” I call. I’d hate to interrupt him when he’s on a business call, but this is an important moment. I’d even be willing to pretend like I never saw it happen so he can witness it. “Zayden!”
“I’m here, Bailey.” His voice is somber. I look up. The look on his face isn’t any better.
Right away, I know something’s happened. “What’s wrong? What is it?” And it has nothing to do with work—I know it in the pit of my stomach. It has to do with us, with Olivia.
“It’s Noelia. She’s getting released early for good behavior and will be coming for Olivia.”
The blood drains from my face. All my mother’s words coming rushing back to me. “What? When?” No. This can’t be happening. Not so soon. It was supposed to take a year!
“Next week.”
Zayden
“It can’t be.” Bailey’s eyes fill with tears, even as she bites them back.
“It is. I’m sorry.” I give the chunky monkey a mournful look. I admit I’ve grown fond of the kid. She releases her tiny hands from the cabinet and walks toward Bailey in five quick steps before collapsing in her arms.
Bailey is strong enough to force a smile for Olivia, clap and act happy, as the baby toddles toward her, but I can see she’s falling apart at the seams. “There you go…there’s my big girl.” She fights the choking tears in her throat when Olivia walks into her arms, and I have to turn away before I lose it, too.
“Zayden,” her voice breaks. “I know you said not to bring it up again, but this is your last chance…”
“Don’t say it, Bailey.” I shake my head. “You know I can’t.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“I do.” I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You want me to fight for custody of Olivia but I can’t. I told you this already. It’s not the life I planned for.”
“Forget the life you planned for, Zayden. Life’s unplanned!” she says, desperation in her voice. I understand what she’s saying, but there’s just no way. I decided long ago that I would never be a father. I’d never bring children into this world then abandon them, leave them to their own devices when things got tough.
“Bailey, we need to dial back and remember the original plan,” I say as calmly as I can. “Olivia needs her mom. Her mom is coming. I warned you not to get attached. Maybe I should’ve hired a more experienced nanny.”
Her eyebrows lower and her lips pinch together. “Are you serious right now?”
“I’m serious,” I say quietly. “I don’t mean that as an insult, but someone with more experience would understand that you give kids back at the end of the day. They know that being a nanny always has an ending.”
In retrospect, Bailey’s first nanny job should’ve been with a family who needed extra help, not with a single dad who’d temporarily host a baby who needed a mother. But this was a special case from the beginning, and I needed a pro.
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.” She gazes at me, biting her bottom lip. “After everything we’ve been through these last four months, you can still say you’re not fit to be her dad.” Her fists are balled against the floor, as Olivia goes for another walk, giggling so hard, oblivious to the argument.
“I said it from the beginning,” I tell her again. “I wouldn’t be taking custody of Olivia.”
“That was before!” she yells. “That was before you started spending time with her, before she started looking up to you, hugging you because she loved you, and you started getting to know her. It was all before, Zayden!”
My voice rises as well. “I never wanted those things. I always wanted to keep my distance, and you know it.”
“Then why didn’t you?” Her voice is sharp and accusing. “Why didn’t you keep your distance? Why have you spent the better part of the last couple weeks bonding with her?”
“Because you insisted,” I say, and immediately regret it.
Her palm presses against her chest. “Because of me? How can say that?”
“Because it’s true.”
I sound like a dick right now, but that’s what happens when you speak the truth. Truth hurts. And I always knew that getting involved with my nanny and this baby was going to end in pain and suffering.
I tried to avoid all of this, yet here we are…
“You accuse me of making you love your daughter? Of making you accept her hugs and kisses? Seriously?” Bailey’s agitation grows. “You did that because you wanted to, Zayden. Not because I made you.”
Fuck that. I know that deep down, I have no one to blame but myself. Still, I can’t help but blame Bailey for at least part of it, for insisting that I hold the baby, get to know her, give her her bottle, go shopping for her, all things I knew I wouldn’t be able to follow through with. “We both knew this day would come.”
“You said it would take six months or more…”
“It was an estimate. And besides, what difference would it have made had it been four months, six months, or a year? The fact is, she has a mother, and that mother was always coming for her. The end.”
“No, not the end. Her mother is a criminal, and if she cared at all about her baby, she wouldn’t be getting in trouble. You have a clean record and the means to take care of her financially. You could easily win a custody battle. With or without me, Zayden.”
She has no idea if I have a clean record or not. I do, but she doesn’t know. That statement just goes to show me how naïve and willing to give the benefit of the doubt Bailey is, and I love her for it. Still, it changes nothing. “I can’t keep her, Bailey. This isn’t a dog we’re talking about.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Bailey’s tear-filled eyes begin to spill. It’s probably best that Olivia’s busy walking for the first time, because she’s too oblivious to understand that her nanny, her caretaker, is crying. Fuck, it even feels wrong to call Bailey that. For all intents and purposes, she’s Olivia’s mother, or stepmother, at least. She’s raised her for the past four months, and look at her now, she’s got her walking before the year is up.
“I have my reasons.”
“Which you still haven’t shared with me,” she bites back and scoffs. “I don’t know what’s worse—the fact that you won’t fight for your daughter even when you love her, or that you won’t let anyone help you figure out why.”
I never asked for any of this.
I never wanted to feel, never wanted a single iota of love to flow through my heart ever again. I was perfectly fine flitting from conquest to conquest, attending work-related functions, and coming home to a house all my own, sleeping in my own bed.
Damn Bailey for making me into a person I’m not, albeit temporarily.
I’m just as upset by Noelia’s release as Bailey is. I really do love Olivia, but I’m not the right person to raise her. Hell, if I could give her to Bailey to adopt, I’d be good with that, but that’s not a possibility.
This was never supposed to be a real thing—Bailey and I were never supposed to get this serious.
Yet I came around. I insisted. I brought her into my bed and my life.
And now I’m paying the price.
“I take the blame,” I say in a low voice.
“For what?”
“All of it. It’s my fault for insisting.” The sooner I take the blame, the faster we can get through this. I’m tired of going back and forth on whose fault it is that we’re hurting. The fact is, Olivia will be leaving soon. We might’ve gotten off track for a bit there, but now’s the time to get back on it. “You can stay until social services comes to pick up the child, then you may leave.”
My voice is cold. Any kindness from me, and Bailey runs with it, misinterprets, turns this whole thing into an emotional mess. And emotional messes are not me.
“The child?” she scoffs. “And then you may leave? Listen to yourself. Are you seriously talking like this again? I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”
I have to talk this way. It may hurt like a motherfucker now, especially after the awesome day we just had, but one of us has to get back on track. And it looks like that someone is going to be me. “Believe it. Get her to bed, Miss Rainville. I’ll be back to work in the morning and don’t want to hear a fussy baby in the morning hours. Anything you need, you can text one of the girls.” I turn and reluctantly head for the stairs, melted lead filling my chest.
“No.”
“Excuse me?” I turn around.
She’s right behind me, having left Olivia to her own devices in the kitchen. “I can’t let you do this. You’re not thinking straight right now.”
“I’m thinking straighter than ever, as a matter of fact.”
“No. This isn’t you. This is a mask. You’re putting on the same mask again, because it’s easier than dealing with your feelings, it’s easier than considering the alternatives.”
“There are no alternatives,” I say coldly.
“There are! Fight for Olivia. Whatever hurt you, Zayden, it’s in the past. We can get through this. You’re a new person, and I can help you through this. But don’t put on this fake persona. I know you now.”
Part of me almost crumbles, part of me wants to believe her. But I can’t listen. Can’t let the words affect me. It’s true that she knows me better than anyone has ever gotten to know me. She’s always had that power, but that’s exactly the problem—no one should’ve ever had that power over me. She got pretty close, but no more. “Get her in bed,” I say, my voice like ice and steel and rock.
There’s no feeling in my voice and I can see it break her as she hears my words.
“And if I won’t?” Her steely gaze defies me.
“If you don’t follow orders, I’ll send for a new nanny in the morning,” I tell her and head upstairs, dreading the showdown she’s making of all this. Dreading it because of how weak I am around Bailey.
She doesn’t follow me up.
And thank God for that. Because if she had, I might have fallen to pieces and given in to her, to Olivia, to everything that’s tearing at me.
But alone, lying in bed, I repair the damage and rebuild my walls.
Early the next morning, I get up and find Bailey’s luggage by the front door. She’s fully dressed.
“What the hell’s going on?” I say, my chest tightening with dread like I’ve never felt before.
“I’m leaving,” she replies calmly.
“The baby—“
“You’ll need to take care of her or find a sitter,” Bailey interrupts. “She’s not awake yet, but she will be soon.”
“And you’re not even going to say goodbye? You’re not going to stay with her until the transition’s made?”
Bailey can’t look at me. She shoulders her purse. “She’ll need a feeding, but you know how to do that now at least.”
“Bailey, Jesus. You’re upset, I understand.” I can’t quite fathom she’s going to leave us—me and the baby—stranded like this. Doesn’t she know what she’s doing? I had a plan. It would be orderly, we would adjust to the new reality. Bailey would eventually calm down, and then…
But looking at her face, I realize she wasn’t going to adjust, accept Olivia’s departure. She would accept nothing less than my complete commitment to fighting for custody of this child.
And that I cannot do.
I swallow hard, feel the burning pain in my chest, grit my teeth, stuff down the pain yet again. “Okay,” I say.
And then, just like that, she’s gone.
Bailey
I almost forgot what home was like. And coming home at six in the morning doesn’t help either. I hardly recognize Perrysburg. Riding home in Dad’s car, I stare out the window at our snowed-in town square and small shops on Main Street still asleep to the town. To think this place felt big at one point. Now it seems like a molecule next to the beehive that is New York City.
Leaving Olivia was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I know I could’ve waited, but it hurt too much to stay. Even one more night would’ve driven me crazy, and I know it would’ve ended in a screaming match.
I entered her room before sunrise this morning, lowered the crib rail, and pressed a kiss against her soft baby cheek. “It was my honor caring for you, chunky monkey,” I said, fighting back tears. “Be good.”
Luckily, she was asleep, or else I can’t imagine how much worse it would’ve been.
Six hours later, here I am. My dad knows something is wrong but won’t pry. He just keeps talking about random things to keep me distracted.
“Joe sold one of his dressers yesterday,” he says. Joe is his brother who works with him building beautiful hand-crafted furniture in our garage. Considering few people pass through Perrysburg, Joe selling a whole dresser is a big deal.
“That’s awesome. Tell him I say congrats,” I mutter, forcing a smile.
I just need sleep. My bed, if my mom hasn’t claimed my room for anything. When I left Perrysburg six months ago to rent a room in Queens, I was determined never to come home with my tail between my legs. And I’m fairly certain it would’ve worked if I hadn’t
been stupid enough to fall in love with my boss.
Hindsight is a super-sharp 20/20.
It was a bad idea from the very start. Bad, bad idea.
Now comes the worst part of all—admitting to my mother that she was right.
Dad pulls into our little house on Haven Street, and it strikes me just how appropriate that name is. You can barely even see our house on a Google satellite image. We’re hidden by trees all the way in the back of a long road and cul de sac. Seeing my house again makes my heart ache. My mom waits at the door, and her eyes light up when she sees me, though her smile is crooked and sympathetic.
Carrying my bag over my shoulder, I trundle through the snow, up the steps and into her warm arms. When I smell her familiar scent, I fall apart at the seams. Mom hugs me and pats my back. Thankfully, she has nothing to say. Now, anyway.
“Is that the only bag you brought, Bale?” Dad asks from the trunk of the car.
“Yes. The rest of my stuff will get shipped.” My clothes, my shoes, my toiletries, all the stuff I didn’t take when I left. I wonder if Zayden will send me my new bedroom things. Hope not. I don’t think I can bear to see them again knowing he gave them to me.
I shuffle down the warm hallway into my room to see it exactly the way I left it. My soul feels heavy but grateful to see its familiar resting space. Clonking down on my fluffy bedspread that smells like home, Mom leaves me to go make breakfast, even though I told her five times I don’t want to eat anything. Regardless, coffee is brewing and something is cooking on the stovetop.
Dad and Mom mumble quietly. I know they’re talking about me and my sudden call from the airport telling them I’d be coming home in a few hours. I know they’re trying to figure out what to make of me, but the fact is, they don’t have to do anything. I’m just going to lay here like a bloated seal on the wharf for hours, maybe days, possibly weeks. They don’t have to cook or clean for me, they don’t even have to talk to me.
Just being here is enough. There’s nothing like coming home when wounded.