“Who’s three?” he asks, and the light in his eyes dims.
“Yes,” I answer and swallow a lump of spikes in my throat. The unspoken question surrounds us and it threatens to be spoken if I don’t speak up myself: How could you not tell me?
“I don’t know … who the father is,” I say and it hurts to admit the truth. Brody’s sneakers smack down on the pavement as he turns his back to me. At first, I think he’s leaving, and it kills something inside I wanted to protect, but he’s only moved to sit on the porch step.
Tears leak from the corner of my eyes and I’m quick to brush them away, grateful he doesn’t see. I dealt with this shame years ago; I don’t want to go back to the girl I was back then.
“I was getting over my ex when we met at the bar.”
“Robert.” Brody says the name, clearly up to date.
“Yes,” I say and slowly, very slowly, I join him on the porch, taking a seat next to him and using the railing to lower me down.
His shoulders are hunched and the crickets pipe up once again in our silence.
“How could you not tell me?” I knew he would ask, but I still wasn’t prepared for how much it would hurt to hear him say it like an accusation.
“I left that week and I didn’t find out for two more months …” I still remember that moment. Having nothing, having no one and then realizing I hadn’t gotten my period since I’d been back. “I was shocked and I didn’t have your number or—”
“You knew where I was staying,” Brody cuts me off to insist, allowing both disappointment and anger to leak into the accusation.
“I didn’t. I was drunk, Brody. I didn’t even know your last name. I … was reckless and—” My throat tightens, explaining everything all over again. Feeling the shame and the remorse. I shouldn’t feel those emotions about my baby girl. I hate that I’m back in that place I was years ago. Feeling just as alone and like the scarlet letter on my chest is burning brighter than it did back then.
I sniffle, fighting back the tears, knowing that this is what it was all leading to, and it’s only then that Brody touches me. His large hand settles down on my thigh, half resting on the edge of my cotton nightgown and half on my bare skin. I’m grateful for the small bit of mercy and I’m quick to put my left hand over his. My right is busy brushing away the tears.
“Is she mine?”
“I don’t know. If I knew for sure, I’d tell you—but I don’t …” A long moment passes of quiet and I pull my hand away, in case he wants his own back. “It doesn’t matter because I’m not asking for anything if she is. I don’t want to put that pressure on you.”
His response comes with an edge when he says, “I have a right to know.”
“I know,” I say and my voice is just as defensive. “I know you do. But I thought I would never see you again.” I swallow down the next words that beg to tumble out. The ones that explain how I prayed and wished on every star that he would come to my rescue years ago. Like how little girls wish for their Prince Charming to take care of all their problems. I hoped that he would magically find me. I could tell him everything and that he would love me at a time in my life when so many people hated me. That he would see I was pregnant and that he’d want to know and help me through it all. But all the prayers and wishes were only words whispered at night that sometimes helped me sleep. Come every morning, I was alone. Robert was there too, sometimes. But Brody? I learned to accept I would never see him again.
I settle on a simple truth when he pulls his hand away. “I wanted to tell you for months, but you weren’t there to tell. So I just … I just learned to accept that it was never going to happen. Years later, you show up out of nowhere and expect me to be able to tell you. I don’t think you understand everything that it comes with. It’s not so simple, Brody.” I don’t realize that I have officially lost it, the tears streaming and my nose running until I sniffle and recognize that I need a tissue.
I’m only vaguely aware that Brody stands up with me, his hand gracing the small of my back for a fraction of a second as I hurry inside. I leave the door open for him and from the hall half bath, I know he shut the door from the thud that echoes back here.
Bracing a hand on the counter on each side of the sink, I gather my courage, not knowing if he came inside or simply left.
I don’t know which would be easier to take right now, because all I feel like doing is sagging into my bed and letting all of this out. Just to get it over with and move on.
With a gentle knock, the bathroom door creaks open and Brody stands behind me in the mirror. “You all right?” he asks and my shoulders hunch, my hands cover my face and I can only shake my head no.
I give myself a full second, maybe two, before reaching for the tissue box again only to find it empty and relying on toilet paper in its place. “I just need a moment and I’ll tell you everything.” My reddened eyes stare at his in the mirror as I say, “I promise. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I just need a moment.”
Brody
“I keep telling myself, there’s no way for you to know what I’m feeling right now and what I went through.” Magnolia’s face crumples as she adds in a strained voice, “But I wish you could. I wish you knew what this felt like and how much I wish everything was different. I’ve wished it for years.
“I never wanted to keep anything from you. I never wanted to hurt you. I was just hurting myself and it kept me …” Her gaze drifts to the hallway every time her voice raises slightly. I don’t miss it. Her little girl, possibly my little girl, is tucked away sleeping.
My hands are raised as I go to her, the distance disappearing as I wrap my arms around her small frame. She sags against my chest although she doesn’t let her face touch my shirt. Instead her forearms are braced there.
I imagined this scene for hours before I came, ever since Griffin told me. He said he figured she was Robert’s until the rumor mill started up and there were whispers that it was some guy she hooked up with in college who’d knocked her up.
For all I know, that little girl could be Robert’s, my child, or someone else’s. But she should have told me if there was even a chance that she was mine.
That’s all I was thinking on the drive down here.
I didn’t know I’d feel like this. I didn’t know she’d break down like she is. “I don’t want you to be upset,” I whisper in her hair, rocking her slightly and running my hand up and down her back.
Magnolia doesn’t say anything, but she does try to pull away and I don’t want her to. I don’t know a lot of things right now, but I know when she backs away and heads to the bathroom, I wish she didn’t. I wish she’d lay her head against me and let her tears land wherever they land; I’d still hold her.
With nothing in my arms and feeling a weight on my chest, I plant myself down on her sofa. My elbows rest on my knees as I lean forward. It was one night years ago. A single night. My grandfather’s voice jokes in the back of my head: It only takes once.
“There’s a chance she’s yours. And there’s a chance she’s not,” Magnolia admits to me. “I didn’t know how to tell you when she’s … she’s my whole world and it feels like no matter what I do, it comes back on her.” It takes great effort on her part to keep the fresh tears back and I hate to see her like this.
I don’t know how to make things right, but I want to.
My mind races with every possible thought until she sits down beside me. Leaving space between us, far too much space. With my chin propped up on my closed fist, I peek at her.
Her red-rimmed eyes barely glance back. Everything makes sense now. Every little detail all lining up. I know I’m not feeling what she’s feeling, but damn it hurts. It’s too much.
“Dahlia, you look prettier when you smile,” I joke with her and her expression falters a moment until she sees me smile. Rose. Magnolia. It doesn’t matter what she calls herself.
“Dahlia now?” A hint of a smile touches her flushed face.
�
�They’re beautiful flowers,” I whisper back with a smirk. “Come here,” I say, giving her the small command, leaning back and gesturing with my hand. She’s slow to fold herself into my arms but she does. This time her cheek rests against my chest and her hand lays right in the center of it.
“Which one is a dahlia?” she asks me and my chest vibrates with a chuckle, stirring her.
“I have no idea, to be honest.” She smiles broader and I feel it. My smile widens too when she readjusts, sneaking closer to me until her leg is pressed against mine and my arm fully wraps around her back. “It’s the first flower name that came to me after Rose and Magnolia,” I say.
There’s a small bit of peace and stillness that rests between us. Her guard is still up when she tells me, “I really, really like you, but I mean it when I say she’s my whole world and that I don’t know what to do to protect her from this …”
All I can think is that this town is going to talk and judge. The animosity Magnolia got when her father screwed over this town is what she’s afraid of. Not the part directed at her, but in the way they’ll look at and talk about her daughter.
It’s all too heavy and all too much.
I confess the only thing I can think to admit. “I want to kiss you.”
She peeks up at me, her tired eyes glossy again. “Even still?” she asks. The pain and insecurity are raw and vibrant in her doe eyes.
“Even more seeing you like this.”
With my hand cupping her chin, I press my lips to hers, silencing all of that uncertainty.
She’s quick to deepen it and her slender fingers wrap around the back of my neck. What was peaceful turns hot in an instant.
I nip her bottom lip and peek down at her, her eyes still closed when I kiss her again. My tongue sweeps across the seam of her lips and she parts them for me, granting me entrance.
I’m hard and in need and there’s no way she isn’t in need too.
The sofa protests with a groan as I lay her down, never taking my lips off hers. My hands roam up her nightgown and it’s only then that she breaks our kiss, breathing heavily and whispering my name like a plea.
Please don’t deny me. For the love of all things holy, please don’t deny me.
“We have to be quiet,” is the only warning she gives me and I devour those sweet lips of hers and rush to undress us both.
Her hand is hot and full of the same need every inch of her is giving me as she slips her fingers up my shirt. With the scratch of her nails, the strokes of her tongue against mine and the gentle moaning, her desire and need meet my own.
It’s a cloud of lust and longing that unveils itself around us in the dark night in her living room. Her sofa groans as she lays down and I meet every inch of her movements with mine. Skin on skin, heat on heat, there’s nothing between us, nothing stopping us.
Raking my teeth up her neck I listen to the sweet gasp of pleasure that spills from her lips. Slipping my hand between her legs, I find her ready.
With the tip of my finger I gently play with her clit, loving how she writhes under me.
She begs and pleads, the arch of her foot pressed against my ass to push me closer to her.
“Brody, I want you,” she murmurs with lust laying over every word.
The spark in her eyes, the heavy rise and fall of her chest, and my name on her lips fuels me to let go of everything and all sense, and take her like I’ve wanted to.
With a swift movement, I thrust all of myself into her in a single movement. Her eyes widen, her bottom lip drops and her nails dig into my skin. She’s tight, so fucking tight.
Pain and pleasure swirl in her doe gaze and I wait for her body to relax, planting small kisses along her jawline. I take my time with them and when she’s finally able to breathe, I slow my motions and rock into her, stretching out her pleasure and loving how every time I fill her, she whimpers with lust.
“Brody.” Her whispers urge me to never let a moment pass where I’m not concerned with what she needs and how right this feels between us.
It’s slow and steady until she finds her release and then the selfish part of me takes over, lifting her left leg, pinning her down and fucking her into the cushion as she bites down on my shoulder to muffle her screams of pleasure.
With the window still cracked, a soft breeze blows in the room, making Magnolia shiver. The thin chenille throw barely covers her, let alone the two of us, so I bend down to pick up my shorts.
Her wide eyes meet mine and I know she’s wondering if I’m leaving. “Just closing the window.” She stays where she is, neither of us saying a word as the window shuts with a creak.
I imagine I’m not welcome to stay, so I won’t ask for that. All I can imagine is a sweet little three-year-old, waking up to see a strange man she’s never met before.
All that emotion stirs in my chest again. Our moment of distraction over.
She lifts her head as I sit back down so she can rest it in my lap. Still quiet.
“Did Robert take a paternity test?” I dare to ask. I pet her hair, hoping the touching and staying calm will let her know I’m not mad and I’m not going anywhere. Her tongue darts out to wet her still swollen lips and she answers, “No. He didn’t.”
It’s quiet for a long moment. All I do is nod in response until I gather the courage to ask her, “Can I meet her?”
Keeping the throw wrapped tight around her to cover herself, Magnolia sits up and leaves me, making a beeline for a photograph hung on the wall. She doesn’t hesitate to take it down.
Without a word she stands in front of me, offering the black wood frame.
“So many curls,” I say and rack my brain as I take in every feature. I don’t think any of my family has curls like that.
“From my family,” Magnolia says and tucks her hair behind her ear. “If my hair was shorter, I’d still have curls.” Although the air is tenser, she takes a seat beside me. “She looks a lot like I did when I was younger.
I note her eyes the most. The shape is all Magnolia, but they’re pale blue. So pale. Robert’s are like that and I’m surprised how much that hurts to realize. I don’t know if she is mine or his. Not by looking at a photo.
Handing the frame back I say, “She’s beautiful, like you.”
With a simper she takes the photo back and stands, the cotton nightgown falling just beneath her ass as she strides across the living room to place the frame where it belongs. Everything just so, in a modest home, obviously laid out for a family.
It’s in this moment I realize I’m in the home of a woman who has struggled on her own, yet she still smiles. She’s been alone in a world that can be brutal, especially in a town like this, and worst of all, with every action she takes there’s a small voice reminding her that it all comes down on her daughter. Just like her father’s actions came down on her.
And who am I to stand next to a woman like her? High risk, high reward, never sit still, never look back—has been my motto for years. The only time I ever looked back was to think about her and that one night, because I wanted more of her but she wasn’t there where I thought she’d be.
It’s not just the two of us. The gentle creak of a toy box is opened and Magnolia busies herself putting away a few stray items. This late at night, she’s still going and all I can think is that I wasn’t prepared for this, but then again, neither was she.
Magnolia
I can still feel him. He left me sore; it’s the good kind, though. The morning light filters in through the kitchen and without much up and about at this hour, the sound of his car engine revving to life is nearly as loud as the coffee machine.
The smell of the fresh brew surrounds me and I inhale deeply, grateful that we woke up before Bridget and that Brody was just fine sneaking out this early in the morning.
I suppose this is a different kind of walk of shame than the one I took four years ago.
My head is killing me and even the first sip of coffee doesn’t help. Crying that hard will do it,
I suppose. Although if anyone asks, I’ll tell them it’s allergies. After all, the seasons are changing.
My phone pings from where it’s plugged in on the kitchen counter and after rinsing the spoon I used to stir in the creamer, I read my friend Autumn’s text about a playdate this weekend.
Playdate at the library? It’s 9 am on Saturday.
There’s a reading group where the kids play in their section and then Mrs. Harding reads classics to them while they sit cross-legged.
Yes, perfect. I’ll see you there.
Bridget loves Henry and Chase. The three of them are as thick as thieves although they’re two years older than her.
I stare at my phone, wondering who I can talk to about the one thing that’s been on my mind since I laid eyes on Brody. A paternity test. I don’t know a soul who’s ever needed one in this town … I don’t feel comfortable asking my doctor either. She’s Robert’s neighbor and I remember the look she gave me when I stared back at her in disbelief that I was pregnant.
There’s no way in hell I’d ask that woman for a paternity test. Patient confidentiality my ass; you can read what that woman is thinking with every expression she makes. The hmms of confirmation and raised eyebrows add to silent conversations I know she has.
I’m certain I can buy one online. You can get anything and everything online nowadays. Away from prying eyes.
Glancing down, I realize my texts are opened up to the ones between Robert and me. The last few are innocent messages. Telling me he knows the gala will be amazing. That he’s ordered specific champagne for the politicians he’s invited to the event so he can rub elbows with them.
With a numbing prick in my hand, I can’t text him that I’m going to get a test. The chill runs from the tip of my fingers all the way to my heart.
When I told him about the pregnancy years ago, he was happy. He was genuinely happy. Until I told him about Brody.
It’s complicated is … such an underused statement.
Tequila Rose Page 14