One Baby Daddy

by Meghan Quinn

  When he gets in the car, he turns to me and asks, “Are you all buckled up?”

  “Yup.” I snap my seatbelt and notice something on Hayden’s face. “Hey, look at me for a second.”

  He clicks his seatbelt in place and puts the car in drive. “It’s a faded black eye, nothing to worry about.”

  “A black eye? Where did you get a black eye? Did you get in a fight on the ice?”

  “Nah, just being stupid and messing around the other day at practice. Didn’t wear a helmet and got an elbow to the face.”

  “Why weren’t you wearing a helmet?”

  He pulls out onto the street, one hand steering, the other resting on the gearshift, the thick sinew in his forearm flexing with every shift he makes.

  “Call it being an idiot.”

  “Well, don’t be an idiot,” I say, irritated. “Skating without a helmet is really stupid, Hayden. You could give yourself a really bad head injury.”

  “I was being careful . . . enough.”

  “Doesn’t seem like it.” I fold my arms over my chest, causing my growing cleavage to make an appearance.

  At a stoplight, Hayden eyes me from the side, his eyes traveling down my body, quickly taking in my breasts and then turning away. He clears his throat and says, “You act like you care about me, Adalyn.”

  “I do. You’re the father of my baby, so it would be great if you wore a helmet while skating. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. You didn’t wear protection while conceiving this child but from here on out you’ll be wearing protection on your head, your shoulders, your shins, and even your balls.”

  That causes him to throw back his head and laugh. “You’re concerned about my balls?”

  “Only because I’m sure if you didn’t take care of them properly you would whine more than the baby when they get hurt and there is only so much whining I can take, especially from a grown man who should know better.”

  “Brutal.”

  We spend the rest of the drive making small talk, talking about things like the weather, the ever-present sun in California, and the lack of rain. Really boring, but it fills the silence. I’ve had easier conversations with Hayden before, but for some reason, with the elephant in the room—ahem, the baby—we seem to be awkward as hell.

  Will it always be like this?

  I sure as hell hope not because if we’re going to remain friends, I’d like some sort of camaraderie between us. It will probably take time and more nights like this.

  Pulling in front of a brick building, Hayden puts the car in park and hands his keys to the valet right before opening my door. Taking my hand in his, he helps me out of the car but doesn’t let go as he guides me into the restaurant. I allow it because I’ve held hands with friends before . . .

  When I’m drunk.

  On the side of the dark brick, painted in white is a very modern logo with the name Waffle Me in the middle of a circle, established in 2016. That makes me giggle. Usually when a restaurant claims establishment, it’s at least twenty years, but I guess you have to start somewhere, and a waffle joint is exactly where I would want to start.

  After my pizza-day extravaganza, I texted Hayden earlier and asked him if we could maybe not have pizza tonight. Waffles seem right up my alley.

  When we step into the restaurant the sweet aroma of homemade waffles hits me along with a myriad of smells ranging from sweet maple syrup, to fried chicken, to chili. The seating is modern and sleek, wood-slatted benches, black leather cushions, and clear partitions hanging from the ceiling, giving parties privacy. I like it here. Casual and comfortable, just what I need, especially in my leggings and tunic.

  “Hello, I have a reservation for Sergio Valentino.”

  The hostess checks her computer and nods, grabbing two menus, she motions to follow her. “Right this way, Mr. Valentino.”

  With his hand on my lower back, we follow the waitress to a curved booth in the back. She places the menus on the table and says, “Your waitress will be right with you. Her name is Sandy.”

  “Thank you.” Hayden helps me into the booth.

  When I get settled, I hold my menu but give my attention to Hayden. “Mr. Valentino?”

  He shrugs, a smirk tilting the ends of his mouth up. “You’ve never used a fake name before?”

  “Never had to.”

  “Ah, come on, there’s always a time to use a fake name. Next time you order a coffee, give them a fake name, if anything, it will give you a little giggle when they call it out, and you know it’s not really your name.”

  I stare at him for a few beats. Did he just say giggle? “Are you nervous?”

  Rubbing his palms on his pants, he nods. “Yeah, a little and I have no fucking clue why?” Turning toward me, he takes my hand in his and laces our fingers together. Staring at our connection he speaks, his voice soft and gruff. “It’s not like I haven’t spent time with you before. It’s not like we haven’t been alone together. Hell, I’ve been inside of you before. I know what you taste like on my tongue, but for some reason, tonight seems monumental.”

  “We’re just here to hang out, Hayden, nothing more.”

  Slowly moving his head up and down, he squeezes my hand and looks at me past his dark eyelashes. “You might think we are just going to be friends, but as much as I wish I could settle for that, I can’t, but out of respect of your request for tonight, I will remain friendly. But if I say out-of-character things like . . . giggle . . . please know it’s because even if I might seem like I have it altogether on the outside, being by your side unable to claim you like I want to is twisting me up in knots on the inside.”

  Unsure what to say to that, I turn to my menu while the words swim around together, making it incredibly hard for me to understand.

  This is going to be a long, hard night and not in a good way. I’m pretty sure I’m going to leave tonight with a heavy heart and a confused mind.

  “Did you take a pregnancy test or did you see a doctor?” Hayden asks, wanting to know more about the pregnancy, about all the moments he’s missed.

  “Pregnancy test with Emma in a janitor’s closet.”

  He takes a bite of his banana and caramel waffle and quirks an eyebrow at me. “A janitor’s closet?”

  “I didn’t want to do it in the staff lounge because frankly, there was already so much gossip among the staff in the hospital, I didn’t want to add fuel to the flames.”

  “Why not wait until you got home?”

  “Emma. She begged me to take the test. She swore my boobs looked bigger and needed me to confirm the pregnancy.”

  Hayden turns away from me and pushes some waffle around on his plate. “Yeah, I’d say Emma is right on that front.”

  Chuckling, I playfully swat Hayden. “Hey, don’t be looking.”

  “It’s hard not to, Adalyn.” Looking at my breasts, he says, “They’re kind of in your face.”

  Glancing down, I attempt to shift my shirt but there is no point in trying to cover them up, as none of my clothes fit anymore so if the ladies are out, they’re out.

  “Nothing fits like it used to.”

  He holds up his hands. “I’m not complaining, just agreeing with Emma, that’s all.” Nodding toward my plate, he asks, “Can I try your salsa waffles?”

  “How long have you been waiting to ask that?”

  “Ever since you ordered them.” His fork hovers over my plate.

  Rolling my eyes, I give him the go ahead, but not without collecting my own bite. Together, we try each other’s waffles and both marvel in their flavors. Sweet, caramelly, with a hint of buttermilk and banana. So good.

  “Damn, I got the wrong waffles.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.” I reach in for another bite, which causes Hayden to chuckle.

  Resting his fork on his napkin, he lifts both our plates and swaps them. “There. Better?”

  Grabbing another bite, I shove it in my mouth and close my eyes, dying over the caramel taste. “So much bett
er. I thought I wanted savory, but boy was I wrong, it’s all about the sweet for me tonight.”

  “What has been your weirdest craving so far?”

  “Weirdest? Hmm.” The prongs of my fork tap my lips while I think. “I would have to say when I asked Emma to bring me a brownie from the cafeteria and a small condiment cup of honey mustard.”

  Fork halfway to his mouth, salsa dripping off the waffle, Hayden’s eyes go wide. “I like you, Adalyn, but if you tell me you dipped a brownie in honey mustard, we might have to part ways.”

  “What if I told you I ate the brownie and dipped my finger in the honey mustard? Does that make a difference?”

  “I mean, it’s better, but I’m still judging you a little.”

  “Don’t judge me, judge the baby.”

  “You’re insane.” Hayden eyes the table, disgust written all over his face.

  I cut the brownie on the table in half and dab a little honey mustard onto his plate. “This is your fault, you know that, right? You’re the one who got me thinking about brownies and honey mustard and here we are, ready to divulge in our baby’s guilty pleasure.”

  Sniffing the brownie and honey mustard together, he winces. “I think you’re right, the baby is a demon.”

  “Come on.” I nudge his shoulder with mine. “Give it a try. You never know, your new favorite dessert might be sitting in front of you right now.”

  “Pretty sure it isn’t.”

  “Hayden, don’t make the pregnant woman ask you again. Pick up a piece of that brownie, dip your pinky finger in the honey mustard for your brownie chaser, and follow my lead.”

  Shaking his head, he does what I say and holds the brownie bite to his mouth. Watching me first, I eat the brownie, chew, swallow, and then clean my pinky finger off, getting every last drop of honey mustard. “Mmm . . . so good. You’re turn.”

  Apprehensive and possibly a little scared, he eats the brownie, eyes his fingers and then pops it in his mouth, sucking off the yellow-colored condiment.

  Wincing, his throat muscles working up and down, he finishes swallowing and takes a big gulp of his water. Sticking his tongue out, he pats it with his cloth napkin and then politely sets it on his lap.

  “Yup, the baby is a demon.”

  “As long as we’re in agreement, I’m good with that.”

  “Thank you for dinner, I had a good time.” Hayden pulls up to the curb of the apartment building and puts the car in park.

  “So did I, almost felt like old times, huh?”

  “After the awkward faded, yeah, it did.”

  Rubbing his hands together, he turns in his seat and says, “Now to finish our dates like we used to.”

  He obnoxiously puckers up and leans forward. Palming his forehead, I push him back. “As I can remember, you didn’t kiss me for a very long time. And don’t forget, this wasn’t a date.”

  He laughs. “Yes, you keep reminding me of that.” Moving back to his side of the car, he says, “I forgot to ask, are you liking your new job?”

  “Love it actually. When I was at the hospital, I truly wondered if I was in the right profession, but at the new office, I feel at home. The doctors and staff are amazing, Shannon has been so sweet, and I’m not draining my body like I did at the hospital. I think it’s one of the reasons I haven’t been as sick as I was at the beginning of the pregnancy.”

  Growing silent, Hayden stares at his hands that rest on his lap. “You know, I never really told you how sorry I am that I wasn’t there for you, at the beginning. It kills me thinking about you being so sick and me not there to help you.”

  “You didn’t know.”

  “I should have checked in.”

  “You did.” I touch his shoulder, wanting him to look me in the eyes. “You checked in, but I didn’t respond.” Not only that, I deleted every one of his texts, unable to face the reality that I was pregnant with a man who lived across the country.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  The light and breezy atmosphere between us immediately turns heavy and emotional like there is a weight above us, pulling the air from the car.

  “Because I didn’t think we could honestly reach a point like this, where we could be friends, live near each other, and both be involved in the pregnancy.”

  “Friends.” He breathes out the word with a heavy dose of disappointment lacing it.

  Not wanting to get into that conversation right now, I reach into my purse and pull out a few pictures. “I almost forgot; I brought these for you to have.” I hand over the pictures and turn on the light that rests above the dashboard of the car.

  It takes Hayden a second to realize what he’s looking at, but the moment he does, his face softens and his eyes well up with tears.

  “Uh, I thought maybe you could hang one in your locker or something. I don’t know if you guys do that or not—”

  Clearing his throat, Hayden says, “This is perfect.” He wipes at his cheek before I can catch a tear falling from his eye. “Tell me what I’m looking at.”

  I didn’t expect this, his reaction to be so sweet, so heartfelt. It’s cutting me deep, an arrow straight to my soul with Hayden’s name attached to it.

  Feeling overly emotional, I take a second to catch my breath before leaning over and describing everything in the picture. We spend the next five minutes looking through the photos, marveling at the little human inside of me.

  Passing a thumb over the picture, Hayden says, “This means the world to me, Adalyn, that you would give me these pictures. Thank you.”

  “Of course, it’s your baby too.”

  Moving his focus to me, he tilts my chin up, our eyes connecting, fusing together. “Our baby, Adalyn. This is our baby.”

  Under the dim light of the car, parked in front of my apartment building, Hayden moves in closer, his thumb and forefinger gripping the tip of my chin. I have room to move away, I have plenty of time to stop him, to tell him no, but the emotional side of me, the side that just watched a grown man cry over ultrasound pictures of his child? That side allows the softest press of Hayden’s lips against mine.

  He doesn’t linger, he doesn’t part my lips with his tongue, and he doesn’t search for more. It’s a light brushing of our mouths, but it speaks a thousand unsaid words. He still has feelings for me. I know this. But there is something else . . . appreciation.

  Like he’s thanking me for being the mother of our child.

  Feeling weak and a bit wobbly, I pull away and tightly grip the strap to my purse, holding on to it like a lifeline.

  I want to be with this man. I want to give him my heart. I want to be the one he spends the rest of his days with, but there is this dark, scary unknown that keeps creeping in on me full of what ifs.

  What if he’s traded again?

  What if he meets someone better on the road?

  What if I’m too much for him to handle?

  What if what we had in Binghamton was truly a summer fling, and we both don’t realize it until it’s too late?

  What if I truly end up being alone?

  Putting some distance between us, I reach for the handle of the door and put one foot on the pavement.

  “Adalyn . . .”

  “Thank you for dinner, Hayden. Good luck on your road trip.”

  Now outside of the car, I give him a quick wave and shut the door before he can say anything else. Tonight was enough, seeing him fawn over the baby was enough, actually it was too much for my heart, my stupid, stupid heart.

  When I open the door to my apartment, Logan is sitting on the couch, shirtless and in a pair of Nike shorts. He looks up from his laptop and takes off his black-rimmed glasses. “Hey.” His brow creases. “Are you okay?”

  Maintain a neutral face. Do not cry. Logan will only want to talk about it, and that’s the last thing I want to do right now.

  “Good,” I say with a cheery smile that feels so incredibly forced.

  “Okay, you’d tell me if he said something to you, right?”
>
  “Of course.”

  I hang my purse on the coatrack in the entryway and take out my phone, Logan watching every one of my jagged movements. Does he notice how robotic I feel? Can he tell I’m on the verge of breaking down? Does he see my need to bury my head in my pillow?

  “Where did he take you?”

  Guess not.

  “This really good waffle place. I’m stuffed though, so I think I’m going to call it a night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Eyeing me suspiciously, Logan says, “Okay, let me know if you need anything.”

  “I will. Night.” I give him a quick wave, skipping out on the hug he usually asks for every night and fast-walk to my bedroom where I shut my door and fling myself on the mattress, burying my head into my pillow.

  I lie there for I don’t know how long, my tears silent, soaking into the pink Egyptian cotton sheet set. Why can’t I just say yes to Hayden? What’s holding me back?

  Is it what James said to me in New York City?

  I’ve seen it before, a woman takes down a man of Hayden’s caliber. I’ve seen them lose everything, and I don’t want that for Hayden. I only want what’s best for him.

  Am I letting him get into my head?

  Is it how quickly he went out with someone after we broke up?

  Is it the high-profile woman he went out with? Does he deserve—need—someone like that?

  Or is it the fear of becoming one of those women who wait around for their man, who wait around for a man to take care of them, to shield them, support him?

  Am I so scared to be alone that I’m pushing away someone who wants to never let me be alone again?

  Confused more now than ever, I turn to wipe my nose when my phone vibrates with a text. I don’t even have to look at it to know who it’s from.

  Hayden: I want you to know one thing, Adalyn. The pictures you gave me, the pictures of our baby, it reminded me of something. If I never get to win back your heart again, at least I’ll have a piece of it in the child we share. Thank you for going out with me tonight. Sleep well, baby.