by Kat T. Masen
So, I start with the beginning—what happened that night in the alley. Throughout my recollection of the events, I honestly have to pinch myself. Here I am, standing with a guy I was fooling around with and a guy who would be my child’s father. Throw Jason into the mix and it’s like Three Men and a Baby. Ah, that Tom Selleck is one gorgeous fox!
Calm the hell down, Kitty. Stop sidetracking and clean up this goddamn mess you created!
The reality of the situation is that I barely know them, have no clue when their birthdays are, let alone their favorite colors. Okay, favorite color is lame, but I cannot feel any more like a stranger in this confined room. I have a better relationship with the man who owns the local Laundromat, and that’s saying a lot.
“You’re pregnant with Haden’s baby?” Marcus laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Honestly, what a sick joke you guys came up with.”
“It’s true. Why would I lie about this? But we aren’t together. It’s not like we were seeing each other,” I tell him, in my defense.
“You’re not together. You’re with me,” he responds bitterly, spitting out his words in haste.
Clearly I was stupid in thinking that being pregnant with his cousin’s baby was not an automatic breakup. Not being accustomed to this possessive side of him, I choose my words carefully, not wanting to rub salt into his very open wound.
“Marcus. We had our fun but the reality is, I’m going to be a mother. My priority is raising this baby.”
The Jerk crosses his arms in silence, waiting for a reaction. I look in his direction, goading some sort of help from him to save me from this uncomfortable situation. Nothing of course, even when Marcus reaches for the bottle of bourbon from the cupboard and drinks it straight from the bottle.
He wipes he mouth with the back of his hand. “Why the fuck did you both tell me nothing went on?”
I glance aside, avoiding the Jerk. “Because it was nothing. A drunken mistake.”
“Well, it’s not nothing since you’re having a baby together!” He slams his fist against the countertop. Ouch! It looks painful, but nothing in Marcus’s expression, aside from pure hatred, makes me think he feels a single thing.
Looking much like death himself, the Jerk is dressed in all black, and if one didn’t know his life was turned upside-down less than twenty-four hours ago, you would think he was attending a funeral. Maybe it was a funeral, a farewell to his carefree life of no responsibilities and only having to worry about himself.
Finally, the Jerk steps in. “Back off, Marcus. This is hard on all of us.”
Marcus jumps to his feet and stumbles to where Haden is standing. Head on, Marcus sways the bottle, taking another swig and throwing it into the sink behind him. The sound of the glass smashing startles me and I know shit is about to get real.
With shaky hands, Marcus latches onto Haden’s shirt and presses against him.
“You fucking knew she was with me. You fucking knew I loved her!” He almost spits into Haden’s face.
Being somewhat sober gives Haden the advantage and he pushes Marcus off, watching him fall backward. I reach out to help him up, and with a shrill, he laughs as he wraps his arms around me.
“Get rid of it. You can have another baby with me. We’re in love. We can get married if you want. Just get rid of it,” he demands, in a calm yet dominant tone.
Shocked at the harshness of his words, I set the record straight once and for all. “I’m seventeen weeks along. If that was what I wanted, no one would make that decision for me,” I angrily yell at him, annoyed at his lack of morals and willingness to voice them. “I don’t expect you to understand but it is happening, whether you like it or not.”
“Of course I don’t fucking like it! I love you and this is how you repay me?”
Did he really just say those words? This is getting worse by the minute. Marcus has no clue what love is. Love to him is mind-blowing orgasms at night followed by a morning blowjob. I don’t know how else to spell it out for him without being the wicked witch and breaking his heart.
Kitty is the wicked witch. Dressed in her black dress, albeit lacy and slutty, holding a broomstick and wearing a pointy hat. Her wretched laugh is echoing through the room, hauntingly disturbing as she grabs some popcorn and watches the show.
“Put yourself in my shoes for a second. I’m raising this baby alone. I’m terrified. I didn’t purposely do this to hurt you.”
Marcus turns to face Haden with an arctic glare. “You’re not even helping her?”
“Back the fuck off. Let me deal with this shit,” Haden warns him.
I sit in silence, listening to the argument unfold before me. Like a strong force gravitating me towards my stomach, I rest my palms on top of the baby. Suddenly, the protector instinct kicks in and I can no longer sit here and listen to what is being said about this tiny human growing inside me.
“Now the baby is ‘shit’?” As I raise my voice above the incessant noise, they both stop and turn to face me. I grab my purse and hop off the stool. I think about saying a few final words but instead, leave their apartment and the mess behind me.
Turning the corner amongst the other pedestrians, my cell vibrates and I contemplate reading the text. Whoever it is can wait. Finding myself a small café a few blocks down, I order myself a tea and the most expensive chocolate cake that ever existed. It is a slice of heaven and exactly what I need at a moment where alcohol isn’t an option.
I try calling Vicky but she is MIA, so then I call my sister Gemma. We have a long chat about everything and by the end she reminds me again that she will always be there to help me and the baby, even suggesting I move to California.
After hanging up the call, I sit for a long time thinking about my options. In five months I will have a baby to raise. Maybe moving to California isn’t such a bad idea. I need help (despite having too much pride to ask for it) and I need to consider what future I want for my baby. Even though I love the city, it may not be the best place to settle down. A child needs a home, not a shoebox apartment, which is all I can afford at this moment.
In the midst of this train of thought, there is Jason to consider. It seems like common courtesy to tell him I was pregnant, but every time I attempt to type a message or even make that call, my body will start to dry heave. One goddamn problem at a time, and he is perhaps the least of my worries.
Back at home, I avoid reading that text and dive into some housework. Cranking up the music as loud as my neighbors will tolerate, I grab a bucket and some gloves to do some major scrubbing on my bathroom tiles. When I can practically see my reflection, I decide to take a long shower and climb into bed with a good book. I keep reading the same line over and over again, and I know that I have to read that text because it’s eating away at me.
#Jerk: I didn’t mean it. This is a lot.
The Jerk wasn’t saying anything that I didn’t already know. Caught up in the heat of the moment, I was able to understand how overwhelming this was for him. The difference was that I had no choice but to accept my actions. This baby was growing inside of me and every minute that ticked past, I was reminded of that.
The Jerk didn’t show up at work for two weeks. When I asked Mr. Sadler of his whereabouts, he simply informed me that Haden had taken some personal time off. I didn’t question further, and our resident fairy, a.k.a. National Inquirer Clive, told me he was in Maui at some surfing gig and scouting wedding locations with Eloise.
Seriously, what a fucking jerk.
Marcus didn’t call me, except for last Friday night when he was obviously blazed and asked if he could come over so I could give him a blowjob. It was laughable, and a polite ‘no’ was all I could give him. He then proceeded to rant on and tell me that I’m a no-good bitch and he could get better head elsewhere. That was my cue to disconnect the call, but not before he threw the apologies in and professed his love for me, again.
Talk about being a hormonal mess—and I mean Marcus, not me.
Project
Fallen Baby was in my hands, so I spent time tying up all the loose ends. The author would be attending our yearly publisher’s event on Friday night. It would be a great chance for her to meet fellow authors and for us to let our hair down at a fully-paid catered event. Too bad I couldn’t drink, though Clive would no doubt drink enough for the whole office.
My biggest dilemma is finding a dress to wear to the party since my belly now pops out and my current wardrobe is no longer an option. Vicky offers to go shopping with me, but her voluptuous figure fits perfectly into every dress she tries on. I, on the other hand, give up shopping with the regular women and hit up the maternity store. I expected ugly frocks, so I am quite surprised when the shop assistant shows me some fabulous evening wear.
It doesn’t stop me from feeling sorry for myself.
“You’re silly. You haven’t put on a pound apart from this little stomach forming,” Vicky tries to reassure me, rubbing my belly while cooing at the baby.
“I feel like a beached whale.”
“You think you feel like a beached whale now? Wait until the end.”
“Thanks. So much to look forward to,” I answer back sarcastically.
“It’s all part of the experience, Pres,” she reminds me.
As the shop assistant bags the items, I lean into Vicky, whispering, “My breasts are huge and my nipples . . . I can’t even begin to tell you what’s happening with them.”
Vicky raises her eyebrows and the nipple-talk is put on hold until we leave the store.
Having found a black cocktail dress in a stretchy fabric, I am all set and ready to go. Most of the office will attend, and Vicky is dead-set on there being some eligible bachelors she can get her hands on.
The event is held at a rooftop bar consisting of a small and intimate crowd. The view is sensational, the bright lights and city skyline surrounding us. Clive is terrified of heights. Standing beside me with a fierce grip on my arm, his face pales from the sheer terror of being 30 stories high.
“I’m scared I’ll shit my pants, Pres.”
“You won’t shit your pants, and you know why? Because they cost you a whole paycheck and what would Gianni Versace say if he knew you shit in his ridiculously expensive pants?”
“Okay, you have a point. At least if there was some good eye candy here then I could distract myself.” Clive shrivels his face in discontent as a not-so-attractive waiter walks by carrying some shrimp.
“I need to go talk to Mr. Sadler,” I tell him. “Look, here comes Vicky. If there’s anyone who has found the hot guys, it’ll be her.”
“Okay, so here’s the lowdown. A bunch of guys near the bar that belong to that party over there are single. The guy with the black slicked-back hair is gay,” Vicky informs us.
“Vicky, your gaydar has been off so many times!” Clive complains.
“Well, this time I straight-up asked him if he wanted to come home with me. He said he likes playing with snakes, not beavers and pussies.”
I snort out my club soda, laughing at Vicky. Clive disappears into thin air, then reappears at the bar trying to make conversation with the animal lover.
“Is that true?” I ask, still unable to contain my laughter.
“Of course not! As if I would ask him to come home with me. You know my rule—minimum two drinks first, then always at his place.”
“Oh that’s right, your rules,” I mock.
“Maybe if you stuck to your seven-week-rule, you wouldn’t be in this predicament,” she points out in jest.
I poke my tongue out at her, juvenile, but called for. Leaving her to complete her man mission, I wander around till I find Mr. Sadler standing near the small stage.
“You look beautiful, Presley. And I guess a congratulations is in order. When are you due?” Mr. Sadler smiles, asking in a fatherly and concerned way.
So during the week, news broke about the pregnancy. It was the biggest scandal to rock the office. With Vicky busy on an assignment, Clive was my informer. Dee wasn’t talking to me, backstabbing and calling me every name under the sun. Trina had joined forces with her, calling me a traitor and a home wrecker. Not sure how, since they weren’t a couple, but that’s her warped imagination for you.
“Four months. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to tell you myself. It’s been . . . overwhelming, and I was waiting for the right time,” I admit.
“Understandable, my dear. If you need anything, my wife and I are only a phone call away,” he pats my arms, reassuring me.
Something about the way he looks at me mirrors the look my dad gives me. You know when your dad has that ‘my baby girl is all grown up’ speech followed by a heartfelt smile and glassy eyes? It was a nice gesture. He is—and has always been—a great boss to everyone in the office. Always attentive and making sure his employees are happy. I had met Mrs. Sadler at the event last year, and could tell she was of a similar nature.
I give him my thanks and kindly excuse myself to mingle with the authors and other guests. The night itself is a success and just when I think about pulling out the ‘I’m pregnant and need to call it an early night’ card, the Jerk is standing at the doorway dressed in a navy fitted suit and looking exceptionally handsome. His hair is brushed towards the side and his tan looks fresh from the Hawaiian sun. And those glasses . . . what the hell is it about those damn reading glasses?!
I have to pull my jaw up from the ground because Kitty is line dancing towards him as I continue to stand here mentally slapping myself awake from the pornographic fantasy conjuring up in my head.
Stop fucking swooning.
He is pulled to a group and shakes hands with each person while scanning the room. When his eyes find me, something changes. His face softens yet stills, staring at me deeply as if he is lost in some sort of trance. I beg my eyes to turn away, but the way he is looking at me, something in the way his eyes pierce through me, sends the butterflies into overdrive, much to my discontent. My butterflies can’t fly for him. They need to be saved for the one I should spend the rest of my life with. Not the jerk standing at the opposite side of the room with a rocking tan from his pre-honeymoon in Maui with the evil witch.
Whoa, calm down already!
He appears to be excusing himself, and moments later he is walking towards me. Something in his stride exudes way too much confidence. God, he did have a good stride, though.
“Can we go somewhere quiet to talk?”
I nod and he leads the way to a secluded part of the terrace. There are a few scattered tables and chairs unattended, so I take a seat and wait for him to begin the conversation. He doesn’t say anything and I’m expecting the worst. Just don’t cry.
“I’m sorry for the way I reacted. This was a shock,” he says in a cemented tone, not sounding like an apology whatsoever.
I remain tightlipped, waiting for the whole ‘I’m not ready to be a dad’ speech.
“I took some time off to think about this and I just don’t know how this is going to work,” he concedes.
“You think you were in shock. I almost had a coronary,” I confess. “It’s probably best we come up with a plan and expectations. That way neither of us is disappointed. So let me set the record straight to avoid any confusion. I’m not looking for a husband, boyfriend, whatever. I’m not here to tie you down.”
He appears taken aback by my forwardness, and perhaps slightly offended by my quick stance on not getting romantically involved. He is engaged—what the hell did he expect to happen?
“I’m getting married. Eloise . . . she knows,” he trails off, staring into the dark night’s sky.
“And she still wants to get married?” I ask, annoyed at myself that a hint of jealousy accompanied my question.
“Yes. She wants to be involved.”
“But . . . but how can I allow someone else to be involved in my child’s life? I don’t know her,” I tell him, trying to calm myself down. I hadn’t even thought about that being a possibility, and now the reality of it frightens me
to the core.
“You don’t know me either,” he reminds me.
“No I don’t, but you’re the father.”
“And that’s another thing.” He hesitates, avoiding further eye contact until he has no choice but to look me straight in the eyes. “I’d like you to do a paternity test.”
Sitting in front of me with the deepest stare, his facial expressions remain stagnant as he waits for me to rationally respond to his request. Fat fucking chance. He basically outright called me a whore, again. The anger is bubbling at the surface, and under the table I am gripping my clutch so tight I expect the contents to explode. Emotions are difficult to disguise at the best of times, and this moment is far from the best of times.
I stand up, and with shaky hands, give him the reality check he needs. “You know what, Haden? I don’t get you. One minute I think you’re not such a bad guy and may actually have a heart beating somewhere, then the next, you act like the biggest jerk to walk this earth.”
My pride, dignity, and lack of self-control are the reasons I have to walk away. “I’m leaving. You can have your test. In fact, I’ll be booking it as soon as possible so maybe then you’ll get it through your thick skull that you’re the father.”
Saying goodbye to everyone is difficult in the state of anger I’m in, but I manage to plaster on a fake smile, doing my rounds till I can go home and officially climb into a dark hole.
This isn’t going to work. This complete stranger walks into my life and every time we are in the same air space as each other, it ends disastrously. I totally blame him. Immature and stubborn like the rest of that generation. Jason, on the other hand . . . he was mature. Polite, respectful. That means crap all right now because it isn’t his sperm doing laps in my uterus.
I don’t attempt reading, hoping the exhaustion will knock me out. Staring at the dark ceiling, my mind is playing tricks on me and when the light of my cell brightens the room, I welcome the distraction.
#Jerk: I don’t know what I’m thinking when I’m around you. Seeing your stomach tonight was a reality check. I don’t know how to be a dad.