Make Me a Mommy: A Mother's Day Secret Baby Romance

by Liz K. Lorde

  Really, there’s no point in getting upset, I know.

  Unfortunately, my emotions have gotten the better of me. Like raging hormones, they’ve taken charge and are running away with me, making it almost impossible to have a coherent thought and to process the information I’m given.

  “My dog tags were missing. They’d been taken off me.” Shawn’s sounding very calm, almost too calm, as far as I’m concerned. “At least, that’s what I was told.”

  How can he just sit there, drink his beer, and act as though this was…I rub my forehead with my right hand. To be fair, he’s not acting like an asshole or anything.

  “But when you came back to the US, you got a job, and…” I trail off. I’ve lost my train of thought. I need to focus and think.

  “You came back and what? You got a job?” I manage to continue. “What about people in the military—couldn’t they help you? I mean, surely, someone must have sat down with you to talk about your past. How long were you in Afghanistan before you came back?”

  Shawn looks at me, and I feel myself stripped of my clothing. It’s as if he can see right through me and into my soul. Time seems to slow down and almost stands still.

  Time.

  I’ve lost so much time.

  We’ve lost so much time.

  And what a time for him to come back into my life—our life—right after James’ proposal.

  “You must remember what happened?”

  Now, his brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

  Automatically, my chin moves forward, and I feel like a five-year-old not getting her way.

  “I mean, you must remember what happened after the accident, and—”

  “Yeah, I remember when I woke up, I had no fucking idea who I was or where I was. I didn’t even know what country I was in, let alone that I had fought in a war.”

  He’s glaring at me, and I shrink into myself.

  “But—” I start, only to be interrupted by him.

  “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be surrounded by gunfire, in over a hundred-degree temperatures, day in and day out, with very little food and water while suffering severe head injury and other trauma to your body? Do you?” His voice has risen considerably.

  “No, I don’t. I’ve had to endure other obstacles thrown into my life,” I shout back.

  “Obstacles? I don’t call nearly getting my head blown off a fucking obstacle.”

  I’m not sure why I’m yelling at him and what the point of this conversation is. All I know is I’m about to boil over.

  Years of pent-up negative energy is bubbling to the surface and needs to get out. I’m erupting like a volcano. It’s not fair—it doesn’t make sense—it just is.

  “Well, excuse me for not signing up to join you in the war! Excuse me for staying home to keep the fires burning. Next time, I’ll do better. But I still don’t understand how come I was never told you were still alive. I want to know exactly what happened! When you came back, what did you do, where did you go, what name did you use?”

  I’m shooting the questions at him faster than a machine gun.

  “I don’t have the answers. I don’t have answers to all those questions.” He holds up his hands in defense.

  A noise behind me has me spinning on my heels.

  Darn.

  “Mommy?” Tanner is coming down the stairs.

  “What’s up, sweety?” I call out to him.

  His little face appears in the door way. “I’m scared, Mommy. Why are you shouting?”

  Once he’s by my side, his eyes find Shawn.

  “Who’s that, Mommy?”

  Suddenly, I’ve got a massive lump in the back of my throat. It’s so big, I can’t talk. I’m not ready for this moment at all.

  How many times had I imagined the first time Tanner would see his father? Every time, it had been different, but it had never been like…this.

  I wrap my arms around my little boy and wonder what I’m going to say. Right now is not the time to say, Guess what? This is your father!

  No.

  Right now, I need to work out what to do myself.

  My eyes find Shawn’s. He’s standing there, arms by his side, staring at Tanner.

  To say I understand what he must be feeling would be a total lie. I have no idea what’s going through his head.

  Sensing my gaze on him, he looks at me. Questions. I can see multiple questions in his eyes.

  I know he deserves answers. But right now, I haven’t got any for him, either.

  Chapter 7

  Shawn

  If I thought hearing Evelyn tell me she’s my wife was the biggest news I could take, I was totally fucking wrong.

  The disheveled blonde little boy who’s come down the stairs and into the room takes my breath away. Without being told who his father is, I know. It’s almost as if I’m looking at the mirror.

  Fuck.

  My mouth feels dry…parched, as if I’ve traipsed through Afghanistan without water for three months.

  “Sorry, darling,” Evelyn goes to meet the little boy, who looks at me with big, puppy dog eyes.

  “Who is he?” the little boy points his finger at me.

  Evelyn looks as if she’s been asked to flush five million dollars down the toilet.

  “Hey, buddy,” I stand up and go over to where he’s standing. I get down on my knees so I can be level with him.

  “My name’s Shawn. I’m an old friend of your mom’s.”

  His eyes relax a little, and he glances up at his mother. She smiles at him and nods. Relief washes over her, I can feel it.

  “I’m sorry if we woke you.”

  The little boy is still hanging onto his mom, but he’s now looking at me with interest.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Tanner,” he mumbles and shovels on his feet.

  “And how old are you, Tanner?”

  “Six.”

  “Wow. Six years old.”

  He nods emphatically.

  “If you’re six, you must go to school already, is that right?”

  Tanner nods. “I’m in kindergarten.” He stands a little taller as he imparts this information.

  “Wow,” I raise my eyebrows and make sure my voice confirms how impressed I am by this. “Kindergarten.”

  Tanner nods and even lets go of his mom as he takes a tentative step away from her, putting him a little closer to me.

  “Do you like school?” I inquire.

  This time, he doesn’t respond as quickly as before. His head drops, and he seems to be studying his shoes.

  “Sorta,” he mumbles.

  “I bet you’re really good at it.” I smile at him encouragingly.

  “Nah,” he starts and stops.

  “What’s your teacher’s name?”

  “Miss King.”

  “Is Miss King nice?”

  Tanner stares at his bare feet and seems to be looking for something.

  “Sometimes, she’s nice, and sometimes, she’s not.” Tanner adds by way of explanation. “But that’s life, isn’t it? Sometimes it’s fair, and sometimes it’s not.”

  Holy shit.

  So much wisdom from a six-year-old. It’s difficult not to burst out laughing, but his expression is so serious, I didn’t dare.

  A glance at Evelyn confirms she’s suppressing her own giggles. The way her shoulders are shuddering, I can tell she’s laughing.

  “You got that right, buddy,” I say, not sure how else to respond.

  “Yesterday, or maybe the day before—I’m not sure anymore—I got blamed for doing something I didn’t do. That day, life was not fair.” He’s all serious as he tells me, and I see Evelyn’s shoulders shake more and more.

  “That’s no good at all, buddy. What did you get blamed for?” My sympathy is not put-on. I don’t like it when someone gets blamed for something they didn’t do.

  “Buster was talking, and when Miss King turned around, he pointed at me.”

  “De
finitely not fair,” I agree and reach out to ruffle his hair.

  There’s so much more I’d like to do. In fact, I’d like to scoop him up and give him a big bear hug.

  He looks so small. I can’t imagine him going to school.

  “Buster is not a nice boy,” Tanner continues. “He hits other kids.”

  “No way!”

  Tanner nods. “He’s hit me,” he says and points to his arm.

  “Did he hit you there?”

  Again, the little boy nods.

  “Ouch. What did you do? Tell the teacher or…” I don’t finish the sentence. It suddenly occurs to me it’s probably not a good idea to plant the idea of hitting back.

  There’s a hesitation again. “No,” he shuffles his feet again. “I didn’t do anything. Phoebe called me a pansy because I didn’t stand up to him.”

  I try not to frown, but this school is sounding like an awful place.

  It makes me realize how much I’ve fucking missed out. No kid of mine should have to deal with this shit at school.

  School should be about happy memories, making friends, and maybe causing a little mischief. It should definitely not be about bullies picking on my son.

  I stand up and walk to the couch. “Come and sit here for a minute,” I motion to Tanner, who skips over and leaps up on the couch next to me.

  The way his big blue eyes are looking at me tugs at my heart.

  “Do you want me to tell you something about bullies?”

  Before he can reply, Evelyn’s come over.

  “It’s nearly bedtime, Tanner.”

  I hold up my hand. “Mom’s right, my friend.” I shoot her a sideways grin. “Trust me, Mom’s always right. But this won’t take long and will be absolutely worth it.”

  “Yes, please.” He’s sitting close to the edge of the couch so his feet dangle over the edge.

  “Well, what you have to remember about bullies is this.” I lean forward, so I’m close to him. “A bully has a really tiny, itsy-bitsy penis.”

  I hear Evelyn gasp and Tanner laugh.

  “Shawn.”

  My eyes find hers, and I see the laughter in them.

  “It’s true. Next time a bully picks on you, Tanner, remember: he’s got a penis smaller than a pea.”

  The little boy claps his hands together and laughs.

  “On that note, I think you better go back to bed.”

  Tanner looks at his mother. “Can I have another story, pleaseee?”

  Evelyn sighs and puts her hands on her hips. “Is this another stalling tactic, Tanner Tucker?”

  There’s a violent shake of the head. “Just one, Mom, please?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Okay.”

  “Can Shawn read it to me, please?”

  Fuck. Had my ears heard right? Had he really just asked for me to read him a bedtime story? I could pick him up and kiss him, but I don’t want to frighten to him.

  “I don’t know,” Evelyn starts and stares at me. “Shawn…”

  “Shawn would be delighted and honored,” I cut her off and stand up. “Would the young man care to hitch a ride to his bedroom?”

  I invite him to jump on my back.

  There’s a squeal and jump, and he lands on my back.

  Horse-like, I pretend to gallop out of the living room and into the hallway. Shouts of glee reach my ears.

  “Directions, please,” I call out as I hover at the bottom of the stairs.

  It’s in this part of the house that I notice a few drawings stuck to the walls.

  “Up and left,” yells Tanner, and I see his little hand shoot forward past my right eye.

  “Up it is,” I say and take the steps two at a time.

  Once inside his room, I do a lap of honor before dropping him onto his bed.

  As I do so, I take a look around. There are posters on the walls of sports stars and animals. A huge green tree frog is stuck above his head.

  “You like animals?” I ask, and Tanner nods.

  “I’d really like a dog, but Mom says they’re too much work.”

  “It’s true. Dogs are a big responsibility.”

  “I’ve told Mom I’d look after a dog. Now that I’m six years old, I could walk it and feed it. But she still says no.”

  His face looks all sad again.

  “Don’t wear him out, Tanner,” I hear Evelyn from the door before her head appears.

  “I won’t,” says Tanner and bounces up and down on his bed.

  “Now,” I sit on his bed. “What books shall we read?”

  Instead of a reply, Tanner keeps bouncing on the bed.

  I watch.

  So much enthusiasm is great to see. It also is a reminder of how much I’ve missed out on. How fucking unfair.

  “Watch out,” I warn and put on my best monster impersonation. “A monster might eat you up.” On my last word, I grab him around his legs and wrestle him onto the bed.

  He giggles, laughs, and kicks his legs.

  “Give in, give in?” I ask as I tickle him in different places.

  “No,” he laughs.

  “You, two,” Evelyn’s voice from the door has us both looking up. “I think it’s bedtime.” The voice of reason, the voice of the mother.

  “Oh, come on, Mom,” Tanner complains, but I sit up.

  “Your mother’s right, young man. Time for bed. Now, where’s this book I’m going to read?”

  Tanner grumbles something and points to his bedside table.

  There are several books piled up.

  “What’s your favorite?”

  Big puppy dog eyes stare at me from a Thomas pillow.

  “Can you tell me a story?”

  Things are moving quickly for me. One minute, I’m knocking on the door wondering who this woman by the name of Evelyn is; the next minute, I find out she’s my wife and I have a son. Not only that—my son is the most delightful and amazing six-year-old any father could hope for.

  And he’s asking me to tell him a bedtime story.

  “Okay, little buddy,” I say and sit next to him on the edge of the seat. “You better hang onto your hat, because you’re in for one awesome and adventurous good night story.”

  There’s a yawn. The little boy snuggles into his covers, eyes on me at all times. Evelyn is standing just inside the room.

  “Once upon a time, there was a little boy. He was a very special boy, although he didn’t know how special, until a wise old man came to his house…”

  Chapter 8

  Evelyn

  Why now? I can’t help but think. Why now? Those words buzz around my head like annoying flies. But no matter how many times I swipe at them, they refuse to move.

  All this time, I’ve waited for Shawn to come back to me and suddenly, out of the blue, he appears on my doorstep. The timing’s so… I can’t even think what the timing is.

  I mean, here I’ve had James around for so many years. And I’ve resisted his advances; but the minute I accept his proposal Shawn comes back.

  Coincidence? Fate? What do you call it?

  Not only that, he also turns out to be a total natural with his son, as I stand by the door and watch his gaze linger over the little boy, I’m ready to cry.

  Every time I’ve imagined him coming home and me telling him about our son, it has been different. But, I guess dreams are rarely true to life.

  With a sigh, I walk into the room and pull the blanket up around Tanner to make sure he doesn’t get cold. I know he will have kicked them off halfway through the night. Kids are such restless sleepers, but I figure he should at least start off warm.

  Up until a few months ago, Tanner would still come to bed with me, and I regularly received kicks all over my body. I often found Tanner the wrong way around in my bed in the morning, or curled up at the foot of the bed like a dog.

  “He’s perfect,” Shawn whispers, and for a second our eyes meet and lock.

  Instantly, my heart beats faster and warmth spreads through my body. It’s difficult to
contain and I feel my face drawn to his.

  My lips purse a little, and an overwhelming urge to kiss him grabs hold of me. But just as I lean toward him, he stands up. I stay where I am for a few seconds to regain my composure and control my breathing.

  When I join him, he’s standing on the landing of the stairs, seemingly lost in thought.

  “I think I should mix us both a drink,” I mumble and walk past him.

  At the bottom, I see him coming down the stairs, taking extreme care, walking as if he might tread on a landmine.

  What had he been through? How must it feel to wake up and not know who you are? I shiver since I can’t begin to imagine what any of this must be like for him. It’s pretty awful for me, and I remember every detail of the last few years.

  “I don’t keep much alcohol around,” I explain and wait for him to join me. “I’ll see what I can find.”

  He nods. I can tell he’s trying to process the barrage of information coming right at him. I guess it’s not only information overload; it’s coming to terms with what he’s finding out.

  “I’m pretty easy,” he says and gives me his bright smile. “Not much to drink in Afghanistan.”

  His smile is what first attracted me to him. It starts around his lips, but travels all the way up to his eyes. When he smiles, his eyes sparkle.

  Without a reply, I head to the kitchen.

  If there’s anything to drink that’s hidden, it’ll be in the pantry. I shove tins of corn out of the way, move tomato sauce bottles and shift packets of noodles. I was just about to give up when I hear Shawn behind me.

  “What’s that up top?”

  I follow his gaze to the top shelf. It’s too high for me. He reaches it easily and pulls out a bottle of whiskey.

  “Looks like a good drop.”

  “Straight or with ice?”

  He hesitates for a second. “With ice.”

  When I’ve poured two pot-bellied glasses with the amber liquid, I head back into the living room. Carefully, I place the glasses on the little ornate, hand-carved, wooden coffee table before sitting on the lounge.

  Shawn sits next to me, his closeness unleashing electric shock waves in me. He picks up one of the glasses and keeps his eyes on the amber-colored liquid as he swirls it around.