“My name is Daniel. I am a friend of your mother’s,” he stated formally, the image of control.
My eyes darted back and forth, and I knew I needed to calm myself.
“Yes, my love, he’s just a friend. Please go back to bed now. I’ll be there in a minute,” I soothed.
Tristan didn’t want to disobey me, but I could see the conflict in his eyes. And then his little face firmed with bravery.
“You’re not my Mommy’s friend,” he accused, returning his innocent gaze to Daniel who narrowed his in return.
“I assure you, young man, I am,” he said pleasantly, but I could tell he thought it was out of line for a little boy to question an adult’s authority.
“How come I’ve never seen you before?” Tristan persisted curiously, and Daniel cocked a brow.
“I’m from England,” Daniel replied politely.
“Is that why you’re talking funny?” Tristan asked and tilted his head up to Daniel with a quizzical expression.
“Yes,” he answered and then he smiled beautifully, disarmingly. Tristan returned it with an equally glorious one of his own.
“Okay,” Tristan relented, looking to me, and I gave him a reassuring smile, relieved his curiosity was satisfied and I quickly stepped to shoo him into bed. “I’m Tristan. It’s nice to meet you,” he stated, extending his hand. Damn August and his manners.
Daniel strode towards him and crouched down to meet his level. “Likewise,” he said.
Tristan gave a sturdy shake despite how absurdly small his hand looked in Daniel’s, and I sent up a silent prayer of thanks that this was not a complete disaster. It was entirely salvageable and actually advantageous. The groundwork was laid, and it would make the revelation to them both much easier. The plan was still intact.
His head angled slightly, studying Tristan’s face. And his grass green eyes.
“How old are you?” Daniel abruptly asked. My heart skipped.
“I’m four,” Tristan responded, grinning.
Daniel nodded thoughtfully, and I stepped towards them.
“But I’ll be five next month,” Tristan volunteered, sounding like he hoped that was a better answer.
Daniel’s eyes widened minutely, and then his face became unreadable.
I swayed on my feet before I found my voice. “It’s getting late, and we have a busy day tomorrow. He really should be getting back to bed,” I rushed out.
Daniel’s eyes were slits now, and if he was aware of me at all, it was only in the peripheral.
He gave a tight-lipped grin. “Five is a good age, Tristan,” he continued in a controlled voice. “Tell me, what do you do for fun?”
Tristan seemed pleasantly surprised. “I like to go to the zoo. And sometimes the park. I like my school, too.”
“Those are excellent interests. Who takes you to all these places?” Daniel pressed and Tristan looked thrown off.
“Uh, my Mom does. Or sometimes August,” he nervously answered, thinking very hard.
It didn’t escape Daniel’s attention that Tristan called August by first name. He seemed to inhale sharply.
“And what about your father?” Daniel inquired directly, curiously.
Tristan looked like someone flushed his pet lizard and then asked him the secret of the universe.
“That’s enough,” I snapped, crushed, desperate, enraged.
Afraid.
Tristan’s eyes were wet and confused. Their hands, still clasped long after the shake, were finally released when Daniel swiftly rose to stand.
“Your mother is right. It is indeed very, very late for this,” he said sharply.
His composed form briefly turned to me, revealing narrowed eyes blazing fiercely with anger. And I withered. Then he left.
Chapter 11 - Crossed Pollinations
I called August right after Daniel’s swift departure and asked him to come over. Tristan was still upset and we lay in my bed with Tristan between us, assuring him everything was fine and that Daniel really was a friend and not an intruder of some sort. He nodded while looking down at his little fingers as they fidgeted with the sheets, but there was confusion in his eyes and I could tell he was holding back. Tristan was braver than any little boy should ever have to be.
“What exactly happened, Bree?” August asked quietly after Tristan had fallen asleep. He was lying on the other side of the bed propping himself up on his elbow facing me.
“Honestly? I don’t know. He just showed up and he wanted me to go with him. I’m not sure where or why, but he seemed pretty confident about it. We were…discussing it when Tristan woke up, and Daniel was there, and he began asking questions….Daniel just figured it out,” I answered. I was downplaying it for my own sake. The whole night was a blur of chaos except for how utterly vivid it was watching them shake hands of the same flesh and unknowingly smiling the same smile.
A father and a son meeting for the first time. One finally meeting the person they’ve been waiting for their whole life.
“Did Daniel say anything, explicitly, about, you know,” August probed cautiously and darted his eyes down to the sleeping boy.
“No. But he knows. I’m sure of it,” I answered firmly with downcast eyes.
August pursed his lips and nodded. “I’ll call the attorney tomorrow and let them know to move up contacting his people for the DNA test and any other matters that may come up. There’s no point in putting it off now that Daniel knows,” he affirmed. “He didn’t say anything compromising to Tristan?”
“Not directly, but he rattled him.” I looked down at Tristan’s dark chocolate lashes. He was so inquisitive, but I was always patient with him because he was patient with me. I didn’t know how to be a good mother; he’d taught me how. And there were questions he’d never asked.
“He’s never asked me, you know. I could see in his eyes he wanted to so badly tonight—before you got here. It hurts him.”
August was quiet for a while and then he sighed and scratched his hair blond hair.
“He asked me once,” August said gently, and my eyes met his. “He…he asked me if I would be his Dad.”
I watched him look down at Tristan, and although his expression was steady, his eyes seemed glassy.
“I’m so sorry, August,” I breathed in a broken whisper. “I didn’t mean…I never meant to put you in that kind of position.”
We were both quiet for a while and then he gave me a thin, reassuring smile.
“It’s fine,” he finally said quietly. Sometimes I did wish August was his father just for the sake of simplicity, and both of us knew that five years ago, it was almost the truth. His eyes met mine again with surety and resolve. “I’m staying here tonight. In case he comes back.”
“That’s not necessary,” I assured him while my mind flashed to Daniel’s angry eyes and I sighed. “He’s not coming back.”
“Nevertheless,” he replied as he lifted himself off the bed and pushed the sleeves of his dusty blue thermal nightshirt over his forearms. I’d woken him up when I called and he raced over. “I’ll make sure we’re locked up for the night. I’ll be on the sofa if you need me,” he affirmed with a smile, but his eyes were tired.
“Goodnight, August,” I responded in a hushed voice. He clicked off the lights. I curled up in bed and fell asleep next to my son peacefully because we were safe.
~o~
The next morning I woke up and realized that everything was a mess. An absolute mess.
That was not how I envisioned their first meeting and it was anything but ideal. For starters, waking up in the middle of the night to find your mother in an embrace, kissing some man you’ve never even met before was traumatic enough—especially considering Tristan had never seen me kissing anyone—but I wondered how much of the conversation he’d heard. What’s worse was Tristan’s first impression of the man that is his father was not a good one. I didn’t appreciate Daniel intimidating my son whether he meant to or not, although, it was clear Daniel was actuall
y containing the magnitude of his feelings about it.
Was he angry with me? If he was, he had no right to be. I’d made it more than clear that I didn’t know him, so he couldn’t have expected me to track him down and tell him years ago.
Based on my reaction, I think Daniel realized that I’d already discovered he was the father and just hadn’t told him yet. But he couldn’t have expected me to walk into that mixer and announce that he’d fathered a child with me.
Maybe he was just angry at the situation. He did have a legacy to carry on. Probably the last thing he was expecting was an out-of-wedlock child with a random girl he’d had a one-night stand with; during his episode of self-destruction and drug use, no less, although it did seem like more to him. Tristan was a living reminder of a very dark time for him, and maybe he was angry with himself for being so reckless. Although he appeared to have a large sexual prowess, I doubt that included negligently impregnating women. I wondered if that was why he was so insulted that I didn’t remember. I imagine most women would never forget being with him intimately.
I had no clue what kind of woman I’d been when I was with him, because his impression of me seemed totally off base. But, the same way he was a different Daniel in my journal entry, maybe I was a different Bree with him, too. I can’t imagine what I could have done to give him the impression I’d be willing to abandon my child to leave with him.
Based on his behavior last night, I had to lend credence to the possibility Daniel still used. Maybe he’d relapsed and wanted his old “drug buddy” back. I had no idea, but the things he said to me floated loosely in my mind. He didn’t seem to be intoxicated, exactly, but his behavior was so unexplainably irrational….Then I demoted the idea; recalling how methodical he was. He knew exactly what he was doing—he had a plan—and his demeanor only changed once I refused. For a man like Daniel, that surely seldom occurred.
I was sitting at the dining table with August the next morning when I made a decision, and once Tristan went to his room to feed his pet lizard, I stated my case.
“August, I want you to hold off on having our attorneys contact his,” I began peaceably as came back from putting our dirty waffle plates in the sink.
He looked thoughtful for a moment before he spoke. “Bree, it’s your decision, but this is the way things like this get done. I don’t want there to be any more potentially damaging friction between the two of you,” he protested and raised a brow, reminding me of what transpired last night.
“I agree, which is why I think I should try to smooth this out between he and I. If he’s upset with anyone, he needs to take it up with me and not take it out on Tristan. And I certainly don’t want him to think I’m coming after him with legal actions because that’s not what I want. I don’t care if Tristan has a father on paper, I only care if he gets a father in person. I think he will react badly or get the wrong impression of what I expect from him if I just send him paperwork for a blood test. He’ll think I’m pursuing him for the wrong reasons,” I explained reasonably.
“I see your point,” he agreed as he squinted his eyes and took a sip from his coffee mug. “If you want to reach out to him, I’ll give you his email address. That’s probably the best way. Be polite but concise. He seems to be blurring the lines about his boundaries with you,” he finished with a frown. August was the gentlest man I knew, but he was also protective.
I was nervous about what kind of treatment Daniel would give him come Monday after some of the things he’d said, and I hated that this situation was embroiling him on all fronts.
August seemed thoughtful before he spoke again. “We’ll give it one week. If he doesn’t respond to your olive branch, then we’ll have the attorney contact him,” he held his hand out, stopping me before I interrupted. “Bree, the only reason we’ll be contacting him is to get his medical history and we’ll do it discreetly. Think about how many years we’ve pined away for that type of information.”
I nodded in agreement. It was the least Daniel could do. The very least.
On Sunday I decided to send the email so he’d get it first thing Monday morning. He’d had the weekend to absorb it and hopefully a cooler head would prevail. I typed it and re-typed it maybe twenty times before hitting send.
-Email Sunday 10:00 a.m.-
Sender: mgvalentine- Valentine Designs
Recipient: D. Baird- BarclayBaird Corp.
Dear Daniel,
I think we should to talk. Please contact me at the office or on my mobile at your earliest convenience.
Kind regards,
Gabrielle Valentine
I’d included my work and cell phone numbers after the signature. The phone was silent and the inbox stayed empty.
Wednesday afternoon, I met up with August and Ian at our local park with Tristan for a little soccer game with Tristan’s buddy, Chen. Chen was a little guy with a neat bowl cut and the cutest high-pitched voice. Fortunately, he got along well with Tristan at school. Chen’s mom was somewhat aloof and a single parent as well, so she allowed him to come out with us for some male bonding.
After a rousing game between Team Godzilla (Ian and Chen) vs. Team Superman (August and Tristan) that I refereed because Ian took it way too seriously, the adults had a seat on the bench and watched the little bundles of energy kick and chase errant balls around the field.
“Still no word?” August asked cautiously as he wiped his sweaty forehead with a towel. Although he was an excellent athlete and in stellar shape, he wasn’t one for excessive physical exertion.
“Nothing,” I replied as I handed Ian his water bottle and tried to lift his sweaty arm from around me to no avail. “How are things at the office? Has he said anything?” I couldn’t hide my curiosity. August looked out onto the field.
“No.” Then he admitted, “He’s actually been on a bit of a tirade all week.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, and he shook his head to himself, seemingly distressed.
“Let’s just say he’s been less than pleasant,” he remarked politely and I scoffed, as if it that weren’t the norm. He turned to me with serious eyes that said ‘more than usual’.
Oh no. “How so?”
“Moody. Micromanaging. It’s a miracle I got off in time for this,” he said, gesturing to the field. “Midnight conference calls, cut backs on vacation time, working weekends—he even had corporate send out an email banning things he deemed counterproductive.”
I squinted and studied August’s expressionless face for a moment. “Such as?” I asked slowly.
“Such as snack machines, personal photos…office décor,” he said, his eyes meeting mine. August’s office had practically been a shrine to Tristan’s art.
“Yeah, he’s a sneaky bastard, all right,” Ian, offered as he slumped back into the bench, twirling the ends of my hair. August chuckled, but it didn’t seem genuine.
“He’s really pissed,” I stated the obvious, watching Tristan try to pry the soccer ball from underneath little Chen who had collapsed on top of it, curling around it like a roly-poly.
“I can see where he’s coming from though,” Ian added, and I looked up at him incredulously.
“Why are you taking his side on this? I thought you didn’t like him?”
“I’m not. And I don’t,” he confirmed with a smirk. “But I get where he’s coming from,” he finished with a shrug.
“And where, exactly, is that?” I quizzed, curious to hear the wisdom of a man who once tried to convince me banana Laffy Taffy had medicinal healing qualities.
“Bree, you’re too nice. You don’t understand. Somehow, you’ve managed to do what a lot of girls who have bedded Baird would have killed for. He’s sneaky, but the girls we went to school with wrote the book on it. The only reason all those girls left the guys they were supposedly in love with to sleep with Baird was because they thought it was worth the risk,” he said suggestively.
“What risk?” I asked. Why would you risk love for sex?
“They thought they might be the one to lock him down, get a slice of a dynasty,” he explained. “I’ve had my share of it, too, but not like the guys with big family names, and definitely not like Baird. These girls would show up a few months later whining about ‘I’m late’ or ‘I thought we had something special.’ Blah, blah, blah.”
“That’s really mean,” I pointed out, frowning, and Ian furrowed his brow, pouting a little.
“They’re the mean ones. It was a game to hitch wagon to the biggest swingin’ dick. It’s not like they actually gave a shit about us,” he added matter-of-factly, squeezing a stream of water from the bottle into his mouth and swallowing. “All those girls had an end game,” he started again. “They’re not all different here, either. My personal favorite is ‘Don’t worry about the condom, I’m on the pill.’ When a girl says that, I double bag it. Or run! You know what I’m saying?” he finished comically and held his fist out for a bump from August who frowned down at it.
“Ian, I wish you hadn’t dated so many exotic dancers. I don’t think it’s been good for you.” August looked at him concernedly.
“Right,” Ian cleared his throat. “Well, my point is having a kid is a big deal, but Daniel Baird having a kid? That’s a HUGE deal.”
“Huh,” I said thoughtfully.
“Like a major fucking deal,” he continued, wide eyed staring out at the field.
“Right,” I agreed, and shifted my eyes downward as he turned his face up to the sky.
“Like a Fresh Kills Landfill-sized deal. The kind of deal you can see from outer space,” Ian added wistfully.
“I think we comprehend the size of the deal, Ian,” August chastised, but Ian’s mind was already elsewhere.
“Just a massive, gaping, enormous…” he started while spreading his hands out.
“I got it, Ian,” I snapped, interrupting his contemplation, and August finally chuckled in earnest.
The things Ian said to me that day stuck with me the next few days. I’d assumed that what I’d written was the final word on my impression of Daniel, but because of Ian, another version of events became possible. I did find him at the grandest hotel in the city. Piano training is not inexpensive, and I seemed curious about where the cash for the cab came from, too.
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