by Ash, Nikki
“It’s called being responsible.”
“It’s called being a worrywart.” She sticks her tongue out. “Life’s too short to worry over what-ifs,” she says, standing. “If you decide to give Keegan a chance, I can watch Zane for you.” She winks saucily. “Maybe if you finally get laid again, you will be less uptight.”
“Oh, yeah, because the last time I got laid worked out really well for me,” I joke.
“Actually it did,” she says seriously. “It gave us Zane, and we both know you wouldn’t trade him for anything in the world.”
Damn my sister for being right.
Keegan
“And to what do I owe this pleasure?” Sierra leans against the doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest and a smirk on her lips. She’s dressed in a pair of sweats and a tank top, her hair pulled on top of her head. This is the first time I’m seeing her since the day I found out I was a dad, and that day I was too preoccupied by Blakely to pay any real attention to her sister. But looking at her now, it’s obvious they’re sisters. Their features are similar, except where Sierra has a look to her that screams I’m trouble with a capital T, Blakely has a more innocent look to her. I wouldn’t doubt that, even though Sierra was the younger of the two, she was the leader when they were growing up.
“I’m here to see Blakely and—”
Before I can get his name out, Zane shrieks, “Daddy!” as he runs around his aunt and straight into my lower body. He collides with my crotch, and I stifle a groan. “Daddy, you’re here!” He grins up at me, and his tiny dimples, which match mine, pop out.
I’ve only hung out with him a few times now, but since the first day he found out I’m his dad, he’s called me Daddy, as if it’s the most natural thing, and fuck if it isn’t the best feeling in the world. I knew one day I’d get married and have kids, but because I hadn’t reached that point in my life yet, I never thought about what it would feel like to have a kid. No thoughts could even do it justice. The way he smiles at me like I’m his whole world is indescribable. I’ve only known about him for less than a week, but it’s safe to say this kid is my entire universe.
“What’d you bring me?” Zane asks, when he spots the bag in my hand. Every time I’ve come over, I’ve brought him something. Blakely says I’m forming a bad habit, but I don’t care. I plan to do everything in my power to make up for the years lost and to show him every day, month, and year to come how much I love him. Sure, gifts aren’t how you show a kid you love him, but I can’t help myself. My son loves Legos and reading. I view it as helping to educate him.
I laugh at Zane’s question, but Sierra frowns, chiding him. “Don’t be rude.”
“Sorry,” he grumbles.
“It’s all right, bud. Here ya go.” I hand him the bag and he opens it, pulling out a new book. Like I said, my kid enjoys Legos and reading. I hardly consider bringing him books spoiling him.
“Wow! An animal book! Thank you!” He flies back into my body to give me a hug, and this time I lift him into my arms.
“You’re welcome.”
“Blakely’s not here,” Sierra says. I go to set Zane down, but he grips his hand that’s not holding his book tightly around my neck.
“I must’ve gotten the days confused,” I tell her. “Hey, bud, I didn’t realize your mom wasn’t home,” I tell Zane, who frowns.
“I want to watch SpongeBob and play with my Legos and read my new book with Daddy,” he says to his aunt.
She smiles at the two of us. “You’re more than welcome to hang out with him. Blakely is with her study group. I think it was last minute.” She waves her hand, indicating for me to go inside.
“Thanks. If I’m cramping your style, just let me know.”
“No style to cramp,” she jokes. “I’m as boring as they come. Just painting my nails and getting caught up on SpongeBob with this little man.” If it weren’t for her sincere smile, I would think she resents her life being boring, but the way she glances at Zane tells me she’s okay with her life the way it is because he’s her nephew.
“I got to paint her nails!” Zane giggles.
“You did? Did you paint yours too?” I dramatically check out his nails, and he laughs harder.
“No! That’s for girls. Melissa paints her nails pink.”
“Melissa, huh?” I give Zane a knowing look that he’s too young to get. This isn’t the first time he’s mentioned his friend Melissa. Is it possible for a three-year-old to have a crush? Because I’m pretty sure my son is sweet for this Melissa chick.
“She goes to school with Zane,” Sierra says, filling me in. “They’re best friends.” Her lips upturn into a sly smile, and I know she’s thinking the same thing I am. My boy’s got game.
Zane drops the book between us, and his hands come up to my cheeks, squeezing the sides of my face to get my attention. “C’mon, Daddy, let’s go to my room and read my book.”
“You got it, bud.”
When I place my skateboard against the wall by the door, Zane notices and asks, “Can I ride it?”
“Sure.” I shrug nonchalantly, but inside I’m excited that my boy is interested in boarding. I was about his age when my uncle Sean bought me my first board. He was a pro skater and has taught me just about everything I know. He’s retired now and lives in Miami with his wife. I can’t wait to introduce Zane to him.
Zane wriggles his body so I’ll let him down, then walks over to the board, laying the book on the end table along the way. Setting the board down, he kneels next to it, putting his tiny hands on the top, and rolls it back and forth.
“I’m going to jump in the shower,” Sierra says. “Make sure he doesn’t bust his head on that thing. Blakely would kill us both.” When my eyes widen, she laughs. “Just watch him. It will be fine.”
She disappears down the hall, and I sit next to Zane on the ground. “Want to sit on it?” His eyes light up, and he nods quickly. “Go ahead, then.”
He wastes no time climbing onto the board, while I hold it so it doesn’t move. “I wanna stand,” he says, already getting up onto his knees. I hold the board tight, and he gets on his feet. When he shifts his body in an attempt to make the board go, I chuckle, but he frowns. “Let go.”
“You’re going to fall,” I warn him.
“No, I’m not.” He pouts. “Let go. I wanna go.”
“All right, but don’t bust your head. Your aunt said your mommy will kill me.” Quickly standing, I put my hands out, ready to catch him when he falls.
“Now?” he asks, ignoring my warning.
“Go for it.”
With his feet planted on the board, he extends his arms out, and his body sways forward. The board moves a couple inches before he loses his balance. Grabbing underneath his arms, I lift him over my head and, holding him like he’s a plane, walk him down the hall to his room, grabbing his new book as I go.
“I’m flying!” he squeals.
I drop him carefully onto his bed, and he laughs. “I rode the board so good, right?”
“Yeah, you did, bud. You rode it like a pro.”
“What’s a pro?” he asks curiously.
“Someone who is really good.”
“I’m a pro!” He points to himself with pride.
“Yep, you sure are.”
Grabbing the book out of my hand, he settles onto his bed and I join him. The first time, I read the book to him, and the next time, he helps me. I’m not sure if he really knows the words or if he’s just good at memorizing what he hears, but it’s safe to say, either way my kid’s a genius. After the third time, he tells me he’s ready to play Legos.
“What are we building today?” I ask him, nodding toward the mess of Legos all over his floor.
Zane scampers off the bed and over to his Legos. “I’m making SpongeBob’s house. He lives in a pineapple.” He hands me an orange Lego, and we get to work building the strange sponge guy a house made out of fruit—while I wonder what the hell happened to Sesame Street.
Blakely
<
br /> “I just need to stop by the shop and then we’ll head to the coffee shop,” Brenton says, as we drive down Main Street. With my backpack between my legs, I grab my cell phone and make sure it’s on loud in case Sierra needs to get ahold of me. She’s watching Zane while Brenton and I meet our study group for Psychology of Inequality.
A few minutes later we arrive at U Break I Fix, a cell phone shop, Brenton’s brother, Travis, owns. Brenton works at his shop occasionally, and that sometimes includes making deliveries. I wait in the car while Brenton runs in. While he’s in there, my phone goes off—it’s Keegan. The last few days he’s been coming by in the evenings to have dinner with Zane and me, and hang out with Zane. I completely forgot to tell him I wouldn’t be home tonight.
Keegan: I’m here, but you’re not.
Me: I’m sorry! I forgot to tell you I have study group.
Keegan: No worries. Sierra said I can hang out with Zane still.
A second later a picture of a smiling Zane and Keegan hits my screen, and I take in a sharp breath at how identical the two of them look. From their messy brown hair to their perfect dimples. My finger glides over their faces, and I think about my conversation with Sierra—what it would be like for that picture to be the three of us instead of just the two of them. I click to save the image and then make it Keegan’s contact photo before I send him back a text.
Me: Give him a kiss for me, please. Have fun.
Keegan: Will do! Maybe I’ll see you when you get home?
Me: I might be late. Tomorrow?
Keegan: Okay, I was thinking we could introduce Zane to my parents this weekend. What do you think?
My heart stutters at the word we. It shouldn’t affect me the way it does. The thought of me and Keegan being a we.
Brenton swings the car door open and folds himself into his sport’s vehicle. I’ll never understand why big guys choose to drive small cars just because they think they’re cool. The guy barely fits inside. The thought has me wondering what kind of car Keegan drives. So far all I’ve ever seen is him on a skateboard or a surfboard. I giggle on the inside, imagining him taking a woman out on a date and telling her to hop on his board. Then I frown when I realize I just imagined him with another woman. Ever since my talk with Sierra, I’ve been thinking a lot about Keegan and me. He hasn’t brought us up again, but I think if he did, I wouldn’t be opposed to maybe seeing where things go.
Keegan: Jailbird, you there?
“Who you talking to?” Brenton asks, throwing whatever he has to deliver into the glovebox.
“Oh, Keegan. He wants Zane to meet his parents this weekend.”
Keegan: Hello?
Me: Sorry, I was talking to Brenton.
Keegan: You’re with him?
Me: He’s driving us to the study group.
Me: To answer your question, yes, this weekend sounds good. I’m excited for Zane to have more family.
I wait a few minutes for Keegan to reply, and when he doesn’t, I put my phone away. I probably shouldn’t have mentioned I was out with Brenton, but oh well, I can’t deal with these men and their egos.
After stopping at two houses so Brenton can drop off their phones, we arrive at the coffee shop. We spend the next couple hours going over our notes on our reading. Since we have our first quiz next class, we go over the points we all think are critical.
“J.C. is having a party at his place,” Lauren says to everyone. “You’re going, right?” She looks at Brenton, who looks over at me.
J.C. is the quarterback of Carterville’s football team, and the ‘it’ guy on campus. I only know this because the girls are always gossiping about him, and Brenton is good friends with him. Every once in a while Brenton will drag me out, and it’s usually for one of J.C.’s parties since he lives just off campus. He has a huge two-story house his parents apparently pay for, and shares it with several of his friends and teammates.
“Would you mind if we stopped by?” Brenton asks. “We don’t have to stay long.”
I check my phone, and when I see there’s still no reply from Keegan, I assume he hasn’t responded because he’s upset about me being out with Brenton, which is ridiculous. We’re nothing more than friends.
“I’m not sure…”
“C’mon, please,” he begs. “Just for a few minutes.”
“Fine,” I say, giving in, “but not too long. I have to get up with Zane in the morning.” Friday through Sunday I have no class, and they’re mine and Zane’s days to spend time together. We always get up and hit the park first thing, since the weekend is always packed. Fridays are less busy, which means Zane gets more time on the swings.
Keegan
“Come, boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.” I turn the page and notice Zane’s eyes are shut and his face is nuzzled into my side. “And the tree was happy,” I continue to read, even though he’s no longer listening. “The end.”
I close the bright green book my son asked me to read five times in a row and set it on his nightstand. I should probably move him off me, so he can sleep in a more comfortable position, but I can’t find it in me to move. As I look around his room at all the drawings he’s created that Blakely’s framed and hung up, at the stuffed animals in the corner, my heart feels like it’s being squeezed. Every drawing he’s made, every toy he’s fallen in love with, I wasn’t there for. I don’t know what any of it means. I don’t know the backstory to anything. I don’t know why he loves The Giving Tree more than any other book, or why he insists on picking a different stuffed animal to take to bed every night. I don’t know where he was when he drew any of those pictures, or why Blakely chose those to hang up.
One picture catches my attention. It’s a picture of three stick figures with ineligible writing above and below the people. Writing in sharpie—that has to be from an adult—above the messy writing plays as the caption: Mommy, Aunt Sierra, and Zane. I love you. Happy Mother’s Day!
My heart sinks at the thought that every year Blakely didn’t have someone to spoil her for Mother’s Day. She deserves to be pampered and given recognition. Growing up, every year my dad would take my brothers and me to the store so we could pick out presents for our mom. Then we would wrap them and give them to her in the morning along with a homemade breakfast we would make while she slept in. Dad would always buy her a gift card to the spa she loves, and the following weekend, he would take us to the park to skateboard and play while she would spend the day at the spa. The following month, when it was Father’s Day, Mom would take us to buy Dad new fishing gear.
A lump forms in my throat when I think about Father’s Day. Does Zane know what that day means? Did he wonder where his dad was and why he wasn’t with him? Or did Blakely ignore the holiday and pretend it didn’t exist, so Zane wouldn’t know what he was missing?
My phone goes off, and I swallow down the huge lump in my throat, shaking away my thoughts. I’m here now, and not another holiday will go by that I’m not with my son—or Blakely—for that matter.
When I pull my phone out of my front pocket, Zane snuggles in closer, and I gently move his head onto his pillow, so he doesn’t get a stiff neck. I read the text from my dad, then type out a quick reply and hit send. As I’m about to put my phone away, my eyes land on the locator app. My finger hovers above it for several seconds before I give in and click on it.
I shouldn’t have done it, but I did. I couldn’t help it, though. While Blakely was in the shower the other day, I saw her phone on the table and made a rash decision. It’s not like I had to download the app—it’s already there, part of the phone. All I had to do was request to follow her and approve it. And how did I justify it? By convincing myself that because Blakely’s the mother of my son, I need to make sure she’s safe. In my defense, that’s the truth. But if what I was doing was okay, then I would’ve just asked her. But I didn’t.
I feel guilty about it—sort of. But that doesn’t stop me from checking up on her. I’m not doing it to be a creep, though. I just want to
make sure she’s okay. I don’t trust that Brenton guy as far as I can throw him. I’ve been asking around campus, and I don’t like the shit I’m hearing—at all.
When I click on Blakely’s name, it shows she left the coffee shop a few minutes ago. She must be on her way home. Since it’s not too late, I decide to hang out and wait for her, but twenty minutes later, when she should’ve already arrived at home, I pull back up the app to see where she is and notice she’s a mile away from here. Clicking on her location, I zoom in and immediately recognize the house as Jeffrey Corbin Frederick’s—also known as J.C., the biggest douche on campus. I know this is his house because the guy’s been on my radar for some time now.
What the hell is she doing there? Blakely doesn’t seem like the type to party with J.C. Then I remember she was with Brenton. Well, shit… things are starting to make sense now.
After kissing my son good night and tucking him in, I say good night to Sierra, who’s on the couch, watching a movie.
Grabbing my board, I head over to J.C.’s place. When I arrive, it’s a madhouse. Music is thundering out of the house and spilling into the front yard, where several drunken students are practically having a damn orgy on the front lawn. A few people are making out on the porch. I search the area and spot Brenton’s Mercedes. Yeah, the dickhead actually drives a Mercedes. How he can afford one, I have no clue.
Going around back, I tell myself I just want to make sure Blakely is okay and then I’ll leave. But when I’m about to step onto the porch, I hear Brenton’s voice, so I back up slightly to remain in the shadows and listen to what he has to say. And what I hear come out of his mouth confirms my suspicions: Blakely and my son most definitely aren’t safe around this guy.
Blakely
I’m sitting on the couch in the living room, nursing my warm beer and searching for Brenton. He told me he was going to find J.C. to say hi and would be right back. It’s been a while now and I’m ready to go home. I don’t know anyone here, and I realize it was dumb to come here in the first place. This isn’t who I am. I don’t go to frat parties, when I can be home, spending time with my son or studying.