“Come in,” she said. “I’m just cleaning a bit. It’s impossible to keep up.”
I stepped in and shut the door behind me as she walked over to a basket in the corner and dropped the toys inside, then she took the remote and set it on the coffee table before turning her attention to me. “Can I take your coat?”
I nodded as I began to take it off, my attention on examining every detail of the room. It was nothing like the minimalistic design of my apartment or the highbrow furnished penthouse that Elizabeth lived in. Callie’s apartment was stuffed and cozy. Toy boxes and tables and toys to climb on were shoved in between every bit of furniture. The bookshelves had classics on the top shelves, but the bottom shelves were dedicated to kid-friendly objects and The Very Hungry Caterpillar. There was a miniature armchair next to the grown-up armchair, and as Callie took my coat for me I noticed there was also a potty training stool set up in front of the television.
This was a house where a kid lived.
This was a house where my kid lived.
“Is he here?” It was too quiet. I already knew the answer.
“Dana took him to the store.”
“Dana’s your…nanny?” I asked hopefully.
“She’s my…friend. She lives here.”
That was a relief then. Not a potential daddy substitute. And a relief that Callie had someone to help her, too. Someone who lived with her.
“I have some coffee brewed,” she offered. “Would you like some?”
I nodded again, still not completely sure of myself.
She headed to the kitchen, which was connected to the living room in an open layout, and I followed her, finding my thoughts on the way. “Look, I’m still really pissed at you.”
“Mmm.” She poured the coffee into a mug and looked up at me. “How do you take it?”
“Cream, if you have some. I’m serious here. You stole two years from me.”
She opened the fridge and grabbed the container of cream, the real stuff, like Elizabeth got, and poured it into my cup before handing it to me. Then she gestured that I should take a seat at the dining room table.
I sat. “Are you even listening to anything I say?”
She put her own coffee cup on the table, picked up a photo book off the counter, and put it on the table in front of me. She opened it to the front page and scooted it toward me. Then she sat down, too.
I looked at the first image in front of me, a picture of a newborn wearing one of those striped caps they put on babies at the hospital. His face was red and blotchy, but the rest of his skin was white and peeling. Next to the picture was a printout that read Sebastian Maximilian King, weight: 8 lbs. 1 oz. length: 21 inches.
Sebastian. My kid.
She’d given him my name. My ribs felt tight like they were pressed against my lungs. It was hard to breathe in. I couldn’t stop staring.
A couple of other photos filled out the page, one where Callie held him to her bare chest, her expression one of exhaustion and joy. Another photo of him bundled up like a burrito laying in one of those plastic baby boxes hospitals put newborns in.
“I was climbing the stairs of the West Virginia state Capitol Building when I went into labor,” Callie said, as I studied the pictures, memorizing every detail. “I was already four days past due, and it seemed nothing was going to get him out of me. There weren’t any stairs in the duplex I was renting—I didn’t live here yet. I’d already walked all over the mall, but it wasn’t challenging enough. Politics were already in the family. So the Capitol it was.”
I chuckled. I barely knew her, but from what I did know, her story was exactly what I’d expect. “Were you worried about making it to the hospital in time?”
“My sister was with me. She’s a doctor. She drove the car and coached me through the whole birth.” She leaned forward. “It took about twenty times up and down those stairs before I had any intense contractions. If I’d been living here already, I would have gone to the Empire. Or the Statue of Liberty. And then I might have been in trouble, because I had a fast delivery.”
“I guess I’m glad you weren’t here, then,” I said, not sure if I meant it.
I turned the page, wondering if she saw my hand trembling when I did. Here were pictures of a newborn at home, various snapshots of the life of a woman raising a child on her own. Callie explained them all to me, narrating Sebastian’s life. This was when he first rolled over. This was when he first smiled. This was when he first crawled. This was when he tried peas. This was when he tried cake. This was when he said his first word.
“What was it?” I asked, completely riveted by her stories.
“Mama.”
She said it proudly and I hated myself for feeling jealous. Hated the bitter way the envy sat between my muscles and my bones, making it impossible to stay comfortably in one position for long.
I turned another page, unable to look at her.
“I know I can’t give you those two years back, Weston. But they’re in the past now, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Except tell you his stories. Except share him with you now.” She was sincere, and I could feel her genuine desire to connect with me, like the fingers of a fire reaching out to new kindling.
I was already burning for this kid. She didn’t realize she didn’t need to try that hard.
“What’s this?” I asked, pointing at the doll that Sebastian held in many of the last pictures in the book.
“That’s Bella. His baby. It’s his favorite toy.”
I looked up with surprise. “My son’s favorite toy is a doll?”
“He chose it. He knows his mommy snuggles up with him and he likes the idea of being able to be like me. I hope you’re not suggesting that he shouldn’t play with a doll because of gender stereotypes or cultural standards, because—” she sat up straighter, ready for a fight.
“No, definitely not,” I said, cutting her off. I really couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the gender bullshit. I’d liked cars as a kid. And superheroes. But I’d liked Barbie dolls too, mostly because they had boobs, but sometimes I dressed them up for fun.
I looked closer at the picture where Sebastian was hugging Bella like she was everything in the world. Had my father ever held me that way? “That’s really sweet that he wants to love so young.”
Callie relaxed. “Thank you,” she said on a sigh.
I looked up at her, saw that her expression was more anxious than I’d realized.
“I really appreciate you not making judgments about this. About how I’ve done things with him.”
“This is hard for you,” I said, as I realized it.
She met my eyes and nodded, her eyes watery. I reached across the table and put my hand over hers.
It helped, because it was hard for me too.
“Want to see his room?” she asked, suddenly excited.
“Yeah, I do.” I was equally excited, like it was Christmas day. I wanted to see everything of his, wanted to see his clothes, wanted to see his bed, wanted to see the food he ate and where he played. I was aching to fill myself up with him, like a starving man, only I didn’t know how hungry I’d been until now. Each little piece of him I got only reminded me how much I didn’t know.
“Who stays with him?” I asked as we stood from the table.
“I do. I don’t work outside the home.”
“Nice.” The benefits of being a sorority princess, I supposed. Usually I rolled my eyes at my peers who lived off their trust funds, but this time it was a relief that she had that, because she had this option. I liked that she’d been the one caring for Sebastian. She’d kept my son from me, but not just to hand him to someone else.
She led me down a small hallway, past one bedroom that I assumed was hers to a second smaller room next to the bathroom. It was decorated in green and yellow, with a thick, plush, dark blue rug. There were toys everywhere along the walls, and in one corner a tiny bed. Another corner held a dresser. There was also a rocking chair and one of those LEG
O tables with the big blocks, the non-swallowable precursor to the regular kind.
“I loved LEGOs,” I told her, smiling at the memory of all the sets I used to build. Alone, and later with Donovan. How I’d shown those to my father when he’d come home at night.
“Sebastian adores those blocks, but he’s not strong enough to pull them apart yet by himself. So he builds, and we tear down.”
I nodded because I didn’t know anything about child development and when they could do this or that. There was so much I needed to learn.
“And that’s where he sleeps?” Would it be weird if I leaned down and sniffed the blankets?
“Naps only in here. I co-sleep.” When I looked at her questioningly she went on. “That means he sleeps with me. It was easier when I was nursing and then he just got used to being next to me. Or I just got used to him being next to me.”
“It’s not dangerous? I’m not judging, I’m asking.” Because I honestly didn’t know.
“Like anything, there’s mixed opinions.”
So much I didn’t know.
The weight suddenly felt too much to hold, like carrying rocks, and I sank down onto the floor, my back braced against his tiny bed.
Callie followed suit, sliding down along the wall opposite me so that we were face to face.
“Did you want him?” It suddenly felt like the most important question to ask. I had to know—as if knowing if he was wanted by her would change how I would feel about him. I hated to think of how alone she must have been. Knowing she was happy about his existence made it better.
“Oh, yes,” she said and I had no doubt that she had. “Very much. Wait—are you asking did I try to get pregnant? With you?”
“No, but…? We used condoms.”
“We did. One broke.”
“One broke,” I said, remembering just as she said it. “Why hadn’t I been concerned about that?”
“I was due to have my period any day. I told you it was the wrong time of the month for anything to happen.”
That was right. She’d assured me it would be fine. I’d been tested for STDs since then, and I’d never heard from her again so I’d never thought about it again.
“And it should have been fine. I wasn’t trying to get pregnant. And when I got back home, I waited for the period that didn’t come and didn’t come, and then I realized I was pregnant. I just knew. Without even taking a test I knew. Not because I had sore breasts or because I was feeling sick but because I’ve always been really regular and, I don’t know, I just knew I felt different. Inside.”
“And right away, you knew you wanted to keep him?”
She threw her head back against the wall. “I suppose I weighed my options. But I realized that I wanted to be a parent so I could give Sebastian a better life than the one that had been given to me,” she said. And in that moment, I believed that she would, regardless of whether I was present in Sebastian’s life or not.
“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.” God, this day was stirring so much inside me.
Callie tilted her head, studying me. “We’re probably more alike than I realized, you and I. I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance earlier. Imagine what we could’ve found out about each other if we’d spent more time talking during that week we spent together.” She smiled.
“Right? We might’ve even ended up friends.” A thought occurred to me all of a sudden. “You know I’m not looking to make a family here. I like you and everything—what I know of you—but I am just not…”
She rolled her eyes at me. “I’m not flirting with you, you narcissist. Didn’t you just get married?”
“I did. I did just get married.” Thinking about Elizabeth was like the sun breaking through clouds on a stormy day. I wanted to be with her, wanted her light, wanted her warmth. I wanted the calm that I felt in her presence, inside her. “I need to get back to her.”
“Of course.”
I wrinkled my brow and tried to smooth it over with two fingers. I still had decisions to make and questions to ask—but I didn’t want any of my questions to take away any of my choices. “I can send money. I’ll figure out what the right amount is for child support and make arrangements to start paying that, as well as back pay, as soon as I get back from my honeymoon.”
“Weston, I don’t need money. I didn’t come after you for that.”
“I know. But ignoring a financial responsibility is not something I’m going to do. As for the rest—being a father. It’s not that easy. You say you want someone who’s around, but my company is located all around the world. We have offices on three continents—so far. What if I had to move? Would leaving the country mean leaving all of this?” I gestured around the room.
She put a hand on her neck and circled her head as though her muscles were tense and bothering her.
“I don’t know, Weston. I know I told you that I only wanted you in his life if you could be here. But logistically—legally—I can’t really hold you to that.” She sat forward, spreading her legs open in a V. “I want Sebastian to have a good relationship with you. I want him to know his father and not be disappointed and feel rejected. And whatever things keep you from him, even if they’re legitimate things like work and life—they’re going to have real consequences, and he’s going to feel heartbroken. And I’m going to feel heartbroken because he does. But I can’t force you to be anything that you are not willing or ready to be.”
“Then you’re willing to accept me as his father in his life, whatever I’m able to give?” It sounded terrible asking that, after what she just said. Because I didn’t want to break her heart, and I didn’t want to break this kid’s heart either. Didn’t want to destroy the foundation Callie had built for him out of love and stability.
Didn’t want to recreate my own childhood in his.
But I had to know my options, had to know the choices before me.
“Yeah. He’s a King.” She didn’t seem too happy with her answer though.
“Because you know that even if you don’t tell him about me, if you let him grow up fatherless, he’s going to notice that too. He’s going to notice he doesn’t have a dad like the other kids at school, whether he knows my name or not.” I said that more for me than for her. Because it was time that I was responsible. Because I had to stop behaving like a child myself.
Because Elizabeth had made me want to be better.
“Do you wish I hadn’t told you at all?” Callie asked.
I didn’t answer because I was afraid of what I would say.
“I really have to go.” I stood up, and she did as well, rushing to get my coat for me. At the door I turned to her again.
“I have a lot of things I want to say to you, but they are conflicting. Part of me is really angry at you, part of me really resents you, and I’m trying to come to grips with that. With all the things I’ve missed. I can’t rewind time and be present for his first steps, first words. But another part of me is really grateful that you’ve done all this on your own, that you looked after our kid when I know it’s probably been pretty hard, and with my reputation…” I trailed off. In her shoes, I likely wouldn’t have told me, either.
She gave me a faint smile. “Maybe they can cancel each other out, and we can say we’re even.”
It didn’t work that way, but I nodded, wishing that it did. “I have to go on my honeymoon. I have to tell my wife.” Would Elizabeth even want to add a child to the mix? And would she want to do so badly enough to find a way to run her company remotely? My stomach sank again at the thought.
“I don’t even know how she’s going to react to all this.”
“I understand. I’d like to meet her.”
“I’d like to meet him,” I countered.
“Okay. Next time.”
My heart leapt at the idea.
And the only reason it was easy to walk away from this woman—practically a stranger—and her life, which was so foreign and unreal to me, was because I knew Elizabeth was waitin
g for me. And now more than ever, I needed her to give me roots.
5
Elizabeth
I told Clarence everything.
He didn’t pressure me to, and I didn’t feel trapped or caught, like I had to confess, but I suddenly wanted to tell someone. Weston had Sabrina, and I didn’t know how much he talked to her about our arrangement, but even if he didn’t, he had Donovan. And Nate.
I had my mother, who smiled and patted me on the head and said things like “let’s try a full-body cryotherapy treatment,” and asked how good the sex was.
Clarence understood the arrangement for business reasons. He understood my motivations, why I wouldn’t tell anyone, why I would choose someone like Weston King. And though I didn’t talk to him about the gooey parts, or the naughty parts in much explicit detail, I could even tell him a little about that. That I’d fallen for Weston along the way.
That I was in love with Weston now.
“This marriage is real then?” he asked, when I’d finished telling him everything.
I tucked my feet underneath me and covered my knees with the robe. I was sitting on the couch, and Clarence had been a gentleman and sat far away on the armchair, careful to treat me like a friend and nothing more. Which was good, because I wouldn’t have welcomed anything more. After falling for Weston, the thought of being hit on by another man left me cold.
“Yes,” I said, because I was thinking positively. “I want this marriage to work. If it can—I don’t even know if it’s possible. We have obstacles between us that we haven’t even explored because we never talked about us like a real thing.”
“That’s tough, I’m sure. But not impossible. Every relationship has obstacles. We did.”
I peered over at him, jolted by the reminder of our past. What we had didn’t compare to what Weston and I had. We’d been in high school. But come to think of it, the obstacles that broke us up hadn’t been all that different from the situation I was in now. Clarence had been headed to college at Harvard and I had been going to Penn State, and though they weren’t far from each other, we’d decided they were too far to make things work.
Dirty Sexy Games Page 4