by Josie Wright
Chapter 18
The Truth and Nothing but the Truth
I’m already at the table when Frankie comes downstairs, eying the last empty chair—right across from me. She looks less than thrilled when she takes a seat, glowering at her plate.
Her father starts saying grace, but I don’t pay any attention. My focus is on Frankie, knowing she can’t run away from the table without giving her parents an explanation.
So instead of bowing my head, I keep watching her while she keeps looking around the room with her lips pursed in a mix of annoyance and boredom. Every time her eyes meet mine, she instantly looks away.
Conversation fills the table during dinner. Everyone is talking except Frankie and me. She seems utterly focused on her food and feeding her son.
Knowing she won’t be able to ignore me or run away with her parents at the table, I decide to force her to talk to me.
“So Frankie, you have a baby? How did that happen?”
This is definitely not the most intelligent question I’ve ever asked. But I need to get some answers. Although, I’m not sure what I want to hear. Do I want her to tell me it’s my kid, or would I rather hear it’s someone else’s, knowing full well it will kill me?
She looks up at me, and this time she doesn’t break eye contact, shooting daggers at me instead. I wouldn’t be surprised if she lunged across the table and rammed a fork in my eye.
I wait for her reply, but it’s her father who answers.
“You see, Ben, our daughter thought it would be a good idea to go and get herself pregnant. But that is what happens when you sleep around; you become a single mother and everyone thinks you have loose morals. We don’t even know who fathered our grandson, although we suspect it was her married professor. Not the type of man to bring home to your parents.”
Whoa, I’m not sure what shocks me more—her father’s abrasive tone and words, or the fact that she might have fucked her professor.
I watch Frankie sit up straighter in her chair and notice her nails digging into the palm of her hand as she takes a deep breath.
“And we are back on the Our Daughter is a Raging Whore show. Tonight we present you the same old shit as usual. And just for the fucking record, I know damn well who the father is. I just choose to not disclose that information. But it definitely isn’t my professor.”
Her father growls something about manners before her mother speaks up. At this point, I feel like I’m on reality TV. It’s fucking crazy.
“Don’t get me wrong, Ben. We love our grandson. It would have been nice, though, if Frankie could have done things a bit more traditionally and a bit less her way. Archer is such a happy little boy. I guarantee you’ll fall in love with him over the weekend. It’s impossible not to. He’s nine months now, and he’s the smartest little boy I’ve ever seen.”
This is the first time someone mentioned the kid’s age. Everything around me fades into the background as I start counting back. It’s been eighteen months since I’ve left. Taking the duration of a pregnancy into account that would put the kid’s age at exactly nine months. Jesus fucking Christ. I barely manage to swallow down the roasted potato. Frankie squirms in her seat, her gaze flitting to the side, avoiding eye contact with me. Between what her parents said and her reaction, it’s hard not to flip out. I set down the fork on my plate, no longer hungry.
As if to dispel any doubts I might still have, her mother continues, “You know, we all missed you so much, Ben. Even Frankie did. I think that’s why she gave Archer your name as the middle name, to always let you be part of the family. We all thought that was such a great idea.”
The world crashes in around me, and I close my eyes to keep my cool. I don’t believe it. I can’t. Fuck. I’m a father. Frankie’s son is mine. Shit, that’s crazy. It’s not possible. I open my eyes again, looking straight at her, searching for answers to my questions. She’s pale, her breath coming out in short bursts, and she looks like she’s going to puke, or faint, maybe both.
That’s enough of a confirmation to make my head spin. This means I’m a father. It fucking means I left her alone to deal with this. I left my son alone. Motherfucking shit. My mother’s lies have not only fucked up my dad’s life as well as mine, but now also Frankie’s and Archer’s. I don’t blink or breathe, trying to wrap my head around the news. This is huge. Too huge for me to grasp right now. And I can’t even ask her about it, not with her parents sitting right next to us.
My attention is brought back to the table by Frankie suddenly getting up and excusing herself before rushing upstairs. I watch her leave and fight the urge to follow her, to corner her. I need to know for sure, need to hear her say it before I’ll be able to fully believe it. But I don’t want to cause a scene.
She’s gone for a few minutes before I make up an excuse about needing something out of my room. I climb the stairs and lean against the wall next to her door, waiting for her to come out.
I don’t care if I have to stand here all night.
Now her behavior makes sense. Fuck, I left her, and she didn’t know if or when I would come back. If Archer would have a father. I can’t even begin to imagine how she must have felt seeing me here all of a sudden and trying to hold it together.
My mind is reeling with the revelation when I hear the door open. Frankie walks out and even in the dim light of the hallway I can see her makeup is gone, her eyes puffy and red. I grab her wrist, trying to stop her from going downstairs. The need for answers is overwhelming.
“Not now.” She yanks her arm away, her voice shaky and barely more than a whisper.
I get why she’s been avoiding me like the plague. I even understand if she hates me. But she needs to fucking talk to me. I’m frustrated and angry—at her, at my mother, at the world, but mostly, at myself.
“Fuck, Frankie, we need to talk,” I grind out, trying to get a hold of her wrist again, wanting her to face me, to stop shutting me out, but she moves her hand out of my reach.
“I can’t. Not now.” Her voice is trembling. She sounds broken, and I’m left standing there feeling like a complete asshole while she hurries downstairs. I’ve caused this. I’ve broken her.
Sitting around the living room with everyone and pretending like shit hasn’t hit the fan is pure torture. Her mother plays with Archer. My son. Fuck. I have a son. Every time I look at him, I wonder how I didn’t see it before.
He looks exactly like I did when I was a baby. Earlier, I went to my room and looked at the picture of my dad and me. Archer and I are so much alike there’s no way he isn’t my son.
Most of the night, I just stare at him, trying to reconcile myself with this turn of events. If it’s not him I look at, it’s Frankie. She tries her hardest to avoid eye contact. The few times our gazes lock, she looks like she might start crying again.
I’m so fucking confused and want nothing more than some clarity. I don’t understand how she can just sit there instead of talking to me. I have so many questions. I know I left her in a shitty situation; I know I hurt her, but fuck, we need to talk.
The evening seems endless and my patience is wavering more and more, but I can’t confront her. Not in front of her parents or her brother. None of them seem to know what’s going on, which confuses me even more. Just when I’m close to losing it, she suddenly stands up.
“Archer, time for bed.”
She declines her mother’s offer to stay downstairs and socialize while her mother brings Archer to bed. All of a sudden, I feel nervous. Should I follow her upstairs? Should I wait? Once I confront her, there will be no denying it. I will have to face a new reality, one I didn’t expect in the least.
“Man, I thought the three of us could go out for some beers and have some fun like back in the old days,” Dave says, looking between me and Frankie.
Frankie declines and then turns to me. Though she ignored me all evening, it’s clear she’s waiting for my reply. There’s no way in hell I’m going to leave this house before I have some a
nswers. As skittish as she looked all evening, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was gone by the time I came back.
“Nah man, the bar scene ain’t for me lately. Let’s just play some games here.”
Judging by the quiet sigh that escapes her lips, she’s relieved about my answer. Despite all the chaos in my head, it gives me something to hold on to. It might not be much, but she cares about me.
“Wow, and I thought Florida was like an old peoples’ home. Then I come back here and realize, compared to you, they are the life of the party.” Dave sighs in mock annoyance. “Okay Ben, let’s go and shoot some shit then.”
Before he’s even fully finished, Frankie has disappeared upstairs, and I have no other choice but to follow Dave back to the basement, instead of doing what I want to do—get answers.
Chapter 19
Congratulations, It’s A Boy
Three hours and many games later, Dave finally calls it a night.
“Man, I’m wiped. Too much food and too much beer,” he says while we walk upstairs. His parents must have already gone to bed; everything is dark and quiet. I stop at the door to the room I sleep in.
“Yeah, definitely too much,” I say with more than just the food and beer in mind.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll handle it.” He laughs. “The beer and the food, I mean.” He disappears into his room and leaves me standing in the hallway. My hand is already on the doorknob to my room before I turn and walk to Frankie’s. I can’t wait any longer. I need to know. I need to hear it from her.
I open the door quietly in case she’s sleeping, but as soon as I poke my head inside, I notice her nestled in the window nook of her room. She doesn’t turn in my direction, doesn’t acknowledge me. Yet, I see her body tense. She runs the back of her hands over her face in one swift motion, but I notice. Her cheeks glisten in the moonlight, and I realize she’s been crying. My first instinct is to go over and scoop her up in my arms, but I hesitate. After everything I learned today, I know even less where we stand than I did when I first got here.
I walk closer until I stand next to her, looking out the window. Sandalwood and jasmine—her smell is everywhere. It’s subtle, but always surrounds her.
There are only inches between us, but it feels like we’re miles apart. She doesn’t look at me, just keeps staring out the window.
“Frankie, we really need to talk,” I whisper so I don’t wake Archer, or alert her parents or Dave to my presence in her bedroom.
“Yeah, we do.” Her voice sounds weak and feeble, nothing like the Frankie I remember. A feeling starts to stir in my gut—the familiar guilt I’ve felt before. Only now, it’s much stronger. I try to push it away, hoping it wasn’t me who has done this to her. At the same time, hoping it wasn’t anyone else.
“Is he mine? Is Archer my son?” Yes, I know this is an asshole question. I can’t help it though. I think about my dad—the fact that my mom cheated on him despite being married. There would have been nothing to stop Frankie from sleeping with someone else after I left. She didn’t owe me anything. I need to hear it from her. I need her to confirm it; to quiet the questions in my head.
What I don’t expect is her reaction. She sits up and looks at me; even in the dark I see her eyes blazing.
“Despite the general consensus of me being a woman with loose morals, I can guarantee you that he is indeed your son,” she hisses, her words dripping with anger.
Fuck. I can’t believe it. It’s true. It really is true. I have a son. I’m a father. For a moment the room spins, and I feel like I need to sit down. This doesn’t make any sense.
“That’s…I mean…I didn’t. But how?”
“Do you want a fucking biology lesson? We didn’t use a condom. I wasn’t on the pill.”
She’s whisper-screaming at me, her anger tangible in her tone and every word she says.
I don’t know what to say, how to react. The news doesn’t compute. I’m caught in a tornado of thoughts and feelings.
Last time I felt like someone knocked me off my feet was when I got the letter from Tucson, then again when my dad told me the truth. This…it’s way worse. It’s not something others have done to me. I have only myself to blame. I let her down. I let my son down. I wasn’t there for either of them.
“Fuck, Frankie. It was one night. I…I never thought…” I start, but it comes out all wrong. My brain and my mouth aren’t collaborating. If they were, I’d be able to tell her I never thought, never considered, this would happen. If I’d had the slightest idea, I would have never left her. Obviously, it’s not what my words convey to her.
“Well, Ben,” she spits out. “Neither your sperm nor my eggs seem to have gotten the memo that as long as it is just once, they should stay the fuck away from each other.”
I’m trying to come up with something to say. Something to ease her pain and dispel her anger. But I’m overwhelmed. How many emotions can someone feel before they fucking explode or crumble? Because, I might be close to either. Fear, guilt, shame, and pain are all washing over me, making my head swim. But there are also feelings I didn’t expect…hope, excitement, and yes, even happiness. I have a son. No matter how shitty things have been so far, I have a son and he needs me. It gives me the kind of purpose I haven’t felt in eighteen months.
“What do we do now?” I ask, trying to tame the storm of emotions inside of me and do the right thing—for her and for Archer.
She pauses, chewing on her bottom lip.
“Listen, I don’t have any expectations toward you. Not anymore. Even I learn from my mistakes.”
She might as well have punched me in the gut. She hates me, doesn’t trust me, and she has every right to feel that way. But damn, it hurts. It doesn’t get any better when she continues.
“If you want to be a part of Archer’s life, I won’t stop you. He deserves to grow up with a father and you have a right to know your son, to be there for him. But you can rest assured…” She gives me a pointed look, her voice full of conviction. “…if you fucking desert him, if you pull a vanishing act again, I will find you and cut your balls off. And you will never see your son again. He deserves the world. If you are not willing, or capable of giving him that, walk away now. If you decide to stay in his life, you better be in it for the long haul.”
I’m not sure if she’s done or if she has more to say. But when Archer suddenly starts to whimper, she gets up and walks over to him, my presence momentarily forgotten. It gives me time to take a deep breath to steady my nerves. This is not going well.
I watch her as she bends over Archer. Her voice is full of love and affection when she tells him she loves him while stroking his head. She probably doesn’t want me close, but I’m drawn to the crib, drawn to my son. I stand there looking at him, my heart nearly exploding. I didn’t know I could feel so much so quickly. I never knew this kind of feeling even existed. I don’t know Archer, haven’t even held him yet, but it’s clear as day that I love him. All it took was one look.
“He’s so beautiful. And so tiny. I want to try it. I want to be there for him. I…I want to try and be a good father. I…” I pause, questioning if I should say more. Tell her that I want to be there for him. That I hope I won’t lose my mind like my dad did. But that surely would go down well.
But I don’t need to worry about it because she speaks up, her voice strong and unwavering, her eyes narrowed and boring into me.
“Don’t try. Be a good father. Like I said, there will be no second chances. I will not let you break his heart.” She might not say it out loud, but by the hurt and anger I’ve seen in her eyes since I arrived, the way she was going out of her way to not deal with me, I know I broke her heart. I was expecting her to be angry at me for leaving, to be pissed off, but I didn’t expect the pain pouring out of her every cell.
“Frankie, listen, I…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
She doesn’t let me finish.
“Don’t. Just don’t, Ben.”
“But I w
ant to…” I try again, the need to lessen the pain I’ve caused burning through my veins. I want to apologize, to explain, but she doesn’t give me a chance.
“Right now I really don’t care what you want. I don’t care why you left. I don’t care why you thought it’d be enough to leave me a one-word note. I just don’t have it in me tonight. I don’t have it in me to care. Okay?” Her matter-of-fact attitude is betrayed by the shakiness of her voice. Her bottom lip trembles and it takes everything in me not to hug her. After a moment she sighs.
“Listen, Ben. It’s all a bit much right now. I didn’t expect to see you here. I honestly didn’t know if I would ever see you again. Can we talk tomorrow? Please.”
I don’t want to leave her room, don’t want to leave her or Archer, but she needs space and I need to wrap my head around this.
“Can I touch him?” I ask, not wanting to part for the night without getting closer to my son.
“Yeah, go ahead. He doesn’t bite…yet. Just be gentle so he doesn’t wake up.” She smiles at me. It’s hesitant and small, but it’s the first smile she’s given me since she arrived.
I lean down and stroke Archer’s hand, careful not to wake him. His hand is balled up into a fist, like a boxer ready for a fight. It’s adorable. Hell, I never thought I’d think of a baby as adorable, but he is. While I stroke over his hand, he suddenly opens his fist and grabs my finger, holding on to it. Right here and now, I’m a goner. This little guy has me wrapped around his finger already. I’m a father—his father. This beautiful, little boy is my son. And he needs me. My eyes burn with tears. Jesus, I would’ve never believed this possible if someone told me two years ago. But this moment is so huge, I don’t care if I look like a pussy. I wipe the tears away when Frankie’s voice interrupts my thoughts.
“Why don’t we go to the park tomorrow after breakfast? We can talk without anyone interrupting us, and you can spend some time with him.”