Falling for Jordan

by Liz Durano

  Just look at Amelia's daughter. She's a straight-A student. What about you?

  Addison just got accepted to medical school! And you? Where is your college acceptance letter?

  Are you really thinking about trade school when you can be like your cousin, Addy?

  Needless to say, I was never the popular cousin during my mother's parties for I was the over-achiever, the one who got all the awards that Ma proudly framed and hung on the walls for all to see while the others struggled to get their grades up. Some of them struggled because of the language barrier, recent immigrants from the Philippines who had to be pulled back in school one grade level to catch up. It hurt knowing that despite their circumstances, others had their achievements compared to mine although I reveled in the attention when I was younger when I didn't know any better. Not so much as I got older for Ma only became prouder with each new achievement, each new certificate or title.

  It went from my daughter, the straight-A student to my daughter the med student. And then later, my daughter, the Doctor and finally, my daughter, kidney specialist, Doctor of Nephrology. No one stood a chance against Addison Rowe.

  It took my break-up with Kevin to remind people I was human even if my mother still insists that we'll get back together again. For the first time, my cousins finally saw Miss Perfect "fail" at something.

  She can't keep a man happy.

  She's too smart for her own good.

  She'll be an old maid.

  What good are her certificates now?

  And my cousins weren't discreet about it either, probably not after all the years of resentment building up between us. And so after one of them said she finally had one achievement over me—that she was married with twins on the way while there I was, alone at thirty-three without a date at my parents’ anniversary party—I walked out with every intention of calling Kevin and asking him to take me back. That way, I'd be perfect again.

  Instead, I walked into Polly's Bar and met Jordan.

  Chapter Twelve

  For as long as I remember, I've always built things. My first creation was a simple pull toy, a horse-drawn carriage that I asked Dad to help me build so I could give it to a girl named Melissa who lived two doors down. She wasn't impressed. She was more into Barbies than some handmade contraption a boy made for her but even if it broke my seven-year-old heart then, I knew I loved to work with my hands.

  When I started working for Dad's business, O'Halloran Builders, I started out at the bottom, just like every one of the guys. That's how he wanted it, me learning the ropes from the bottom up so I'd understand the job inside and out. While some days meant hours of backbreaking work, others were spent dealing with piles of paperwork and submitting permit applications to the Department of Buildings.

  Eventually, I found my specialty: custom carpentry which I learned from Dan and Winston, and these days, it’s an integral feature of O’Halloran Builders and maybe one day, it may even stand on its own.

  Dad’s latest project is a gut renovation of a 15th story apartment in the Upper West Side with a great view of New Jersey and the Hudson River. The new owners, a couple with a baby on the way, want to turn their recently purchased 2-bedroom 1.5 bathroom apartment into three bedrooms and two full bathrooms. They also want more space so we’re ripping everything out—window casements, tall baseboards, hardwood flooring, old bathroom fixtures—to upgrade and update the space. Dad’s got a five-month window to complete the project which means he doesn’t have much time to waste and so we set to work as soon as we arrive. Once rough framing and carpentry are installed, along with rough plumbing and electrical, we can take measurements for the custom cabinetry that needs to go in.

  I text Addison during our lunch break to let her know I'm in the city for the day. I don't plan on seeing them, not when I'll be too exhausted to do anything but sleep, but I want to see her words on my phone screen, maybe even a picture. I want to know what she's doing at the other end of town. I want that connection to her and my daughter.

  I don't wait for her to reply, not when the other guys start asking me about my trip for the rest of the lunch break. By five, we're done for the day and as Dad finalizes a few things with one of the foremen, I check my phone. The moment I see the notification that I have a message from Addison, my heart skips a beat. She'd sent it two hours earlier.

  Addison: Sorry I missed your text. Piper is not feeling well.

  Jordan: What's wrong?

  Addison: Nothing major. She has colic but it's no walk in the park.

  Jordan: Is there anything I can do to help? I'm still in the city.

  Addison: Any help would be great. I'm desperate lol

  Jordan: I have to warn you. I've been tearing down walls all day.

  Addison: I’ll take any help I can get. I have a shower if you need to use it.

  Jordan: I should be there in half an hour.

  “Hanging out with Campbell tonight?” Dad asks after he bids goodbye to Sam and Gus.

  I shake my head. “I need to help Addison out. Piper’s not feeling that great.”

  “Family first, kid,” he says, patting my shoulder. “Need a ride?”

  “That would be great. Thanks.”

  “Just be here by one tomorrow,” he adds. “I know you’ve seen the plans already but the architect wants to meet with you tomorrow. He’s coming in at one in the afternoon. You can take the morning off if you want. I’ve got to take Cait to the airport for her flight first thing in the morning anyway.”

  Fifteen minutes later, as Dad navigates traffic, it starts to drizzle. If Manhattan traffic was bad at six in the evening, it's worse when you add rain to the mix. But it's nothing new to us. We talk about the job the whole time while 70's rock music plays on his radio.

  As soon as Dad drops me off, I check my email in the elevator and it's there, having arrived in my Inbox at two in the afternoon. I tap on the message and after a few clicks that take me to an authorized site, I pull up the attached PDF file and enlarge it.

  The form starts out as a bunch of letters and numbers nestled in a convenient table that doesn't make any sense to me, but I spot the interpretation toward the bottom of the page.

  The elevator doors slide open and I step out to Addison's floor, pausing in front of her door as I search the file for the results. They sure don't make it easy. There isn't anything that spells out the answer in easy-to-read English. Instead, it's a table with a jumble of letters and numbers, and at the bottom, the interpretation of the results.

  There are more words that follow, something about the alleged father not being excluded as the biological father of the tested child. Something about DNA loci as well, but the only thing I understand are three words and the set of numbers that tell me what I knew the moment I saw Piper.

  Probability of Paternity: 99.9998%

  As soon as I ring the doorbell, Addison opens the door wearing a loose t-shirt over pink polka dot pajamas, her hair in a loose ponytail. She looks exhausted with dark circles under her eyes.

  "I brushed my teeth, at least," she says sheepishly as Piper pauses her crying to watch me stamp the boots on the mat. Her fascination on her visitor only lasts five seconds before she scrunches her face and cries, stiffening in Addison's arms.

  “Sorry about the plaster.”

  “You're here. That's what matters,” Addison says, shrugging. “I just hope my parents didn't scare you last night. I'm actually surprised you came back.”

  I cast her a look to tell her that I don’t scare off easily, definitely not from people determined to feed me and interrogate me about my relationship status the first chance they get. But something tells me the rest of the evening may not have gone too well. Maybe Addison finally told them the truth.

  I head to the bathroom, hating that I look like I do, but it can’t be helped. I normally don’t walk around covered in plaster and wood shavings but it’s good, honest work. What matters is that I’m here. I always carry a change of clothes with me in case Camp
bell wants to hang out whenever I'm in the city, showering at a gym where I'm a member.

  As I step out of my clothes, I’m suddenly nervous. I don't know what I can do to help. I don't know a thing about colic except that my cousin did go through a spell with her twins years ago while we were visiting them in Boston and I can barely remember now what we did that worked. I also should have looked up colic solutions on the internet before I arrived.

  When I emerge from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, I see Addison on the couch with a throw pillow on her belly and Piper right on top of it, asleep. She looks like an exhausted pixie on a mushroom top. Great, I’m starting to see Piper in Anne Geddes scenarios inside my head.

  “She feeling better?”

  “For now. She's really more tired than anything, I think. She hasn't even napped all day,” Addison replies, yawning.

  “Have you had anything to eat?” I whisper, setting my boots by the door next to her array of running shoes and sandals.

  “Just whatever my mom left for me yesterday,” she whispers back before making a face. “But I'm in the mood for something else.”

  “I can order something. What are you in the mood for?” I sit on the floor next to the couch, not wanting to disturb Piper as she sleeps.

  “What about pizza? Just nothing with cauliflower or broccoli,” she says. “I think that's what did it. I made myself a broccoli and cranberry salad last night and then nursed her. Poor kid never had a chance.”

  “Not to worry. No self-respecting New Yorker's going to order pizza with cauliflower or broccoli,” I say, laughing as I pull out my phone. “Cheese and pepperoni okay?”

  Addison nods, peering over my shoulder as I find the right pizzeria. There's no need to phone it in for we simply text our orders and for the next few minutes, we sit in silence listening to the rain drum against the windows.

  When Piper stirs and begins to cry, I take over, standing up and rocking her the best I can. She's actually quiet for a few minutes, appearing content by my rocking, but just when I'm about to say that whatever I'm doing is working, Piper almost blows my eardrums off when she screeches next to my ear. And it goes from there, constant crying and screeching that even I'm panicking. Even the pizza delivery guy wishes us both luck when he sees what we're up against.

  For our first unofficial date, there's no romantic dinner scenario. Instead, it's one of us taking turns comforting a colicky baby while the other one eats. Just like Addison said, she can go a few minutes with no crying and then she returns to do it again.

  “You didn't have to come here but I appreciate it very much,” she says, stifling another yawn. “I’m afraid I'm not exactly good company though.”

  “Where's Marcia?”

  “She's got a cold so I sent her home,” Addison replies. “My mother would be here right now if she knew I needed help but I can't handle that right now.”

  I can sense the hesitation in her voice and the slight furrow in her brow. “Did everything go well last night after I left?” When she shrugs but doesn't answer, I continue. “I can take over from here if you want to take a break. Shower, take a nap, anything.”

  Addison doesn't even object. She disappears into the hallway leading to the bedroom while I stay in the living room, rocking Piper in my arms. She quiets down as I carry her, gently patting her back as I study the framed pictures Addison has arranged on the wall. Pictures of her when she was younger, maybe in first or second-grade with her hair a bowl cut, and wearing thick dark-rimmed glasses. And then another, although this time she's older holding another award or certificate of achievement, still wearing glasses, her hair in a ponytail with a big bow. In all of them, her parents beam proudly while Addison wears a Mona Lisa smile that doesn't tell me anything. Every picture is an event—a graduation, accepting some sort of an award, and even local newspaper clippings. One states she was among three students who earned the highest SAT score for the state. Holy shit.

  It's a far cry from the framed pictures at my parents' house. While there are school photos of Caitlin and me, they're arranged in collages that feature all the outdoor trips we've taken per year. Road trips mostly, because that's all my parents could afford, with lots of camping, fishing, and hiking. Caitlin would always bring along one of her biology books but she always took time to learn how to cast a line or even do some rock climbing. We learned how to have fun without needing to spend any more than a park permit and gas for the station wagon.

  But while we're all smiles in our family photos, the only one smiling from ear to ear in Addison's pictures is her mother. She looks so proud of her daughter and I can't help but smile when I remember how she announced that Addison was single.

  “I look terrible in all of those pictures. The total geek, especially with my hair. Ma always insisted she cut my hair literally using a bowl as a guide it was embarrassing. She finally stopped when Dad threatened to cut her hair the same way. He was kidding, of course, but it was his way of telling her to stop micromanaging my life,” Addison says when she returns to the living room, her hair damp and smelling of vanilla and orange. “Anyway, my mother put all of these up a week after I moved in. She has duplicates at the house.”

  “You don't smile in any of them.”

  “I was just glad it was over and I got the certificate or the top award. Probably relieved, too, until the next challenge came along,” she says.

  “Was it all worth it?”

  “It got me here. But Dad always told me to take it easy. Too bad it was easier said than done when he was hardly at home and it was just Ma calling all the shots.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He used to drive a bus when I was younger so he had these weird hours. But when I was in high school, he started driving for a developer in Manhattan. He still drives for them, although he’s getting ready to retire.”

  As Addison speaks, her gaze drifts down to Piper who's draped over my forearm on her belly like a football and her eyes widen.

  “What's wrong?” I ask, suddenly feeling anxious. “Am I holding her wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, but look at her,” she whispers in amazement. “Whatever you're doing, it's working. She's sleeping! Oh my god, something's finally working!”

  “Don't jinx it," I whisper right back but it's too late. Just then, Piper lets out a loud fart and startles herself awake.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It takes us another hour to finally get Piper to sleep. Between her burps and farts, thankfully produced after swaddling and laying her on her side and giving her a pacifier to suck on, she's asleep and we retreat to the living room, relieved but exhausted. Still, who knew Jordan would come up with the best solution remembered from his time visiting a cousin in Boston years earlier? Something about the 5 S's which I’ll need to look up when I'm not delirious from lack of sleep.

  “Would you like to stay over? The rain’s really coming down hard and I don’t want you out there in this weather. This also converts to a sofa bed,” I say, taking the throw pillows from the couch even though he hasn’t given me his answer yet. But I’m operating on automatic so I don’t care.

  “Sure.”

  Suddenly, I remember something and I groan.

  “What's wrong?” Jordan asks as he pulls out the sofa bed.

  “She's usually on schedule with her feedings so she'll probably wake up in three to four hours,” I reply, opening the hallway closet where I store the pillows and sheets. “I nurse her and then she goes back to sleep until about six or seven.”

  I hand him the pillows and sheets and turn on the TV to NY1, Ma's favorite channel. It's an automatic reaction that catches me by surprise but when I turn it off, Jordan takes the remote and switches it back on.

  “Do you nurse Piper when your parents stay over?” he asks as he sets the volume on low and turns on captions.

  “No. They warm up some pumped milk I've stored in the freezer.”

  “Why don't you show me how to do it and when she wakes up, I'l
l take care of it? That way, you can catch up on sleep.”

  I frown. “Are you sure? You just worked all day. You're probably more exhausted than I am.”

  “So? I'm her father and I want to do whatever I can to help out,” he says as I eye him suspiciously. “I’m serious, Addy. If she's used to your parents feeding her on nights when they're here, hopefully she won't mind me doing it. Just show me how you warm the bottle and I'll take care of it.”

  I stare at Jordan. There's no pretense to him. He's the type of man who means what he says and says what he means. He really will feed Piper for me if he has to, no matter how tired he is. He's just too perfect and I don't understand what Ma is so worked up about.

  So what if he didn't go to college or doesn't need to wear a suit to work? He's Piper's father and I'm not letting her strip that right away from him all because he spent all day tearing down walls when he should have been healing the sick or making millions with a stroke of a pen. I'm not going to let her guilt me—or us—into doing something we're not ready to do either. He just found out he had a daughter, for crying out loud, and that's no reason to force him to marry me. We're also not living in the 50's and there won't be a shotgun wedding anytime soon.

  “What are you thinking about?” Jordan asks and I blink, realizing I'm still standing in front of him while he's already managed to make the bed by himself. I don't even know why he's sleeping out here but I'm too exhausted to think clearly. I can barely keep my eyes open.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  But of course, Jordan doesn't believe me. “Did you tell your parents about us? I received the email today and it's confirmed. 99.9998 percent. There is no doubt now. I am Piper’s father.”