by A. E. Murphy
Nathan remains silent as he drops to his knees and runs his gloved fingers over Dillan’s cheek. “I’ll bring him back Saturday afternoon.”
“Can I ask?” Should I? Nathan looks at me over his shoulder expectantly. “Why do you want to take him?”
“Why not?” He stands once more and turns to face me. “He’s my nephew. I miss him.”
“Is he the only thing you miss?” Oh god, why did I say that?
Nathan looks as shocked as I do but it doesn’t stop him from responding. “Yes.”
“I see.” The carpet is suddenly very interesting. Lifting my eyes slowly to his, tears pooling on the lower lids, I whisper a confession that I probably shouldn’t. “I miss you. A lot more than I should.”
He shows no reaction; he doesn’t care. His words confirm my thoughts. “I’m sorry; I don’t feel the same.” Way to stab me in the chest. I look away quickly but feel a tear fall from my left eye. “I’ll bring him back on Saturday afternoon.” He lifts the car seat.
I quickly rush to my sleeping son and plant kiss after kiss on his face and hands. “Love you baby.” Ignoring my aching heart, I look up at Nathan. “Call me if anything happens.”
“I will.”
I grab his arm, stopping him from walking away from me, “I mean it, Nathan. Please.”
He tugs his arm free. “I said I will.”
Blowing out a breath, I give my son another kiss and follow Nathan to his car. He places Dillan in the back and straps him in. I kiss my son yet again.
“Nathan,” I say, following him around to the driver’s side.
He stops with his hand on top of the open door. “Yes Guinevere?” Exasperation is his only tone. “What now?”
“Why do you still stay in that house?” I ask and wince when I see the pain in his features. “It seems like a torturous way to live.”
He gapes at me for a moment, seeming to be in shock that I addressed something so secret, so disturbing. Instead of responding, he climbs into his car and slams the door. Seconds later he reverses out of my driveway without even looking my way.
Shit.
I miss my boy already.
Which one? My conscience asks me.
Both, my heart answers, with an ache that brings more tears to my eyes; tears for what and whom, I don’t know.
“I don’t like it,” I say to Valentine as I beat the hell out of a ball of dough that I should be kneading gently. She steps in, removing the dough from my fists of fury. “I miss him. I didn’t sleep a wink last night.”
“The first night away from your child is always the hardest.” She says with a slight smile. “He’ll be fine. You need time to yourself.”
“I don’t like time to myself.” Time to myself means dwelling on things that could have been but never will be.
“You’re so strange; I can’t wait to get rid of my kids sometimes,” Tiffany, the woman who works behind the counter, states. “You should go out for a few drinks.”
“I’m breastfeeding,” I mumble, resisting the urge to rub my swollen and aching breasts. Because I haven’t had Dillan, I have been able to express a lot more milk than usual.
“We have a problem. There’s a guy here wanting to speak to the person who made the fudge birthday cake, the one shaped like a bottle of Jack Daniels.” Elle says quietly, stepping into the kitchen.
Oh shit. “Was there a problem with it?”
“I don’t know, but the guy is smoking hot.” She fans her face dramatically.
“Okay.” I ignore her ‘smoking hot’ comment and quickly wash my hands. I’m covered from head to toe in flour and other ingredients. I look ridiculous, but I don’t care. I’m here to work, not play.
Valentine doesn’t offer me any input on how I should handle this. Great.
I inhale a deep breath and let it out before stepping out of the kitchen with a nervous smile on my face. Elle points to a man sat at a table in the far corner. He has a hot drink in one hand and his phone in the other. His hair is blonde, almost like golden silk, cut only a couple of inches from his scalp and mussed, like he’s just rolled out of bed. It really suits him. I make my way over to him, anxiously biting my lip. “Umm… hi.” I give him a small wave to get his attention and he blinks up at me with shining hazel eyes.
“Hi.” He grins and stands. He holds out his hand and I check my hands once more for flour before shaking it. “You’re the person who made the Jack Daniels cake?”
I nod and gulp all at once. “Yes. Was there a problem?”
“Yes.” He seems reluctant to admit as his eyes sweep me up and down. “We found this baked into the bottom layer.” He pulls something from his pocket.
Oh my god. “Oh my god!” I squeal and snatch it from him, my eyes burning. I’m going to lose my job. I almost lost my ring. Somebody could have choked! But my ring…
I look at my left hand and back to the simple diamond ring that I hold in the palm of my right hand. How could I not have noticed that it was missing?
“Are you okay?”
“I… was anybody hurt?” I hope nobody bit down on it and broke a tooth.
“Fortunately not. Perhaps you should take jewellery off before you bake.” He suggests, his eyes twinkling with humour. “It’s not a big deal; I just figured you’d want it returned.” He tilts his head, his eyes questioning my distraught state. “And considering the way you’ve reacted, I’m glad to have made that judgement.”
“I’m sorry.” I wipe at my eyes and close my fist around the ring. “I’m sorry for losing this in your cake. I appreciate you returning it. I’ll go and get my boss.”
“Hey, you don’t have to do that. It’s honestly not a big deal.” He watches as I slide the ring back onto my finger. It doesn’t fit; I’ve lost too much weight since Caleb died. Even during pregnancy I didn’t put on much.
I shake my head. “I’m so sorry.” How could I not notice? “I’ll make you something special, on the house.”
He frowns slightly. “Now I feel terrible. I hate it when girls cry. It breaks my heart.” His smile is endearing, but his words completely rupture my heavy heart. More tears fall, along with a few unattractive sobs. Caleb used to say that about crying, but about me specifically rather than girls in general. Oh my god. I’m completely humiliating myself. “Should I hug you? I feel like I should hug you.”
I start giggling through my tears, trying to push away the awkwardness of this situation, “I swear, I’m not usually this emotional. This ring means a lot to me.”
“Ah, I’m guessing you’ve been looking for it.”
That’s the problem; I didn’t even realize it was missing. I’ve been so focused on Nathan and Dillan that my mind has hardly been on Caleb as of late. “Yeah.” I lie and chew on the inside of my cheek. “Do you have time? I’ll make you something and I swear this time it won’t have anything other than the proper ingredients in it.”
He glances at his watch and shakes his head. “Unfortunately I don’t.” A smile lights up his face. “Rain check?”
“Sure, just come on in and ask for me,” I tap my name tag. “I’m Guinevere, but call me Gwen. And thank you, for not making me lose my job.”
“Great, I’m Eric. Just call me Eric. Or bastard.” He jokes. “You know, for making you cry.”
“Trust me, they were happy guilt tears.” I wince. Why am I such an idiot? Why do I say stupid things?
His smile widens; it’s charming and handsome. Good lord, he has dimples. I’m a sucker for dimples. “I should be going. It was nice to meet you, Gwen. I’ll pop by soon for that something special.”
“Sure, I’ll look forward to it.” I lower my face, my cheeks heating as he stares at me for a moment longer.
“See you around, Gwen.”
“Oh… thanks for not getting me into trouble and for being so kind about it. If it makes you feel any better I wash my hands like a crazy person.” Shut up, Guinevere! Just shut up! “Bye.” I dart under the counter and hide in the kitchen before I
can say anything else to humiliate myself.
“You do realise he just asked you out on a date, right?” Elle pops a bubble from between her lips and chews on the bubble gum for a moment after sucking it back into her mouth.
“No he didn’t.” That’s absurd. I’d know if he asked me on a date.
“He so did, or he implied that your next meeting wouldn’t be just a meeting.” She wags her eyebrows and pops her bubble gum once more.
“Shut up.” I moan and bury my face in my hands. “I don’t want to date anyone. Plus, he probably assumes I’m engaged.”
She eyes me suspiciously. “You’re not engaged?”
Oh right. I’ve kept myself to myself; nobody knows about Caleb. “Not anymore.” I twist the ring around my finger and exhale a long breath. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s complicated.”
Her quirked brow flies higher. “I’m not looking at you like anything.”
“You’re wondering why I’m still wearing the ring.” That I should take off before I lose it again.
She shrugs. “It’s a normal thing to wonder about when a person states they’re not engaged anymore but still wears the ring. Either you’re still in love with the guy and refuse to let him go, even though he’s gone, or you just really like the ring and don’t want to wear it on the other hand, or…”
I raise my ring free hand and laugh. “Stop, stop. I’ll tell you… sometime. Just not right now.” I need to lick my wounds in peace.
“Sure. If he comes back within the next few days for that ‘something special’,” she uses her hands to imitate air quotes, a wry grin on her face, “then you know he’s not just looking for his reward for returning that.”
“Whatever.” I wave her off and go to my bag. Removing the ring from my finger, I place it in the inside pocket and zip it tight. Now that I know it’s not there, my finger feels naked.
How could I not have noticed? Am I losing my mind?
Probably.
My phone rings as I’m entering the bar with Sasha, the same one I used to frequent with Caleb, Sasha and Tommy, back in the day.
I can’t believe how long ago that seems.
I look at the screen and frown at the fact the number has been withheld. I normally don’t answer but I figure it can’t be a company at this time. “Hello?”
No one responds.
“What drink do you want?” Sasha asks after waving the bar tender down.
“Just a coke,” I step to the side and place my finger in my free ear so I can hear my phone better. “Hello?”
“You’re in a bar?” Nathan asks; he does not sound pleased.
“Yeah, it took a while but my friends managed to convince me. Is Dillan okay?” I miss him so damn much.
Nathan clears his throat, “He’s fine.”
“Oh, well, good.” Part of me wishes Dillan could talk already, so I can ask him what he’s been doing and not get baby babble back in response. “So, what’s the problem?”
“You’re in a bar.”
I frown; now I’m confused and slightly irritated. “And that’s a problem because?”
More silence…
“Nathan, are you still there?”
“Yes.”
“Can I help you with something?” What’s he playing at? I don’t understand him at all.
“No.” He clips and suddenly the line goes dead.
What just happened? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he sounded jealous. And if he’s jealous then that means he still cares. I think. Why does this make me feel happy to a certain extent? I’m secretly mean, that’s why. I don’t want Nathan jealous. Why would he be jealous?
If I could call him back, I would, but I still don’t have his number. Maybe I should have gotten it from him before he left; that seems like a responsible thing for a parent to do. I should kick myself but I don’t like pain.
“Here,” Sasha thrusts a drink into my hand, causing the dark liquid to slosh over the top of its glass confinement and trickle over my fingers. Great, now I’m going to have to wash my hand. “Sorry.”
“No you’re not.” I laugh and sip my drink, almost spluttering as the strong taste of rum burns my throat.
“I got you a double.” She shrugs and bounces on the spot to the beat of the music.
“Thanks.” I gasp and clear my throat before taking a more tentative sip this time. It has been over a year since I last tasted alcohol. I was a lightweight then. I dread to think of how badly I’ll be a lightweight now. I shouldn’t even be drinking. “How’s work?”
“Far too boring to talk about on what should be an awesome night out.” She states and wiggles her hips a little. “Cheer up.”
I’m not being cheery? Oh. “Sorry.”
She throws my words back at me with a mischievous smile. “No you’re not.” Nope, she’s right. I’m so not. “Who was on the phone?”
“Wrong number.” I lie. Why am I lying? It’s not like I have anything to hide.
She instantly becomes distracted by the sound of her name being called from somewhere to our left. I look up but don’t recognise the girl who has yelled her name. With a shrug and the thought that I have nothing better to do, I follow Sasha and receive brief introductions, forgetting their names only moments later.
This really isn’t for me anymore. I miss my son. I miss my bed. For Sasha I will try though. She’s done a lot for me; I owe her a good night.
But first I need to wash this stickiness from my hand.
Leaving Sasha with her friends, I head into the toilets and cringe at their lack of soap. Hot water will have to do.
Oh… great, no hot water either.
I pour my drink down the sink and watch as it swirls down the drain. I’ll replace it with a coke when I go back out there. I don’t feel comfortable drinking when I’ll need to start feeding Dillan the day after tomorrow. Having him away from the breast for too long worries me. I’m worried he’ll get used to bottles and won’t be able to latch onto my nipple. That’s something I can’t risk; baby milk isn’t an expense I can afford right now.
Leaving the toilet I head straight to the bar and order myself and Sasha another drink. She drinks fast; she’ll definitely need another. My phone rings as I’m waiting to be served, withheld number again.
“Yes?”
“Dillan just vomited.” Nathan says, sounding slightly concerned. “Is he sick?”
“He’s eleven weeks old; it’s probably just trapped wind.” The barman decides to serve me now, just great. “Coke and a vodka lemonade.”
“You’re not drinking?” Nathan enquires. Although he doesn’t sound interested, I have a feeling he is forcing this neutral tone to his voice to sound indifferent. The fact he’s asked kind of cancels that out though.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“How’s Dillan?” I thought I was dead to him? Meaning that he wouldn’t be interested in me anymore. I shouldn’t exist to him, not that I’m complaining about his calls. I’m actually happy to hear from him. “You said he was sick.”
“We’ll be fine. I just wanted to make sure you were aware. Should I do anything?”
“Give him cool boiled water between feeds.” I respond automatically as I pay for my drinks. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Of course.” he sounds offended that I asked.
“Can you please text me your number?” Before I forget. “It doesn’t feel right knowing you have Dillan and not being able to contact you.”
He blows out a long breath. “Fine.”
“Okay.” pause. “How have you been?”
He remains silent for what seems like minutes but it has in fact only been seconds. “Don’t get drunk, Guinevere.”
“I’m not drinking, Nathan” My tone is soft and laced with amusement.
“Good night.”
“Come on!” Sasha shouts and waves me over. Do I have to? Apparently so…
Yay… not.
Sasha manages to get me to drin
k two vodka and cranberries, which help me loosen up a tad. Not much, but enough for me to let go of my reservations. After an hour I’m feeling a little woozy from those two glasses alone, so I stop drinking and instead enjoy the animated conversation that flows between Sasha and her friends. I even join in from time to time when I manage to keep up with their drunken ramblings.
This isn’t actually so bad.
When the clock strikes twelve I pull a Cinderella and escape Sasha and her friends. Fortunately I don’t lose my shoe on the way home, although I do pick up a follower.
My mind reels as I hear the light footsteps behind me. I glance over my shoulder at the male who seems to be walking in the same direction as me. It makes me nervous when people I don’t know walk behind me. Maybe I should stop and wait for him to pass, make it look like I can’t text and walk at the same time.
No, because that will give him time to grab me.
Have I listened to myself recently? I sound ridiculously paranoid.
It’s just… after seeing those recordings of Nathan as a young boy, I now know what the world is truly capable of, and crap you think isn’t going to happen to you does actually happen. Caleb died. That never should have happened, but it did, and Nathan was molested by somebody he clearly loved and someone who should have loved and cherished him.
Knowing my luck I’ll pick up a murderer on my way home.
Damn it.
I pick up the pace. My street is only five minutes away, so I know I’ll be okay as long as I’m quick. The footsteps behind me seem to pick up speed too. Maybe it’s my imagination.
No. I’m not going to write this off as some random happening. That’s how people lose their guard and end up in ditches. Right now I’m going to assume he wants me dead and I’m going to push on.
My hand goes inside my pocket. I grasp my phone tightly and pray that, whatever happens, I have enough time to call the police.
Just as I turn the corner of my street, the male who was following me passes. I hear the muffled sound of a heavy bass beat and realise he has earphones in. He’s probably just on his way home from work.