BABY WITH THE BEAST

by Naomi West

  My mother’s voice is warm and caring. It’s easy to forget my troubles when I hear it, usually. Now, though, I’m a little hesitant. I have no idea what she’s going to say when I tell her what I need to …

  “Lena?” She sounds a little worried now at my silence. “Lena, honey, are you all right?”

  I take a deep breath and tell her.

  I leave out the details like Booster offering to pay me, the fact that he approached me to begin with over having a baby with him. Admitting it out loud is something that I can’t do right now. I feel almost ashamed about it.

  Instead, I tell her that I met a guy. And he was really nice and awesome—she worries, very vocally, when I explain about the crash, but is awed that Booster put so much effort into keeping me safe and making sure that I was okay.

  “He sounds like a little bit of a dreamboat, honey,” she says when I come to that point in the conversation. “So, what’s the matter? What happened? Do I need to find him and put a boot in his ass?”

  “No, Mama … No. Mama. I’m—I’m pregnant,” I whisper. “And I think that he’s been with other women. I thought that this was what I wanted, that he was what I wanted. But he and I live such … different lives with such different scopes of reference; I have no idea how I even thought that something like this would work out.”

  “Oh … oh, honey …” I can hear my mother sigh on the other side of the phone. I fight the urge to cry, because I haven’t so far, and I’m not going to start on account of Booster Wylde and I making really, really dumb choices.

  “I’m sorry, Mama,” I say. I don’t know what else I could possibly say at this point.

  “Hun, you don’t have to be sorry about anything. Forget the stupid man for a moment here. Do you want this child?”

  I answer without a moment of hesitation.

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Then you focus on that child. You’re going to be a mother, and that means that that child is going to be your personal only priority at this point. That kid is going to be your sun and your moon, and your life is going to revolve around them. Whatever happens with you and this biker boy … it’ll fall into place over time, after you’ve gotten your head a little more situated. Start looking into prenatal doctors; get yourself some vitamins; and figure out what you’re going to do once the baby’s born, okay? Don’t buy anything just yet; I’ll mail you some things I’m not using. We’ll get through this, all right, Lena? You’re a smart, loving girl, and you’re going to be a good mother. This goon is either going to step up to the plate, or he’s not, but it’s nothing that’s going to hold you back, you hear?”

  I nod.

  “I hear you.”

  “Good, good. I’ll let you know when I’ve mailed everything out. It might take a while for me to go through everything, but you have nine months,” she laughs. Surprisingly, the sound of it makes a smile of my own spread across my face. Calling my mother was definitely a good idea. The situation hasn’t changed. I’m still going to have to deal with a lot after this—namely what I’m supposed to do about Booster—but it’s nothing that I can’t handle. I’m not a damsel in distress. I’m not helpless, not in the slightest. So I’m not going to treat the situation like I am.

  “Thanks, Mama.”

  “Anytime, hun. Anytime.”

  ***

  The rest of the weekend is spent getting my head back on the right way. I continue to ignore the small stream of texts I get from Booster, until my phone stops going off because of him. I think he gets the hint that I don’t want to talk, and I hope that he heeds that. The thought of him doing something like coming over here doesn’t escape me, but if I’m lucky, he’ll give me the space that I deserve until it’s about time to talk to him again. When will it be time to talk to him again?

  Well, I have no idea. We’ll get there eventually, though.

  Instead, I clear out the second room upstairs. I was using it for a storage room, but given that it’s the only free room aside from my office, I figure it’s as good a room as any to go ahead and use for a nursery. I want to get that started as soon as possible, leaving little room for having to scramble at the last minute to get it all nice and done.

  When the second room is cleared out, I take a break and start looking through my finances. I know, roughly, how much it takes to bring a child into the world. I figure if I work out how I’m going to be looking money-wise (without Booster’s help, because I’m not confident enough in him sticking around to assume that I’m even going to have his help after this little fiasco) I’ll be better prepared to have a large expense flux in the next nine months. It’s good that I have decent insurance through work; I would be a little more than up shit creek without a paddle if I didn’t.

  I’ll need to work something out. Maybe start doing some tutoring, or take some extra classes, but it’s something that I’m willing to do. After all, it’s like Mama said. I need to think about that baby.

  The week progresses, and I hear nothing more from Booster. Sometimes I catch myself staring out the classroom window at lunch thinking that it would be nice to see him pass by, but I don’t let myself get too wrapped up in those thoughts. At some point, I’ll need to talk to him about everything. Get to the bottom of what happened and ask him what it is exactly that he wants from me. A baby, certainly, but I’ve come to want more, too.

  Depending on his answer, there are a few ways that I can proceed.

  On the plus side, I don’t have a ton of empty time to have these options floating in my head without any other company. While I keep my options at a priority level in my head, I have something else to focus on in the meantime.

  A school dance.

  High school kids are so easy to entertain when they’re given something that actually interests them, and the school dance is one of the few things that the school does that holds their attention raptly. They end up getting distracted by the whole fanfare of it—from the announcement of theme, voting for the homecoming King and Queen, chatting away about who’s taking whom and what they’re going to do about it. Then among the girls there’s talk of dresses; and the boys are wondering if they can convince their parents to let them rent a limo, all in the hopes of getting laid.

  It’s all very, very amusing, and it’s something that I look forward to every single year.

  So instead of worrying over Booster, and what I could or could not be doing with him at the moment, I instead throw myself into working to make the school dance something magical for the kids. The theme for this year is Renegade. We’ve got lots of black, red, and silver decorations, and have managed to get a local rock band to come play for us, too. Balloons float all over the gym in the dance’s colors, and thick glitter and confetti cover the floor (I feel a little bad for the people that are going to have to clean up afterward, considering the fact there’s a lot of it around.)

  Right now, though, I stand off to the side, swaying a little to the music that’s playing and echoing off the gym walls. I’m there as a chaperone, though I keep my distance and let the kids have fun. I don’t think it’s necessary to step in every time one of them gets a little too close (a kiss here or there can’t hurt the young ones, and there are plenty of other chaperones there that can take the brunt of being the bad guys.)

  “Ms. Hedlund!” My attention is taken away when one of my students—a young girl named Mary—comes up to me along with one of her friends. She’s very pretty in a deep red, almost ball-gown- like dress. I smile at her.

  “Hello, Mary. Is there something that you need?”

  She giggles, hiding it behind her hand.

  “Ms. Hedlund, you remember that hunk that used to come around on the motorcycle?” she asks me. I tilt my head. What does she want to know with Booster?

  “Yes … What about him?”

  She blushes furiously, pointing across the gym.

  “I think he’s trying to surprise you, Ms. Hedlund. How romantic!” She and her friend swoon, going back to each other and ch
attering away about how romantic and sweet it is that my biker boy would come to a school dance for me. I, on the other hand, follow the line that Mary pointed out.

  There’s a man talking to the principal. I don’t think that I’ve ever seen him; he’s a clean-cut gentleman, tall, not wearing a suit, but he’s in nice slacks and a shirt and—

  Oh. Oh my god.

  It is Booster.

  I don’t know what he’s saying to my boss, but there’s a smile on his face and while I don’t hear him, I just assume that it’s nothing good.

  Ignoring my post, I make my way through the thick throng of students that’s forming on the dancefloor as the music starts to pick up. I maneuver around dancing bodies, bumping into them occasionally.

  I don’t know what the hell Booster thinks he’s doing here.

  But I know that it can’t possibly be anything good.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Booster

  Lena doesn’t answer any of my messages the weekend that she finds Pixie’s underwear in my kutte. I give her time—after I think about it, I guess I can see where her anger comes from. I would think the same thing if I found something similar about what I thought was her running around.

  We haven’t made things official.

  But I’m done waiting when it comes to Lena.

  I’m here at her school tonight since she refuses to talk to me, to make it official. One way or another.

  Trying to blend in, I dress up. Nice clothes (no suit, because not even my own wedding will get me into one) but I don’t think I look half bad in what I’m in. I think the kids mistake me for a chaperone, and the adults think the same. I’m just a father come out to hang and watch his kid’s high school dance …

  Ha. Maybe one day. But I actually have to patch things with Lena first.

  I don’t catch sight of her. There are a lot of people here, and a lot of kids—and since I’m trying not to stand out, it’s not like I can just get up on the stage and yell for Lena Hedlund to come on up there for me. Not like the idea isn’t tempting. But still.

  No, instead, I mingle. Eventually, I make my way over to her boss. I remember him as the principal that I talked to when I was first trying to find out what I could about Lena. I remember that I didn’t really care for him—bit too fucking full of himself, in my opinion, but that’s neither here nor there.

  “Nice party, huh?” I say conversationally. I don’t think he recognizes me; he turns, startled at first, before he sees that I’m just another adult.

  “Oh? Huh? Yeah. For the kids, I suppose. They’re all little gremlins, gyrating on each other. Someone’s going to end up pregnant,” he mutters, sending a seething glance out to the kids on the dance floor. It’s a little odd; he’s so against kids, if past interactions are any indication, yet he’s the principal of a school? So off the mark.

  I don’t comment on this, though. Instead, I laugh.

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. Trying to keep them from getting all in each other’s shit is a little hard with this music.”

  The man snorts.

  “Mmhm …” He stares at me a little harder, as if trying to place me, before realization dawns. “Hm … Don’t I know you?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I’m a chaperone,” I say lightly.

  “No, no, from somewhere else. You’re—”

  “You might know me through Lena,” I say, outing myself so he doesn’t put too much thought into it. “We’re a bit of a thing.”

  “Oh. I hadn’t realized she’d brought you in to help chaperone as a volunteer.” He squinted his eyes. “I didn’t think that she’d brought anyone in—”

  “Last minute addition,” I say.

  “Ah …” He keeps looking at me, somewhat suspicious, but he’s not kicking me out yet, so I guess that’s a plus to what he could be doing. “You clean up pretty well, in that case.”

  “Thanks. I figured that I could get away with this over leather and metal.”

  “Ha. You’re right about that—”

  “Booster!”

  The principal’s head and mine turn as my name’s called. Lena’s come over, having caught sight of me. It means that I don’t have to hunt her down myself—but it also means that she could very easily blow my cover, too. After all, I’m not actually here to fucking chaperone.

  “Lena,” I greet, giving her a huge smile and drawing her into a hug. She tenses in my arms, and I hate the fact that she does, but I can’t dwell on it right now. “Sorry I’m a little late for chaperoning. I got a little behind on tidying myself up.” I gesture down to my clothes.

  Lena gives me a strange look; she has no idea what the fuck I’m talking about. But a quick look between myself and her boss and Lena gets the hint—she nods.

  “It’s fine. Better late than never,” she says, terse in her tone. So she’s still mad at me. Or she’s mad that I showed up without announcement or asking.

  Well, that’s what happens when she decides that she’s not going to speak to me for almost a week without even giving me a chance to explain myself. She can play hardball, so can I.

  “Yes, well …” Her boss looks between us, almost as if he’s uncomfortable. I’m not here for his comfort, so it doesn’t bother me. “I’m going to make sure there’s nothing funny going on in the cafeteria.”

  We’re quiet as we watch her boss leave, but as soon as he’s out of earshot, Lena looks up at me.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks, her mouth set in a straight line. “Why are you here? I thought that my silence was enough to tell you that I’m not talking to you right now.”

  “I knew that you weren’t going to come to me, so I figured this time I would come to you.”

  “You came to my place of work in the middle of a school dance! What is wrong with you?” Her voice starts to spike, and she notices this. She looks around, shakes her head, and when she speaks to me again, her voice is lowered. “And then talking to my principal. Why? What were you telling him? If you’re trying to get me in trouble at my place of work, Booster—”

  I stop her, holding up my hand.

  “I didn’t come here to get you in trouble with your boss, first of all,” I tell her. “I happened to see him and figured that I could make small talk before one, he told me where you were, or two, I figured it out for myself. You coming over prevented that; don’t get your panties all in a twist.” I grin. “Why? Don’t want me telling him something sinister like you’re going to be the mother of my child, or something?”

  Lena’s face goes white. I can only assume that she thinks I would seriously tell her boss about our arrangement—maybe brag about having a child with her. But that would require an actual child to be around for that.

  No, I just want a rise out of her. I want to talk to her. I want to get her to realize I’m not the person that she thought I was by forcing her to confront her assumptions about me head on. If we get into it out here … well, all the better. Let it be known who Lena Hedlund is with, and who’s in her corner looking out after her.

  However, Lena has other things in mind, it seems. Instead of getting into an argument with me in front of her school, her pale face reddens, and then she takes me by the arm. My brow goes up; that wasn’t expected. Nonetheless, I let her tug me away from the gym and into the hall outside of it, yanking me a good ways down before she pushes us into an empty classroom.

  “How’d you find out?” she demands. “You’ve known? You’ve known and you were a complete asshole anyway? Are you fucking serious right now, Booster?”

  Okay. Time to be really goddamn confused. What’s she going on about?

  I put my hands up.

  “What the hell are you talking about, Lena? I just came over here to get you to talk to me!”

  “Then why were you going to tell my boss about the baby? When did you even find out?! Why were you with someone else if—”

  I put my hands on her shoulders. As a precaution, I lock the classroom door before giving my full attention back t
o Lena.

  “Lena,” I say. I begin to piece a couple things together, and it keeps me from being able to hide the grin that’s forming on my face. “Lena … are you pregnant?”

  She stares at me blankly.

  “I—I—wait you didn’t … you didn’t know?”

  She’s fucking pregnant!

  I forget about what we’re doing here, momentarily. Instead of keeping in mind that Lena’s probably not in the mood to have me all in her space, I jerk her toward me, wrapping my arms around her. I can’t believe it.

  She’s pregnant.

  In all the strife in trying to figure out how I needed to approach her again, I completely put off the thought that it could have been a possibility. If she was pregnant, she’d have come to me, right?