I don’t like it.
I know I have to clean up my act for Lily, and it’s exactly what I promised the social workers casing my joint like I was guaranteed to jam Lily’s finger into an electrical socket.
I may feel sorry for myself, but I’m no moron. Lily means a lot, and there’s no way I’m going to turn out to be her loser father. She’s not going to look at me the way Astor looks at our dad. No fucking way.
Carter doesn’t ask any further questions. She stands, and, just like that, exits the apartment.
When she comes back, and I’ve put Lily to sleep for the night, she’s hooked something up for herself.
Just like that.
If someone told me that after injuring my knee and having my dreams snuffed out in the form of one bad tackle, all I had to do was roll off my couch and travel a few blocks to find other employment, I would’ve thrown a crutch at them. Yet here Carter is, less than seventy-two hours in a new state without even a second pair of pants to her name, and she’s employed.
“Freelance,” she says breezily as she makes her way to the kitchen to prepare dinner, and just as she meant it to, I feel the bite. “I didn’t want anything full-time since my priority is to have time with Lily.”
I set my computer beside me on the couch. “Understood.”
Something must have made her want to tell me anyway, because she adds while searching through the silverware drawer, “It’s at the coffee shop down the road. They’re letting me display some of my art.”
“Art?”
I don’t think I’ve ever met a bona fide artiste. I picture Carter in a room full of windows, with those white boards…what do you call ‘em? Oh yeah, canvas, surrounding her. Bathed in sunlight. She’s in a smock—an apron thing spotted with stains and color at the center of the room—paintbrush in hand, guiding strokes against the white, the apron lifting slightly, and…
I’m unable to imagine any clothes on her. Apron only.
I rub at my chin to dislodge the image of her hot body—which she’s made difficult since her impromptu show for the boys and me—and give my jeans a good readjustment.
Carter shrugs while searching my drawers for…some kind of utensil that I probably don’t have.
“I painted. Paint. Before Lily was born, that’s what I was pursuing. Sophie—my roommate—can ship some pieces I can display over there.”
Lured by both the delicious smells going on in the frying pan and Carter’s story, I get my ass off the couch and head over.
“What happened after Lily was born?”
Carter’s body language is dismissive, but I can spot an act when I see it. “Money was an issue. It was only Paige and me, and she…she didn’t want to put Lily up for adoption. So we sat down, and we figured it out. With her income, plus anything I could find with a moderate salary, we could make it work. Line up our vacation days so there’d be someone with the newborn in the beginning. Paige’s job didn’t give paid maternity leave.”
“So, you dropped everything to help out Paige and the baby.”
Another shrug as she dumps onions and garlic in the sizzling olive oil. “It was a no-brainer.”
Unbelievable. This girl put everything in her future on hold for a baby that wasn’t even hers.
“Why didn’t she tell me?” I ask.
That has Carter hesitating. I add, “Why didn’t Paige tell me that the baby was mine?”
Carter’s busy stirring her mixture, but I can see the wheels spinning in her head behind all that hair. At last, she says, “You’re assuming I knew who the father was.”
“Paige didn’t tell you?”
Carter shakes her head. “And I didn’t ask. The way she spoke about it…it was clear the dad wasn’t in her life. That he wasn’t…” She stops.
“Say it.”
Carter’s still facing the stove. “Locke, it’s not like—”
“No, say it. That I wasn’t going to step up, that I wasn’t worth the notification because I’m not father material, that you and Paige had no fucking clue what I’d do because you didn’t even ask me.”
She sighs and finally turns to me. “I told you, I had no idea who you were.”
“It doesn’t sound like you did a lot of research to find out.”
“What did you want me to do? Interrogate my best friend? Tie her to the bedpost until she gave up the name?”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“Don’t be a fool. It was Paige’s business. And it was my choice to be there for her, regardless of how she wanted to raise Lily. She was twenty-one, Locke. She had no fucking clue what she was doing. All she knew was that she wanted that baby. She wanted Lily.”
I feel all the muscles on my chest solidifying. “I deserved the same chance. That baby sleeping in the next room right now? She went almost a full year without her father. Would’ve gone longer if it hadn’t been for—”
“What, Paige dying?” Carter smacks the wooden spoon against the pan ostensibly to dislodge food sticking to it. “You can say it. She’s dead, Locke. Cremated in a jar in my room…” Carter can’t speak. She’s choking on too much emotion. But she gathers herself, forges on. “I can’t tell you what Paige was thinking, or why. I don’t know if Lily would have gone her whole life without knowing you. All I do know is, she’s with you now because her mother can’t be. And now you have the responsibility of being both parents, and I’m sorry about that. I really am.”
“Stop saying sorry to me,” I snap. “And she still has you.”
The sparks die in Carter’s eyes. “Not for long.”
She spins back to the stove before I can say anything further, but I don’t want this conversation to end. It’s the most passionate she’s been since telling me I had a secret baby, and I admit I missed this part of her, Carter’s original introduction—all fire, flame, and heat. The numb Carter, the woman who musters energy only for Lily’s benefit, is a cold sadness I don’t want to leave to harden and calcify.
“You can stay here as long as you want,” I find myself saying.
Carter stiffens but doesn’t pause in her stirring. “Don’t say that. Something you don’t mean. We both know this isn’t going to work in the long term.”
“Fuck what should work.”
Carter jumps at my curse and looks back at me.
“Lily loves you. You love her. So we’ll keep going like this until we can’t anymore, okay?”
After a few seconds, Carter lifts her lips, but it’s the fakest half smile I’ve ever witnessed. More in the realm of, let this dumb jock think everything’s gonna work out as a fairy tale. “Okay, Locke.”
Damn it, I hate how this girl sees me. As a guy who has fun role-playing as dad for now, but eventually will be desperate to go back to random women and long, sleepy mornings. To no Lily. No Carter.
I wish my words could prove her wrong. But Carter’s already judged me, and it doesn’t help that I handle Lily more as a porcelain doll than a real-life baby. It will only be through action, through fact, that Carter will ever believe I’m more than the papers she’s read, the history she’s heard, Paige’s one-night stand.
I’m more than a college bet.
13
Carter
The next morning, Locke demands we take Lily to the Prospect Park Zoo.
He says it with such attitude, such testosterone-fueled decision, that I’m tempted to say no just to drive him berserk. But there’s a crack to his exterior, a sign of frustration, that I latch onto instead. I let him have his way since, I remind myself, he’s trying to do things for Lily, not me.
It’s day four of officially living in New York City, and I have no idea what zoo he means because I thought there was only one in NYC, the big one in Central Park. And even then, I can’t picture it among all the horses and carriages and giant ice rinks, and that pond with the restaurant beside it and all the fancy stores—
I scrunch my nose as I throw a sundress onto the futon. There’s too much stuff in this city.
“C’mon, look what I bought for an outing!” Locke calls in the main room.
Sighing, I step into my strappy floral dress and out of the nursery, kicking my sole box of clothes out of the way. Sophie one-armed my drawers at home, just swung in and dumped whatever she could into this box. It meant I had maybe five pieces of underwear, a lot of shirts, and two pairs of jeans. Then she went to my closet and gave me all my dresses. All of which I never wear.
I can’t be annoyed with her, because as I’d unfolded and cringed at every flowery piece of fabric I pulled out of the box, I also notice she’d sent me Paige.
Right in the middle, folded very protectively with all the shirts Sophie packed that I now realize were meant to cushion Paige, I pick up the vase.
It’s white ceramic, glued shut by the funeral home, but I’d painted it. Detailed flowers rim the belly, Paige’s favorites. Peonies, roses, and of course, lilies. I’d used the smallest brushes I’d owned to craft the finest detail. Upon first glance, the vase appears like spring. Sprouted from beauty, meant to be showcased on a bright, sunny day or to bring light on those with clouds and fog. Without asking, no one would know what it contained.
I kissed the top, then settled it carefully on a shelf Locke had installed for Lily, right next to the framed picture of the three of us—Paige, Lily, and me—interlocked on our apartment’s balcony, sunshine and clouds our backdrop. It was one of the last pictures before Paige donned a scarf around her head and called it her new headgear.
Where Lily went, her mom went. And I was glad to bring Paige back to her daughter.
“Welcome to your new home,” I whispered to Paige, then turned out of the room, wiping at the dampness on my cheeks.
Locke is standing in the center of the den, Lily at his feet, and he’s holding a black contraption by the strap.
I have to ask. “What is that?”
“A stroller!” he says with enthusiasm. “It folds, see?”
He starts extending and retracting it like an accordion.
“Uh…”
“New York,” he adds. “Everything needs to be compact.”
“I see.”
I throw my hair up in a messy bun and pick Lily up, settling her on my hip.
“It’s the best there is, the lady at the kid store assured me. All the Park Slope moms have this thing, it’s super safe, and there’s this shade thing that happens to keep Lily out of the sun…”
Locke’s back to unfolding the thing and trying to click it into place. He has to bang it on the floor a few times to get it to lock, and that was after he had to untangle the wheels from their folded position.
“Hang on. I gotta…” Locke grunts, flips the stroller over, and punches the frame. “It’s easy. She made it look so.” Punch. “Fucking.” Kick. “Easy.”
The determination on his expression, the pure defiance in the face of baby gear, has me smiling wide.
“There,” he says once the stroller finally looks like a stroller.
“It’s perfect,” I say, more for his benefit.
He straightens, and the relief in his body language is evident. “Awesome.”
I hand Lily over so he can strap her in, excited to see what comes next. As expected, the harness securing Lily is no small feat, and after a few grumbles and censored curses for Lily’s benefit, Locke has her in.
“Great job,” I say.
He throws me a look. “Stop being so amused.”
I open my mouth to retort, but it lodges in my throat when I meet Locke’s eye. Hair falls across his forehead, his cheeks flushed with exertion. His eyes are bright with it, an insane blue sparkle that should only belong to anime characters, and I’m thrown. Have to stick my hand out for balance before my—oh, God—are my knees actually buckling?
No way. I muster my nerve and remind myself this is a look Locke gives to many girls, with reactions he’s used to seeing—even expects. I refuse to be reduced to a puddle simply because a good-looking guy, one whom I was enamored with and drooled over all throughout college, finally has me in his sights. Knows my name.
He slept with your best friend. Made a baby with her.
“Whoa,” Locke says to me, retreating with the stroller. “Did I do something?”
I coat my voice with resolve. “Everything’s fine. Let’s go.”
Locke hesitates but doesn’t push it. He points to the couch where he’s laid Lily’s diaper bag. “Can you check that I have everything? I’ve followed your list, but I want to make sure we don’t forget a crucial item.”
He surveys Lily like he’s waiting for a meltdown to occur immediately.
I nod, happy to be given something efficient to do. A task involving Lily, which is exactly why I’m here. A thorough perusal and I’m impressed—Locke remembered everything, even extra bottles and snacks in case Lily succumbs to the demon inside her.
“Perfectly assembled,” I say, spinning around with it in my hand.
Locke smiles, and it has a worse impact on me than his instinctual come-hither expression that I doubt he even knows he deploys. I hitch in step but cover it by swinging the bag onto the stroller’s handles.
“Heavy,” I add for good measure.
“A baby comes with three times their weight in goods,” Locke says. “I’ve learned quickly.”
I laugh. “Okay, we’re ready.”
“Off we go!” Locke says with a holler, causing Lily to turn, look up at him, and laugh. He finishes with flair. “To the subway and beyond!”
He’s through the front door, but I pause in the frame. “What’d you just say?”
Locke turns at the stairway, readying to lift the stroller and Lily down one flight. “Which part? The subway?”
“Yeah, that. We’re going on it?”
“Well. Yeah. It’s the only way to get around.”
Visions of pickpockets, violent gangs, and swiping knives assail my head. “We can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s dangerous.” I say it like I’m speaking to a five-year-old. Or Lily.
Locke chuckles, and the response sparks my anger.
“It’s perfectly safe,” he says. “But the only way to prove that is for you to go on it and see for yourself. So, come on. Immerse yourself in city life.”
“I…”
Locke leaves the stroller for a moment and comes over to me. “I promise, Carter. I won’t let anything happen to Lily.”
His low tone is a balm and contains so much surety. I nod, because I know I’m being overdramatic.
“Good.” Locke squeezes my shoulder, and I tense under his grip, covering the automatic shivers dancing down to my breasts. He reads it a different way and backs off immediately. “And you,” he says over his shoulder as he goes back to Lily.
“Me?”
“I’ll protect you, as well,” he says through a grunt as he lifts the stroller. “You seem to keep forgetting that you matter, too.”
I’m not sure how to respond, but since he’s already down the staircase, setting the stroller on the ground, I say nothing. I follow and instantly notice the bend in his left leg.
“Locke, your knee.”
He waves it off. “It’s fine. I have a baby now. Have to get used to lifting the mechanics that come with her up and down stairs. Now, come on.”
Locke opens the main doors, and the three of us roll into a sunny, Saturday morning, on a trip to the zoo.
The subway’s crowded, containing smells I can’t identify with crud I can’t tell where from. But, no one comes to kidnap Lily, nor does anyone try to rip my purse away.
In fact, it’s the exact opposite. Once Locke and I finish carrying Lily’s stroller down the subway steps and roll onto the platform, Lily endears anyone near into cooing, waving, or smiling at her. When we enter the train car and feel the sweet caress of air-conditioning, a kind man offers his seat to me so I can sit with Lily’s stroller at my knees.
Currently, in what seems like her millionth month
of teething, Lily gnaws on her toy and jabbers to my seat mate, a woman initially reading her tablet but has since fallen under Lily’s spell. Locke is holding onto the railing attached to the roof, his body shadowing Lily and me.
“She’s adorable,” the woman says. She wiggles her fingers at Lily, who responds with “ahbahdahdah” as she munches.
“Thank you,” I say, because that’s how you respond to people who say the baby is cute.
“You two are very lucky,” she continues.
Locke smiles and nods. “Don’t we know it.”
He winks at me.
I offer a tentative smile back, then give all my interest to Lily, dangling her toy, a stuffed bunny with a rattle in its chest that’s seen better days. I doubt this woman wants to hear the logistics of this “family” she’s seated with, even though all my tongue wants to do is explain. I don’t know why. I should be fine with our outward appearance and its foolery to strangers. Who cares if she thinks we’re a happy family?
Because she thinks you’re Lily’s mom.
The unwanted answer spears through my stomach, and I fumble with the toy before letting Lily grab it with sticky hands.
She’s not mine. Lily was half mine when Paige was alive, but she’s now his. Locke’s. Lily’s actual, biological father.
The fact makes me want to cry, so I’m thankful when the train screeches to a stop at our station.
“All right, sputnik, time to go!” Locke says to Lily as he spins the stroller. He looks over his shoulder to make sure I’m following through the crowd.
I am, but I keep my distance for a few moments, gathering the nerve to continue on with this family facade.
I find my steps heavy, my heart swollen, at how we must appear to other people. Worse, I’m aware of what’s bearing the weight. Being a part of Lily’s family is all I’ve wanted, and this, right here, is a mask until I muster enough courage to walk in the other direction—away from her.
Locke lifts Lily’s stroller again to ascend the staircase, and I snap out of it and scramble to help, conscious of his injury even if he isn’t, but I’m too late. He’s already at the top.
Trusting You Page 9