by Hazel Parker
“Do you want to meet Chloe?”
Arabella nods because she’s afraid she’ll blurt out a confession in this moment of intimate conversation.
“This way.” Corbin nods in the direction of a glass staircase. He reaches for Arabella’s hand and leads her up the stairs. She allows him to hold her hand and she wonders why she doesn’t pull it away. She knows she should. Feels she should. But, she likes the feel of his large hand holding hers. She likes being led by this confident man and responsible single dad.
“I love this staircase. It reminds me of the one in the Apple Store in Hangzhou.” She admires the embedded bolts that disappear into the glass bannister with smooth, curved railings.
“Thanks. I know it doesn’t fit in with the French decor, but I really wanted a touch of modernism in our home. Dana did nearly all of the decorating. I fought for this staircase. So, it means a lot to me that you like it.” He smiles shyly at Arabella.
She knows that she should pull her hand away. But she likes the feel of his hand holding hers. So she holds Corbin’s hand and takes a trip through the life she could’ve had, if she had told Corbin she was pregnant.
Walking along the blond hardwood floors on the landing overlooking the expansive living room, Arabella hears the sound of a little girl’s laughter. A delightful sound. The lightness and innocence of it fills her with warmth. Arabella wants to laugh with the little girl and share her brightness.
“Chloe!” Corbin approaches a room where the door is wide open.
Panic takes over Arabella. The thought of Chloe seeing her dad holding some woman’s hand makes her feel weird so she pulls her hand away. Corbin glances over at her and then back at Chloe who jumps up and bolts across her nursery and into his open arms.
“Daddy!” Her girlish voice warms Arabella like sunshine on a summer day. The room smells of lavender and cookies.
A portrait of happiness: Corbin holds Chloe up into the air high above his head, and she squeals in delight. Arabella imagines Corbin holding up Tucker similarly and hearing him screech with happiness. Corbin pulls Chloe into his arms with a hug.
“Do it again, Daddy!” Chloe shrieks.
“Ready?” Corbin raises Chloe into the air as if lifting a lightweight. She giggles in the high-pitched voice of a little girl.
“Again!” Chloe commands in the way that only little girls can demand of their dads.
“Mr. Goode,” a woman appears in the doorway, “Chloe just ate a chocolate chip cookie. Mind you don’t get her nauseous.”
“Aw, we don’t want that, do we?” Corbin asks Chloe who giggles in response and shakes her head vigorously. Corbin sets Chloe down on her two little bare feet. Then he squats down to her eye level and says, “Chloe, I want you meet someone.”
The little girl stares into her dad’s eyes, captivated by everything he says. The look of adoration in Chloe’s eyes reminds Arabella of the way Tucker looks at her. There’s so much trust, love, and faith in their children’s eyes. She doesn’t ever want to disappoint her son. She doesn’t ever want to disappoint Chloe.
Suddenly, Arabella feels ashamed of her secret. She hates herself for dumping Corbin. She regrets hiding her pregnancy. She resents all of the decisions she made to keep Tucker away from his dad for three years. She tastes the bitterness of bile in the back of her throat.
“Chloe,” Corbin turns to create a circle for Arabella to join him and his daughter, “this is my friend, Arabella.”
“A-ra-bel-la.” Chloe sounds out the multisyllabic name. Arabella kneels down to get on Chloe’s eye level.
“Very good!” Arabella extends her right hand to shake Chloe’s hand. Unsure of whether a hug is too familiar.
Chloe mirrors Arabella and gets down on her knees. Arabella sits down on the floor to get even lower to meet Chloe’s eyes. Chloe sits on the floor and giggles.
“Do you want a cookie, Arabella?” She jumps up and instead of shaking Arabella’s extended hand, she grabs it, and leads Arabella into the warm and brightly lit room.
Inside the pink and white decorated room with a full wall of glitter, Arabella feels like she just stepped into a wonderland. There are various dollhouses in different stages of remodeling with furniture inside and outside on the floor. There are a plethora of multicultural dolls wearing business suits or beachwear or athletic-wear sitting and standing and sleeping through the room. In two corners of the room are unfinished large-piece puzzles depicting partial unicorns and rainbows.
Lead by Chloe’s tiny, warm hand, Arabella skips over the dolls and building blocks and toy cars to the window seat where a round table and four chairs wait for their occupants.
“Tea time!” Chloe shouts. “You sit here!” She commands Arabella to sit in the seat against the wall. “Daddy, you sit here!” She points to the seat across from Arabella. “Luz, siéntate aquí.” She points to seat adjacent to Arabella. “Yo, me siento, aquí.” She sits across from her au pair.
“Wow, she speaks Spanish.”
“Dana wanted Chloe to be bilingual,” Corbin says with pride.
“I’m part Puerto Rican,” Chloe says proudly.
“And the other part?” Corbin asks.
“Italian-American.”
Corbin high-fives his daughter. Then she busies herself with a pink ceramic tea set with fuchsia flowers and green petals decorating them. First, she carefully pours invisible tea into the four tea cups with gold rims. Then she uses a golden tong to pick up plastic sugar cubes one at a time.
“Arabella, how do you like your tea?” Chloe asks with a British accent.
“I take two sugars. No cream. Thanks, darling.” Arabella mirrors Chloe’s British accent and the two giggle. The little girl slowly picks up one cube at a time and drops them into the empty cup before Arabella.
“Daddy,” Chloe picks up a sugar cube with the difficulty of a child practicing her fine-motor skills, “Two sugars with cream, yes?” She drops the first cube into his cup without waiting for a response.
“Quite right, darling.” Corbin says in a bad British accent that makes them all laugh.
“Daddy, you must work on your accent.” Chloe plops the second sugar cube into Corbin’s cup. They roar with laughter.
The sound of Corbin’s unabashed laugh cracks open Arabella’s heart. She feels as if her heart froze the day she walked away from him and now the ice in her chest shatters in a million pieces under the tenderness of his happiness.
She thinks about Tucker and all of the fatherly love he’s missing out on. She thinks about the resentment Tucker may feel against her when he’s older and learns that his father lives a few miles away from him. She thinks about the imaginary games Tucker and Corbin and Chloe could play, if Arabella would tell Corbin her secret. Tears well up in her eyes. She needs to distance herself from the heart-melting scene of love.
“Excuse me.” She stands.
“Wait! We have cookies!” Chloe holds up her little hand to stop Arabella from running away.
“I just need to make a phone call.” She must see her son. She must tell him that she loves him, misses him, and that she’ll be home soon. She can’t stand herself for denying him this afternoon of fun with his extended family. She needs to assuage her guilt.
“The cookies!” Chloe yells.
“She’ll be right back.” The au pair smoothes out Chloe’s fine brown hair that curls over her forehead and ears.
“Hurry!” Chloe admonishes Arabella.
“I shall.” Arabella remembers her British accent as she skips out of the room.
Corbin watches her escape the scene of domesticity.
He recalls the moment she left him sitting alone in the crowded beer garden four years ago. A sharp pain shoots through his gut. He wonders what he’s doing. He wonders why he reached out to her, why he invited her to his home, why he introduced her to his daughter. What made him think that a commitment-phobe and billionaire heiress would suddenly stop running from love? Stop running from him.
&nb
sp; But he can’t help but try.
He silently curses himself for bringing her into Chloe’s nursery. He thinks it’s too much, too soon. He’s pushed her away. He’s done everything but declare his love for her. He wants to ask her for a second chance. But, if he asks her now, she may run. He can’t afford to lose her again. He looks over his shoulder at the doorway. He hears Arabella whispering. He wonders who she’s talking to and what she’s talking about.
Out in the hallway, Arabella is looking at a pink-cheeked Tucker sitting on his au pair’s lap and staring with wonder into the phone. She asks him about his afternoon. He tells her about the LEGO castle he built, and the umbrella tent he built, and the building block railroad he built in the living room. He asks where she is, why she’s there, and when she’s coming home. His sincerity and eagerness and trust pull on her heartstrings. She answers his questions and assures him that she’ll be home soon. As she ends the call, she turns around to find Corbin standing in the doorway watching her with intense curiosity.
Her heart stops. How long has he been there? What did he hear? What did he see?
“Corbin?” Her voice goes up an octave. “How—I mean—when—um—how long—”
She can’t bring herself to ask the question without sounding suspicious or defensive.
He leans against the doorway and crosses his arms against his pecs. He’s watching her. Noting her nervousness. Observing the way her hands fiddle with her cell phone and her eyes dart from his face to his body.
“Daddy!” Chloe yells.
“Saved by the child,” Corbin speaks Arabella’s thoughts aloud. He sees her shoulders relax. “After you.” Corbin turns and gestures for Arabella to walk by him in the space left in the doorway.
Slowly she walks towards him as if she’s headed to the principal’s office. She feels like she’s in trouble. She is worried he will ask. The heaviness in her chest admittedly wants to let this secret out. She is terrified by the thought of Corbin’s natural feelings of betrayal, anger, and disappointment that would understandably follow her shocking revelation. She hears herself telling him, Corbin, we have a son. His name is Tucker. Do you want to meet him? Her fear of hurting him halts her impulse to tell her secret.
When she reaches Corbin, he doesn’t move out of the doorway. Her body must brush past his to get into the brightly lit room. When her entire body grazes his, an explosion of lighting bursts through her skin. She blinks back the volcanic rupture of carnal desire for this gorgeous man, this family man, this sexy single dad. Her step falters. He uncrosses his arm and steadies her with his hands, gripping her waist.
At that moment, Arabella turns sharply to stare into his hazel eyes. Like Daedalus, she knows she’s flying too close to the sun—the heat that Corbin exudes. Her breath hitches. His gaze is anxious. Her lips yearn to kiss his. She remembers the feel of his soft lips on hers. His warm palms flatten on her lower back.
“Arabella,” his voice is husky.
“Daddy!” Chloe breaks the spell Corbin holds over Arabella.
“Come on.” Corbin gently guides Arabella into the room.
Numbly, Arabella puts one foot in front of the other. It’s been so long that she’s been blinded by desire. She can’t think. She can’t breathe. All she can feel is the closeness of Corbin’s gorgeous body beside hers and his expert hands guiding her back to the miniature tea set.
“Who wants cookies?” Chloe squeals as Arabella and Corbin sit opposite each other.
“I do!” They say at the same time.
“Jinx!” Chloe giggles. The group erupts in laughter at the silliness of the moment.
After several cookies and cups of invisible tea with many lumps of plastic sugar, Arabella says that she must go. Corbin tells Chloe no more cookies because he doesn’t want her to ruin her dinner. Chloe asks Arabella in a British accent to stay for dinner. Arabella declines. She says she must get home. Corbin insists on driving her home. She can’t think of an excuse to avoid sitting alone in his car with him. So, she hugs Chloe goodbye and says adiós to Luz.
Back in the four-car garage, Corbin grins mischievously at Arabella and says:
“Check this out.” With the dramatic flair of a magician, Corbin yanks the beige dust cover off of a car. A shiny black Rolls-Royce 12 EX appears. He takes a key fob off a hook near the door and presses a button. The car beeps. The doors rise like butterfly wings in a diagonal arc up to the ceiling, revealing all black leather interior.
“Butterfly doors. Impressive” Arabella waits for the doors to open completely.
“Hop in, Cat Woman.”
“Thanks, Batman.”
The two lean into each other in fits of laughter. Their eyes tear up. Arabella wonders if she’s delirious. She wonders if the strain of keeping her secret is driving her crazy. Her laughter turns to tears. The tears she’s been suppressing all afternoon are free-flowing. She can’t stop them. She’s embarrassed. She’s angry at herself. She doesn’t want him to see her cry.
“What’s wrong?” Corbin wraps his arms around her shaking body.
She leans her head into his strong shoulder and lets go. She cries so hard, she’s afraid that Chloe will hear her through the closed door. The unwelcomed sob shakes her body. Arabella is relieved and embarrassed and unmoored. The sobs set her adrift on a wave of sadness. She holds on to Corbin to keep from getting completely lost in her regret and grief and anguish. Breathing the clean scent of his laundered shirt and cologne, Arabella finds solace in his shoulder and arms that hold her.
“Arabella, what is it?”
She shakes her head. While she’s not the praying type, she prays to the powers-that-be for the strength to tell Corbin the truth. She sees that she must, or her guilt will destroy her. Sniffling, fighting to control the tears, Arabella sits up and looks straight into Corbin’s eyes.
“I have something to tell you.” She doesn’t want to be dramatic. But, she doesn’t want to blurt out the truth. She wants to tell him the whole story.
“Go on.” He pulls a white handkerchief with the initial C.T.G. in black printed on the corner. He wipes the tears from her face.
She fears that her makeup is a mess. She takes the handkerchief and dabs at her eyes, thankful for the water-resistant mascara she put on this morning. When she dabs her nose, trying to be ladylike, but failing when she blows her nose, she takes in Corbin’s masculine scent. She wants to keep the handkerchief pressed to her nose. But, she doesn’t want to look crazy or desperate. So, she wipes her nose and then grips the handkerchief in her right hand.
“When we were together…” She takes a long deep breath.
He nods in encouragement.
“I got pregnant.” She braces herself for a barrage of questions.
His green eyes shift to a hazel yellow. She wonders if the change in color indicates a change in emotion or just a shifting of the light.
“Valentine’s Day.” His voice sounds far away as if he’s back in that bedroom with her, agreeing to go without because neither one of them wants to stop having sex to go out to get condoms.
She nods her head.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She shakes her head.
All of her reasons sound inadequate. She was young. She was scared. She was scared of what he would say, what his parents would say, what his friends would say. She was scared of the tabloids labeling her a gold-digger, a delinquent, a hot mess.
How can she tell him that she didn’t want a shotgun wedding? That she didn’t want to live with any social stigma of single-motherhood? So she took on the decision by herself and kept the pregnancy a secret.
After what feels like an eternity of staring helplessly into Corbin’s eyes, Arabella says:
“I was scared.”
“Did you get an abortion?”
The lie, yes, is on the tip of her tongue. But she knows it’s too late to lie now. His honest hazel eyes exude sympathy. He wants to console her. He wants to help her.
Unable to fin
d the words, she shakes her head again.
“Did you miscarry?” He searches her tear-stained face for a sign, an indication of what happened all those years ago.
She shakes her head.
“Tell me. What happened?”
“I...went to the clinic...to take care of it—”
“Alone?” He runs his hands up and down her arms to comfort her.
“No. With Nora.”
“Why didn’t you ask me to go with you?”
She shakes her head.
She’s at a loss of words to explain why her twenty-one-year-old self took the actions she did. She wasn’t thinking straight. She was terrified.
She feels like she can’t tell Corbin any of this without sounding selfish or shallow.
“So, you got an abortion?”
Again, it would be so easy to say, yes. But she can’t.
“No.” Her voice comes out in a whisper.
“What did you do?” He searches her face for information.
For once, she is a blank slate. She is full of guilt and shame. She swallows, gathering up the courage to tell him. She grips the handkerchief in her hand and fingers his initials.
“I went away.”
“Where?”
“To our home in Greenwich.”
“You told your parents?”
“Only that I got pregnant accidentally. I didn’t tell them by who.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t want them calling your parents, scheduling a sit-down, and then arranging…” She can’t finish the sentence without sounding harsh.
“Our marriage.” He grunts. He stops rubbing her arms. His hands drop at his side. “Would that have been so bad?”
“I was twenty-one. You were twenty-five—”
“Old enough to raise a child.”
“Would you have wanted to get married?”
“If you’d given me the choice.” His jaw locks. His face muscles tense.
She thought he might become upset. She wasn’t prepared for his anger.
“I—”
“You what, Arabella? Made the decision for the both of us?” He runs his hands through his wavy hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”