by Kate Stacy
“Yeah, of course.”
He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys I recognize as my own. Spinning them around his finger he asks, “You driving, or am I?”
I shrug. “I’ll let you.”
I’m not sure I could concentrate on the road right now. I’m a mess.
When we make it to my car, he unlocks the doors, opening the passenger side and closing the door once I’m settled inside. I watch him move around to the driver side, wondering how he’s so calm and confident. It’s taking all I’ve got not to completely freak out.
Once he’s in and has the car running, he turns to me.
“My truck is parked at the police station, so I’m gonna head there. I was wondering if you’d mind stopping somewhere along the way. Maybe we could talk a little before we go our separate ways for the night?”
His eyes drop to my stomach when he mentions wanting to talk.
“Honestly, Ryan? I know we need to talk. It’s important that we do, but I’m tired. Exhausted, really. I wasn’t using that as an excuse to get away from my brother. It’s been a long, stressful, and emotional day and I’m not sure how much more I can take.” I meet his eyes, hoping he can see the truth in my words. “We can talk on the way—get some things out in the open—but I really want to get home soon to rest.”
Something passes over his face when I say the last part, but it’s too quick and too subtle for me to figure out what it is before it disappears.
“Sure. I get it.” He nods, running his thumb across his bottom lip. “I just wanna ask one question before we go. Because...I need to be able to look at you when I ask.”
I already know the question. I wait expectantly for him to voice the words.
“Is the baby mine?”
My eyes glisten, but neither my gaze, nor my voice waver when I answer, “Yes.”
His eyes close. He’s quiet. Momentarily stunned.
It gives me just enough time to wonder what he’s thinking.
“Wow,” he whispers, mostly to himself, I think.
“Wow. Okay.” His eyes open and he smiles. “I thought it might be possible, but I wasn’t sure...shit. No. I don’t...I didn’t mean to imply anything about you. At all. I just...I mean…”
Giggling, I rest my hand on his thigh. This is the first time I’ve seen even the slightest bit of nervousness from him.
“It’s okay, Ryan. You have every right to ask. I’ve had some time to let this all sink in, and there’s still moments when I get overwhelmed, or when I wonder if it’s really true.”
Realizing my hand is still on his leg, I start to pull it away, but he moves his hand over mine, giving it a gentle squeeze before entwining our fingers together.
“I um...I haven’t been with anyone else, but I won’t be offended if you want a paternity test.”
“I’m sorry, truly. I didn’t mean anything by asking. I’m surprised, that’s all. I know condoms aren’t one-hundred percent effective, but…”
“Yeah, neither is birth control. Or a combination of the two, apparently,” I mutter.
“Jesus. Are you serious?”
“Yep. This baby really wanted to exist.”
We both laugh, because what else can we do?
This entire situation is almost unbelievable.
Ryan gives my hand another soft squeeze, releasing it to put the car in gear.
“We can worry about that another time.”
We talk as he drives. He glances over at me occasionally while I tell him about finding out about the pregnancy, and everything that followed. The morning sickness. The worry over telling my family. The stress of not knowing who he was, and how I might have eventually had to tell my child I didn’t know who his or her father is because I stupidly never got a name.
He tells me how he watched for me around town, hoping to run into me, or catch a glimpse of me somewhere. I’m amused to no end when he tells me about his trip to the bakery, where he mistook Madalyn for me. His surprise to find out that I’m one of three.
The drive to the station is short, but we’ve covered the basics.
There isn’t time for much more than that tonight, but it’s a start.
Ryan insists he wants to be involved in every aspect. I’m not sure why it came as a surprise to me, but it was a pleasant one. I’m thankful he wants to be a part of this baby’s life. More than that, he says he wants to be a part of mine as well.
I don’t know how to feel about—or what to do with—that information yet.
My focus right now is on our baby.
Leaving Ryan at the police station, I head home for the night.
I have his name, his phone number, and a promise to get together soon.
That’s enough for now.
TWELVE
Ryan
A woman lazily appraises me from head to toe as I hold the door at the restaurant. She makes no attempt to hide her blatant ogling, and she follows it up with a wink and a suggestive smile.
The woman is old enough to be my grandmother, but still, I fuckin’ blush.
Amused, I smirk and give her a polite nod. “Ma’am.”
Cheeky woman.
Chuckling to myself, I make my way inside and look around for Camille.
She’s not here yet because I’m early, which was exactly my intention.
Days after we parted ways at the police station, she finally called and asked me to meet her here for lunch. I’ll admit, I was relieved to hear from her. I’d started to wonder if maybe I was going to have to track her down. I could tell from our short conversation after leaving the hospital that she was more than a little overwhelmed, so I gave her some time and space. “Some” turned to days, and my patience started growing a little thin.
It would have been much easier to track her down this time, but thankfully it wasn’t necessary.
The sign just inside the door says to seat yourself, so I do, choosing a table toward the back to give us at least some measure of privacy. I sit facing the door, wanting to see Camille when she arrives. While I wait for a waitress to come by, I snag a menu from the holder in the center of the table.
Once I’ve decided what I want to order, I replace the laminated menu, laughing to myself about the name of this place. I’ve heard numerous people mention “the diner” and I always thought they were referring to it as a generalized type of restaurant, or maybe calling it that because they’re locals. But no, the name of this establishment is literally, The Diner.
A waitress comes by the table, introduces herself as Mandy, and leaves after I let her know I’m waiting for someone to join me. Checking the time on my phone, I see I still have about ten minutes before Camille gets here.
I spend the time looking around the diner. Like most of the small businesses along Main Street, it has a down-home, laid-back country vibe. All wood and earthy colors, it’s a place with southern charm meant to comfort and relax. It’s the small details that really make it special. The mason jar centerpieces filled with fresh wildflowers. What appears to be local art and photography on the walls.
One particular picture catches my eye, but before I can look too closely, the bell above the door rings. I don’t have to look to know it’s her, but I do anyways. I can’t not look at her. She’s beautiful.
Her long, honey brown hair flows down her back in loose curls. It’s her natural color—I know from seeing her sisters—and it’s pretty, but I find myself missing the dark, midnight blue from the night we met. Her face is devoid of makeup, and even though she’s got the pregnancy glow everyone talks about, she’s exhausted and it shows.
I stand as she nears the table, but my eyes continue to take in every possible detail. Her top flows loosely over her torso but does nothing to hide the slight swell of her stomach. I want to take in the rest of the curves I remember so fondly from our night together, but my gaze locks momentarily on her belly. Something primal rises within me, something possessive. Know
ing she’s pregnant, knowing that it’s my baby growing in her belly—it turns me on like nothing else.
Moving to her side of the table, I pull out the chair for her, pushing it in once she’s seated.
“I hope you weren’t waiting long,” she says as I take my seat.
“Not at all. How are you feeling?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“I’ve had better days. Morning sickness is no joke.”
We make small talk until we’ve both placed our orders. Once Mandy brings us our drinks, Camille swiftly changes topics, but I can’t believe the words that are coming out of her mouth.
I thought we were meeting to talk about the baby, get to know each other better, maybe decide where to go from here, hell...anything but this. We haven’t even gotten our food yet and I already want to leave. This is not the place to have this conversation.
We weren’t able to talk too much the other night, but I thought I’d made it perfectly clear that I’m a man more than ready to take responsibility for the life I helped create. Circumstances be damned, that’s my child and I’ll do whatever I need to do to make sure both mama and baby are taken care of.
Somehow, that message must have gotten lost in translation along the way because Camille doesn’t seem to get it.
I’m all in.
“Repeat what you just said,” I calmly demand.
She lowers her gaze, fidgeting with the cutlery on the table.
“I don’t...you weren’t listening?” Her eyes flit to mine, and she has the nerve to look affronted, like I offended her by not listening to the shit she’s spouting.
“Oh no, sweetheart. I was listening. But I swear I must have heard you wrong because it sounded like you just told me it would be all right for me to walk away from this.”
“I mean...I made the choice to keep this baby knowing that finding you would be unlikely. I went into this expecting to have to do it on my own. I came to terms—”
“Yeah, no. I’m gonna stop you right there. That doesn’t work for me.” I don’t mean them to, but the words come out harsh.
I take a minute to think back over our short talk the other night, trying to remember whether something I said would make her think I don’t want to be involved. I can’t remember anything specific. Nothing negative. I haven’t the slightest clue what brought this on, but I need to nip this shit in the bud right now.
There are numerous guys out there who would walk away without an inkling of remorse. Deadbeats who don’t take care of the lives they help create. Assholes who would do anything to try to convince a woman to get an abortion rather than even attempt to step up and take responsibility. Men who lie and deny a child even being theirs.
I’m not that guy. Will never be that guy.
I don’t know who she’s dealt with in the past, but I wasn’t raised that way.
I could never even think about walking away from a child of mine.
“Ryan, I’m sorry. I was just trying—”
She wipes the tears from her cheeks, and I feel like an asshole for making her cry.
Taking her hand in mine, I brush my thumb across her knuckles and lean in closer to her.
“You’re trying to give me an out.”
She nods, opening her mouth to speak, but I’m not finished.
“You gotta know, baby...I don’t want an out.” I lean forward, keeping my voice low and even. I need to make sure she hears me, to make sure she understands. “You didn’t get pregnant by yourself. You may have prepared to do it on your own, but you don’t have to. We’re in this together. I’m here—for you and the baby. Whatever you need. Neither of us expected this to happen, but I’m not unhappy about it.”
Once again, I wish we were having this conversation somewhere private. Camille is openly crying now. People are starting to whisper. Suddenly, it feels like the two of us have become an exhibit at a zoo, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“You really shouldn’t thank me for doing the right thing. Besides,” I say, trying to lighten the mood, “I might be thirty years old, but my mom would hand me my ass if I even tried to skirt my responsibilities.”
My words have their intended effect. Camille laughs, and thankfully lets go of the idea of me walking away.
I’m in this with her, one hundred percent.
And the bit about my mom...I may have used it to lighten the mood, but I wasn’t kidding.
Julia Alexander-Walls is a saint.
She raised me on her own from the time I was ten years old. My father wasn’t a deadbeat or a loser, he was a decorated police officer who was killed in the line of duty. It was hard, growing up without him, but I wanted for nothing because my mom did everything she could to ensure I had a good life. She instilled in me good morals, and a strong sense of right and wrong. I never went without love, encouragement, and support, even when she wasn’t exactly thrilled with my choices.
I have mad respect for my mom, for any single mom.
But Camille doesn’t have to be a single mom. Not only do I want this baby, but I want her. It’s a matter of getting us on the same page.
We have so much to talk about, so much to learn about each other.
Wanting to be closer to her while we talk, I move around the table to the chair next to hers.
“We’ve got time to get to know each other and figure out how everything’s going to work, but we will make this work, Camille.”
Nodding, she leans into me. I’m more than happy to provide her with any form of comfort she needs, so I wrap my arm around her.
I don’t immediately release her when Mandy comes to the table with our food. I like how good she feels tucked into my side.
“Here you go,” Mandy says. “Can I get y’all anything else?”
I look at Camille to see if she needs anything, but she’s looking a little green.
“You okay?” I ask Camille quietly.
She glances at me, then at the food.
“No...I…” She covers her mouth, quickly pulling herself away from me. She darts toward the restrooms and I stand to follow.
“Could you box this up and bring the check, please?” I ask Mandy.
“Of course.”
I barely wait for her response before making my way to the door to the women’s room.
Cracking it open, I can hear her retching.
“Anyone else in here?” I wait for a response, but there is none.
I enter the bathroom, easily finding Camille on her knees in one of the stalls. I move behind her and squat down, pulling her hair back away from her face as I whisper words of comfort.
She stops heaving long enough to tell me I can’t be in here, but immediately starts again.
“I’m where I need to be, sweetheart. Not really giving a fuck about the rules right now.”
Once she’s finished, I help her stand. I remain close to her as she cleans herself up and we exit the bathroom together.
Mandy waits by the table with a sympathetic smile. Pulling some bills from my wallet, I exchange the money for the bag with our meals. I nod my thanks, wrap my arm around Camille, and guide her out of the diner.
“Let’s get you home.”
THIRTEEN
Camille
My head is a mess.
I was honest with Ryan when we spoke. I’ve come to terms with this pregnancy, with having a baby that wasn’t planned. Once the initial shock passed, I accepted the pregnancy and started feeling happy about it, excited even. I’ve always wanted to be a mother. Of course, I never expected it to happen quite like this, but I wouldn’t change it even if I could. I want this baby, more than anything.
Now that Ryan is in the picture, I need to process what it means for me, for our baby.
The night we left the hospital, Ryan told me he wants to be involved. He reaffirmed his decision the other day at the diner when I offered him an out. I felt like an absolute bitch f
or telling him that I expected nothing from him, but I had to put it out there. I had to know for sure. Being involved in the baby’s life has to be his choice. Neither of us asked for this and I refuse to make him feel trapped.
I’m thrilled he wants to be involved. A child deserves to have both parents in their life.
The only thing I’m concerned about now are his comments about wanting to be there for me. He makes it seem like he wants to be with me. I’m not sure I can trust it. Does he really want me? Or does he want to make things work because I’m pregnant with his baby? We don’t have to be together for him to remain involved. I could never dream of keeping my child away from his or her father, especially not when he seems like such a good guy.
Trust doesn’t come easy for me, and I’m struggling to trust his motives. I’m attracted to Ryan. There’s no denying that. I’m just not sure if he’s interested in me for the right reasons, and let’s face it, this wouldn’t be the first time a guy has wanted me for the wrong ones. I want to believe he’s the good guy he seems to be, but I’m not always the best judge of character. My first and only relationship ended horribly. It left me with trust issues, a lack of confidence and internal scars that I’m not sure will ever heal.
Nothing has to be decided now. I have time to get to know him.
These thoughts follow me through the grocery store after a long day at the salon. I’m exhausted, almost dead on my feet, but I need to grab a few essentials before I head home for the day. Despite my morning sickness, and overall fatigue, I’m still working a full schedule of clients each day. I make a decent living, but I have a baby to think about now. I know I’ll have to cut back my hours at some point, and eventually take maternity leave, but I’ll work as much as my body can handle until then. Ryan and I have barely touched the topic of his involvement. We’ve not come anywhere close to talking about the financial aspect of support.
It seems my thoughts never stray far from him lately, and as if conjured by those thoughts, I see him in front of me as he disappears down an aisle. Unable to resist his draw, I move toward the spot where he disappeared, but when I reach it and realize which aisle it is, I stop in my tracks.