by Fran Louise
He stilled. His features flinched marginally. After a moment, he came to his feet and paced away from me. He stood for a long time staring out at the activity in the square below us, while I sat in a kind of confused stupor. What was wrong with him now? Was he mad? Sad? Was he just savoring the moment, knowing he was having a son?
A smile lifted my mouth suddenly. It was like a touch of warmth cracking hard ice. A little boy ... I saw a dark-haired child with my serious blue eyes and Nathan’s indomitable optimism. Good God, we were having a boy!
“What the hell are you thinking, coming at me with something like that?”
His harsh words broke me out of the reverie like I’d received a slap. I stared at his black expression in surprise. I hadn’t even seen him turn around.
He brandished the piece of paper in front on me. “What else is on this list?” he asked. “Child support? Visitation rights?”
Off-guard and smarting from his attack, I just stared at first, shocked by the sight of his anger.
He threw the paper down on the table. “And what do I get? One summer every two years? One weekend a month?” Disgust, an emotion I’d never seen before in him, and certainly not directed at me, made his features hard and frightening. “How dare you come at me with this after all these years?”
It was like he had spat at me. A tremble started low in my stomach. “Nathan, come at you with what-?”
“Do you really believe I’ll waive any of my rights to this child?”
I felt my brain start to wake up from the shock, start to fight back. “Wait a minute-”
“No, you wait!” His voice almost snarled. He leaned his arms on the table. His glare forced me back in my seat. “I should have known. You’re a goddamn lawyer-”
“But I haven’t even-”
“If you think you can measure out my place in this child’s life, you’re wrong.” His voice was like stone grating against the jagged surface of my nerves. “I’m not even going to look at that-” He swore savagely. “-that pathetic list on a crummy piece of paper. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Did you think you could shove it under my nose, disguise it as some kind of shopping list and get your way?”
My heart was beating so fast I thought it might jump out of my chest altogether. His face was close, close enough that I could smell the heated scent of his skin. The safe, familiar scent was twisted, unrecognizable in the wake if his anger. I’d never have believed him capable of this type of rage before. He looked like he wanted to hit me. I clasped on to the table for support; my hand was shaking. I realized my whole body was shaking from the sheer shock.
“There’s nothing on it,” I managed, trying to force some answering anger in my voice.
He snatched the piece of paper up again. “We’ll see about that. I’ll give it directly to my lawyers.”
“Your lawyers?” I felt my stomach lurch.
His laugh was stinging in the icy air. “I don’t know how you have the gall to look so injured," he said, shaking his head. “You started this!”
I was genuinely galled. “You haven’t even looked at it-”
“I don’t need to look at it!” he cried. “I don’t care what’s on the goddamn list. If you can even question whether or not this child takes my name, then you’re further gone than I thought!”
Further gone ... gone where? I watched him stalk back over towards the square, his back rigid. What was he talking about? Why was he reacting like this, when I hadn’t even suggested not including his name on the birth certificate?
I stood up on tired legs. “Nathan-”
“I’ll get you a cab.”
“I don’t need a cab!” Approaching him, I stalled when he turned on me, his face a mask of hostility. I had to search his features just to remember who he was. “I didn’t suggest we leave your name off the birth certificate. I -” I swallowed, feeling nauseous again. “I only wanted to suggest we could add mine, too. Since we’re not married.”
“What do you mean: since we’re not married?” His words rapped against me abrasively.
“I have rights, too!” I felt some of my normal tenacity return. “You can’t just steamroller me like this, laying down the law and threatening me...” The tenacity didn’t last. The recent emotion started wearing on me again; it was like the aftermath of adrenaline pumping through my system. The nausea was joined by a distinct feeling of dizziness, but I frowned through it. “I can’t believe you just threatened me with lawyers! Of all the-”
“You just threatened to take my name from the birth certificate!” he countered hotly.
“I just explained what I meant by that! You – you’re jumping to conclusions, and you have no right to barge around like that, threatening me! I’ve never given you any reason…” My voice trailed off.
“Are you all right?”
I swallowed. Was I?
“You look really pale,” he said ominously.
My head spun. “I think I need to sit down.”
He was at my side in a second. One arm around my waist at the back and the other at the front, he sat me quickly and efficiently on the bench again. I leaned my head forward, feeling partly foolish and partly scared. My head was really spinning now. “It’s my blood sugar,” I managed, trying to dampen my anxiety.
He rummaged in his pocket, coming out with a candy bar. “I got this in the vending machine. I thought you might want it after the chips. Here-” He ripped it open, breaking a piece off. “-eat it. It’ll make you feel better.”
I took the piece of dark chocolate and popped it into my mouth. At first the nausea was worse, but as the chocolate melted and started to fill my stomach, I felt a slow return to balance inside my head. I breathed slowly. I realized I was gripping on to his arm. I loosened my hold gradually as sense returned. His arms made no move to unclasp my waist, and I didn’t complain. I just let the chocolate settle and kept my eyes closed, glad for the momentary lull in the storm. I wasn’t sure how long we sat like this.
“Do you feel better?” When he spoke eventually, I heard the thread of real anxiety in his low voice. I became aware of the welcome warmth of his body next to mine in the chill.
Cracking one eye open, I nodded.
He exhaled.
“It’s my blood sugar.” I said again, swallowing. “I usually carry an orange juice around with me. It helps if I drink something sweet until I can find food.”
“Do you need a doctor?” he asked.
“No. I’ll be fine.”
He exhaled, looked almost angry again. “You never told me about this,” he said, his tone accusing. “You need to eat.”
My stomach grumbled in agreement and I felt the baby kick. My son, kicking my stomach for food. Without thinking, I covered the spot where I’d felt the sensation, crooning. “I know, I know…” I said, “… we’ll get something to eat in a minute. You’re like a starving horse.”
When I looked up, Nathan was open-mouthed with silence. He was staring at my stomach with a kind of wonder on his face. A smile touched his mouth. “Was that him? Was he kicking?”
I sighed. “Not only does he want to eat every thirty minutes,” I said, “but he’s got your temperamental left leg. He can’t keep still.”
“He does?” Nathan looked at my tired expression for a moment and then back at my bump, laughing to himself. “Can I?” His hand went to my stomach before I could respond.
Our son kicked animatedly.
“Whoa!” As though he’d been burned, Nathan’s hand shot back. “My God, how can you stand that? Doesn’t it hurt?”
“A little. He keeps me awake at night, which is worse,” I said.
Nathan’s hand palmed my belly again. I experienced a sort of out of body sensation, far different from the dizziness earlier, as though I had split in two; on one hand, I was watching the father of my child make a first attempt at communication with his son, and on the other, I was being touched for the first time in a very long time by the only man I’d ever really loved. Th
e woman and the mother splintered away from each other until I couldn’t contain them both.
I touched his hand and moved it away. “I need to eat, Nathan,” I said, feeling exhausted.
He glanced at my face, searching my features. It was as though he didn’t recognize me for a moment. “Sure,” he said. A shutter closed over his eyes. “Come on. We’ll go to my place.” Coming off his haunches and straightening, regret lowered his tone. “We need to talk. We can’t have a scene like this every time we see each other.”
Halleluiah … that, I could agree with. However, right at that second I would have agreed with anything to get out of this freezing park and get some food.
“You can have whatever you want.”
His response some two hours later as we poured over the crumpled list was as casual as it was preposterous. Full and warm, I sat across from him on the sofa, my legs tucked up under myself. I’d called in to work in the end, cancelling my appointments, too tired to even think about making it to the office. Instead I was using the last of the day’s energy to barter with Nathan. I let my eyes wander across his dark features. I saw the same roguish charm that had dazzled me for half of my life, and yet he seemed so different in the dim light of this late winter afternoon. I’d seen how far he would go to protect his relationship with his son, how vicious he could be, even turning on me if threatened. I still felt shaken by the realization, and my gaze desperately tried to reconcile the two men in my eyes; the lover and the father.
Was any of this real? How could he have been so distant recently if it was?
I shook my head at him and focused on the present. “I don’t need a new apartment, Nathan.” I brushed my hair back, tired of trying to understand him.
“You said yourself you have nowhere for the crib,” he said.
“Not right now, “I countered, “but I’ll move a piece of furniture. I don’t need you to buy me a whole house to make room for a crib.”
He shook his head but looked down at the list again, on to the next item. I was starting to wish I’d never written the damn thing. He was throwing large amounts of money at every single detail to make it go away, his usual tactic. I let my eyes wander around our surroundings; we were in the front room of the brownstone, and I had to admit that the decorator had done a decent job. The place had really only been spruced up; it was a blank canvas in whites and creams, ready for someone to make it personal, make it a home. Nathan had purchased a minimal amount of furniture it was an assortment of wood and leather, all very classic and clean. I liked it, even if it still felt a little cold and unloved.
I wondered for a moment if I looked like this house from the outside with my neat dress and even expression. For a moment I felt like it. I spruced myself up with normalcy every morning, but inside I felt as bare as this empty family room.
“I don’t see why you can’t at least just stay here for the first few weeks after the baby’s born.” He frowned and changed tack. “You know, we need to think of names. I’m tired of calling him ‘the baby’ or ‘it’-”
“We finally have a pronoun, Nathan!” I said with a curt laugh. “Let’s just get used to using ‘him’ and ‘he’ for a while-”
“You’re not thinking about one of those old-fashioned New York names everyone’s using now, I hope. Like Terrence or Arthur-”
“Arthur Black?” I forgot my misery for a moment and laughed genuinely this time. “What do you mean, anyway?” My tone lowered to mimic his. “-‘old-fashioned New York names’?”
“Everyone I know in the last couple of years around here has named their kid some terrible turn-of-the-century name,” he responded. A dark smile warmed his features. “Edgar, or Franklin, or Edmond.” He shook his head. “Edmond Calhoun. I mean, that sounds like a prohibition gangster.”
“It’s a lot better that Harper Pearl,” I countered, referring to a recently named celebrity baby. “Or Willow. Every second baby born in L.A. in the last decade has been called Willow or Harper or Violet. I don’t see how that’s any different from Edmond or Franklin.” I sparked off his growing amusement. “Violet Calhoun: you see? It’s a match made in heaven.”
“No son of mine will be called Violet.”
I laughed aloud again, reveling in the sensation.
Watching me carefully for a moment, he said, “Do you really want your surname on the birth certificate, as part of his name?”
I stalled. Humor settling, I thought about his question as carefully as he’d asked it. The truth was, I wanted my son to have something from my side of the family, but I had no appetite to fight Nathan over this right now. There’d been enough fighting over this baby for one lifetime. I suspected he felt the same way. Part of me surmised that maybe he’d brought it up now because he was willing to concede on this point, perhaps by way of a peace offering.
So I considered it carefully. Taking a deep breath, I nodded. “Maybe his middle name. We don’t have to do the double-barreled thing.”
It was his turn to consider this. “Sure, we could do that.”
“Maybe we should think about first names. Then we can hear what it sounds like, all together.”
Nathan nodded again. “Okay,” he said.
Lord, he was being accommodating! I frowned at his even expression. After the crazy scene earlier today, on top of the equally crazy scene the last time we’d met, this acquiescence was suspicious.
His arm was resting across the back of the sofa. He leaned forward slowly, and it required no extra effort for his hand to touch my face. His thumb grazed my cheek. “I’m sorry about earlier, Chloe. I feel like a complete bastard for making you ill.”
I shrugged my shoulders. There was a cascade of delicious sensation tearing down my body at his touch, and the movement helped assuage it to some degree. “You didn’t, I was just hungry.” I felt a slight tension in my lungs, as though I’d been running.
“I promised I’d take care of you. Support you. Both.” His expression was truly repentant now. “I haven’t been doing a very good job of that.”
I swallowed. No, he’d been on the other side of the planet, probably with another woman in tow to keep him company. Not that I needed him to take care of me. The sensation of that hand, though ... it was dissolving the very last vestige of resistance I had in my tired body.
I said, “Don’t worry about it, Nathan-”
“If you needed something, would you tell me?” he cut in.
I focused on him. It required a massive effort to hide the sudden longing his touch was evoking. I was melting with it. My eyes took in his features in a helpless tour; the dark lashes over his downturned eyes; the firm lips that I so loved the taste of; the way his dark hair glinted in the fading light. He was working his jaw with tension, his gaze following where his thumb was still gently stroking my skin. He looked good enough to take a bite out of. I’d never wanted to move into his arms more than I did right now. It felt like it would be easy, as though gravity was dragging my in that direction anyway. I was literally migrating towards him. His upper body was moving towards me, too, wasn’t it? His face seemed suddenly very close, close enough to touch.
I’d regretted denying myself more than once before. I loved him; surely it wasn’t wrong to want to show him that, to share that with him? Sure, we weren’t in a relationship, but we were having a baby. The depth of intimacy in his eyes, the fierce possessiveness, was mesmerizing.
I felt his cool breath fanning my heated skin. “Would you?”
The question came at me randomly; I’d forgotten what he’d asked me in the first place. I frowned, wishing he’d just kiss me. Maybe I should kiss him, bury the topic of conversation, whatever it was. We’d covered most of the points on the list and we weren’t getting anywhere with the rest, not today.
I wanted him. I was tired of denying it. My body was literally aching all over with desire. My muscles were sore, my breasts heavy and tender. I desperately wanted his hands on me, easing out the pain and replacing it with the sweet ach
e of searing pleasure instead. I touched his thigh tentatively. “Would I what?”
He smiled. His breath eased across my skin. He was close enough to kiss me now without breaking his stride at all. He was also clearly amused, and intrigued, by my sudden change in mood. “Would you ask me if you needed something?” he persisted, though his tone was lower now.
“Yes.” I responded without hesitation. We both knew what I needed by this stage.
His smile deepened. “And?”
I grazed his lips with my mouth, stabbed by a dagger of bliss when his tongue slid inside.
Chapter Eight
The kiss deepened slowly and lingeringly. His fingers laced through the hair at the nape of my neck, inadvertently dragging against the loosely held bun. Each jagged tug of my hair follicles sent a shot of tingling arousal down through my body. I was intoxicated by his scent. I moaned and dragged my hands along his firm thighs, kneading the muscles there, edging closer towards the part of his body I so desperately wanted inside of me again. It had been too long. I leaned into him, falling slightly to one side so that I rested against his lap. He took my weight easily, his hand travelling up the length of my legs, trailing under my dress and pausing when they discovered the lacy edges of my stockings. A guttural noise emanated from the back of his throat, like a stifled groan.
I sat up, letting my body rest on his lap. My mouth moved against his, tasting, dipping into the sweet recesses of his mouth with my tongue. I held his face in my hands; the coarse edge of his stubble tickled my fingers, at odds with the silken smoothness of his hair. I allowed his hands free rein to explore further, past the lace and towards the rounded softness of my bottom. His fingers slipped under my panties, stroking and kneading, pulling me into him. I felt the strain of his erection at the junction of my thighs, and like a switch had been flicked, arousal pooled in my lower body.
“Is it safe?”
His words, uttered against my lips, gave me pause. I took a moment to assimilate them. “For the baby?” I swallowed. “Yes. As long as we’re not too...” A smile gripped me.