Her Christmas Future

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “You aren’t walking back in, either.”

  Not sure if she’d been making an observation or a definitive statement, he shook his head. “Truth be told, I have no idea what I’m doing. Struggling, that’s what I’m doing.” He glanced at her, his gaze serious and solid. “But I am not walking away. I will be financially responsible for our child starting now. I want to be involved in the process, however much I can be. See...this is what I mean. I have no idea what having a child by surrogacy even entails, in terms of the actual process. I’m assuming there were legalities worked out before the implantation took place.”

  For a second, he felt a bit like himself, as his brain kicked in and thought of the practical conditions of the moment they were in. He listened as Olivia explained the process, the documents that had been signed. Looked at them on his phone as Olivia sent copies of them from her cell to his. He asked questions. About the embryo transfer process. About Beth and her family.

  “I need to meet her. Obviously, since you’re going to be in touch with her, visiting with her, it would be appropriate for me to be involved.”

  Olivia’s frown was swift and clear.

  “I have rights, too,” he said. Obligations, more like it. He knew he was a good, responsible man.

  “I’m not arguing that,” she told him, still sitting on that hard marble, her hands stuffed between her lower thighs, as though they were holding them tightly. “But we need to talk about all of this...”

  “That’s what we’re doing. Talking.”

  “You’re acting like we’re in this together. As a couple.”

  “That’s how we made a child,” he said. “Together. As a couple.”

  “A couple for a night, not a lifetime.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that. Wasn’t ready to go down that road.

  “Just to be clear, I’m not looking for us to get back together,” she told him before he could even wrap his mind around where they went next. They’d made a baby together. They had to provide for it together. That’s what he knew. Where he sat.

  “A week ago you were at my house, saying we were never going to see each other again,” she reminded him. And those bindings tightened another notch as he imagined how that visit must have affected her, him saying that while she was waiting to see if her embryo had survived implantation. She hadn’t given him a clue how she’d been suffering.

  And that bothered him, too.

  “I didn’t know a week ago that we possibly had a child on the way,” he said, for want of anything better.

  Olivia stood. She didn’t come closer, just stood. Either her butt was going to sleep on the marble, the cold and discomfort getting to her, or she was telling him quite clearly that she wasn’t taking any argument from him sitting down.

  “The reasons you gave were valid,” she told him. “We don’t fit. We’re in two different places in our lives. Our goals, but even more important, our needs, are different. A baby doesn’t change any of that. And couples trying to make it work because of a child are clichéd disasters for a reason. It doesn’t work.”

  For the first time since the conversation had started, he regained a semblance of being somewhat in control of his life. He knew a hint of relief. Because she was letting him off the hook. But he was still going to hold on to the responsibility. For no reason he could decipher at the moment. Just good to be holding on.

  He studied her as she moved to the sofa. Settled into the corner, slipping off her flats, to bring her legs up, her feet tucked up as she used to do when she watched television.

  “I wasn’t going to propose,” he said. But only because he hadn’t gotten that far. He probably would have reached that point. If she’d given him another hour or so. It was the right thing to do. “But I don’t think we should take remarriage off the table, either.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t leave it there, Martin. I’ve got a life to build here and I need it on a solid foundation.”

  “So we’ll put it on a shelf...way up high...” He pointed over the top of the entertainment center, to the plant shelf built just below the ceiling. He had no idea why he was pushing her on it. She was right. Marriage wasn’t for them.

  But it seemed easier to talk about than the rest of it. Easier to tackle.

  Which didn’t mean a heck of a lot.

  He was finding it easier to tackle something that was already doomed—their failed romance—than to come to terms with the idea of a new life entering the world. One with the power to destroy them, as Lily’s loss had. He was a good dad to her. Thought of her every day. Visited her regularly. Never forgot. But she took everything he had to give in the dad department.

  What did that say about him?

  Martin was pretty sure he didn’t want to know.

  * * *

  She had to get out of there. The topic at hand was the embryo they’d made, but Martin was making it about them.

  “This isn’t about us,” she said when he seemed to be waiting for a response to his up-high-shelf comment. He was just sitting there, and she honestly had no clue what he was thinking.

  She had come into the meeting unsure of him or what his reaction might be. Ten years ago, he’d have been ecstatic. Nine years ago, even. He’d wanted to search for alternative options for starting their family after Lily died. Her refusal to even consider parenting again had been one of the nails in their coffin.

  But he was a different man now. With a completely different life.

  She’d called Christine on the way from lunch to LA. Christine already knew the test results, but Olivia had needed to share them with her, anyway. Christine had wanted to know all about how Olivia was doing, assuring her the conglomeration of feelings coming at her was completely normal. And she’d warned her against going straight to Martin with her emotions so raw. Warned her that his reaction would almost certainly be vastly different from what it had been ten years before. Warned her to remember how much had changed between them individually, as well.

  Still...to have him just be so calm, like it was no big deal...

  “This is about the baby,” she continued when her previous comment elicited no response. Maybe she should go. She uncurled her legs. She’d called Sylvia on the way to LA, too, to let her know the results. Sylvia had been beside herself joyful to know they were going to have a baby in the family, that she was going to be a grandma. And she warned Olivia about going straight to Martin like he was still her husband. Her partner.

  What struck her as she’d hung up was that Sylvia was going to be a grandparent, was ready to be one—ready to babysit, but not have the responsibility of raising a child. Meanwhile, Martin, who was in his forties, as well, just a few years younger, was the parent.

  “I just thought you had a right to know what was going on,” she said when the silence got too uncomfortable to sit with any longer. “It’s not like there’s anything for either of us to do at the moment. We need to get through the first trimester first.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s a ten to twenty-five percent chance that Beth will miscarry.” She was living with the facts right in her face this time. No fairy tales or dreams of some nebulous perfect world.

  “That’s what they said when you were pregnant with Lily.”

  She was surprised that he remembered. Surprised that he’d mentioned their daughter right then. Lily’s existence, their differences in handling the aftermath, had become an elephant in the room long ago. They’d both loved and lost. Neither of them forgot. They shared the loss. They just hadn’t been able to share the grief.

  He was probably right to mention her, though. With a new life to think about, they were going to have to work through their past.

  “It’s about the same with implantation as it is with natural conception. My thought is that our chances might be a tad better than normal in vitro because the embryo f
ormed naturally inside me, but that’s only theory. Not in any way backed by scientific information.”

  He nodded. Just sat there and moved his head, when she needed to move around. Keep busy. Maybe jump up and down for a second or two.

  And bury her head, too.

  Her embryo had implanted! It was alive. Being nurtured!

  And yet so much could go wrong in the next eight and a half months.

  “As long as we get to twenty-four weeks, it will be viable,” she said. In extreme cases a baby born earlier than that could live, but quality of life would likely be a major issue if it did.

  Martin glanced from the floor to her, his gaze warmer. “You going to be okay with this?”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s okay if you aren’t,” he told her. “After what we went through with Lily...”

  She held up a hand. They could acknowledge it, but she couldn’t handle a full-length rerun at the moment.

  “You weren’t a neonatologist back then and it was still hard. I can’t imagine, with all you know now, all you see every day...specializing in working with babies that are born with things having gone wrong in the womb. Or at birth...”

  He’d hit that nail on the head. “I know,” she told him, giving him the first completely natural look that day. Letting him see the tumultuous emotions she was trying to contain. “Believe me, I know. I’m scared to death.”

  It felt good to be honest.

  Most especially because she knew he really understood.

  “It’s probably going to be overwhelming at times.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Will you at least think about calling me when it happens? I failed you in the past, Liv, but this I know I can do well. I can listen. I can understand. And I can talk you down.”

  Because he was better able to see the bright side than she’d ever been. She hadn’t grown up in a solid cocoon of security. Hadn’t had that safe place from which to learn about the world. Though her grandmother had loved her hugely, been good to her, she’d also raised her to see reality, consequences, in everything. She’d failed to protect her own daughter from mistakes and she’d tried to make darn certain she didn’t fail Olivia.

  She nodded.

  “I don’t know how to handle this,” he said then. “I know I can support you, financially and in other ways, too. I want to be kept apprised every step of the way. I want to be there for you.”

  Finally.

  It was like Martin had just entered the room.

  “I want that, too,” she said. Though she was being so careful not to build expectations.

  “But I don’t feel like I’m ready to be a father, Liv. Not anymore. I don’t see myself in that role. It’s like telling me I have to go back to college and get the degree I’ve already earned and am no longer qualified to use.” He swallowed but didn’t look away this time.

  She saw a sheen of moisture in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in years.

  It was almost as though they’d stepped back in time. Good people who cared about one another but were at odds at their core. One ready. One not. Except that their roles had now reversed.

  If their fetus grew into a baby, was born into the world, she was completely certain she was going to take up the role of parent with every fiber of her being.

  He said he wasn’t able to see himself doing that.

  “I’m not asking you to be a father.” How could words, expressing something she’d already decided, hurt so badly? “As I told you, I went into this knowing full well that I was doing so as a single mother. I had the papers drawn up in my name only. I didn’t name you as the father. I’m the only one who signed them. They’ve been notarized and filed. All legal means were taken to keep you out of it.”

  He could petition the courts for DNA samples after the baby was born, have his rights instated. But she wasn’t going to compel him to do so.

  “That’s not right, either. I am as much responsible for this as you are.”

  “A baby needs love, Martin, not a sense of obligation.”

  He frowned. “What? You think I won’t have feelings for the child? That I wouldn’t love my own kid?”

  He blinked. Sat back.

  “It’s not the love,” he finally said. “Of course I’m going to love it.” He shook his head. “I love you, but that didn’t make our life together successful. Didn’t mean we were good, or even healthy, at being together. It wasn’t for the best.”

  “I know.”

  He didn’t speak for a long time. She didn’t know what to say. As the silence continued, and minutes were passing, she figured she should just go. But sat there, anyway.

  Because she couldn’t just get up and walk out on him. And leave him alone like that.

  She’d had thirteen days to process. And the whole time she’d had the possibility that the implantation wouldn’t take—the knowledge that she might have nothing to deal with.

  He’d had an hour to process. And he had a done deal.

  “I’d like my name to be added to the legal agreement.” He tapped his fingers on the chair, looking over at her. “I don’t know if that’s possible, or how it works, with the paperwork already being filed. I’ll check with Robert...”

  His personal lawyer. A college friend. The man who’d handled their divorce.

  “I think we can just add an amendment,” she said. “There’s specific surrogate law so that all parties are protected. Regardless, I’ll have my attorney look into it. If nothing else, you have the option of completing a DNA test when the baby is born and those results will allow you all rights of fatherhood.”

  “I don’t want to wait until then. What if, God forbid, something was to happen to you before then?”

  Her chest muscles relaxed, allowing a bit of tension to ease out of her.

  Martin might not be husband material. He might not even be father material.

  But he was going to have her back.

  And the baby’s, too.

  “I’ll call my lawyer in the morning and see what we have to do to get you added to the paperwork.” She wasn’t opposed to the idea. Just hadn’t wanted him to feel pressured, or as though she was forcing something on him. She’d been prepared to go solo.

  And felt a tiny stirring of happy inside her. The fetus was alive. If all progressed well, she was going to have a baby! And Martin was going to participate.

  He not only wasn’t out of her life for good, as she’d feared he would be. To the contrary, it sounded as though he would be in it for good.

  She smiled. He stood up.

  Her cue to get going, she figured.

  With her purse on her shoulder she followed him through the opulent space to his front door, noting that it wasn’t at all babyproof.

  But then, there was no reason for the baby to ever be there. Martin was taking on responsibility. He wasn’t taking on fatherhood.

  Not at all sure how that would define itself, she knew the distinction was important. And one to which she must adhere.

  At the door he turned, faced her. She moved toward him naturally to slide into his arms. Not to kiss or get sexual—they didn’t always have to be on each other’s bones—but until the other night at her place, they’d always hugged goodbye.

  His expression changed...went from someone she knew to a stranger. She stepped sideways. He opened the door, and she walked through it.

  A rehearsal for their new normal.

  Chapter Eleven

  Martin went to dinner with Danny. Asked about his friend’s kids and paid much closer attention to the answers. He didn’t share the news Olivia had handed him that afternoon. Before he went to bed that night he handwrote and signed an addendum to his trust, naming the baby that a woman named Beth was carrying for Olivia Wainwright as his heir, with Olivia as the executor, and texted his attorney to
let him know where it was.

  On Friday morning, he was already waiting outside his lawyer’s office by the time the man arrived. And had put in motion the paperwork necessary to get himself named on the surrogacy agreement, the birth certificate, and to add the baby officially as the heir to his trust, instructing his lawyer to work with Olivia’s. The two had worked together on more than one occasion to deal with financial holdings that Martin and Olivia still shared. The rest of that day he spent in his office, losing himself in work and, in doing so, finding himself again.

  He’d come up for air, think about Olivia. About the night they’d spent. About the idea of a new life in the world. Each time, he was driven to do something. To get up and go take care of it. And then would realize there was nothing for him to do but get back to work.

  He had a gala that night—an awards banquet he was cosponsoring for professional athletes who were involved with programs for at-risk kids in their communities—and had invited Victoria Allen, the lawyer he’d met two weeks before, to accompany him.

  The plan had been to spend some time with her, to see if anything sparked between them, but as hard as he tried, he couldn’t focus on her that night. He suspected she realized, hoped she didn’t, or that she’d put his preoccupation down to business matters, and dropped her off with a brief good-night kiss at her door.

  Olivia had been out of his life for good when he’d issued the invitation.

  Now she was bringing his baby into the world.

  It wasn’t even ten o’clock yet and he thought about stopping for a drink on his way home. Passed on the option. Passed the freeway entrance, too, and was tempted to drive down to Marie Cove. To get things cleared up with Olivia.

  Maybe just to see her.

  When he realized he was falling back into the trap of putting her first, he decided against that option, as well.

  For all he knew she was on call. Or on a date.

  Because he really knew very little about her daily life and regular activities. For the sake of his own mental health he’d quit asking.