Edward: BBW (Members From Money Book 17)

by Katie Dowe

  “You should have found another way to prevent it. It’s unfair I have to ruin my sexual experience every time by wearing a condom when there’s far more methods available to women. I mean, why didn’t you check up to see if there was another pill available? Or got one of those implants?”

  “Are you serious? It’s not just my responsibility to not get pregnant. It’s yours, too.”

  “I don’t understand why you didn’t get an abortion when I asked. I told you I wasn’t ready.”

  “And I told you I didn’t want an abortion, even though I wasn’t sure I was ready, either.”

  Peter made a sound, as if he was gnashing his teeth together. “Look, you stupid bitch. You put me into an awkward situation. It took me a while to accept it, and that’s only fair, because this affects my life, you know. But I will look after the baby. But only if you’re with me. I’m not going to pay any benefits or anything to a child I don’t want. But I don’t mind if we are together. That’s just how it is. It’s your fault you didn’t want the abortion, and your fault you don’t want to stay with a guy who will protect you. I’m sorry you can’t see that.”

  “You know what? Fuck off. Don’t call me again.” Aleshia hung up. Peter, as usual, disrespected her wish and kept constantly calling her, so she turned her phone off to avoid the spam, as the other adults in the room erupted into indignant tirades.

  “I’m sorry ‘you’ don’t get me. I’m sorry ‘you,’ don’t realize how much I care. You see exactly what he’s doing there. That man is guilt tripping you to the max. He’s not sorry for anything!” Kiara interlocked her fingers. “He’s basically saying it’s your fault you don’t get him.” Kiara seemed flabbergasted by Peter’s audacity.

  “What do you think, hun?” Vaneese crooned to her husband, who was aggressively stroking his mustache.

  “I think he’s a psychopath,” Dijon said. “Those are manipulation tactics he’s giving you, right there. He’s mad you got away. He’s trying to restore his pride. That’s my two cents on the matter.”

  “I honestly thought you guys were kidding,” Kiara said. “I thought to myself, ‘that can’t be true, no one can be that obvious.’ Look how mistaken I was.” Her deep voice broke into a chuckle.

  “Well, there you have it. My ex, ladies and gentlemen.” Aleshia smiled thinly. “I would toast to it, but someone doesn’t want me to drink…”

  “If you want that baby to end up as retarded as your ex, you can keep drinking if you want,” Vaneese said. “I’ll be judging you the whole way, though.”

  Mood bolstered, Aleshia smiled with genuine warmth. “Thanks guys. If I’d been by myself, I probably would have been crying my eyes out. Instead I was struggling to not laugh.”

  “How do you feel?” Kiara asked. “I know we did force you into taking the call. You have every right to feel put out for that.”

  “I am. A little. But I understand. And it helped.” Aleshia shrugged. “I just… it gets to me.”

  “Block him,” Vaneese said. “Now.”

  Again, Aleshia hesitated at the idea of committing to such a notion. “I know that would be the wiser option. But I can’t help but think you know, of my baby wondering about who her father is. And that it’s unfair to deny him the chance to be a father, if he changes his mind.”

  Kiara shook her head sadly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Maybe he will change, maybe he won’t. But from where I’m sitting, I think you’ll be better off cutting him from your life. A child will suffer with a father like that.”

  “Fuck sake…” Aleshia held her head in her hands. “I shouldn’t have gotten pregnant. I should have been… stronger. Insisted he use a condom. Now I’m saddled with someone who is probably gonna grow up screwed because she or he lacks daddy influence.”

  “Or, you could find another man,” Dijon said.

  Vaneese and Kiara stared at him. “You think someone will want to go for a woman who is pregnant with another man’s child?”

  Dijon nodded. “It depends on the man. I have a friend who has a wife with children from two different relationships. Despite not having any children himself. He likes the ready-made package.”

  “I thought men would be massively intimidated by something like this,” Vaneese said.

  “Oh, some will. Most, if I’m honest.” Dijon finished off his whiskey glass. “Doesn’t mean everyone will.”

  “You might be better off not worrying about that. My mom raised me alone. I turned out okay,” Kiara stated.

  “Did you?” Vaneese raised an eyebrow at her friend.

  Aleshia reflected on her mother, Gail. Gail raised Aleshia after the loss of her husband, when she had hit eleven years in age. Vaneese had already moved out by then, with Dijon. Aleshia didn’t think the situation applied the same, since she at least knew her dad for a good portion of her life, before he passed away. The child inside her would never know her dad, especially if she chose to eradicate him from her life.

  Would that be a good or a bad thing? Could you miss what you never had? She imagined her child going to school, a formless, genderless creature sitting behind a desk, being asked questions by the other kids. My dad did this today. Where’s your dad? Having to skip out on father’s day.

  “I keep thinking about how I would feel, if I went to school, and people kept asking me questions about my dad.” Aleshia said. “I know it’s dumb, but I keep hanging onto those reasons. I don’t want my child to have to not know a father.”

  “For fucks sake, Ali.” Vaneese stepped over to her sister, pressing one hard hand onto her wrist. “Get that out of your mind. Stop giving him excuses to stay in your life. Your baby, when you’re not saturating it in toxic liquids, will not benefit from a dad like that. And if he does change his tune, if he truly, remorsefully, wants to make up for everything he’s done, he’ll find a way to prove it to you. But right now, you do not need him in your life.”

  The choice loomed ahead as an awful possibility. She felt like a monster for considering it.

  “Give her more time,” Kiara suggested. “She’s not completely there. She needs more time to breathe in her freedom.”

  “I’m sick of him controlling her, even when he’s supposed to be her ex,” Vaneese responded sharply.

  Gradually they steered the topic away from the phone debacle, allowing Aleshia time to process the talk and her sister’s words more seriously, and sailed instead into calmer waters. Discussions about Miami versus Miami Beach came up. Complaints about the humid hot weather dominated their grievances, with the winter season being amongst everyone’s favorite time.

  Aleshia smiled and nodded along with the conversation, having her own notions about Miami. She still didn’t know if she wanted to make the city – or two cities, as Miami Beach was officially separate from the mainland – her home. She did, however, like the tropical climate.

  Tropical climate was nice. Less bitingly cold. Aleshia hated winters spent shivering indoors next to a fire as she attempted to work. She much preferred the idea of constant warmth fueling her ambitions of a successful online career. She enjoyed telling her clients or the people she communicated with online that she came from Miami. People reacted with amazement, or gushed about the fact Florida had Disneyland, and seemed to have such nice weather.

  And, honestly, compared to the rural, muddy roads of the place she came from, the brilliant, throbbing life of the city and the beautifully aligned city resort of Miami Beach struck the right kind of chords within. Someone like Peter would never think to move out of the town they were born in. Someone like Peter lacked ambition, and compassion for the world beyond.

  “Do you think I should move to Miami Beach, then?” Aleshia said, cutting through a preamble of the different types of Latin restaurants across Miami. She chewed her way through a bowl of almonds.

  “Definitely,” Vaneese said. “Especially if you’re not planning to learn Spanish. That way, you get my close company, you can potentially babysit my child, and I’ll be a
ble to help you with yours. Either that, or you go back to Minnesota with mom and her current new boyfriend. Peter is also there. I wouldn’t recommend it. And no, Ali. I don’t think you can raise the kid alone.”

  “I could.” Aleshia smarted at her sister’s assumption.

  “Your self-esteem could be better, Ali. You need people nearby to remind you and support you, or you’ll be hunched up in front of that laptop all day. It’s how it is.”

  “We’ll have to take you to some of the bars,” Dijon said. “After the baby is born,” he added hastily, at Vaneese’s scowl.

  “You can go to a bar and not drink as well,” Kiara pointed out. She graciously accepted a drink of whiskey from Dijon, again making Aleshia think they were all being unfair, drinking openly in front of her, but not allowing her to take any sips, constantly quoting the baby likely being affected by some dire condition as a result of her terrible, demonic drinking habits. I drink a quarter of what my sister does. Hypocrite.

  “We’ll see. I know a good realtor, Ali. If you want to find a good apartment, and not that ramshackle place you’re holed up in, this man keeps an eye on the best deals. He got us this place.”

  “Oh, I’ll get the number,” Dijon said. “I can make a call if you want. Him and me are friends. Go out drinking, sometimes.”

  “Hang on, I haven’t made any decisions yet,” Aleshia said, holding up her palms. “I don’t mind the place I’m in.”

  Under another flood of persuasion from Vaneese, Kiara and Dijon, Aleshia conceded to their superior concern and conviction she would be better off near them, and Dijon made the call to the realtor. Taking a leaf out of Aleshia’s book, he put his Samsung on speakerphone as well, so they could listen into the conversation. After the normal greetings, Dijon plunged into the meat of the topic at hand. The man on the other side of the phone, a Cameron Lovell, had a wonderful deep voice that made Aleshia pay rapt attention. It was exactly the kind of voice she loved on actors in films. Her sister knew as much, and kept giving her knowing smiles.

  “Hey, man. I was wondering, you got room for any more clients that want to find a nice property to rent in Miami Beach?”

  Cameron responded instantly. “Of course. Is this a family friend?”

  “My wife’s sister.”

  “Your absolutely stunning wife has a sister? You never mentioned that to me before.”

  “Down, boy,” Dijon said, grinning. “She’s just recent in the area. Looking to move to a location to inspire her writing skills.”

  “She can phone me herself. You can give her my number. I’ll be more than happy to suggest some things to her myself.”

  “She’s here in the room with us, actually. I can pass you over.”

  “No.” Vaneese barked out the word. “My sister has absolutely hopeless taste in apartments. If you start asking her about what she wants, Cameron, she’s going to give you answers that will make you want to stab your eyeballs.”

  Cameron hesitated a moment. “Am I on speakerphone?”

  “Yup.”

  “Alright. What’s your sister’s name, Vaneese?”

  “Aleshia.”

  “Nice. Hello Aleshia. I’m Cameron Lovell.”

  “Hello. Aleshia Washington, being persuaded to find somewhere decent to live.”

  Cameron chuckled. “Get Dijon to give you my number. If you want, I can arrange for some informal viewings within this week. Sales have been scarce this season. The expensive nature of the properties and the restriction of jobs in the resort tends to put people off.”

  “That’s alright. I can manage.” Aleshia found herself smiling at the nonchalant way they talked. She disliked a little of her sister’s blatant encouragement. Vaneese was now miming kissing motions, and pointing to the phone and back to her. Aleshia hoped he was married, or otherwise engaged. The thought of going back into the dating scene or being exposed to interest again made her feel empty. However, she liked easy conversation like this.

  “Excellent. We can start the ball rolling this week. Be aware. I’m committed to giving my clients the best of what Miami and Miami Beach has to offer. I promise you that you won’t be disappointed. So… Thursday?”

  Aleshia blinked. It was Tuesday. “Uh, sure. I have nothing better to do, I guess.”

  “Oh? Flexible work hours? Or no work?”

  “Flexible.”

  “Nice,” he said. “I look forward to it. Does that cover things, Dijon? Also, mate, we have to meet up again. It’s been a while.”

  “Yeah, yeah!” Dijon grinned. “I’ve been swamped with work, but we can make it something on Saturday evening if you’re up for it. That alright, hun?”

  “I’m not your master,” Vaneese said wryly. “You can see people if you want.”

  Dijon ended the call, scribbled down Cameron’s number and passed it to Aleshia.

  “He’s single, isn’t he?” Vaneese asked Dijon.

  “I don’t know. He was last time I checked. He’s a bit of a lady killer.” Dijon shrugged.

  “Vaneese…” Kiara frowned at her friend. The thirty-five year old sipped a little of her drink, mouth wrinkling. “I think it’s a little too soon to start thrusting another man on your sister, given what’s just transpired this evening.”

  “Eh. She’ll appreciate it in time.” Vaneese waved her friend off. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “This is my life you’re casually talking about.” Aleshia imitated Kiara’s expression. “You always barge in and act like you know what’s best for me.”

  “Have I ever been wrong?”

  Aleshia wasn’t sure how to answer that. She knew her sister meant well. And, technically, her sister had never been wrong. Even if she did do most things in her life with the grace of a steamroller.

  Sometimes, Aleshia in her moodier days liked to blame her sister for her more reclusive nature. She knew, in reality, she chose the more introvert path herself. Vaneese liked bars and clubs. Aleshia liked writing, reading, and people who didn’t talk her ear off.

  However, it looked like her life would be changing, one giant leap at a time. Despite conflicts the sisters did have, at least Vaneese cared. Even if she came across as brusque at times. Aleshia had long since grown a thick skin to combat those mannerisms. Otherwise she would have never survived her childhood years. You did not grow up with Vaneese Dawson, or previously Vaneese Washington without mastering the art of combat. It was also why she continually admired Dijon for not only enduring Vaneese, but marrying her and raising a kid together with her without looking like some battered housewife for all the verbal abuse he must have gotten. Aleshia certainly didn’t envy him, having experienced that tongue first hand for her entire life.

  Still, she didn’t know where to go next in her life. The child inside suggested she had to halt her ambitions, instead taking time out to cultivate it and make sure it grew up in a happy household. The city around her suggested endless opportunity, and the glowing world of the internet revealed a treasure trove worth of jobs and clients for her to slake her need for income.

  She inhaled the clean, perfume tainted odor of Vaneese and Dijon’s apartment, the delicate, translucent curtains over the windows, the tasteful furniture that matched the color scheme of the walls, floor and surfaces. It held a modern, simplistic vibe, browns and blacks and white, whereas Aleshia’s current place had flaking walls, and looked more like something squatters would lodge in for short periods of times.

  Well, the ball is rolling. Might as well follow it to see where it stops. Aleshia smiled, staring at Cameron Lovell’s number for a moment. She remembered his deep, warm voice. She wondered what mouth it was attached to, what face.

  The shadow of Peter remained at the back of her mind, marring her attempt to imagine how things might pan out.

  Perhaps she should listen to her family. Perhaps it was time to delete his number, and move on.

  Chapter 3

  As the cab driver pulled up outside the condo, Aleshia thanked him, paid, and steppe
d out. She had arrived fifteen minutes earlier than expected, and decided instead to inspect the outside of the condo, and the local area. There were hotels dotted beside condos and houses, and the roads were impeccably straight. The strong, pervading scent of salt whipped into Aleshia’s nostrils. The sun’s heat beat down on her brow, and she took her sun hat out of her bag and placed it on, readjusting her sunglasses.

  The condominium itself looked whitewashed, as if built out of driftwood, and towered ten stories high. The apartment she was here to view dwelled on the fourth floor, so she made do with peeking through the windows of the bottom floor flats. Neatly furnished kitchens greeted her from each window. There was nothing special about it, so, bored, she headed toward the nearby beach.

  The sea swished against the yellow sand, and hundreds of people sprawled out, sunbathing – with quite the large percentage of women choosing to go topless. Vaneese explained it was quite normal for women to do so – the locals did it without batting an eyelid, it was only the tourists from more reserved countries that found it immensely awkward. Myriad umbrellas dotted the soft sands, and the water sparkled an astonishing light blue, appearing clean and enticing.

  The more Aleshia stared, the more she liked the sight. Where she was in Miami, the salt came to her on the wind, and she needed to drive out to reach the hotel riddled beach resorts. Across here, despite Miami Beach being the hub of international tourism, it wasn’t nearly as crowded as she expected. What Aleshia imagined would be congested with humans, taking up every available inch on the beach and clogging up the roads with their fancy cars, instead boasted only a moderate population bathing in the sun’s rays, paddling and swimming in the clear waters.

  She wondered if it was anything to do with how expensive the place was, since the prices of the restaurants and local shops made her eyes boggle. Working online granted her flexibility and an up and down income – but give her a bad few months, and Miami Beach would be sucking the soul out of her bank account. However, the beautiful weather, which locals complained about, the refreshing air and the constant color and activity on her eyes triggered a wave of inspiration for her writings. Even now, she felt lines running across her head, like wisps of smoke, waiting to be etched onto paper.