Chapter 3
3
Jackson materializes at my door less than five minutes later, carrying a brown paper bag.
He would be happy to carry the food to the kitchen, but I’m too quick for him. I grab the paper bag from him while he trots after me, his ears still bright red from the cold. I rip it open, releasing a burst of tantalizing aromas, and yank out one of the white cartons. I tear the flaps slightly in my eagerness.
I don’t even bother with a plate. I grab a fork from the drawer by the sink and eat it right out of the container. I’m not sure if eating is the correct term. Inhaling might be more accurate. I am always starving these days.
“Sorry,” I say between bites. “I haven’t eaten in a while. Double shift.”
He frowns. “Is that okay for the baby?”
“I’ll cut back soon.”
Even though I’m too impatient to bother with plates, Jackson grabs two of them from the cupboard over the sink. He starts to grab another container out of the bag, but then he stops himself.
“Oh, hey,” he says. “I brought you something.”
I was so distracted by a tender piece of chicken that I didn’t even notice the little gift bag Jackson had placed on my kitchen counter—he must have grabbed it from his car when he went down to get the food. It is pink and sparkly, which makes me laugh because he is the opposite of pink and sparkly. It’s hard to imagine him picking it out.
Perhaps reading my mind, he smiles awkwardly. “It’s for the baby.”
As much as I enjoy stuffing forkfuls of lo mein noodles into my mouth, I am even more excited about the idea of a present. I haven’t received any presents for the baby yet. Well, aside from a car seat my brother sent me, which is still in the cardboard box it was delivered in.
I grab the pink, sparkly bag and gasp at the contents. It’s literally the cutest thing I have ever seen . It’s a tiny little outfit, made for an impossibly tiny human being—I’ve learned they call it a onesie. And in pink lettering on the chest are the words that melt my heart:
My Mommy Loves Me.
Little Tuna kicks me at that moment as if in agreement. Even though I have just over a month left before Tuna makes her appearance, I have not yet started to stockpile baby clothes, so this is my first. I stare down at the outfit, blinking furiously. Despite my growing belly and the constant kicks to my ribs, there’s something about this onesie that makes this all seem very real for the first time. I’m going to have a baby, and she’s going to wear this.
Oh my God, I’m going to cry.
“Do you like it?” Jackson asks eagerly.
If I say anything, including “yes,” I’m going to lose it, so I just nod. And his face lights up.
None of this is his job. His job is not to bring me Chinese food or adorable baby clothes. The reason he is here has nothing to do with any of that. It has everything to do with the contents of the leather briefcase that he left near my front door. That’s the only reason he is here and the only reason he is ever here. And when all that is resolved, he won’t be back here. There will be no more lo mein or egg rolls or surprise visits after a long shift at work.
Jackson does not come here for social reasons. This is his job.
“So,” I say as I grab my box of takeout and carry it to the futon sofa, which doubles as my extremely uncomfortable bed. As I plop down on the futon, I prop my swollen legs up on the coffee table. The relief is heavenly. “What did you need to discuss with me?”
Jackson grabs his own box of food and joins me on the sofa. “Just a few minor details I want to go over in the contract. But next time I’m here, it will be ready for you to sign.”
A fluttering sensation fills my lower abdomen, and I’m not sure if it is nerves or the baby. I can’t believe I am about to sign a contract that will result in my receiving quite a lot of money. It will set me up for life.
It all started almost eight months ago.
I had driven up with a girlfriend to visit my brother, Dennis, at the ski slope where he works as an instructor, so we usually got a good discount. He was busy that night, so the two of us ended up going out to a local bar for drinks. That was when I met a man in a dark suit who offered to buy me a drink. He was handsome in a clean-cut sort of way with an expensive haircut and chiseled features, and his effortless charm convinced me to accept the drink. He told me he was in town for an important business deal—only there for the one night. While my friend was distracted by a guy with a mullet, I found myself flirting with this confident, attractive older man who was so different from anyone I knew back home.
Long story short, I must have had a few too many drinks. I don’t remember much about that night, but I woke up with a splitting headache, and my mouth felt like an ashtray. I had only a vague recollection of coming back to my hotel room with the handsome businessman, but I was embarrassed to admit I couldn’t even remember his name. I chalked it up to life experience and tried to forget about it.
Until I missed my period.
I wasn’t even a party girl—I hardly went out and focused most of my energy on saving money for my dream of going to nursing school—yet I had become a cliché. I got pregnant while drinking, and I didn’t even know who the father of my child was.
It was hardly the way I had planned my life to work out, but after a lot of soul-searching, I decided to keep and raise this baby. Maybe eventually the right guy would come along, but if he didn’t, I would do it on my own. And nursing school—well, if it was meant to be, I would get there eventually. I was sure of it.
And then something unexpected happened.
I was watching the news three months ago, balancing a plate of food on my growing belly, when I saw a man on the television screen. The caption underneath his handsome face declared that his name was Simon Lamar. He was a local businessman who specialized in real estate development.
And he was the man I left the bar with the night I conceived Little Tuna.
What happened next was a little short of a fairy-tale ending. I wish I could say that when I located Simon Lamar, he was overjoyed if a bit surprised by my pregnancy and insisted on winning me over. I wish I could say that after a couple of months of courting me, he dropped down on one knee to ask me to marry him so that the three of us could be a happy family. That was the scenario I envisioned when I reached out to Simon to let him know about my situation.
It didn’t quite work out that way.
Despite the fact that I didn’t recall a wedding band on his finger that night, Simon Lamar was very much married. Not only was he married, but he had two little ones of his own, and he had absolutely no interest in any illegitimate children. Nor did he want his beloved wife of ten years to discover his infidelity—or the press, for that matter. He refused to even meet with me, even after the paternity test he demanded proved that he was indeed the father of my child.
However, he had Jackson reach out to make me a very intriguing offer. A boatload of money—enough to support me and our child and then some. I wouldn’t have to worry about rent, about childcare, or even about college tuition for my daughter. Simon would pay for all of that. And all I would have to do was sign a nondisclosure agreement, promising that nobody besides Simon and me (and Jackson) would know he was the father of my child.
I said yes.
What else could I do? I had to do it. Simon was offering to secure my future and Tuna’s for life. And as a single mother-to-be, I would have been stupid to say no.
Thanks to Simon’s generous offer, I will still be able to go to nursing school on schedule or even sooner than expected. I’ll be able to send my daughter to the best private schools. I won’t have to raise her in a tiny studio. He saved me.
“Thank you for working so hard on this contract,” I tell Jackson around a mouthful of noodles.
He waves a hand. “It’s my job.”
Is it though? Jackson has been driving out here as often as once a week to help broker the deal. A lot of things could have been done on the phone, but he always insists on coming here personally. Which is more than I could say for Simon, who I have not laid eyes on since that fateful night.
And I believe Jackson has my best interests in mind. There were clauses in the contract that I might have naively agreed to, but Jackson advised me against it. This isn’t a high enough cost-of-living increase. It’s not fair to you.
Jackson reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out an envelope, which he places on the coffee table in front of us. Based on experience, I know it’s filled with twenty-dollar bills—just enough to tide me over with food, groceries, and medical expenses. Even though there’s a bigger payment coming, those envelopes of cash have taken a lot of the strain off the last few months.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
Jackson pushes his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose. “No problem. The bank was still open before I got on the road.”
He’s never mentioned going to a bank before. When we began our negotiations, Simon was very clear about the fact that I was not to receive a penny until the contracts were signed, but then Jackson started showing up with those envelopes containing small amounts of cash, and I assumed Simon changed his mind. But now I wonder if Jackson has been giving me money out of his own personal accounts this whole time.
“By the way,” he says before I can ask, “Simon will be coming down here to sign the final contract in a few days and discuss a few things with you.”
“Oh.” The thought of seeing Simon again makes me nervous, maybe because of how unenthusiastic he has been since he found out about my pregnancy. It’s a stark contrast with how utterly charming he was the night we met. “Okay, I guess.”
“I’ll be here too,” he adds.
He gives me a reassuring smile, and I can’t help but think that I wish it had been Jackson I met that night at the bar by the ski lodge. I would happily give up the monster offer from Simon for a chance at starting a family with a great guy like Jackson.
But I can’t look at it that way. I can’t change the past. I should feel fortunate that I’m getting such a generous offer from Simon, one that will provide for my child for the rest of her life.