The Crash

Chapter 5

5

Today we are signing the contract that will cement my future.

I am a nervous wreck, even though all I’m doing is signing a piece of paper. I slept even worse than usual, waking from my nightmares practically every hour—it felt like every time I drifted off, Simon’s face would invade my dreams and wake me up again. I just can’t get him off my mind. At around four in the morning, I gave up trying.

Yesterday, I went to the thrift shop and bought a new maternity outfit—a flower-print dress. Unfortunately, the thrift shop didn’t have a dressing room, so I just had to hold it up in front of me, and when I put it on at home, I looked a bit like a whale wearing florals. But it’s still better than anything else I own.

I don’t know why I dressed up though. Who am I trying to impress? Simon? Do I really think that he might take a look at me in my flower-print muumuu and decide to leave his family for me? Do I even want that?

No, I don’t. The truth is I don’t want to have anything to do with Simon Lamar. There’s only one person I’ve dressed up for, and it’s not Simon. It’s a man I’ve been seeing quite a lot lately and have become quite fond of, who I’m worried I might never see again after I scribble my name on the dotted line.

I took the afternoon off from work, which stressed me out a lot because I need the money so badly. I keep having to remind myself that after this afternoon, I will have more money than I know what to do with. It’s hard to wrap my head around that reality, considering… well, I’ve never had money in my whole life. The first thing I’m going to do when I get the money is find a two-bedroom apartment in a better neighborhood. Or maybe even a house.

It’s five o’clock when the intercom buzzes from downstairs, alerting me that Simon and Jackson have arrived. While I’m waiting for them to walk up the stairs, I pace the length of my studio apartment. It doesn’t take long.

After the annoying buzz of the doorbell fills the studio, I fling open the door to reveal the two men in suits. Jackson looks his usual adorably rumpled self, his thick glasses perched on his nose. And then there’s Simon standing next to him.

I haven’t seen Simon Lamar in…well, not since the night my entire life changed. He’s nearly two decades older than I am, but he’s aged very well. I had forgotten how classically handsome he is, like his features were chiseled in stone by a skilled sculptor. I had seen photos of him since that night, but it’s different in person—he’s better-looking in person too. Seeing his face jogs a vague memory of that night, which is still so foggy for me. I try to grasp on to the memory, my mind straining to recall anything about the night I conceived my daughter.

But no. It’s a blank. Almost like someone took an eraser to my brain. The only thing I can remember are the nightmares of his face that have been haunting me with increasing frequency. But I can’t blame the guy for my nightmares, can I?

That night at the bar, Simon seemed warm and friendly with an easy smile. Tonight, he seems irritated to be here. The first thing he does when we see each other is look down at his watch and then down at my belly with undisguised disgust on his face.

“For God’s sake,” he says. “I should file a lawsuit against the company that made those condoms.”

Jackson shoots Simon a dirty look while my face burns. I’m glad to know we at least used a condom. I did get tested for all the usual STDs, just to be on the safe side. I was clean.

“Well,” I say brightly, “come on in.”

The look of disgust on Simon’s face does not waver as he steps into my dingy apartment. When I lead him to the futon, he is reluctant to sit down. I almost expect him to ask for a towel to put down beneath him. But finally, he perches on the edge, looking like he wishes he were anywhere but here. I sit at the other end of the futon, as far as I can get without falling off.

“The contract is just as we discussed,” Jackson says gently as he sits on the only other piece of furniture in the room—a rickety wooden chair that I found on the curb. “As I said, you’re welcome to review it with your own attorney.”

“I trust you,” I say.

I have to trust him, because I can’t afford an attorney right now. But my statement makes Simon smirk, which makes me think maybe I should get one. The sardonic expression on his face jogs my memory again. It is so frustrating to try to remember something and not be able to. It must be terrible to have dementia.

“You discussed the exact terms of the nondisclosure, right?” Simon speaks up.

“Yes,” Jackson confirms. “We did, right, Tegan?”

“Yes…”

The nondisclosure agreement is the part of this contract that makes me the most nervous. If I sign, I can never tell anyone that Simon is Little Tuna’s father. It won’t be on the birth certificate. I cannot tell a soul—not ever. I won’t even be able to tell my daughter, or else Simon could sue my pants off. I’ll have to tell her… I don’t know… her father died in a tragic accident.

“So you understand?” Simon presses, his gray eyes leveled at me. I jolt with the dissonant memory of thinking how soulful his eyes were that night. “You can’t tell anyone about this. Not family, not friends, not your baby.”

My baby. He has already relinquished responsibility. “I understand.”

“Smart girl.” He winks at me. “Let’s get this signed then. Looks like you could really use the money.”

I don’t like this man, Mama. I don’t want him to be my daddy.

Simon leans forward to pull out the contract, reaching into the expensive briefcase he brought. As he gets closer to me, I catch a whiff of his cologne. It’s the same cologne he was wearing that night.

It’s an unusual fragrance. Vanilla. Oak. And a spicy undertone.

I close my eyes for a moment, and I see his face hovering over me like I do in my nightmares. But this time, it’s different. Instead of just seeing his face, I can also see his naked body. On top of me. And there’s a hungry look in his eyes that terrifies me.

No , I manage to say with a tongue that feels like dead weight. I don’t want to. No. No!

Simon rolls his eyes. Didn’t you finish your beer? Go back to sleep, Tegan.

No. I don’t want…

And then…

My eyes fly open. That scene playing out in my head felt so real, and I know with a sick certainty that it was real. I had believed all those images of Simon in my nightmares were my imagination playing tricks on me, but it wasn’t my imagination.

It was a memory.

And now it all makes a sudden horrible kind of sense. I knew I didn’t have that much to drink that night. I have never been blackout drunk in my entire life, and certainly not after a couple of beers.

Simon slipped something into my drink.

And then when we got back to my hotel room, he…

Oh God .