6. Francisca
CHAPTER 6
Francisca
H earing someone knock on my door inside the building—not the one that leads out onto the street—I glance over my shoulder as PJ runs across the room to hide in his kennel.
“Coming!” I call out, resting my paintbrush on the table where I keep my supplies before making my way across the room. It hasn’t happened often, but occasionally, someone in the building will receive my mail in their box, or I’ll end up with theirs, and we’ll drop it off to each other in person because there’s no way to put it in the right mail slot without a key.
Without checking the peephole, I swing the door open and feel my heart squeeze tight at the sight that greets me. After our conversation earlier, I convinced myself that I would never see Dayton again, and it wasn’t a far-fetched assumption. I never bumped into him the months prior to the first time we met the night of my parents' party, and I hadn’t seen him since until I sought him out this afternoon. And with me planning on moving in a few months, putting even more distance between us, I was sure that would be the case going forward.
“Dayton, what are you doing here?” I ask softly, taking him in. Since talking to him earlier, he’s lost his tie and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and judging by the messy wave of his hair, he’s ran his fingers through it a few dozen times.
“Can I come in?”
“I….” I know I should say no, especially when I catch a whiff of the alcohol he’s been drinking, but there’s a little voice in the back of my head telling me not to turn him away. “Yeah, okay.” I step back to let him in.
“How much have you had to drink?” I ask, shutting the door.
“Not much,” he lies, swaying on his feet.
“It looks like it.” I walk into the kitchen and get down a glass. After pouring some water for him, I add a packet of electrolytes and carry it over to where he’s standing. “Drink this. It might not help you right now, but at least you won’t feel like you’ve been hit by a semi in the morning.”
“Thanks,” he mumbles, taking the glass.
Wrapping my arms around my middle, I watch him drink it, then take the glass back when he’s finished. “So why are you here?” I ask, walking to the kitchen to place the glass on the counter.
“I don’t know,” he says quietly, and I turn to face him. “I just needed to see you.”
“Why?”
“Because you showed up at my office today, telling me that you think you’re pregnant.”
“I don’t think I’m pregnant. I went to the doctor yesterday, and they confirmed that I hadn’t taken a dozen faulty tests,” I reply, and he laughs softly, which eases some of the tension in my muscles.
“How far along are you?”
“Ten weeks.” I wander across the room to the painting I was working on so I can put the brush I had been using in the cleaning solution before it dries out.
“And you think I’m the dad?”
“Dayton,” I whisper, my throat getting tight. I’m not angry at him for asking that question, and if I were him, I would be asking the same thing. We don’t know each other. As far as he knows, I could be having wall-sex with random men on a regular basis.
“Tell me,” he urges, and I look over at him as I stop in front of my workstation.
“What I think is that you took a very drastic step in making sure that you would never become a father, and I would never force you to take on that responsibility.”
“So, I’m the dad?”
“Unless I’m the first human female in modern history to get pregnant from immaculate conception, yes.” My gaze wanders over him. “I don’t expect you to believe me, and I get why you wouldn’t. I’ll take whatever test I need to in order to prove I’m not lying if that’s what you want.”
“That’s the thing, Franny—I do believe you, and it’s fucking with my head.”
“I get that too. I…”
“You what?” he asks when I can’t find the words to say.
“Nothing.”
“Franny.”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “You’re not the only one caught off guard by this. I thought I would have time to figure out my life, but now I’m trying to pivot and figure out what I’m going to do with a baby.” I fall onto the stool in front of my easel. “It’s been a lot, so I know this news is a lot for you too.” Honestly, none of this even feels real.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I laugh. “Knocking me up?”
“I guess.” He chuckles, running his fingers through his hair. “Shit, I can’t believe we can laugh about this right now.”
“Believe me—there have been more than a few tears shed since I found out. There were also a couple of weeks of denial and a few other emotions. But…” I let out a long breath. “I’m coming to terms with it and have to believe that everything will be okay.”
“I want to step up and help you. I just?—”
“I’m not asking you to do that, Dayton,” I interrupt him. “I know that we both messed up that night.” I feel my cheeks get hot just thinking about it. “I wasn’t on birth control, and you assumed that this wasn’t even a possibility for you anymore. It’s okay for you to opt-out.”
“This isn’t a fucking subscription plan, Franny,” he mutters, and I start to laugh and end up snorting, which only makes me laugh harder. “Jesus.” He shakes his head, rubbing his hand over his mouth, but I still see the smile he tries to wipe away.
“Sorry.” I hold up my hand as I attempt to get myself under control. “I know you’re not trying to be funny, but that was funny.”
Chuckling, his eyes wander over my face. “Can we take this one day at a time?”
The question causes my laughter to die away in an instant. He looks scared—actually… more like terrified—and I’m sure there’s a reason behind that expression, a bigger one than finding out that he’s going to be a dad. Maybe, one day, he’ll tell me about it, or maybe he won’t. But as I’m starting to come to terms with the fact that there is a tiny human growing inside me, I’m learning quickly that I will do whatever it takes to provide the best life for him or her, and part of doing that is giving Dayton some time to figure out if he wants to be involved.
“Yeah, we can do that,” I agree softly.
“Thanks.” He reaches out and brushes his fingers up my cheek to behind my ear, causing a tingle to race across my scalp and down my spine. As I start to lean into his touch, my phone begins to ring, snapping me out of whatever spell I was slipping under.
“Sorry.” I clear my throat, dropping my gaze from his as I slide off my stool. “I need to get that.”
“Sure.”
Walking to where my phone is plugged in on the counter, I pick it up and slide my finger across the screen when I see it’s Molly.
“Hey.”
“Hey, I’m pulling up with pizza and ice cream,” she says, and I smile.
Of course, she would decide to surprise me with two of my favorite foods after I called her this afternoon, crying because my conversation with Dayton hadn’t gone as planned. No, I didn’t expect him to be excited, but I certainly hadn’t thought he’d be telling me what he had.
“Okay, give me a second, and I’ll let you in.” I hang up and look at Dayton, who has followed me to the edge of the kitchen. “Sorry, my friend Molly is here.”
“That’s all right,” he says, taking out his phone. “Give me your number, and I’ll send you a text so you can get a hold of me if you need anything.”
“Sure.” I quickly give him my cell number, and a second later, my phone beeps with a message from him.
“Got it.” I set down my phone, then walk to the door, opening it, and then look up at him. “I’m glad you stopped by.”
“Yeah, me too,” he says quietly, wrapping his hand around the side of my neck before leaning down to touch his lips to my forehead. “I’m right upstairs if you need me.”
Oh, how quickly I’d forgotten that we live in the same building.
“Night, Franny.”
“Night, Dayton.”
I watch him walk out the door and bite my lip. Although that interaction with him went way better than the one earlier today, I can’t help but feel like things just got a whole lot more complicated.
* * *
Sliding into a parking spot near the entrance of the golf club, I put my car in park, quickly grab my bag from the passenger seat, and start digging through it. Finding a pack of chewing gum, I pop a piece in my mouth, hoping the peppermint will distract me from the nausea and the headache I’ve had since I woke up this morning. I don’t know if it will work, but anything is better than feeling like I’m hungover when I most definitely am not. Especially when I have to show up at an event for my dad because Jacob called me this morning—actually hungover—and begged me to take his spot at a golf fundraiser.
I probably wouldn’t be so bad off if I hadn’t stayed up so late with Molly, filling her in on the situation with Dayton. Plus, I was looking at possible places to rent after Matthew gets his crap together and sells our condo or buys me out—something he claims he’s working on. Something I don’t believe he’s putting much effort into.
I think he believes that if he just waits me out, we’ll get back together, and then I’ll eventually move back in.
I can’t blame him for thinking that way since I took him back each time we broke up in the past, but it’s not happening this time. It doesn’t matter how many times he shows up at my place without calling, how many times he asks me to dinner, or texts, or calls. We are done. And not just because I’m pregnant with another man’s child.
After taking a sip of water, I push open the door and get out, adjusting my pleated athletic skirt, which is a pretty lavender, and zipping up the cropped hoodie I wore over my tank top. It’s not hot right now, but in a couple of hours, the sun will be overhead, and I’ll be thankful for the piece of clothing I can remove.
Stepping into the cool interior of the clubhouse a minute later, I scan the space for my dad. It’s difficult to find him amongst the men in the room. All of them dressed the same, in khakis and polos, all of them holding a beer regardless of the fact that it’s just after eight in the morning.
Finally spotting him, I start making my way in his direction, but my steps slow when I recognize Dayton next to him, standing a few inches taller than my father and the district attorney with whom he’s speaking. Even in his polo that fits the theme in the room, the tattoos that cover his arms make him stick out like a sore—albeit sexy—thumb.
“Oh, Jacob, you owe me so huge,” I mutter under my breath as I make my way through the crowd. I don’t have any issue being around Dayton, especially after our conversation last night, but knowing that I’m keeping such a huge secret from my dad is going to make this uncomfortable for me.
My dad is the first to see me, and rather than smile like he normally would, his brows drag together as he steps away from Dayton and Billy, who both have their backs to me.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and Dayton turns my way. It’s difficult to avoid looking at him when I can physically feel his gaze on me.
“Yeah, just a little nauseous,” I tell him without thinking, then add quickly, “I chugged a protein shake on the way here.”
“You’re as bad as your mom with those shakes.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and turns to the two men behind him. “You know Billy and Dayton.”
“I do. Hi, Mr. Chambers.” I lean up on my tiptoes to kiss Billy’s cheek, then do the same with Dayton, but his hand wraps around my side and makes contact with my skin that’s exposed from where my sweatshirt has ridden up, causing my breath to catch.
“You feel sick?” he whispers against my ear as my lips brush the edge of his jaw.
“I’m fine,” I whisper back before lowering onto my feet. Ignoring the concern I see etched into the skin around his eyes, I turn to my dad. “Are we about ready to go?”
The sooner I can get him and myself away from Dayton, the better I’ll feel.
“Are you anxious to go play?”
“No, I just want to get this over with.” There is no sense in lying. My dad knows I hate golf and that I would rather get a root canal than spend the day on the green. The only thing that ever makes the activity tolerable is drinking, and that isn’t an option for me right now in my current state, so today is going to suck for more than one reason.
“It will be fun.” He looks at Billy and Dayton. “Francisca claims to hate golf, but she played all through high school and came in at number two in the state her senior year.”
“I only played in high school so that I didn’t have to take PE, and I came in at number two because the day of the tournament, everyone had the flu,” I clarify, and they all laugh.
“Can I have everyone’s attention?” a woman in a black mini dress and ballet flats shouts, and the conversation in the room quiets as everyone turns to focus on her.
“Thank you all for coming today. As you know, this tournament was set up to help raise funds for the local chapter of the Make-A-Wish Foundation, so we appreciate you being here this morning. After the game, lunch will be held here in the restaurant, and you will all have a chance to bid during the auction as you eat.” Her smile gets brighter. “We’ve had some amazing donations this year, including a wine subscription, signed memorabilia from our local hockey team, and a vacation for two.” She scans the room. “Have fun this morning, and make sure you take your drink tickets on the way out the door.”
“I guess we can head out if you guys are ready,” Dad says, looking between Dayton and Billy. My stomach churns, either from the news that I’m going to be stuck with my dad and Dayton together all day or from this baby, who has decided that they want to make sure I haven’t forgotten their existence.
“Before we go, I’m going to use the restroom.”
“I’ll go with you,” Dayton offers.
“Sounds good. We’ll meet you two out at the golf cart,” Dad replies, walking away with Billy and obviously not finding it strange that Dayton offered to go with me.
“Are you feeling okay?” my bathroom escort asks quietly as we walk through the clubhouse toward the restrooms.
“Just nauseous.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Well, it is technically your fault, so I accept your apology,” I mutter, and he laughs softly.
“My sister-in-law used to eat ginger candies when she was pregnant with my nephew. I’ll ask her where she got them from and get some for you.”
“My doctor mentioned ginger tea, but I hate tea, so I haven’t gotten any.” I peek up at him. “Also, my dad doesn’t know that I’m…” I glance around, then whisper, “pregnant.”
“I assumed as much.”
“I’m going to have to tell him soon though.” We turn to walk side by side down the hall where the bathrooms are located. “Especially since Mom and Jacob both know and Mom has been stressing about having to keep it from him. If I don’t come clean, she’s going to crack, and that won’t be good for a multitude of reasons.”
“You and your dad seem pretty close.”
“We are. He’s…” I try to come up with a way to describe my relationship with my father. “He’s not my friend. He’s never been my friend. But I respect him, and he’s one person I know I can depend on no matter what.”
“It’s good you have that relationship with him.”
“Yeah.” I rub my lips together as anxiousness crawls up my spine. I wouldn’t say that I’m scared to tell my dad that I’m pregnant, but I am worried he’s going to be disappointed, which is always worse than him being mad. I also hate the idea of him having to deal with the fallout publicly if the media gets ahold of the story and uses it to attack him.
I don’t tell Dayton any of that, though. I don’t want my worries to influence his decision.
When we get to the women’s bathroom, I motion toward it with my thumb. “I guess I’ll meet you out here when I’m done.”
“I’ll be here,” he says, and I head into the ladies’ room.
It doesn’t take me long to finish, and when I step back out into the hall, I find it empty. Figuring Dayton went into the men’s room, I lean back against the wall and take out my phone, starting to scroll through my social media.
When I first started painting again, I posted a quick sixty-second video of me working on a piece and received a message that day asking if the painting was available for purchase. That video changed everything for me, and social media is now where I get most of my sales. Eventually, I’m going to have to hire someone to run my social accounts because keeping up with messages can sometimes be overwhelming. But for now, I enjoy connecting with my followers online.
“I figured I’d be back before you were done,” Dayton says as I’m pressing Send on a reply to a message I received, and I look up, noticing he’s coming from the inner part of the club and not the men’s room.
“There aren’t many women here today, so there wasn’t a line.” I drop my eyes to his hand when he opens the can he’s holding. “You shouldn’t pay for beer when you have drink tickets, and I’m sure my dad has a cooler of beer on the back of the golf cart.”
“It’s not for me. I got you a ginger ale. I thought maybe it might help with the nausea.”
“Oh.” Damn, these stupid pregnancy hormones for making my throat go tight. “Thank you.”
“It’s the least I could do.” He puts a straw in it before handing it to me.
Yep, things are definitely getting more complicated.