23. Blake
23
BLAKE
S eeing George on Zach’s shoulders at the holiday affair on Main Street was sweet. Witnessing my son slanting toward him on the couch when he was vulnerable and needy? That squeezed my heart with so many emotions that I couldn’t stand it. George hadn’t experienced much time to get to know Zach, but I could see how naturally he gravitated toward him. How he could judge that Zach was safe to trust.
Because he can. Because he’s his son.
In this poignant moment, I felt it to the marrow of my bones how wrong I had been to ever worry that Zach wouldn’t want to be a father. That he’d struggle to adjust to having a son. Zach offering to sit with George wasn’t a clear signal that he was ready to embrace all of parenthood, but it was a huge sign to me nonetheless of how selfless and generous he could be with his heart and affection. Not just to me. Not just to me in a sexy way.
For someone to willingly want to sit with a sick child, that meant something. It meant a big something for a rough and tough military man who seemed allergic to settling down for so long.
“You’re sure?” I checked one last time.
“Yeah.” Zach nodded, draping his muscular arm around George’s shoulders to keep him close. My— our —son sighed and relaxed against him.
“O… okay. Then that’s that.” I forced a quick smile up at Jenny, who still stood behind me. “Looks like we’ll be fine on this front, then.”
I couldn’t vouch for myself, though. I wasn’t fine. Not as I showered and got ready to head to the kitchen with Jenny and start prepping for work. Not as I went through the work of loading the van with her.
Shocked and awed, I struggled to accept that Zach had stepped up in such a fatherly way like that. And as soon as I wanted to smile and mentally swoon at how sweet the sexy man was, a softie for George, I fell into the side-effect of cringing that he didn’t know he was a father.
I loathed myself for being too shy and nervous to speak up. I would. I knew I had to. My plans to reveal this huge news after Christmas didn’t seem like such a good idea now. Letting Zach babysit George under the assumption that he was just watching my kid—instead of being a parent and caring for his own sick son—was cruel. I didn’t intend to play with his intentions or emotions, but I couldn’t have spoken up then.
I wanted to tell Zach, one on one, to let him soak up the bombshell. Then I’d tell George that Zach was his daddy. Then Jenny and anyone else. Dropping that news with them all in the same room wouldn’t have been fair to any of them.
And I wasn’t all talk. I did, honestly, plan to tell Zach after Christmas. When we cleaned up from wrapping the gifts this morning and held a steady, laidback conversation about a variety of topics that could’ve counted as catching up, I was tempted to slip in a “by the way…”
Then Rory interrupted. And then Jenny brough George home sick. My opportunity was lost, but I disliked how much it sounded like another excuse.
Every time I was alone with Zach, things got too heated. That was an even crappier excuse, but it was the truth. After all these lonely years of struggling as a single mom, as a working mom, I wanted to be greedy and take something I wanted and needed. I wished I could be selfish to have Zach for a little loving and pleasure before potentially angering him with my lie.
Because I’m just human, right? I’m not perfect. I’m just trying the best I can with all I am.
“Blake, talk to me,” Jenny said later as she drove us to the venue for the party we’d be catering. It wasn’t the same hall that Zach had helped at, but a smaller one for more intimate gatherings.
“Huh?” I glanced at her, wishing my mood were lighter so I could smile at the lit-up ornament earrings she wore as they swayed with the motion of the van.
“You’re distracted, sweetie. Talk to me.”
I blew out a deep breath. That’s just it. I have to talk—to your grandson about something big.
“What’s bothering you? George? He’ll be fine. It sounds like that twenty-four-hour thing that’s going around. Nothing crazy.”
“I hope so.” I turned down the heater vents so the air didn’t blast at my face.
“Is it because of what Rory said and did?” She shook her head. “Those Francis idiots. I can’t stand them. The whole family.”
Me neither. “No. I’m used to his bullshit. That’s why I dumped him.”
“But you shouldn’t have to get used to any man’s bullshit,” she argued. “I was so glad when you dumped him.”
“I’m just glad I only dated him with half interest and didn’t try to be with him for long.”
“That too.”
She groaned lightly. “Come on, Blake. You’re like another granddaughter to me. I can tell something’s bugging you. If something’s bugging you, it’ll bug me too.”
I licked my lips, unable to tell her what Zach should hear first. “Well, money’s tight.”
“It’s that time of the year.”
The holidays did come with more spending. I tried to give George the best I could, but the gifts I wrapped for him with Zach’s help were all clearance and sale items I'd collected throughout the year. He would never be spoiled, but it wasn’t this time of the year. It was keeping up with the medical bills from Mom, Dad and Kevin’s funeral. Even some of the hospital bills from having George and his being in the NICU for a couple of months since he came so early. In a short timeframe, it all accumulated to so much debt.
“I mean…” I winced, hating that she’d think I was complaining. “I’m grateful.”
“Oh, sweetie,” she said, patting my thigh as she drove. “I know. I know you are. You’re not whining about it. And I know you know I’m paying you all I can.”
“Yes, and I appreciate all you’ve done for me.”
“Blake.” She gave me a chiding look. “What part of you’re like another granddaughter do you not understand? I get it.”
“Yeah.” She was so understanding, more of a friend and godmother than a boss. And that made it so much worse when I worried I needed more work to keep up with life. “Sometimes, when I worry about the bills, though, I wonder how different it could’ve been if I'd moved before George was born. To go after my dream of opening a café and starting some light catering. Something different from what the folks here in town are used to.”
She huffed, smiling as she joked, “It’s a lot of work to start a business from scratch.”
And a lot of investment capital upfront.
“I’ll manage,” I told her. I had an interview for a part-time spot at a warehouse scheduled. It would be third shift, and I had yet to check that Amanda could spend the night to be with George while I did it. It’d cut into my sleep, which I needed, but I had to get out of this paycheck-to-paycheck habit. If the house could just not need something repaired once in a while, that’d help too.
After we arrived at the venue, we were too busy to think. I didn’t have a chance to think about the future or worry. Between Jenny, Leo, Tiff, and a couple of others, we were hustling without a moment to catch our breaths. The busyness helped to preoccupy me, but even when the event slowed some and things were flowing on schedule, I had something else to make sure I didn’t relax. Or rather, someone.
Reagan was at the party as a guest with a date who looked like a creep. She was, of course, the epitome of beauty with her makeup on point, her hair professionally styled, and her gown no doubt the cost of my paycheck.
As soon as she spotted me nearing her table, she laid on her personal idea of “charm”.
When I reached between her and the guest seated next to her, she nudged my arm and almost made me drop a dish. “Jeez, if you weren’t so fat, you could fit in here, huh?”
I ignored it. I knew I wasn’t fat. My short height didn’t help, but I loved my curves. I felt healthy.
Then when I poured more wine later, she smirked. “It’s no wonder you never lose weight,” she taunted. “Always around food.”
I rolled my eyes in the kitchen, peeved that she’d stoop so low. I wasn’t trying to lose weight, and it was none of her business, anyway.
The last time I had to go to her table, she kept at it. “I’m a dietician, you know,” Reagan said haughtily. “I know what I’m talking about. Besides, it’s no wonder my cousin dumped you.”
Tiffany, who was helping at the table, frowned at her.
“I know you like to say you dumped him,” Reagan added as she lifted her wine glass for a sip, “but the whole world knows no man would ever want you for long.”
I left, refusing to let her crap get to me. In the kitchen, Tiffany growled. “I can’t stand her!”
“Join the club,” Leo said in passing. “Keep your head up, Blake.”
“I plan on it,” I said, keeping busy as my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I checked it quickly, smiling to see another text from Zach. He’d been updating me about how it was going at home. George insisted that they send me pictures of them coloring, watching a movie, and playing Jenga.
I couldn’t feel lousy about myself for long like Reagan intended me to. I was giddy and happy to receive Zach’s texts. Not just because I never had before his return, but because he seemed so glad to be in touch with me. Nothing seemed forced or obligatory as we kept up a running conversation that I returned to during my breaks. He, and our son, could lift my spirits despite anything Reagan wanted to sling at me.
Zach: I did see him puke, right?
Zach: It wasn’t a figment of my imagination. You saw it too.
Blake: I did.
Zach: According to what I Googled and how he’s acting, he’s rebounding fast.
I smiled, charmed that he’d be such a good caregiver to seek the reassurance that nothing was wrong by Googling George’s symptoms and knowing what to look out for.
Blake: Yep, that’s him. He never stays down for long. Strep was harder, but he bounces back fast.
Zach: You’re not kidding. I think he’s feeling better than I am at this rate.
“Oh, no,” I whispered. I didn’t want him to suffer now. If Amanda was under the weather too, it seemed contagious, whatever it was.
Blake: Not doing well?
Zach: Eh. Maybe it was something I ate.
Blake: The pizza?
He attached a picture of their dinner a couple hours back. George had been grinning with a thumbs-up for the shot. Now that I thought back to it, Zach’s plate seemed to hold more food than George’s like he might not have had an appetite for it.
Zach: George handled it fine.
Blake: I hope you’re not next in line to be sick. I’m sorry.
Zach: No worries. It happens.
Zach: Besides, my doctor promises I’ll be fine.
He sent a picture of Zach lying on the couch, his socked feet up as George stood over him. Wearing one of my white blouses for a doctor coat, using a toy stethoscope, and wearing a doctor ID badge made of construction paper, George played pretend with the soldier stealing my heart.
I smiled, wishing it could be easier to get over my worries and tell both of them the truth.