Chapter 7
Beth
After more than half an hour that seemed to drag on forever, Ben has finally fallen asleep again.
He wasn’t really hungry or thirsty, didn’t want to play, and didn’t want to be put down, either.
I had tried to lie down with him in bed, but my work clothes chafed everywhere, so I quickly slipped into the floral top and sweatpants—my sleepwear—because I read somewhere that babies love it when clothes smell strongly of Mom.
In moments like these, I always wonder if I’m a bad mother because I have no idea what my child wants. Veronica usually says she doesn’t know either, but she’s combed through a few internet forums and it turns out most parents feel this way, and that it’s especially pronounced for single parents.
This time I don’t put Ben down, because the last few times he kept waking up when I did and made it very clear with loud cries that he didn’t like it one bit.
Maybe he just needs closeness and wants to be in my arms?
Maybe he senses how agitated I am because his father.
.. I swallow the lump in my throat and correct myself.
Because his sperm donor suddenly stood in front of me in my store and acted like nothing had happened.
But that thought is probably nonsense. Ben doesn’t know any of this.
I’ll have to answer for it soon enough and shouldn’t read so much into it right now.
Slowly and quietly, with Ben in my arms, I go into the kitchen to turn on the kettle because I want to make myself some tea and a hot-water bottle.
"I can take care of that," Veronica says behind me, and I jump because I didn’t expect her to be back so soon.
"Shhh," I murmur, because Ben furrows his brow and moves his little arms, probably because my startled jolt tugged him out of his well-deserved sleep.
I stroke his head while Veronica looks guilty, makes a wordless gesture of apology, and motions for me to leave the kitchen, because the sound of the kettle will surely wake Ben again.
I nod, go back into the living room, and am relieved to find that Ben is breathing evenly again.
His head rests against my chest, one nostril is squished shut and he’s breathing only through the other, producing a few little wheezing whistles that bring a smile to my face.
I give my little ray of sunshine a gentle kiss on the forehead and. ..
"Veronica?" I call in a whisper.
"I know, raspberry tea and a hot-water bottle for your feet, right?" she asks and shows me the tea bag already in her hand.
"Yeah," I say with a grin, and that pang of guilt rises in me again because she takes such loving care of me.
"But that’s not what I meant. The store.
.." I break off. "I know it’s a lot to ask, but I can’t just close whenever I want.
Could you stay downstairs a while longer until Ben.
.." I trail off again because it’s so hard to keep roping Veronica in.
I have no right to drag her into my life as unpaid labor.
"Honey! Paula, your assistant, is there right now. She came ten minutes ago, just like you arranged." She smiles and gives me a kiss on the cheek. "Mommy brain?" she asks with a grin.
"Probably," I reply, a little ashamed that I’ve got so little control over myself and my life right now, but relieved I don’t have to ask Veronica.
"So raspberry tea and a hot-water bottle, then?" she asks, and I nod.
A few minutes later she’s back with a steaming cup of tea whose scent instantly calms me, and she sets it carefully on the little coffee table in front of me. She lays the hot-water bottle on the floor, ridged side up, so I can rest my feet on it one at a time.
"Well?" she asks, simply looking at me. "How are you holding up?"
"What do you mean? I..." then I realize what she’s getting at. "Oh, you mean because of the asshole who knocked me up and then had me tossed out like trash?" I ask, feeling the anger over his brazen appearance and that shameless dinner invitation gnaw at me.
"That’s exactly what I mean," she whispers, and only then do I realize how loud I’ve gotten when Ben stretches out a tiny hand because my voice pulled him out of his dreams again.
Once he settles again, I carefully—and as awkwardly as possible—take a sip of tea so that, if I spill, nothing can drip on Ben.
"Then he even paid for the old lady’s bouquet because she didn’t have any money on her and helped her pick up her things and..."
"I wasn’t there back then," Veronica says quietly, pauses, and seems to choose her words carefully. "But he didn’t strike me as the classic asshole. Do you think he only helped the woman to make an impression? He seemed like he wanted to explain something, and maybe the invitation to dinner was a kind of apology? Maybe he wants to make it right? Maybe he still likes you and... oh, maybe I’m just talking nonsense," Veronica says, and takes a sip from her own cup.
"I don’t think so. You should’ve seen his well-endowed assistant back then," I say, grabbing my own breasts. And yet: even if I don’t want to admit it, Veronica’s thought does something to me.
It sinks deep and clamps on somewhere. Could it be he wanted to apologize?
But why? And why after so long? And why do my knees still go weak when he’s standing in front of me, after everything he did to me?
"You’re pretty well-endowed yourself right now," Veronica says with a grin, alluding to the size of my breasts, which have practically exploded from breastfeeding.
"Ha-ha," I say, but I’m grinning too, and I give her a friendly slap on the thigh. "So you’re saying he only wanted to ask me out because of these?" I ask, gesturing to my chest.
"I’m just saying you look great and men are into you. It’s different from back in high school. You’re still the same person, but men have noticed you now and... Do you ever look in the mirror and see how pretty you are, sweetie?"
"I just see bags under my eyes and a tired single mom," I shoot back, feeling a little uncomfortable, as always, at Veronica’s compliment. Maybe it just hurts to think about back then, when in high school I was too short for my weight and the boys laughed at my love handles. Maybe that’s why I just can’t feel pretty?
My phone buzzes on the table. Grateful for the distraction, I grab it because I don’t know what else to say. But when I see the sender and the first lines of the message, an annoyed sigh escapes me.
Want to go out? I want your body! Preferably now! Chris
"Look at this," I say, exasperated, and hold the message out to Veronica.
"Told you: men are into you." Veronica feels vindicated and grins broadly. "All right, it was just a joke," she adds soothingly when she sees the furrow in my brow. "He’s an ass. Just ignore him and laugh it off. After the way he treated you, Chris doesn’t deserve anything more."
I know Veronica’s right. She usually is about things like this. But all of this is kind of new to me, and I don’t understand how an ex who simply cheated on me can text me after more than a year and a half and be so blunt about sex.
"Can I add something?" Veronica asks cautiously.
"Of course. You, my therapist, friend, and life organizer, always can," I say, and this time I’m the one who earns a slap on the thigh.
"Ha-ha," Veronica retorts, clears her throat, and turns serious again. "I’m just thinking out loud; I don’t want to push you either way," she says, pausing again. "But think about it: One guy just bluntly asks for sex, the other wants to invite you to dinner and explain something."
"What’s your point?" I ask.
"I don’t have a point." Veronica lifts her hands disarmingly. "I’m just saying the father of your child seems to..."
"Sperm donor," I correct her, and I feel that heat flare in my gut again. And yet I wonder if she might be right. Should I have heard him out?
I can practically feel my curly hair standing on end, which is ridiculous, but the thought gets to me.
Still, I can’t undo it now. What kind of mother am I, anyway?
Should I tell my son in ten years that his father might have wanted to apologize, but I told him to go to hell?
Oh God, does that make me just as bad as he is?
WHIRRRR WHIRRRR WHIRRRRRR
I look around and see Petey going at his wheel again at an unusual hour for a hamster, and for the first time in a long time I’m grateful for it, because it takes my mind off things for a moment.
I should get this Alex Rodgers out of my head once and for all...
BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ
This time it’s my smartphone vibrating with an incoming call. I sigh, assuming for a second that Chris has moved on to calling me directly. But the display shows the number of the store below me.
"Paula? Everything okay?" I ask, worried, and at the same time I know it’s not, because she has instructions to call only if it’s urgent, since she knows I’m taking care of Ben when I’m not at the store.
"Sorry, Beth. I’m only calling because I know Veronica’s with you too. And there’s this man in a suit. He won’t be put off and keeps saying he wants to talk to you and..."
There it is again: that heat in my gut. Is Alex really brazen enough to come back and insist on another conversation?
Wasn’t I clear enough? At the same time I feel something else, and a part of me is flattered that he’s this persistent.
But I try not to let that other feeling in, because last time it led me nowhere.
"I’m coming," I say, and we hang up. "Can you hold Ben for a few minutes, Vero? He’s sleeping soundly, I think."
"Yeah, but..." she says, not quite getting what’s going on as I carefully hand Ben to her.
"He’s back. Alex. In the store. I’m going down," I say, and my heart is pounding wildly in my chest.
"Beth, you’re..."
"I know, I know. I heard everything you said. Be right back," I say.
"That’s not what I mean, you..."
"I’ve got this. Thanks for watching him," I say again, kissing both of them on the forehead. Then I hurry out the door and down the stairs to the store.
"Beth, look in the mirror," I hear her call. I ignore the comment, assuming she wants to remind me again that men think I’m pretty. Clothes is the last scrap I catch as I reach the bottom of the stairs.
"Where is he?" I ask Paula, who stares at me, a little aghast, looking me up and down.
At first I don’t get it, and then it hits me. I’m standing here in sweatpants and a faded floral top, with my nipples visible through it. My sleepwear—the stuff no one else ever sees. Is that what Veronica was trying to say when I cut her off?
"There," she says, extending her hand, and I turn around as my cheeks burn and I wish I’d listened to Veronica—her words suddenly make sense.
The guy in the suit is looking around, sniffing a few roses. He takes one from the bucket and turns toward me.
But it’s not Alex.
And I hate myself for being almost a little disappointed about that.
But who is he and why does he want to talk to me?
He looks good, but not like Alex and—oh God, did I really just think that?
Do I still like Alex? I can’t actually think that, can I?
The two of them could be brothers, because he’s got that typical playboy grin too, which—in his case—leaves me completely cold.
"Jake Smith," he says, coming toward me, his gaze lingering on my breasts longer than necessary. I fold my arms across my chest, and even though my outfit is embarrassing enough, I don’t want him undressing me with his eyes.
"Are you the owner?" He offers me his hand; I take it briefly, and he kisses it. Almost like Alex back then, only this does nothing to me. I pull my hand back and cross my arms again.
"What do you want?" I ask.
"Easy there, pretty lady," he says, clearing his throat. "I’ve got a proposal you might like."
"I’m not your lady," I snap.
"Listen up, here’s the deal. You’ll see—you simply won’t be able to say NO."
Oh, I can, I think, as I listen to what this two-bit playboy has to say and wonder if there’s a farm where puffed-up rich boys are bred and taught that the world has been waiting for them.
"Well? What do you think?" he asks, leaning his head a little closer. I breathe in his smell, which somehow reminds me of rotten avocado, and I just want him to go away. Besides, the proposal was downright shameless. A date for money? Who does he think he is?
I’m about to show him what my answer is.