22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Emily
W e get deeper into June, and I’m still not pregnant, but after getting the news about Amir, I’m not sure anything can bring me down. I hadn’t realized what an unconscious heavy burden the uncertainty about his medical future was until it was gone.
“Mom,” Amir says, climbing into my car from the after-school program, “I made something for Father’s Day at school, and then we made something in the after-school program today, too.”
My heart seizes for a beat, and I’m at a loss for words. Are we taking those things to the cemetery?
“Oh?” I say, hoping he’ll expand on what he’s thinking before I make any wild suggestions.
“Yeah,” he says, buckling his seatbelt. “I think Trent will like them.”
Speech has definitely lost me. He knows his father died when he was a baby, but since Trent lives with us now, maybe he’s gotten confused.
“And some of the other kids were talking about how they make their dads breakfast in bed and stuff, and I want to do that too.”
When I still don’t say anything, he says, “It’s this weekend. On Sunday, I think? Yeah, Sunday. I’m pretty sure.”
Trent did help Amir in May to deliver me breakfast in bed for Mother’s Day, but I’m stumped about the best way to approach this. Trent doesn’t even want to be a true father to the baby we’re trying to have, so asking him or making him take on that role for Amir seems unfair.
“You know,” I say, carefully. “Trent and I might need to talk about this before we do anything.”
“But I want it to be a surprise.”
“But honey,” I say, struggling to find the words, “Trent isn’t your dad.”
“Right, but he’s like a dad.”
He did make him breakfast, take him to do fun things, occasionally correct him when he was doing something wrong, and so I could see how all of that added up to “Dad-like” to Amir, but I have no idea how Trent would see it.
Even bringing it up to him makes my pulse jump with anxiety.
Since I haven’t gotten pregnant yet, we haven’t had to revisit our earlier conversations around how involved he’d be, around who we’d tell, and letting Trent slip into such an important position in Amir’s life seems like it warrants another discussion.
“I don’t think this is something we can just spring on him,” I say. “I won’t tell Trent what you’ve made or anything, but I think I should check with him. That’s he’s okay for you to treat him that way.”
“Who else would I treat that way?” Amir asks. “My dad died. Grandpa died. Uncle Tyler is someone else’s dad. Uncle Grady is nice, but he’s not Trent. I want Trent.”
His matter-of-fact statements hit me square in the chest. “I understand that,” I say, carefully, my throat tight with emotion. “I just need to talk to Trent first.”
“Don’t spoil my surprise,” Amir says, a hint of stubbornness entering his tone.
“I won’t spoil your surprise,” I say, but inside I wonder what part of this whole thing Trent is going to find most surprising and what the hell I’m going to tell Amir if Trent doesn’t want to be seen in this sort of light.
That night, Amir asks Trent to put him to bed, which only delays the “dad” discussion that has my guts twisted in knots. I have no idea how Trent is going to take it.
The bedtime request has happened often enough, either because I’m showing clients a house or Amir wants the bonding time. Trent and Amir have a system. Instead of Trent reading the bedtime story, Amir has to pick one he can read to Trent.
Any time I’ve walked past the room while they’ve been doing their routine, it’s made my chest glow with warmth.
Trent is always lying on the single bed, wedged in beside Amir, his hand under his head, staring at the ceiling while Amir hunches over a picture book, sounding out words and trying to make sense of the story he selected.
They chat back and forth about characters and plot as though the storyline is riveting to both of them.
If I wasn’t already eager to have Trent’s baby, that probably would have been enough to seal the deal. I love the way he loves my son.
But I’m also very aware of how Trent’s past casts a long shadow over what he thinks he deserves, what he’s capable of having, who he can allow to push that shadow away, even for a moment.
Since we’ve been living together, I’ve become more conscious of how he sees his past than I ever was before.
He won’t let the weight of his past mistakes go.
When Trent comes down the stairs and into the kitchen, my breath catches at how good rumpled and a little tired looks on him.
His jeans hang just right, and the T-shirt he’s wearing hugs his chest and accentuates his impressive biceps.
He’s in the gym at least three times a week—sometimes in the early morning, sometimes late at night.
He told me once that working out is the best way to keep any stress in check, which was something he discovered in prison.
I certainly appreciate the results of that anti-stress routine.
“You’re not watching TV?” Trent asks, grabbing a Gatorade from the fridge and twisting off the lid.
“I was feeling a little anxious about something, so I couldn’t focus,” I admit, fiddling with a piece of stray paper on the counter.
He comes over so our shoulders brush and rests against the counter beside me.
Maybe the proximity should bother me, but I love that he likes to be close to me, that any chance he has to touch me, he does.
And it amazes me how he can ramp up the sexual tension between us from casual friendship to “I want to rip off your clothes” only when required.
Sometimes it makes me question whether he really does think about me in that way throughout the month, or if he just flicks a switch, makes himself feel a certain way.
Ever since that first kiss, it feels like I have a pilot light inside, lit just for him, waiting to be turned to full strength. I notice things about him in a way I never did before.
He takes a long drink from the bottle, his throat working, before screwing on the top and setting it beside him. “What’s going on? How can I help?”
“I’ve been wracking my brain trying to think about how to approach this,” I say.
“Are you cutting me from the baby making team because I can’t hit the target?” Trent asks.
“No,” I say, and I let out a startled laugh. At this point, I like having sex with him far too much to be cutting him from the team, even if the results have been slow to come. “It’s about Amir.”
“Okay,” Trent says, clearly waiting for more.
“He would like to celebrate Father’s Day this year,” I say.
Trent nods slowly, and it looks like he’s trying to process what this would mean. “Sounds kinda morbid, but do you mean at the cemetery?”
“No,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I mean with you.”
“Me?” He sounds genuinely surprised.
I don’t say anything, I just give Trent a beat to work through the implications of that.
“Oh, I don’t know, Em,” he says, running a hand along the top of his head. “I wouldn’t want to let the kid down.”
Even though he doesn’t elaborate, I understand both ways he means it. Saying “no” would let Amir down, but saying “yes” leaves Amir open to criticism from people around town. While Trent and I are adults who can deal with people’s old perceptions of him, Amir might be hurt or confused by them.
“What does he want to do?” he asks.
“Cook you breakfast. Give you a few things he’s made.”
“That’s it?” he asks.
“Yes, but…” I struggle to find the right words. “We’d be setting a precedent. I don’t know if he’d want to do that next year and the year after—assuming you’re still in our life.” I say the last part quietly, almost afraid to put it out into the universe.
“I’ll be here,” he says firmly and quickly. “I’ll be here, right?” There’s a hint of panic in the second question. “We made a promise.”
“And I’m planning to keep it, but I also know life doesn’t always go how we expect, how we want it to.”
Trent is quiet for a beat, and his hands flex on the counter as he leans back into them.
I have no idea what’s going through his head, but the expression on his face makes me think it’s a lot.
I knew Amir’s request wasn’t a light, easy one, and I’m glad he’s taking it seriously, but I’m worried I’ll have to tell Amir that his plans will have to change.
“One of the reasons I wasn’t sure I could say ‘yes’ to this whole baby making thing was him, you know?
He’s lost his dad, and he lost his grandfather, and we’ve gotten close.
Like, I can’t deny that.” He glances at me, as though checking to see if I’m following along.
“And I’d never want to put anything in place that would make my relationship with him harder.
” Trent swallows and looks away. “Like what if you got remarried at some point? I don’t have a legal or biological claim to Amir at all. ”
I want to tell him that I’m never going to get remarried, but the truth is that having Trent around, the support he’s given me, has been nicer than I expected.
I’d forgotten what it was like to be with a partner who was truly an equal, and he is.
There’s no task too big or too small for him around the house, with me, with Amir.
That’s what I’d want, if I were to ever do it again.
And I understand how rare it is to have this.
Even admitting all that in my head makes me a bit queasy.
“If we have a baby,” I say, “you’d be around no matter what. Right? You said you’d be involved in the baby’s life, even if we never really tell anyone the biological connection. I want you involved. It would be easy enough for Amir to have a relationship with you too, if you want.”
“Do you really think this is a good idea, Em?”
“I think he already sees you as a dad figure, and I think this is proof of it. Whether we let him celebrate you or not, he already feels that connection. Maybe already wants that bond with you…” I watch him carefully while I say the next bit.
“But if you don’t want that, then I think we need to consider setting more boundaries so that Amir doesn’t get confused. ”
I can almost see the two versions of Trent mentally wrestling for control—the nineteen-year-old kid who made a lot of mistakes and went to jail, and the man he’s worked so hard to become since he got out.
Despite what he believes about himself, he’s not a bad role model for Amir, and if I believed that, I never would have let them get so close, I never would have wanted him to father a baby with me.
That’s the reasonable, rational way to look at the situation, but I know that’s not Trent. He’s all raw emotions and gut feelings.
“It wouldn’t bother you for him to put me in that role?” he asks, finally.
“My only concern is that, no matter what happens between us, you don’t disappear on him.
He’s lost Omar, and he’s lost my dad. I’d never forgive myself if I put another man in his path that got ripped away.
” And I think, in some ways, that’s also been my problem with dating.
When I know I might bring a man into our lives who won’t stay, it’s hard to commit.
“I won’t disappear on him,” he says, and his voice is rough with emotion. “But I really don’t know that I should be the one guiding him.”
“Your past is in your past, Trent. None of that is happening right now. It’s done. And look what you’ve accomplished since you got out? If you ask me, you’re exactly the kind of person I’d want him to learn from. You’re kind, patient, and you treat others with respect.”
“I’ll trust your judgment, Em. If you think it’s okay, then I think it’s okay too.”
I just wish getting that response was that easy for our potential baby, but maybe it will be by the time I get pregnant and have our child.
Maybe by then he’ll have been able to let his past go, tuck it firmly behind him, and embrace the notion that he’s changed.
That he can be a good person who once made some bad choices.
“Brace yourself then,” I say with a small smile. “I have no idea what he has planned.”
“I consider myself warned.” A hint of an answering smile touches Trent’s lips.