20
Caleb
Charlotte hugs her son and her friends before they wave goodbye to each other. Her friend Jane keeps shooting daggers at me, and I’m unsure why.
Her son looks back at his mother, and Charlotte furiously waves back at him. This appeases him, and he turns back to his little friend.
Once they exit the corridor, Charlotte clasps her hands together. “So.” She looks around and avoids my eyes. This is the first time I’ve seen her nervous. It’s sort of endearing.
“So.”
“Do you know of any good restaurants around here?”
Her face is flush and her lips red. It’s warm down here, but not that warm. Perhaps it’s the jacket she’s wearing or perhaps…
“There’s a place right next door. I have a private room there.”
“A private room?”
“Yes.”
“Fancy,” she says with a smirk .
I smile back. “I know.”
She chuckles, and it feels like we’re back in St. Kitts.
God, I missed this.
I text my driver that I’m on my way out and that there’s a change of plans. I’m not going to my brother’s place for dinner, but Dimitri’s instead, so I won’t be needing his services.
“Do you mind walking? It’s only around the corner.”
“Not at all. I’ve got my sneakers on.”
When we step outside, a gust of wind yanks the door open and whips her hair around. She pulls her jacket across her body, and I use mine to shield her from the worst of it. The wind tunnel ends as soon as we turn the corner. “Geez, that was like being inside a tornado or something.”
“I’m sorry about your hair.” It’s sticking out in all directions, and I try to pull a few strands free from their knots. She watches me and my finger lingers next to her ear. I don’t stop myself when they drop to her collarbone, and neither does she. She inhales sharply and exhales slowly. Her familiar scent stirs something in me, and I want to drop and kiss her, but it’s been months, and I don’t know if she still wants that from me.
“The restaurant is this way,” I say and turn away from her face.
We walk silently the last few steps to the restaurant and the usual hostess greets us at the door. “Mr. Consuelos. Great to see you again. Will you be wanting your private room?”
“Yes, Helen. Thank you.”
She takes Charlotte’s jacket, and we walk to the back toward the private room. The table seats four, but it’s cozy enough in the room not to feel lost. I pull out a chair for Charlotte. “Thanks.”
“Should I bring out the usual appetizers?” asks Helen.
I turn to Charlotte. “Do you like spanakopita?”
“I do.”
Helen nods and leaves the room.
Charlotte watches her go and then her eyes meet mine. “I’ve been looking for you,” she says, and my chest tightens. Despite the possessiveness in that statement, I like the sound of it coming from her. I clear my throat. “You have?”
She nods.
“I thought we decided it was only a vacation fling. Being ‘Opposite Charlotte’ you called it.”
“Yes, we did.”
If she’s brave enough to admit she wanted to see me, then I would do the same. “I picked up the phone several times to hire a private investigator to track you down, but stopped, respecting that you didn’t want to keep in touch. So, what changed? Why did you want to find me? ”
She fiddles with the corner of the napkin on the table, then looks up. Her eyes are warm and dark. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
I lean forward. “Okay.”
She presses her hands together and stares up at the ceiling while releasing a loud breath. “I’m so nervous.”
I don’t understand what she could be nervous about. “Don’t be nervous. Just say it.”
“Caleb…”
“Yes.”
She closes her eyes. “I’m pregnant.”
I smile at her joke. “Don’t worry. I gained a few pounds since the trip, too.”
She opens her eyes and looks into mine. Her lips turn down and her brow furrows.
Suddenly, a whoosh goes through my head and my ears ring. Alarm bells go off and I lean back, trying to back away from the implication that struck me.
“Wait—you are joking, right?”
“No,” she breathes harshly. “I’m pregnant and you’re the father.”
What?!
Jesus.
Is she serious?
What the fuck?
I don’t understand.
She said it was impossible .
Is this really happening?
What…how…fuck!
“I—” My lips feel numb, and the words die at the tip of my tongue. I have no clue what to say while my brain catches up to the revelation.
She inhales deeply and lets the air out slowly from her nostrils. Suddenly, I remember how difficult this must be for her.
“Shit. I’m sorry.”
She drops her head into her hands but stares up at me. “You don’t have to apologize. I was the one who reassured you I couldn’t get pregnant. I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “That’s not what I was apologizing for. I just realized this must have been quite the shock for you, too.”
She laughs wryly. “Yeah, you could say that. I only recently started wearing maternity jeans. Until now, I used an elastic to keep my pants up.”
I chuckle at her joke. “That’s funny.”
“Are you certain I’m the father?” I ask and immediately regret the question. I hold my hand up. “Forget I asked that.”
She raises her eyebrows but nods her head. “Look, I’m not asking anything of you. You made it clear you didn’t want children, but I felt at the very least you should know.”
“Yes, of course. I’m glad you told me. ”
Glad isn’t really the right word, but I hope she understands the sentiment.
“I’m having the baby.”
I nod as I somehow figured she would.
“He or she will have my last name, same as Charlie’s, so no one will have to know you’re the father except for us…well, and Sage, and Jane, oh and Austin, too.”
A smile twitches on my lips. “Got it.”
“I’ll raise the baby in Cedar Brook Falls and tell everyone that the father is a man I met while on vacation. No one needs to know your name.”
“Cedar Brook Falls? That’s where you’re from?”
“Yes.”
“And it’s a small town?”
“Very much.”
“Have small towns changed? Won’t that explanation shock everyone?”
“Nope. It’ll be shocking, and then they’ll move on to the next town gossip. But this one will last for at least a year. Unless Mrs. Weinstein finally leaves her lying, cheating husband.” Her nose scrunches up when she says that, and I can’t help but smile at how cute she looks.
Cutetiful . That’s what she is. Cute and beautiful at the same time. She’s a sweet and caring woman, and if circumstances were different, I would probably jump at the chance to date her. But she’s from a small town, and I’m here in Queens, married to my work. Perhaps in another lifetime we will connect, but for this one, it just won’t work.
But that doesn’t mean I will shirk my responsibilities.
“Charlotte, you’re the one carrying this child and the one who’ll decide whether you’d like to keep it or not. If you wish to keep the baby, then I’ll help you—financially.”
She stares at me. “Financially.”
“Yes.”
She crosses her arms and leans back in her chair. “Um, that isn’t necessary, especially if you don’t want to be a part of the child’s life. Jason doesn’t pay me child support, so I won’t ask you to, either.”
“Your ex doesn’t pay child support? Are you kidding?”
“No.”
“Jesus, Charlotte. You need to rectify that immediately. Whether he wants to be a part of the child’s life or not, he should help you financially to raise him.”
“Jason wanted me to have an abortion. I chose not to, so I bear all the financial responsibility.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“It does for me. He gets no say in what I do or how I raise Charlie. ”
“Is that the sort of deal you’re looking to get from me?”
The server walks into the room carrying a plate of perfectly baked spanakopita and sets it on the table, momentarily saving Charlotte from answering my question. Neither of us says anything until the server leaves. Charlotte uncrosses her arms and leans closer to the table, inhaling softly, the tight black fabric rising with her chest. “That smells delicious.”
“Charlotte?”
“Yes?”
“Will you ice me out of this child’s life?”
She falls back on her chair, and this time huffs loudly before crossing her arms again. “I don’t know. What would your commitment look like? Are you just sending monthly payments and expect photos of the kid in return? Sure, I can do that. Do you expect me to call you before I make any decision, like if I’ll let him watch television before bed or not, then no, I won’t be consulting you on that.”
“I don’t care whether the kid watches television before bed or not.”
“Then what is it you want to know, Caleb? What sort of involvement are you expecting in return for your financial commitment?”
Her direct question surprises me. No one’s ever challenged me like this and the fact that she’s reversed the question makes me realize she isn’t intimidated. Good.
“Yes, monthly or bi-monthly photos would be great. Perhaps some updates early on when the child walks, talks… I don’t know… whatever milestones children hit. I’d like to know about them.”
“Why?”
There she goes again. Pushing me. Challenging me. Only this time, the question is unsettling because I don’t have an answer. “Why?” I repeat.
She nods.
It’s getting warm in this small room, so I undo another button at the top of my shirt. “Because I’m not an asshole, Charlotte. I want to know what my child is up to.”
“Do you plan to visit him or her?”
“I’m not sure.”
“When will you be sure?”
“What’s this about? Why the third degree? I’m just trying to say I want to be involved.”
She runs her fingers through her hair. “I get that’s what you want, but can you understand how I need to know how to explain your involvement or lack of involvement to our child? If you only show up once a year or once every five years, how do I explain that to them? Do I say daddy only visits when he feels like it? That is a pretty shitty thing to do to a child. ”
“I don’t know. What have you told Charlie about his father?”
“Charlie doesn’t know who his father is.”
“Really? Why not?”
She presses her lips together and her jaw ticks. “Because until recently we hadn’t spoken since our break-up.”
Shit.
This woman has been through a lot with her ex and raising that boy on her own. I guess I can understand why she’d want to know right now whether I’ll be the same or not.
“I get it. I do. But I just found out I’m going to be a father. I need some time to process how a child will fit into my life.”
She inhales sharply and closes her eyes. “You’re right. This is a lot at once.”
“Let’s eat,” I say, then cut a piece of the spanakopita and put it on her bread plate. “We have a few months to figure this all out. We don’t have to do it all tonight.”
She runs her tongue over her front teeth while staring at the spinach pastry in front of her. “I guess we still have some time to talk about it.” She cuts a small piece and brings it to her mouth. Her lips circle the fork and pull the pastry clean off. It’s a simple act, yet my body stirs. I’ve felt that mouth on me and the memory is ingrained in my head .
“So,” I say, distracting myself from her lips. “Tell me how you nearly got arrested at my office.”
She smiles, and those lips spread over white, shiny teeth. “Funny story…”