18. Valentina #2
“The question,” Mamma says, “isn’t whether he has a son.
He does. That doesn’t change. The question is whether you love him enough to work through it.
Whether you can forgive the lying—ah, I’m not saying today.
” She holds up a finger to stop me from interrupting her.
“Not soon, but eventually. Whether you can accept that his past has arrived in the middle of your present in the worst possible way and choose him anyway.” She pauses.
“And whether you can be—whether you could be a stepmother to this child. Be angry with Cillian. Be angry with the mother. But don’t be angry at an innocent child. He didn’t ask to be involved in this.”
“I’m not angry at Finn,” I tell my mother, a little hurt she thinks I could be. “But I am angry with Cillian. And I don’t know how to answer that.”
“No one is expecting you to right now.” She strokes my hair again. “That’s why you need time.” She pauses and tilts my chin up so I can look into her dark brown eyes. “But not too much time,” she says gravely. “In our world, Valentina, gaps don’t stay empty.”
My stomach bottoms out. I know what she’s insinuating, and I don’t even want to think about what Claire will do with a gap.
My mother holds me for a long time after that.
At some point she gets up and makes me a snack that I don't eat and tea that I drink. I sit on the sofa and I stare at nothing, disassociating.
I’m still on the sofa at five thirty when the front door opens.
Emma barrels through first, looking like a woman on a mission. Behind her follows a wary Leo, clutching the car seat in one hand and the diaper bag over another shoulder.
He looks uncomfortable, to say the least, and he’s the first one to look away when we make eye contact.
How did they know I was here…?
Oh wait, I know. Guess there’s a rat in this family.
I glare at my mother, who is standing in the doorway serenely, looking just oh so surprised that Leo, Emma, and Seraphina are here.
What a little actress.
She called in reinforcements.
“Mamma,” I say flatly.
She raises one elegant eyebrow. “What?”
“You called them.” I point an accusing finger at her.
“I missed my granddaughter,” she says, with complete innocence. “Can’t an old woman desire to see her grandchild? I barely see her.”
Leo rolls his eyes as he drops the diaper bag on the hall chair. “She saw Seraphina yesterday.”
“Yes,” my mother agrees, “and that was already too long.” She crosses the room and expertly and quickly undoes the straps of the car seat to lift up the baby.
All I see is a shock of dark brown hair that’s still untamable and a tiny body clad in a pink sleeper.
Seraphina makes a small sound and resettles against my mother’s shoulder, still sleeping.
My mother closes her eyes in bliss before she zeroes in on my brother. “Leo, come help me in the kitchen.”
Leo’s brows furrow and he glances at me and his wife. “I don’t need—”
“I didn’t ask what you need,” my mother says firmly, already heading down the hall with the baby and leaving no room whatsoever for discussion. “Come.”
Leo looks at us helplessly, but Emma shoos him. “You heard your mother,” she tells him. “Shoo. Valentina and I need to talk.”
Leo sighs but I can tell he wants to say something and is deciding whether this is the correct moment. From the irritated look on his face, he decides it isn’t. But he dutifully follows our mother and disappears, leaving Emma and me alone.
Emma watches them go before turning her attention on me.
“I’m so fucking pissed,” she seethes, her green eyes flashing with anger.
“You didn’t have to come,” I tell her, feeling bad she came here. I’m sure they had better things to do.
She waves me off. “I am exactly where I need to be.” She sits down next to me and takes my hand. “Tell me everything.”
So I tell her.
One of the things I love most about Emma is how much of an open book she is.
She can’t hide her feelings for shit. She scowls when I tell her about Claire and laughs at my snarky responses back to her. When I get to the result she says, quietly, “fuck,” and when I describe the hallway and Cillian’s face she presses her lips together hard.
When I finish, she is quiet for a moment.
“You love him.”
“Yes,” I sigh. “Unfortunately.”
“Then you need to decide if you’re staying,” she says sharply.
“Now. Not in a few weeks after you’ve convinced yourself you don’t.
Now.” She leans in, her face serious. “Because every day you push him away is a day Claire gets to step into the space you’re leaving.
She gets to be the one who understands. Who shares his son.
Who’s there when he needs someone.” She looks at me steadily.
“She’s already been setting that up. You know she has. ”
It’s basically exactly what my mother told me. Did she and Emma speak in advance?
I pull my hand away from Emma and wrap them around myself. “I am aware of this.”
Emma bites her lip, looking as if she wants to say something but isn’t sure.
“Go on,” I tell her. “What’s on your mind?”
“That DNA test,” she says slowly.
“What about it?” I really don’t want to talk about that ever again.
“Listen to me.” She leans forward. “That result came back in two days. The counselor said three to five business days. Two days is fast, Val. And the result was…” She shakes her head slightly. “How convenient.”
I stare at her, not comprehending what she’s saying.
“Claire tracked down Cillian from a first name and a few weeks nine years ago. She showed up at your apartment while he was conveniently out.” She raises a brow.
It’s all information I’ve been stewing about but finding no good explanations for.
“And now the test comes back in two days, conclusively saying Cillian is the father.” She shakes her head.
“How many times have we been told that nothing should be taken at face value in our world?”
I freeze, slowly looking up at her, my heart pounding.
“Nothing should be taken at face value,” Emma repeats, looking determined. “You need a second test. A different lab.” She holds my gaze. “And you don’t tell Claire. You don’t tell anyone except us and Cillian.”
The room is very quiet.
I think about Claire’s face when the counselor confirmed the test’s accuracy. The small exhaled sound when the results were read out. The gamble paying off.
What if the gamble wasn’t a gamble?
What if it was a certainty?
My body suddenly goes ice cold. Because if the test was tampered with—if the results were not what the results actually were—then everything changes.
What if none of it was real?
“Val?” Emma’s voice sounds far away. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I say, honestly and I realize I’m freezing now.
She reaches across and takes my hand, wincing at my cold hands. “Get the second test,” she says firmly. “That’s the next step.” She raises a brow and gestures to my phone. “Text Cillian.”
I sit there for a moment, my mind racing. But then I pick up my phone.
We need to talk.