10. Laila
10
LAILA
FOUR MONTHS LATER
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
I glare at Dominik in the rearview mirror as he turns the corner, though I don’t know why. It’s not his fault he isn’t someone else.
“Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You cried in the doctor’s office.”
If a few tears have Dom this worried, he’d be horrified if he could see what I’ve been doing in my bedroom every night for the last four months. It’s a miracle the floors aren’t warped from all the salt water spilled in there.
“We’ve already established I’m a big ol’ crybaby.” I try my best to laugh, but the most I can manage right now is a strained smile. “It’s just the hormones.”
And the fact that my baby daddy-slash-employer wants absolutely nothing to do with me. That might have a teensy bit to do with it.
“It was a big appointment.” Dominik wags his brows. “That’s exciting.”
My heart clenches. “Is it? You’d have to ask Arsen. It’s his baby, not mine. Not that he seems to care one way or the other.”
“He cares.”
“Is not making it to a single doctor’s appointment how he expresses his concern?”
“He’s a busy man.”
I roll my eyes. “Defending him to the death must be in your job description.”
“As a matter of fact, it is. But I would do it anyway.”
I let my hair form a curtain between Dominik and me. Sometimes, I get the feeling that he watches me. Not in an I’m-concerned-about-you kind of way. More like an I-have-to-report-back kind of way.
I loathe that.
If Arsen won’t come see me himself, he doesn’t deserve to know what’s going on inside my head.
“Wanna stop for ice cream somewhere?” Dominik asks. “Are you still craving that?”
I shove down another stupid pang that it should be Arsen who knows my cravings, Arsen driving me home after an appointment.
“Mom will be back from chemo soon. I wanna be there when she gets home.”
“Evelyn will be with her.”
“So?” I snap. “Just because she has a full-time nurse now, I can stop giving a damn?”
Dominik leans back with raised eyebrows. “That’s not what I meant.”
I bite my tongue. “Sorry. I’m just a little…”
I leave it there. The truth is, I don’t know what I’m feeling right now. The last four months have been a roller coaster. Every time I think I’ve got my head wrapped around the situation, something flies out of left field and smacks me between the eyes.
It started with Arsen dropping his little “ I don’t need to see you again now that you’re knocked up ” bomb.
Like all I was good for was sex.
Which is what I agreed to, yes. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Then Dominik showed up on my doorstep the next day. Consider me your personal chauffeur for the next nine months.
And, the biggest curveball of all: the gorgeous three-bedroom house that still steals my breath every time Dominik pulls into the driveway.
It’s a mindfuck, really.
He gave me a house— Arsen cares.
He hasn’t shown his face in months— Arsen doesn’t care.
Back and forth, again and again. I don’t know what to believe. Now that I’m a human incubator, I barely even know who I am.
“Laila?” The car has stopped, and Dominik is standing outside the car, my door open. But I can’t make myself move.
“Just give me a minute.”
“Looks like your mom and Evelyn are home.” He gestures to the open front window. Mom likes the fresh air. Our windows in the apartment got the landlord special and were nailed shut.
I want to be inside with my mom. Scratch that—I want to want to be inside with my mom, but it’s hard to be around anyone these days. The only person who understands exactly what is going on doesn’t want to acknowledge I exist.
“If you need to talk?—”
“You’re my chauffeur, not my therapist,” I interrupt. “Or is Arsen paying you for that, too, now?”
Dominik shrugs. “I can try to be. If that’s what you need.”
I drop my face in my hands. “Your wife must hate me.”
“Why on earth would Kira hate you?”
“Because you spend more time with me these days than you spend with her.”
“Yes, but she gets it. You’re the job.” Immediately, Dominik winces. “Shit, sorry. That came out wrong.”
I wave him off. “Don’t be sorry. It’s the truth.”
Dominik leans forward, his arm resting on the top of the door frame. “I’m lucky, really. Not all the jobs I’m assigned to are this fun.”
“Don’t lie on my account,” I warn him with a scowl.
“I know this probably sounds like a line, but I’m serious, Laila. It’s been nice spending time with you these last few months. I’d like to think we’re friends.”
“It’s a pretty lopsided friendship. You know everything about me, but I don’t know anything about you.”
“You know my wife.”
“I know you have a wife. I know her name is Kira. That’s about the extent of it.”
“You wanna know something personal?” He bites his bottom lip to hide a smile. “Kira’s pregnant.”
“No way! Congratulations, Dom!”
He runs a hand through his hair, grinning now. “Yeah. It was unexpected. I mean, we both want kids; we just didn’t plan on trying for another couple of years. But life comes at you fast sometimes.”
Don’t I fucking know it?
“So,” Dom urges, “you ready to turn that frown upside down and head inside?”
“My feet hurt.”
His eyes narrow. “Why are you stalling?”
“Because if I go in there, Mom is going to ask about the gender. Then she’s going to ask me— again —if I’m sure about wanting to give this baby up for adoption. And I’m going to have to explain— again— why I’m doing what I’m doing.”
It’s all lies. Top to bottom lies.
Dominik’s mouth softens at the corners. “I like your mother. She’s a good woman.”
“She’s the best.” My chest hitches uncomfortably. “Which is why I did what I did. Her life is better now. We have a nurse and healthcare. She’s happier.”
“But you aren’t.”
I don’t miss that it isn’t a question. Dominik may want to be my friend, but he’s still Arsen’s employee. And I don’t need him reporting this back to his boss.
“You’re right: I’m stalling.” I push open the door and duck out. “Time to be a big girl and head in there.”
“Laila…”
“Thanks for driving me, Dom. And pass my congratulations on to Kira.” Before I walk inside, I whip around, eyebrow arched. “If he asks, I’m fine. I’m handling things like a pro. I am the picture of emotional and psychological stability. Got it?”
He sighs and gives me a half-hearted salute. “Got it.”
I shuffle to the front door and consider shuffling right back out when the smell of steak and potatoes wallops me. My lack of appetite has rivaled Mom’s lately. I think Evelyn is starting to take it personally.
“Honey, is that you?” Mom calls from the kitchen.
She’s at the center island while Evelyn busies herself at the stove. I drop into the stool next to her and kiss her cheek. “How was chemo?”
“A regular chuckle fest,” Mom says. “Wish I could go every day.”
“That bad?”
She pats my hand. “I’m just being a baby. It was fine. I’ve even made a few chemo friends.”
Evelyn pops the lid on her pan and turns to us. “She’s Miss Popularity at the hospital. She’s even got herself a new nickname.”
“Come on now, don’t leave me in suspense. What is it?”
Mom looks a little embarrassed. “Oh, it’s no big deal?—”
“Scarface,” Evelyn announces.
My mouth drops, my eyes veering to the scarred side of Mom’s face. I’m so used to it now that I hardly even notice.
Until some asshole has the audacity to bring it up.
“Who the hell calls you that?” I demand, jumping off my stool. “This hospital is supposed to be the best! It’s why I agreed to have your treatment transferred?—”
“Oh, honey, you’re blowing this out of proportion.” Mom glares at Evelyn. “There’s a little boy in chemo with me. He’s twelve years old, and he likes gangster movies. It’s sweet.”
“‘ Sweet’ ?”
“Being a big, bad gangster beats being a sick, old woman. He meant it as a compliment.”
For a long time, I didn’t think anyone could look at my scars or Mom’s with anything but horror. Until Arsen.
I hear his voice in the back of my head. These scars aren’t ugly; they’re proof that I was strong enough to heal. To survive.
Mom has survived a lot in her life. The irony isn’t lost on me that the one battle that didn’t give her a single scar is the one she might lose.
“Scarface,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Ridiculous.”
She chuckles and pats me on the hand. “How was your doctor’s appointment?”
“Fine.”
There’s a beat of silence before she elbows me in the side. “That’s it? That’s all you’re gonna give me? You’re twenty weeks now. Didn’t you find out the gender?”
Gritting my teeth, I rip off the Band-Aid. “It’s a girl.”
She gasps. “Oh, honey?—!”
“Mom, please. There’s no sense getting all excited. I’m not keeping the baby.”
She folds her hands in her lap. Her mouth twists, and I know she’s trying to keep herself from speaking.
I decide to make it easier on her. “So, what’s for din?—”
“Are you sure?” she blurts.
“Mom!”
She stares at me with wide, pained eyes. “We’re talking about a baby, sweetheart. Your baby.”
“We’ve been over this. I’m not ready to be a mother.”
“No one ever is.”
“We’ve got enough on our plates right now.”
“A baby would brighten up our lives. Give me something to look forward to. Give you someone to love, after?—”
“There is no ‘after,’” I insist. “There’s only ‘now.’ And right now, you’re here. End of story.”
“Sweetheart—”
“Evelyn!” I call, cutting Mom off. “I think your soup is burning.”
As Evelyn races back into the kitchen to check on her soup, which is perfectly fine, the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it,” I announce, avoiding Mom’s gaze on my way out.
When I open the door, though, there’s no one there.
Just a small package sitting in the center of the welcome mat.
I pick it up and pull at the silk ribbon holding the box together. The wrapping unfolds like a flower. Appropriate, considering what’s lying on the plush cushion inside?—
A tiny gold pendant…
In the shape of a rose.