Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
I don’t even want to deal with this shit today , I think as I park my car.
The day of the dreaded baby shower is finally here, and…I don’t want to celebrate. I don’t feel like being around people and smiling when I have no idea what my future is going to look like.
I wouldn’t be having such a hard time if I’d just stood my ground and didn’t let Quintin in. Now, he’s gone, and I have no fucking idea how to move forward, not when there’s still furniture he’d planned to build and I cry whenever I walk past the nursery.
The only reason I’m here is because Mami would kill me if I dared to not show up. And then she’d bring me back to have the baby.
The vibrant sound of salsa music fills the air as I step into the venue adorned with colorful decorations and twinkling lights.
The space is brimming with laughter and chatter, so different from my inner turmoil, and the delicious aroma of rellenos de papa , alcapurria , and all my other favorite Puerto Rican delicacies puts a little pep in my step.
It smells like comfort and sounds like happiness—two things I’ve been missing lately.
I enter the celebration cautiously, the hesitation a byproduct of my sadness. I haven’t had pleasant thoughts about raising a baby alone, and it’s put a damper on my perception of my motherhood journey.
At least I’m not wearing heels.
Santana insisted I show up dressed to the nines, damn near shoving ballgowns in my face.
I opted for a long blue dress, the matching cardigan keeping it from looking too formal.
My hair is swept up, my loose curls pinned, thankfully, off my neck.
In spite of the cold, I feel like a current resident of Satan’s asshole.
I wore boots outside and traded them in for sandals as soon as I walked in.
“ ?Mi amor! ” my mother calls out, waving me over toward her and my titi . I haven’t seen her eyes shine like this in such a long time, her arms outstretched as she waits to hug me. The fear I had that she would be ashamed of me feels like a foreign concept.
But she doesn’t know the truth, and with Quintin no longer answering my calls, I’m sure she’s going to find out. Either that, or she’s going to hate him. Both possibilities make me feel sick to my stomach.
Still, I smile and make my way to her side, her warm embrace enveloping me as I ignore the panic inside me. “ Mami , everything looks beautiful. Thank you for organizing this.”
It’s more colorful than I would’ve opted for, but if I’m being honest, this is more for her and the baby than it is for me and my very minimal taste.
The colorful decorations, the tropical theme with a balloon arch…
not much my vibe. But I decided not to learn the baby’s gender and Mami worked with a neutral theme. Not bad from a professional standpoint.
She beams with pride, clasping her hands together.
“Of course, mi vida . This is a special day, and we must celebrate it in style.” She twirls in her long skirt in time with the music.
Happiness looks amazing on her. Her curly hair is in a no-nonsense bun, the silver threaded through the black strands her way of accepting the privilege of aging.
Now, she’s about to be a grandmother. The thought makes my eyes mist, and I follow the scent of food to keep from weeping like a bitch.
“I don’t know how you did all of this,” I whisper as I admire the setup. “It must’ve taken you days to get the food done.” My poor mami in her kitchen, working her hands to the bones. I didn’t even want to come.
I’m a piece of shit.
She shakes her head, pulling me from my thoughts. “Your Quintin helped. He stayed up all night to finish.” Surprise registers, and when I open my mouth to coax more details out of her, she shushes me before ushering me to a chair that looks a lot like a throne. “Relax. No more questions.”
What the fuck ?
The same man who isn’t answering my calls and texts? The one who skipped out on one of the most important baby appointments?
And he stayed up all night to help feed everyone here. I don’t fucking get it.
As the party continues, I find myself surrounded by loud music and laughter, and it is so at odds with the confusion inside me.
Santana grins over at me from her place by my side where she’s been all night, inappropriate jokes at the ready as she sips from the flask she tucked into the pocket of her cargo pants.
How very innovative of her.
“You know if you start dancing, my godchild might want to join in, too,” Santana suggests as she sways to the reggaeton. She looks stunning in a bustier top that somehow elevates her look—because who’d pair lingerie with cargo pants and stilettos?
Beside her, I feel like a sweaty beast, but I roll my eyes as I shake my head. “I’d look like a damn fool out there. It’d be too early for the baby to join us anyway.” I settle deeper into my seat, gesturing for her to go. “Go. Dance.”
She smirks before taking another swig of her mystery liquor, this time stashing the flask in her top. “As you wish. But you better save a dance for me at your wedding!”
I try not to frown, to not show her how uncertain things feel between me and Quintin right now. He isn’t even here at this family co-ed baby shower for the baby he seemed to want—up until he didn’t anymore, I guess. “Let’s focus on the baby first, okay?”
It’s been five days since Paula’s event, and with my baby shower coming and my complete confusion over the situation, I haven’t had the energy to fill Santana in. When she asked if Quintin was coming, I told her he had a work emergency.
And because she’s had no reason to dislike Quintin, she took it in stride, sure that if he could’ve been here, he would’ve. Nope.
Santana sways to the music, probably tipsy from the open bar currently stashed in her titties. “If I have to live vicariously through you to experience a wedding, you bet your ass I’m gonna shake mine.”
The only thing I shake is my head as she dances, picking up one of my younger cousins on the way to the dance floor.
Is it just me, or is the music getting louder and the adults have somehow all gotten drunk? Mami announces from the DJ booth that it’s time for me to open gifts, and I try to wave my hands to show how against the idea I am. Alas, she pretends not to see me.
Guests gather around to watch me open gifts before the baby shower turns into a full-on party. By then, I’ll be on my way home, already itching to climb in my bed and eat ice cream until I fall asleep.
Every onesie, toy, and blanket feels oddly reassuring, like love for a baby who wasn’t planned, a baby I once thought was a mistake. It slows me down, and I try to hold it together as I thank everyone.
Guilt fills me, and I stroke my stomach, closing my eyes for a moment as I feel my child kick.
Suddenly, a hush falls over the room, and Mami steps forward, microphone in hand.
Where the fuck did she get that? I’ll kill the DJ.
“Thank you all for being here to celebrate this special day with us. It means the world to my daughter and me to have you all here.” Even in a room full of our family members, she opts for English.
“And now, I have a fun surprise. Santana, ven aquí .”
Santana’s eyebrows waggle as she walks up with a grin. Mami hands her the microphone, and Santana clears her throat dramatically.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for a little game! We’re going to see how well Daniela knows her baby daddy!” Santana announces with a flourish, waving the microphone toward me. “And as the godmother of her genderless bundle of joy, I will be the emcee.”
Listening to her call Quintin the father of my child, knowing what we know, sobers me. It causes me to pause, to miss him, to choke back a sob that I hide in a sigh.
I was just starting to feel like we were his.
But when I look out at my mother, she presses her fingers to her lips before blowing me a small kiss. Santana goes back to her emceeing duties, and I laugh at her utter ridiculousness.
This bitch would dress up like a clown if it meant she’d get a smile out of me. I love her stupid ass for it.
My cheeks flush, and I can’t help but chuckle at Santana.
“Okay, Santi,” I say, rubbing my hands together. I’m ready to see what questions she has up her sleeve, praying she doesn’t ask about the size of his?—
“All right, first question. We’re starting off easy. What’s his favorite color?”
I think back to the different colors adorning his restaurant, to the comment he made about the color shirt I was wearing on our first date that wasn’t a first date. “Blue.”
Santana nods approvingly, twisting her lips. “Correct! Next question: What’s his go-to comfort food?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who loves chicken more than he does,” I reply with a smile, rubbing my hand over my chest where my heart aches.
The game continues with laughter and cheers from the guests. Each question brings back memories of Quintin and the time we’ve spent together. As much as I love it, it angers me, because why isn’t he here?
As the game comes to an end, Santana takes a dramatic bow, and everyone claps. “You bitches have my blessing.”
I laugh, feeling grateful for the pure hilarity of my best fucking friend. “Thanks, Santi.”
Shortly after, I head home, trudging up my steps with only a fraction of the gifts my family blessed my baby with.
The rest, my papi offered to bring tomorrow.
I step out of my boots as soon as I make it inside, setting my bags down and stretching with a yawn.
Who knew baby showers could be so exhausting?
While I get undressed and take off my makeup, I try not to focus on the confusion, on whether I’m going to tell the biological father, having been reminded just how full of love my family is. But when I check my phone, I see a lone message from the man who changed everything.
I hope you had a beautiful time. Sorry I couldn’t be there. We’ll talk soon.
Great. Now I’m even more confused.
Why couldn’t he just break up with me like a normal person? Hey, sorry I spent all this time getting your hopes up, only to leave you hanging when my role is threatened.
Fuck men.
And fuck Quintin. I miss him so much, I stack my pillows until they feel sort of like his body is next to mine.
I’m pathetic.
I think back on Santana’s prediction of a wedding dance with Quintin, wishing I could take a peek into the future to see where all this angry uncertainty lands me.
I turn over, my eyes on the business card on my nightstand.
What do I do now?
I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt, if I said it doesn’t feel like my heart has been ripped from my chest.
I’ve been staying at the restaurant, not wanting to run into Daniela, not wanting to sway her from making the right decision.
I know her. I know she won’t call him, won’t try to find him if I’m around.
And while I love that she wants to spare my feelings, it isn’t the right thing to do in this situation.
For the baby’s sake, Daniela needs to speak to the biological father.
Once she has, I fully intend on stepping up in whatever capacity I’m honored with. Even if it means being her friend.
But what if he wants to be with her? What then?
My feelings haven’t changed. I feel like I’m missing the best pieces of me. It’s hard to go back to being alone when my life felt so full mere days ago.
The future looked too certain to me, and when I glance down to see the realtor I hired calling, I toss my phone in the backseat.
In my backseat because, two weeks ago, I bought a car. They finally delivered it.
Not just any car: a family car. An SUV that now mocks me with all the empty space. No one sits beside me. No car seat is set up for our inevitable additional passenger.
Life felt so much easier when I knew what I was getting into. I knew I’d buy us a house, knew I’d be getting a family vehicle. I knew that, in this life, I would come home to her every night.
Now, I can’t bear to even sleep in my own bed without her, subjecting myself to my pre-apartment cot again.
I missed appointments, I gave her space. I helped with what I could for the baby shower, even debating if I should attend.
And her family…they love me so much that they couldn’t understand why I’d miss it. So I just said I had to pick up as many hours as I could to prepare for the baby.
It hurt to lie, just like it hurt not to be there.
But I know Dani would’ve wanted to talk it out then and there, would’ve told me she doesn’t need to speak to him because she has me and her family.
I know her because I love her. I love her heart and her ambition, her kindness and her loyalty.
But not telling him would make me look at her differently.
Who am I to force her into this decision? I shouldn’t be, but I am.
And I’m willing to lose her to be able to count on my character.