Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
The twinkling lights on my Christmas tree cast a warm glow across the room, but my mood is sour. Like, DefCon Level Three sour. I want to torch the gifts under the tree and throw coal at windows. Great. I’m the fucking Grinch.
On my way to my living room, I catch sight of my pregnant belly covered in a large fuzzy sweater over top of black leggings.
Yep. I’m the Grinch.
It’s been two weeks since I last saw Quintin, and the ache in my chest refuses to subside.
He sent a few texts in the last couple of days, asking if I’m okay, but I chose to ignore him.
The anger is winning. That’s what happens when you leave a pregnant woman alone after making her fall in love with you.
I know he’s my neighbor, but I can’t bring myself to walk those few feet to confront him. I can’t put myself out there again. Instead, I listen for any signs of him, even going as far as pressing my ear to our shared wall.
Pathetic.
He hasn’t been home. No, he’s likely been out living a kid-free life, happy he dodged a bullet. Well, fuck him.
As I sit on the couch, my mind races with worry and doubt, questioning if I made a mistake in pursuing this relationship while carrying another man’s child. I feel cheap and cast aside. Even through my anger, though, I hope he’s okay.
With a sigh, I decide to distract myself by baking some Christmas cookies.
As I mix the ingredients and cut out festive shapes, I try to focus on the joyous spirit of the season, but the silence in the apartment is deafening.
In the years to come, this will hurt less, and, soon, there’ll be a baby here taking up all my time.
I won’t even have the energy to think about Quintin, let alone be sad.
That’s what comforts me in this moment: I won’t be alone anymore, even if it isn’t how I envisioned it.
The scent of fresh cookies fills the air, and I package a few in a little storage container. Even if they look and taste like shit, it’s the effort that counts, right? I let them cool before taking a bite. Halfway decent, though nothing to call home about.
Maybe I should drop some off next door.
Bitch, no. That man left you high and dry to figure out the situation with your trifling baby daddy. He doesn’t deserve cookies, shitty or not.
What if he’s scared?
It isn’t my job to teach a man how to maneuver fear.
But I can’t help how much I miss him, how he infiltrates my dreams, how whenever something happens, I want to call him.
Maybe we can be friends?
It’s hard to accept being lonely after you’ve experienced what a full life can be like. Maybe I’ll bring him cookies and offer him friendship?
Fine. Okay.
My heart flutters with anticipation, hoping to find some solace in his presence as I exit my apartment. As I approach his door, I knock gently, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway. After a few moments, there’s no response. I knock again, louder this time, but still no answer.
The neighbor across from us, Mr. Jenkins, walks out with his dog, Snowflake. He gives me a friendly smile. “Daniela. What brings you here?”
“I was just looking for Quintin. I haven’t seen him in a while,” I reply, trying to hide the concern in my voice.
Mr. Jenkins reaches down to scratch Snowflake behind the ears. “I haven’t seen him either. He used to bring Snowflake leftovers some nights.”
My heart sinks, and I try not to let my mind wander over why he hasn’t been home. “Do you think he’s okay?”
Mr. Jenkins stands with a shrug, as if this is typical behavior. “He hasn’t been home much to begin with,” he starts, peering over at my apartment door. “I have a feeling you might have a better idea of where to find him than I would.”
Bochinchero.
I forgot how nosey this man is.
Trying to keep from showing my annoyance, I hand Mr. Jenkins the cookies and blandly wish him happy holidays.
Returning to my apartment, I try to distract myself by finishing the Christmas tree decorations.
I wish I was helping Mami with her tree, her ornaments offering more nostalgia than these beautifully ornate ones I bought a few years ago.
I think about the baby bringing home ornaments that clash with the theme of the tree, and I vow to always add them, no matter how gaudy.
But as I glance around, those days aren’t here yet. It’s just me.
The loneliness becomes overwhelming, and I find myself curling up on the couch, tears streaming down my cheeks.
I’m a sad, lonely baby mama, no matter how you roll the dice.
I’m successful, my bank accounts are thicker than me, and I own nice things, but the world will always look at me like I couldn’t keep a man.
Fucking insane.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper to my belly, sad that if people judge me, they may judge the baby as well. “I wish I could’ve given you a happy, complete family.”
That was something my mother was able to do once I got older, but it’s different. If I didn’t find love before a baby, how will I find a partner after having one? Between my career and my child, who’s going to stick around for the scraps of my attention and affection?
I’ve seen how Papi loves Mami . I’ve heard the stories my aunts told me of how they met, how it was unrequited love because he adored her from the moment he saw her. He hired her at his family’s cleaning service, and she decided to marry him because she likely felt she wouldn’t find better for me.
And I know she loves him.
But, again, it’s different.
I’m falling asleep while “It’s a Wonderful Life” plays above the electric fireplace when my phone chimes with someone at the door. Before I can pick it up, there’s banging and muffled words.
I know who it is before I’ve even unlocked the door.
I’m faced with Santana in a red-and-white striped bodysuit and a white wig. She looks like a fucking candy cane.
“No one likes a sad bitch on Christmas Eve,” she says in a singsong voice, her hands in the air.
She is so fucking ridiculous, with a red faux fur coat in the crook of her arm, that I can only stare at her for a moment before I breakdown.
Tears fill my eyes, and I pull her into a tight hug, my pregnant belly making it awkward.
She holds me as closely as she can, offering comfort and support in the form of silence as she ushers us inside.
Once I’m calmer, I pull away, wiping at my eyes to staunch the tears. She’s peering at me, still silent, and it unnerves me.
What is she thinking?
“Where is he?” she asks, her voice even. This must be what she’s like in the courtroom. Holy shit.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” I mutter, placing my hands on my lower back to ease the ache from lying on the couch.
“I’m gonna fuck him up,” she mutters as she drops her things next to my coat rack. Because what’s the sense in hanging your coat?
She scares me with that murderous look in her eyes, but before I can tell her to leave him alone, a switch flips, and she’s smiling at me as she’s tugging off her white, knee-high boots.
“In the meantime, you have me and your little one,” Santana says, placing her hand on my belly. “Now, let’s eat, talk shit, and spend too much money ordering clothes online for my godchild.”
She shrugs past me, making her way to the living room.
“Ugh, you won’t believe the day I’ve had,” Santana exclaims, dramatically flopping onto my couch. I can’t believe she was working on Christmas Eve, but that’s how Santana operates. She works hard so she can party harder, and I wonder when the hell she finds time to sleep.
I chuckle, settling into the armchair across from her. “Your new boss?”
Santana groans as she stretches, her dramatic flair out in full force. “Oh, you have no idea. I swear, this man wakes up every morning and thinks, ‘How can I make this bitch’s life a fucking nightmare today?’”
While I highly doubt it, I’m sure he just doesn’t know how to take her. For all her strong work ethic, she’s still an eccentric person, between the wigs and the crazy outfits.
No one took her seriously for a while—until she started winning cases, that is.
I laugh, unable to contain my amusement. I haven’t seen her bothered like this by a man in a long time, not since her only boyfriend ended things over a decade and a half ago in high school. “Come on, it can’t be that bad, not with your exaggerating ass.”
She raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. “Oh, trust me, Dani. If my boss wasn’t so fucking attractive, I’d think he needs someone to tickle his pickle.”
I burst into laughter, unable to take her seriously. “Well, at least you’re adding some entertainment to your workday.”
Santana snorts, examining her nail beds. “Oh, absolutely. I’d even volunteer to fuck him if he wasn’t Satan reincarnated.”
I shake my head, still chuckling. “You never fail to have something going on.”
She leans back, propping her feet up on my coffee table. “It’s a gift, really.”
It’s a strange feeling—even when I’m laughing, there’s this odd melancholy that doesn’t ever go away. It’s like it fills the spaces Quintin once did. I used to have a person, a partner. Now, it’s just me again.
The baby kicks, just in time to remind me this isn’t completely true.
“So, what about you?” Santana asks, her tone turning more serious. “How’s everything going with...you know, the baby daddy drama and all that?”
I shift in my seat, my hand instinctively resting on my baby bump. “It’s been eventful, to say the least.”
I haven’t filled her in on what happened, knowing she’s likely to blow things out of proportion.
Santana presses her lips together for a moment before waving for me to continue. “Eventful how? Don’t get stingy with the details now.”
I take a deep breath, contemplating whether to share. With Santana, honesty is always the best policy.
“I told him, and…he wants nothing to do with us,” I admit, looking down at my hands. “Turns out, he’s actually married to my biggest client.”
Santana’s eyes widen, and she lets out a low whistle. “ Ay , that’s like a telenovela plot right there.”
I chuckle despite the seriousness of the situation. Leave it to Santana to turn any situation into a melodramatic soap opera.
“Yeah, it’s been a lot to process,” I say, my voice shaking as I try to keep from getting emotional. “I was pretty much slut-shamed while his wife stood by, completely unaware I’m pregnant with her husband’s baby.”
“Where’s that business card?” she asks, reaching to snatch her wig off. Underneath, she’s got a stocking cap on, and her naturally curly hair is braided down.
“Bitch, put your wig back on and never mind that.” I shake my head at her reaction, knowing this woman knows the law in and out and will find ways to make him pay.
“You know what? Don’t even worry about it. I’ll find his sorry ass on my own,” she mutters as she places the wig back on her head, yanking it so it’s back in place.
“Don’t get in trouble, Santi,” I say, rubbing my stomach to remind her there’s a baby coming.
“Well, that’s what best friends are for, right? That and offering unsolicited dating advice and supporting shitty decisions.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help my laugh. “Please, spare me from any more dating advice. I have enough on my plate as it is.” At least my dumpster diving for dick days are over.
Santana raises her hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. But just know, I’m always here to lend an ear if you need to rant about anything—whether it’s rude bosses or mysterious baby daddies.”
I lean back against the cushions, feeling a sense of comfort settle over me at her unwavering loyalty. “I know, and I appreciate it more than you know.”
She pauses a moment, staring at me for a moment before she breaks the silence.
“It’s a shame you don’t have a pube of his or something.” She smiles a wicked smile. “Then we could get some brujeria going.”
I snort in response as she insists her cousin’s friend’s aunt can make Matthew impotent. I don’t need to take it that far over a drunken mistake. Maybe this isn’t something he normally does.
But fuck him otherwise for talking to me the way he did. Rude prick.
As we continue chatting, my worries about the baby and the future seem to fade into the background, replaced by the warmth of friendship and laughter. If there’s one thing Santana can do, the bitch can make me laugh.
Later that night, when I shut the door behind her and climb into my bed alone, I let myself miss the warmth of having a man beside me. Not just any man, but the only man I let in my bed more than a handful of time.
Intimacy is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever experienced, being able to roll over and feel his heartbeat beneath my palm, waking up to him staring at me, his hand on my belly.
The feeling of adoration as he fed me, held me, and answered every phone call, no matter what.
I miss him so much, I send him a text.
You made me believe you’d stay. Why aren’t you here?