Chapter 7 #2
“Oh, look, darling.” Mom holds up her phone. “The Bozics are having a party tomorrow. Let’s go shopping in the morning to find something you and Molly can wear. They’re very well connected.”
“That’s nice.” There’s a sinking sensation in my chest.
“It is nice. They’d be excellent donors for our children’s charity project.”
“Okay.” I don’t bother masking my yawn. I really am tired, but mostly I’m tired of trying so hard to connect with my mother. “Mom?”
“Yes, honey.” She doesn’t look up from her phone. She’s typing away, her manicured nails a pink blur.
“Did you want to be a mother?”
“Of course, dear. Every woman does.” She still doesn’t look up.
“Do you think I’d be a good one?”
She doesn’t respond, but her fingers stop flying. A flicker of hope sparks to life in my chest. She’s giving some thought to the question.
“There’s a lovely new boutique in the hotel zone,” she says as my heart nosedives into my belly. “Lots of loose, breezy Italian linen like you seem to be favoring these days.”
“Great.”
“Let’s go tomorrow after brunch. My treat. For Molly as well, of course.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Good night, Mom.” Swallowing a sticky lump of disappointment, I turn and walk into my room.
As the door snicks shut behind me, I lean back against it. Closing my eyes, I rest a hand on my belly. There’s a rolling sensation, like oversized butterflies flapping around inside me. I wish Luke were here. He’s been wanting to feel our girls moving for weeks but keeps missing it.
I sink down on the bed and consider my options. I’ve already devoured six erotic romance reads since my library visit. I’ve enjoyed them immensely, though they haven’t done much to diminish my raging libido.
And yes, I bought one of the sex toys intended for solo use. I ordered online, too embarrassed to walk into Mischievous Mermaid like Zoe suggested. I was also too timid to pack it in my luggage for this trip. Even flying on a private jet, I can’t take the risk somebody might see it.
So here I am, sexually frustrated, six thousand miles from the man I can’t seem to stop wanting. The man whose body I crave like a ravenous beast. The one man I absolutely, positively should not touch.
But maybe getting in touch would suffice?
I glance at my watch, then do some quick time zone math. It’s ten p.m. here, so it’s one in the afternoon there. Is Luke watching football? Is that what he does on the weekends? I should probably know this about my girls’ father.
Feeling restless and homesick, I pick up my phone. Hesitating, I type out a message to Luke.
Can I call you?
I’ve barely hit send when the phone starts to ring. “Hello?”
“Is everything okay?” He sounds breathless and edgy. “With you and the babies—”
“They’re fine. I’m fine.” I remember his words from the day we conceived.
You can flip me all the shit you want, Hazel Spencer. But don’t ever lie to me.
“Actually,” I say now, “I’m feeling sorta…off.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath. “Do you need your mother to take you to the hospital?”
“No, it’s not that.” I manage a dry little laugh. “My mom doesn’t know yet.”
“You haven’t told her?” He sounds like he’s doing his best not to sound judgy.
“I haven’t found the right time.”
“She hasn’t noticed?”
“I—no, she hasn’t.” For some reason I feel like I need to defend Mom a little. “It’s not like I’m showing that much. Molly says tall women tend to hide pregnancy better. A long torso means more vertical space for babies to grow upwards, rather than pushing the belly out.”
“Still,” Luke says slowly. “She’s your mother.”
“I know.” I stare out the window at the dark Adriatic. Starlight sparkles on velvety waves, and I suddenly miss the Pacific. I miss Cherry Blossom Lake and my cousins.
I miss Luke.
Get it together, Hazel. He’s your platonic co-parent. Nothing more.
“What do you need, sweetheart?” He asks it so gently I feel my breath hitch in my throat.
“I’m fine.” I should tell him not to call me sweetheart but can’t bring myself to do it. “I’ve got everything under control.”
“I know you do. That doesn’t mean you don’t need people.”
“Tell me about your day.”
There’s a pause where he’s probably wondering why I’m changing the subject. But the truth is, I just need to hear a friendly voice from home.
Not just any voice. Luke’s voice.
“Well,” he says slowly. “I reached out to the fertility clinic about whether there’s some way to use my DNA to track down my dad.”
“Good idea.” He told me last week he was hoping to try that. “What did they say?”
“Another dead end. Something about privacy laws governing fertility clinics. I tuned them out once they made it clear they couldn’t help me.”
“I could help, you know.” I nibble my lip, hoping I haven’t crossed some line. “If money would make a difference—”
“It wouldn’t.”
“You don’t know that. There are legal experts and private detectives with resources not available to everyone.” Everyone without money, I think but don’t say. “I’m in a position to help you.”
“Don’t,” he says softly.
“Why not?”
“Because I believe in paying my own way. Earning the things I need or want, rather than relying on people with deep pockets.”
“That’s noble,” I say carefully. “But maybe our daughters will want information about their paternal grandfather one day.”
“Maybe they will. And they’ll know their father went through the right channels and used his own resources to get it.”
“Okay.”
I decide not to tell him I spoke with a lawyer last week. Not about Luke’s search for his father, but about my father.
About filing for a transfer to a minimum-security facility. The process is costly and involves lots of lawyers. It’s likely a long shot, so there’s no reason to tell my platonic co-parent.
Keep telling yourself that, Hazel.
“Why do you think you haven’t told your mother you’re pregnant?”
His question surprises me, floating out of the darkness from six thousand miles overseas. I take my time forming an answer. “Maybe I’m worried she won’t care.”
It’s the most honest thing I’ve said in a long time. Luke doesn’t speak right away.
“I get that,” he says. “You play out the possible scenarios in your head and weigh whether the risk is worth it.”
Something cues me in that he’s not just talking about my mother. “Do you feel that way about finding your dad?”
“Maybe. Like what if I track him down and it turns out he’s this amazing guy with a whole new family he loves? What if he’s the world’s greatest dad, but something about me drove him away?”
“Oh, Luke.” I stare at the sea, breathing deeply to stop the ache in my chest. “If it’s true he went on to start a new family, that would have nothing to do with you. That’s on him, not you. You’re a great guy.”
“Thanks.” He’s quiet again. “And if your mother can’t handle you being pregnant, that’s her problem.”
“Maybe.” I draw in a shuddery breath. “I feel bad that I haven’t told my cousins yet. They’ve been like my siblings since we were all little.”
“Why haven’t you told them?”
“I don’t know.” I nibble my lip. “I guess I’m afraid they’ll see I’m not perfect.”
“Hazel, honey. What could be more perfect than growing two little lives inside you?”
I hadn’t considered it like that. “I don’t know.”
“Look, I won’t push you to tell anyone. That’s your choice to do it whenever you want or however you want. But I know your cousins, and I know they respect you and love you no matter what.”
“All right.” I want to believe him, but Luke wasn’t there during those years of estrangement. That long stretch of time when I had to choose between believing my father or believing my cousins.
I chose my father.
And honest to God, I’m not sure I’d do things differently if I could go back in time. Despite everything, I still love my dad.
“Haze?”
“Yeah?”
“You okay over there?”
“I am.” Resting a hand on my belly, I feel a warm ripple inside me. “Thanks for talking with me. Sorry to be such a downer.”
“Jasmine,” he says. “Ginger. Sage.”
Laughing, I circle my palm over the swell of our daughters. “One of these days you’ll land on names we both love.”
“Here’s hoping.”
We say our goodbyes, and I hang up the phone feeling equal parts peaceful and restless. It’s like some tiny flame deep inside me blazed into a bonfire the day I touched Luke in my foyer.
And despite my best efforts, I can’t seem to snuff out that fire.
As I take off my clothes and get ready for bed, part of me wonders why I still want to.