Chapter 12
Layla
“I’ll never forgive you,” I say to myself days later. I’ve thought about that night with Wakowski every day for the past five days. I don’t think of the things I should think about when it comes to him. It would make sense if I thought about how good he is with his daughter since I thought he would, at best, pay child support and never see the kid. I would expect him to let nannies or her grandparents raise her. No. Of course, that’s not what I think about. I think about how surprisingly good his big hands felt on me. I thought about how sad he sounded when he talked to his father on the phone. Behind all that anger there was a sadness that I recognized. It’s the kind you have only when you’re disappointed in a person you love.
Maybe it’s because I’m a twenty-two-year-old virgin, and I just enjoy the touch of a man. Any man. Wakowski isn’t special, but I will admit only to myself that he’s handsome. If he wasn’t such a whore, he might make a good catch for a woman. His personality isn’t too bad either. Some might consider him charming. I’ll never admit that to anyone though.
I still wonder why he didn’t tell my mom I wasn’t his girlfriend, or that he can’t stand me. Oh, well. I’ve given him enough thought for today. In fact, I’ve given him enough thought to last a damn lifetime.
I’m working from home, and I’m grateful that Gaga is having a somewhat good day. She’s been calling me by my mother’s name all day and talks about things that happened before I was born as if they just happened yesterday, but she hasn’t been combative. I was happy when she ate an early lunch and went to take a nap.
Just as I decide to warm some leftovers for lunch, my phone rings. It’s from a number I don’t know, but I recognize the area code as one from upstate New York. Thinking that it might be someone at work, I pick it up.
“Hello. This is Layla Jackson.” All I hear in the background is the sound of busy city traffic. Then I hear a baby talking nonsense. “Whorekowski?” I say.
“Yeah,” he says as if it’s no big deal that he’s calling my phone.
“How the hell did you get my phone number?” I know for a fact I never gave it to him. He didn’t ask, and if he did, I would have told him no.
“I have my ways. You wanna let me in or what?” he says.
“Or what,” I tell him.
“Funny. Come on. Let me in. I have to change Jasmine, and I brought food. Stuff is starting to seep out of her diaper.”
“How did you know I’d be here? It’s Wednesday.” For all he knows, I should be in the office, which is where I would be if not for my Gaga.
“Can you let me in before you interrogate me? Jesus! No wonder you have no man. All you do is nag.” My nostrils flare, and I hang up on him. If not for the baby, I would leave him out on the stoop, but I’m not about to leave a baby marinating in a dirty diaper.
I go to the door and yank it open. He’s standing so close that I nearly fall into him.
“Yaya,” Jasmine squeals when she sees me. As usual, she’s strapped to his chest. She kicks her legs and claps her hands. Wakowski is standing there, wearing sunglasses and looking like a GQ model. He doesn’t wait for me to invite him in. He slides in past me with the brown paper bag he’s holding.
He takes Jasmine out of the carrier and puts her down. She starts to walk around the living room. She’s wearing a dress today. Of course, it has a tutu and it’s pink. She even has pink and white high-top sneakers. This is the first time I’ve ever seen her wearing colors that match.
“You can go change her in the bathroom if you want,” I say, gesturing down the hall to the only bathroom we have in this house.
“Oh, about that. False alarm,” he says as he pulls out containers from the bag.
“False alarm? You told me it was oozing out of her diaper. How the hell can that be a false alarm?”
“You must have heard wrong.” He looks away from me. I put my hands on my hips and prepare to tell him to get lost, but the smell of the food makes my stomach growl. “Anyway, you hungry? It’s time for Jasmine to eat. Isn’t it, Jazzy Girl?” he yells toward his daughter.
“Nom nom,” she says. She signs something, and Wakowski nods at her. She waddles over and wraps herself around my legs. She lifts her arms, and I pick her up.
“I have steak tips and mixed vegetables. I made rice pilaf too,” he says as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to be bringing me food. “And I made fish nuggets for Jazzy Girl. It’s her favorite.” Jasmine bounces in my arms at her father’s words. After he puts all the containers on the table, he turns and looks at the cabinets in the kitchen.
“The one above the sink,” I tell him. He gets three dishes and puts them on the table. Jasmine reaches for him, and when he takes her, I get the utensils. I manage to find the Disney Princess plate my mom keeps here for when she babysits the neighbor’s daughter and I look in the pantry for the old booster seat we keep in the house.
While I do that, he washes Jasmine’s hands in the kitchen sink.
“What are you up to?” I ask a few minutes later over the very delicious lunch that he brought. My eyes narrow at him while I wait for him to answer. “I’m not going to sleep with you if that’s what you’re after.” He would be the last man on earth I would allow to be my first lover.
He drops his fork and covers Jasmine’s ears. “That’s inappropriate talk in front of my child,” he admonishes.
My nostrils flare at his hypocrisy. “Really? This from the man who sleeps with anyone? And didn’t Jasmine’s nanny post a picture of herself in your bed? Next to you, I might add.” I raise my eyebrows at him.
“Do you think I would get involved with my daughter’s nanny?” he counters. “No. And I fired her. We haven’t had a nanny since,” he says.
“So, you’ve gone through all the willing women in the city and now you’re checking me out? Me?” I point to myself before I lower my voice and whisper, “You must be out of your damn mind.”
I add more food to my plate, uncaring that I’m making a pig of myself in front of him. He’s the last man I would ever try to impress. I even take one of the fish nuggets that are still in the container. After taking a bite, I take three more nuggets and put them on my plate.
“Has anyone ever told you that you talk about yourself a lot? Why do you need to center yourself around every conversation?”
“No one in the history of the world has ever told me that. Now, tell me what you’re up to because if it’s what I think, you’re wasting your time.”
“I’m not here because I want to sleep with you,” he says. I stare into his eyes, and I don’t fully trust him but decide that I don’t care. He can only sleep with me if I let him, and I know that will never happen.
“Whatever,” I say. “It will never happen, so I don’t care.”
“Wow,” he says. “You have a one-track mind. And you want to talk about me.” He shakes his head as if he’s not the only whore in the room.
“More!” Jasmine says, and Wakowski gives her more nuggets and rice. I decide I’m going to ignore him and eat, so I do. I fill up on the delicious food, uncaring that he cooked it. I don’t plan on telling him how good it is either.
“Did you bring dessert?” I ask after shoving another fish nugget in my mouth. “And not fruit,” I add.
“We can go get some,” he says. My eyes narrow again. He’s definitely up to something and I don’t like it. “What?” he asks.
“No,” is all I say.
“Why not?”
“Because whatever this is,” I say gesturing between him and me, “I don’t trust it.”
Just as the words leave my mouth, Jasmine throws a piece of zucchini at Seth’s head. She puts her hands to her face and says, “Oh oh.” She laughs uncontrollably, and in that moment, she reminds me so much of her father. Not just in how she looks but from her actions. I laugh too, which causes her to throw another piece at him, and it hits him right in the middle of his forehead.
“No throwing, Jazzy Girl,” he admonishes softly. “That’s not nice.”
Jasmine giggles and picks up another piece of zucchini, but Seth takes it from her before she can throw it at him. Seth must decide lunch is over because he gets up and washes her hands. He picks up her diaper bag and takes her to the bathroom.
While they’re gone, I clear the table and load the dishwasher. I cover his Tupperware dishes and stack them on top of each other. He comes out, and I expect him to take his things and leave, but he doesn’t. He plops himself on the couch and puts Jasmine on his chest.
I open my mouth to ask him what he’s doing, but my computer alerts me of a direct message, and my rebuke dies on my tongue. I sit at the makeshift office I made in the corner of the living room and reply to the message. I forget all about Wakowski while I answer emails. It’s not until I feel him standing behind me that I remember he’s still here.
He’s leaning down and staring at my computer screen.
“So, what is it that you do?” he asks.
“I work for the director of hotel finance. I’m on his support staff. I do whatever he asks, which is usually the stuff he doesn’t want to do.”
“What the hell does any of that mean?” he asks.
“Ugh. Don’t worry about it.”
“How much do you get paid to do this? It seems boring.” I whip my head around to look at him, and my face bumps with his. I move quickly, but I never expected his skin to be so smooth.
“It’s rude to ask someone how much they make.” I turn back to my screen, but he smells so good that I don’t remember what the hell I’m supposed to be doing.
“You know how much I make,” he says with a shrug. “Well, you know how much I make playing basketball. You have no idea what I make from endorsement deals.”
I roll my eyes and say, “Well, I heard that sandwich shop chain dropped you because your ways aren’t a good look for their family-friendly image.” I smirk as I say it.
“What ways?” he asks.
“The whorish ones.”
“What are you? Some prude? Oh, please. Their loss and stop calling me that in front of my child.”
I look over, and Jasmine is fast asleep on the couch. She’s on her back with both arms above her head.
“You should probably take her home so she can nap. I take a lot of phone calls while I’m working,” I tell him. It’s not true. Most things are handled via email or direct message, not to mention the department has a weekly meeting that we had this morning.
“I haven’t heard the phone ring once. I guess you’re used to that,” he says with a deep chuckle. I make a face at him but don’t respond. “I don’t want to disturb her,” he says.
I wonder why he didn’t take her home to nap in the first place, but I don’t ask. Jasmine is a doll, and I don’t mind having her here. Her father is a whole other story. I ignore him, stand, and walk to her. I gently pick her up and she doesn’t stir. I carry her down the hall to my bedroom. I can hear Wakowski’s heavy footsteps behind me.
I gently lay her down on my bed and throw a thin blanket over her. I surround her with pillows to make sure she doesn’t roll and fall off. I turn to walk out and collide with him. I start to fall back, but he grabs my hips and steadies me.
I put a hand to his chest to steady myself and look into his green eyes. He stares down at me, and there’s no malice or mischief in them. He looks down at me with an unreadable expression on his face. I’ve never looked at him this closely before, and he’s more handsome than I thought. His eyes are a nice shade of green, and his lips are nice too.
I drop my hand and walk out of the room. He follows and plops himself on the couch. His long legs take up half the space in the living room. He takes off his shoes and lies on the couch as if he lives here.
I turn to my laptop, and minutes later, I hear his heavy breathing, followed by a loud snore. I shake my head in irritation and grab my AirPods to drown out the noise.