12. Reed #2
She chuckles as she sniffles. “I am,” she says.
“Let’s get you fed.” I drop my hand from her chin.
She releases my shirt. “Okay,” she says.
I push myself off the floor, noticing half the restaurant is staring at us. Fine. Let the stare. Let them wonder.
Before I can make it back to my seat, the waitress appears out of nowhere. “Are we celebrating something?” she asks, glancing between Amelia and me with the biggest smile on her face.
“I’m going to be a father,” I tell her as my ass finds the chair.
She claps and lets out a squeal. “We must celebrate such a blessing,” she says. “Congratulations.”
Amelia barely cracks a smile as she shovels a heaping spoonful of rice into her mouth.
“You need tofu. It’s good for the baby,” the waitress says.
I wince at the very thought. I’m not a food snob, but there is something about tofu that has never sat right with me. My sisters got me to eat it a few times, but it was always slimy, and I couldn’t get over the texture, no matter how they made it.
“Thank you,” Amelia says to the waitress. “We have more than enough food.”
“You must have tofu,” the waitress repeats and leaves before Amelia can turn her down again.
I chuckle at the woman’s inability to take no for an answer. “I guess we’re having tofu.”
“I guess so,” Amelia says as she stabs at a sliver of chicken on her plate. “I hate tofu.”
“Thank God,” I breathe. “I hate the shit too.”
Amelia laughs as if the last few minutes didn’t happen. “It’s slimy.”
“And tasteless,” I add, scrunching my nose.
“Are you really okay?”
I peer up at her. “Yeah. Why?”
She uses her spoon to point across the table at my empty plate. “I ruined your dinner.”
“You didn’t ruin anything.”
“Then why aren’t you eating?”
“I was too busy processing everything, and in all honesty, I was more worried about you than my empty stomach.”
“Eat, Reed. I’m okay.”
I want to argue with her, because she isn’t okay.
She’s been dealing with the worry of everything on her own.
She probably expected me to lose my shit at the news.
I’m sure most men would have. But she didn’t do anything on purpose.
Hell, she didn’t do anything in general. Things happen, including pregnancy.
I grab the manila envelope off the table and rip it in half. “We don’t need this anymore.”
“We’ll need new paperwork.”
“I’ll handle it,” I tell her.
“Whenever you get it done, I’ll sign whatever. Do you think you’ll want visitation or custody?”
I can tell she still isn’t getting it, based on her question.
“Of course,” I tell her, figuring we’ll talk about it later.
I don’t want visitation or custody. I plan to be in our child’s life every single day.
I’m not going to be an absentee father, video chatting my kid and watching them grow up in pictures.
My parents didn’t raise me that way. Sure, the business is important, but they instilled in us that nothing is more important than family. And that’s what Amelia and the baby are…my family.
My parents will understand. My siblings will too. They’d think less of me if I didn’t uproot my entire life to be with my kid every single day for every major milestone. What kind of man would I be if I walked away? A shit one. That much, I know.
She glances down at her phone and groans.
“What’s wrong?”
She taps the screen and glances over the words I can’t make out from my side of the table. “It’s my mom. She wants to meet you.”
“I want to meet her too.”
Amelia gapes at me from across the table. “You do?”
I nod. “She’s going to be our kid’s grandmother. She’s going to be important in her life.”
“Her?” Amelia asks, blinking a few times.
“I think the baby is a girl.”
“You want a girl?”
“A mini you would make me happy,” I tell her honestly.
“You don’t want a boy?”
“I want a healthy baby. I don’t care if it’s a girl or a boy, but I’m telling you, it’s a girl.”
“You want a mini me?” She points at herself with the spoon. “Really?”
I nod. “I can picture her with your big brown eyes and long brown hair. We’re going to make a damn cute kid.”
“Stop,” Amelia says, waving that damn spoon at me. “You’re going to make me cry. I can’t stop crying most days. Fucking hormones.”
“Tell your mom I’ll meet her,” I say, trying to change the conversation to hopefully stop the floodgates from opening completely. “Set it up, and I’ll be there.”
“She wants us there tonight.”
“Fine.”
“Fine?” Her mouth hangs open. “You’re not scared?”
“Should I be?” I ask her.
She nods. “Maybe of my father, but not my mother.”
I forgot about her dad. Since he was a professional football player, I know the man is big. There’s no such thing as a scrawny footballer, even if they’ve been retired for over a decade.
“I’m a fast runner when I need to be.”
Amelia cracks up. “You’d better wear your gym shoes and not your cowboy boots. You may need the speed. He runs at a pretty good clip.”
“I’m fast, mama.”
She stiffens. “Mama?” she whispers.
“Do you like li’l mama better?”
Tears stream down her face in an instant. She wasn’t lying. She can’t stop crying. I’m surprised she kept it together at the bakery and for as long as she has since we sat down at the restaurant, given the ease with which she cries.
“I like it,” she mutters through her tears.
“Text your mom back,” I tell her, ticking my chin toward the phone as I finally reach for the spoon in the fried rice.
“Reed,” she says, dragging my attention back to her.
“Yeah?”
“Can you not tell them about the wedding tomorrow?”
“I’ll do whatever you want, sugar,” I tell her. I don’t know how I’d react if I were in her father’s shoes. “But if they ask, I can’t lie.”
“Fuck me,” she mutters. “I’m begging you.”
I don’t tease her, although I want to. She’s beyond stressed and rightfully so. “My lips are sealed.”