20. Twenty
“Mama, do I have a daddy?”
My breath catches in my throat, as cold, hard fear blurs my vision. I gratefully pull into my driveway and jerkily throw the extra nice rental vehicle I was somehow upgraded to at no cost to me into park and blink back threatening tears. My baby, my four-year-old child, the one I wanted to shield from the horrors of the world a little longer, just asked me the one question I never wanted to hear from him.
And on the day Zander fucking Olsen showed up to tell me he’s not done with me. That he finally wants to try again, like he didn’t put five years of hell between us when he blocked me. His soft touch at the end of our argument nearly erased the pain and hurt we were exchanging. It almost crumbled my defenses and had me sinking to my knees in relief.
But I couldn’t do it. Not right then. And I’m proud that I could stick up for myself and demand better than whatever Zander is willing to give. There is no way the billionaire fuckboy has reformed and would be stable enough to bring into our lives now. Putting my heart on the line is one thing, but I have Hendricks to think about above all else. I look into the rearview mirror at his sweet face and gorgeous gray eyes that ground me back in the present.
“Why do you ask, love bug?” My voice is calm, but I can hear the strain in the words and just hope Hendricks misses it.
“I heard Miss Sharon and Miss Stephanie say my name at school, but they weren’t talking to me. They were talking about my daddy. I didn’t know I had a daddy, but they said I did. They said,” he pauses, rolling a Hot Wheels car along his thigh, his brow scrunched up in contemplation. “They said he had powers and money. Is my daddy a superhero, like Black Panther or Batman?”
More like Iron Man,I think. A billionaire businessman fuckboy sounds closer to Zander. Besides, Tony Stark happily reveals that he is Iron Man. Zander would totally bask in his glory if he were capable of creating a superhero persona. I’m going to have to talk to his teachers if they’re gossiping in front of my kid.
“Is he?” Hendricks asks again, forcing me to stop imagining a fictional Zander in hot superhero armor and return to the very real boy in the backseat. The weight on my shoulders eases a little, knowing he is more interested in knowing if his father is a superhero than who his father actually is.
I turn in my seat and face him. He looks up and smiles his bright, innocent smile. How much do I tell him? How much will he understand? What is the right answer for his little boy mind that is far too advanced for some of his emotions? I sigh.
“Everyone has a father, but not everyone gets to know them as a daddy. You have me, and we’re a team.” I hope that satisfies his inquisitiveness.
“But does my father have superpowers? It would be so cool if he could fly or shoot bad guys with rockets, pew pew!” He stretches his fist up and blasts imaginary foes from his car seat.
I smile, wondering if it would be easier to just say his father is a superhero busy fighting crime, so he can’t be a part of our lives. Finally, I just go with the truth, knowing at some point he will know it regardless. “He is as normal as you and me, my love. No superpowers that I know of.”
“Are you sure? Most superheroes hide their powers and only show ‘em when they’re wearing a mask. Maybe he didn”t show you his powers. I bet he would show me. I would keep his secret.” Hendricks returns his attention to his toy cars, muttering rocket noises to himself as he enacts a chase across his legs.
Hendricks is right. Zander showed me exactly what he wanted to, and then shut me out when it got too real. Or maybe I saw what I wanted, a promise of something more with a well-known fuckboy, when it was me being delusional thinking I could be the one to change his ways. I fell into the same trap so many women do, thinking I could change the man, turn him into something more dependable and worthy of my efforts and attention. I was shortsighted enough to believe the attention he gave me was an indication of his intentions for after the trip. The writing was always on the wall; I just chose not to read it for what it was. Not until it was too late.
I climb out of the car and unbuckle Hendricks from his car seat. His baby fat is nearly gone, slowly morphing his body into that of a lean child. “I’m pretty sure he’s just a normal guy, no superpowers, but if he did, I know you would hold his secret safe in your big heart, because you are trustworthy and good, my little man.”
“You’re good, too, Mama. He should have told you about his powers, so you could tell me and we could keep the secret together.” He wraps his arms around my neck and hugs me fiercely, as if he knows that I need it so much right now.
I smile and kiss his golden cheek and bury my nose in his soft curls as I hold him in my arms. He still smells like my baby, even as he slowly outgrows my arms. When will he be big enough to know the story of how he came to be? When will I feel comfortable telling him about his father and why that man isn’t a part of his life? Will I even get the chance to choose the time, or has it been picked for me, forcing me to break into the past and pull it into the light, pale and squirming in my hands?
“Can we watch Iron Man? Or Cars? I wanna have a movie night and eat snacks on the couch with you,” he says, detailing our weekend ritual despite it being a weeknight.
“Of course,” I reply, not able to deny him the small pleasure.
My phone vibrates in my bag, and I shift Hendricks to my hip so I can retrieve it. I finally turned it back on consistently after a week, hoping that was enough time to avoid the constant barrage of questions from everyone who has my number. It has stayed relatively silent and lulled me into a false sense of security that my life would right itself. When my fingers finally pull the sleek phone from my bag, it’s Knox’s face and number on the screen. I prop the phone between my shoulder and face, answering with a quick hello.
“Hey,” he says, his deep voice rumbling in my ear. “You and the little man wanna hang tonight?”
I glance at Hendricks, clinging to my body as I haul him into the house and finally manage to set him down. “I told Hendricks we would watch movies together tonight. I’ll have to ask if he wants company,” I say.
Mom greets us and takes Hendricks’s hand. “Why don’t we go into the kitchen for a snack? Mama is on the phone,” she says, giving me a wink. I cringe and palm my forehead.
“Oh, and my mom is here. She’s been helping me out with everything that’s been going on, so you would have to meet her,” I hedge, not sure I even want that. Knox and I haven’t gotten serious. He feels more like a friend I kiss sometimes, and though he’s now a part of Hendricks’s life, would it make it too real to introduce him to my mom?
“You know, I’m great with moms. I don”t mind meeting yours if you want me to. I’m also totally okay hanging at home and letting y’all have some family time. I just thought…” he trails off, his voice uncertain.
“What’s up?” I ask, heart jumping into my throat, wondering what the issue is.
“I thought you might want to talk about the press stuff that’s going around. It’s hard having your life speculated about so publicly. If you need me, I’m here.” His low voice sends shivers along my spine, lifting my spirits just a tiny bit.
“Knox, listen, I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you about any of this—”
He cuts me off. “No need to be sorry. This is your life, and you get to decide who knows your history. Well, unless you’re a celebrity and gossip columns get ahold of information to tear into. That ain’t right, but it’s the world we live in. I know there’s a lot of my life I don’t want people freely talking about, so I can only imagine how bad this feels.”
I slide down the wall of the entryway until my feet are stretched out in front of me on the floor and sigh. “There are some skeletons I never wanted to let out of the closet.”
He chuckles. “You and me both.”
I tilt my head to the side and my mind starts up a conjecture of ideas. “What would you have buried that people could have a field day with in the media? You are squeaky clean and so perfect. Did you hit someone too hard at football camp?”
He stops chuckling, “Let’s just say there’s plenty and nobody’s perfect.”
“Let me list your good qualities and refute that statement,” I say, smiling as I get a chance to focus on someone else. “You do charity work on the regular. I mean, how many foundations and programs have you worked with this year alone? Seven? You spend just as much time volunteering your time as you do at practice, and they all love you. You are a shining example of promoting teamwork, and have received awards from every team you’ve played on for being the moral support and glue that holds the team together. You are a role model for tons of people, you are super straightforward and honest, and you’ve been really kind to me and Hendricks,” I say, ticking off the statements on my fingers.
He laughs, but it’s not the deep, full-body sound I’m used to. “Thank you for seeing the good in me, Harley.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask, attuned to his change in mood. “Did I say something?”
“It’s just…” he begins, but stops himself, clears his throat, and takes a moment.
“Why don”t you come over tonight after Hendricks goes to bed and we can catch up? You’re right. I owe you an explanation.”
“I have to go. I’ll call you later. Keep your head up and don’t let the gossip get to you.”
Before I can stop him, he’s ended the call and I’m left holding the phone in confusion. Was it something I said?
“My grandson said he can have ice cream and cookies. Should I be the good nana and give him the junk food, or would that spoil his appetite if you have something planned for dinner?” Mom asks, finding me still sitting on the floor in the garage entry. “Oh, Lolo. Why are you on the floor?”
I look up at her and grimace. She sits next to me, stretching out her legs with a groan that belies her age, but not her health. She’s spry and exercises more than I do.
“The guy I’m friendly with just ended a weird conversation abruptly. Something I said about skeletons in the closet spooked him, I think. It just feels like a shitty way to end an already bad day.”
“Are you talking about the argument you had with that sharply dressed man in your driveway earlier?”
I slowly roll my head against the wall to look at her. “Were you eavesdropping on me, Mom?”
She avoids my stare and smiles crookedly. “No need to eavesdrop. I think the neighbors heard you shouting at each other. I was just watching to see if you needed backup, but you had him covered just fine, my little tiger. Want to talk about it?”
“How much did you hear, exactly?” I swear to God, if the neighbors start ratting me out to the gossip rags, I’m going to burn down their houses. Try being nosy without your lace curtains to peel back, Mrs. Brady!
“Most of it. Is he—?” She waves her hand toward the living room, where I hear the strains of a Marvel movie beginning.
I hang my head in defeat. If she could put that much together, it’s no stretch to think everyone else will, too. “Yes,” I admit quietly. “That was Zander Olsen. Have you heard of him?”
“Of course I have. I’m not living under a rock. I live in the same city and I follow your career and what’s written about you, good and bad.”
“You do?” The shocked tone in my voice makes her scowl, the little lines by her eyes deepening.
“I started a long time ago, so I’d know where you were modeling. Then it just became a habit to keep tabs on what was said about you in case I needed to burn someone’s house down.” Ahh, so that’s where I get it from.
“He would never have known about Hendricks if that dumb gossip site, The Atlanta Haute List, hadn’t linked us,” I gripe, tossing my keys from hand to hand with a jingle.
“You wouldn’t have told him, eventually?”
“Not if I could help it. He didn’t want anything to do with me after our trip. Why would he want to know about his child?” I say, pulling my legs under me to stand and holding out a hand for Mom.
She takes the offered help and rises, following me into the house and to my sanctuary, the kitchen.
“How do you know what he would want if you didn’t give him all the information? We hardly know how we will react to new situations. We can’t begin to untangle anyone else’s actions.”
I pull items from the fridge and pantry so I can create Hendricks’s favorite snack board for movie watching. “I did what I thought was best.”
“You were angry, Lolo. I could feel your anger for months when you came home. And so sad. Your sadness filled this home and pushed out any hope for a better outcome than what you had settled on.” She puts a bag of popcorn into the microwave as I arrange goldfish crackers and grapes into a pattern on a wooden tray with peanut butter cups and blue MM’s. Hendricks refuses to eat the other colors, even though they all taste like chocolate to me.
“Are you saying I should have shown up, Hendricks in my arms, and demanded he see his son? I’m pretty sure I would have been arrested and Hendricks taken from me.” My voice drops low and I feel the cold trickle of fear that has followed me around since I brought my son into this world of what the Olsen family could do to me or Hendricks.
“It seems like he’s interested now. What’s stopping you from letting him know his boy?”
“You don’t understand what kind of man Zander Olsen is,” I say in warning.
“Is he a bad man? Did he hurt you, or try to take your life away? No, he gave you a beautiful son who is so sweet and pure.”
“He’s a liar, and he only cares about himself.”
“Then why was he outside demanding to know his son? A man who only cares about himself wouldn”t have shown up today. He wouldn”t have made the effort to come up against you. You’re an Amazon warrior. You terrify men.”
“Hey!” I protest. She gives me a knowing look and I feel my indignation deflate.
“You’re intimidating. You’re tall and beautiful, with a sharp tongue and a fast mind. Men don”t stand a chance when you decide to break them down.” She pulls the popcorn out of the microwave and empties it into a bowl before she continues in a softer tone. “That man didn’t crumble, Lolo. He took your viciousness and still asked for what he wanted. That tells me he’s thinking of something more than himself. He’s thinking of his future, and what he’s contributed to this life that will succeed him. That’s more than many single moms can ask for.”
“Great. It was easy enough to ignore when it was just Alicia, but if you’re team Zander now, what am I supposed to do?” My manager had worn me down and gotten the truth out of me, as well. She’s been fully on board with a plan to push me back into Zander’s orbit, thinking it will be good for my book sales and the possibility of a cooking show.
“Does Alicia want a son-in-law? Because I do, and you won”t even introduce me to the man you’re friendly with, as you say.”
“Whoa,” I say, holding up a hand to stop her. “We’re not talking marriage here, just introducing him to Hendricks. Slow down, Mom, you’re getting way ahead of yourself.”
“I’m not getting any younger, and neither are you. Thirty this year and not married. Old maid,” she says, grabbing the snack board and the popcorn bowl before moving into the living room to sit with Hendricks.
“Cold-hearted old lady,” I murmur in affection.
I look at the bags of snacks, wrappers, and crumbs left on the island, which gets awesome natural light in the afternoons, perfect for shooting photos of my recipes for my socials and videos. Today, I could grab a photo of this for another impromptu post. I unzip my jacket and grab my phone before I can think twice. I bend over backward onto the island, lying among the snack bags and decadent treats with one arm above my head, tank top straining to keep my ample tits contained, and snap a selfie of me facing into a slant of sunshine cutting across the marble and snack debris.
I stand back up and brush crumbs off my shoulders while I check the photo, which definitely caught the intended image I’d hoped for. My ordinary brown eyes look like rich chocolate pools, my skin like burnished caramel glowing in the sunshine as golden-wrapped peanut butter cups, orange goldfish crackers, green and red grapes, and colorful MM’s are haloed around me in a foodie dream. I open Instagram and post my latest thirst trap and caption it, feeling like a snack, who’s hungry, before posting and exiting like the sly she-devil I am.