Pitcher's Baby (4 page)

Chapter Five

Lucas

Department store.

Not just any department store. Macy’s.

Need I say more? Hanging out at the
Biltmore Fashion Park is not really my idea of a good time, but it’s better
than sitting at the house all alone. I frown and open the door, allowing
Charlee to walk ahead of me. She smiles at me, and I can't help but return it.
It’s contagious, like Ebola. Ok, that's a really bad comparison, but seriously,
if you’re near her and she smiles, you just can't help it. For that brief
moment, I don't feel an ounce of dread, anger or shame. I feel light and open—fresh.
She breathes fresh air into me with just a simple smile.

Charlee grabs a shopping cart when we get
inside, and I lift Everly’s car seat up and place it in the bottom part of the
cart. Aaron bumps Charlee to the side and takes over the cart. “How many ladies
do you think I can pick up with the baby?” he asks, earning a punch in the
shoulder from Charlee.

“That baby is my daughter, you dick, and
you are not using her as a chick magnet.”

“God you’re no fun, Sis.”

The music playing overhead is the
equivalent of boring elevator music, but everything in the store seems to be
organized and easy to find. My heart starts beating a little faster as we reach
the baby items. I’m not sure if it’s from watching her booty sway when she
walks in front of me or the confronting reality slap reminding me of the last
time I was in a baby section, buying baby clothes.

"You ok?" she asks.

"Yeah, why?"

"You look a little flushed or nervous."

"Nah, I'm good."

"Ok. If you say so," she replies
as she turns to the racks of pastel colored clothes.

They are cute, I can't deny that. I pick
up a tiny green onesie. "Hard to believe we were once small enough to wear
these things," Aaron says with a laugh.

"Yeah, especially you. I think you
were born full-grown,” she replies.

 I just shake my head and look through the
rack next to her. I hold up a colorful purple outfit with a frilly pink and
yellow tutu skirt around the waist that she just shakes her head at. The next
four things I show her don’t seem to impress her any more than the first.

"Why don't you go check out the
diapers?" she says, clearly not enthralled with the little outfits I've
been eyeing.

"But . . ."

"Just go look for the ones with an
‘N’ on them.”

"An ‘N’?”

"Yes, newborn size."

"Wouldn't just saying newborn have
been easier than trying to confuse me?" She pauses for a moment, fighting
the smile pulling at her lips. I stand there with my hands on my hips in my
best imitation of Richard Simmons. It works, and I’m rewarded with the sweet
tinkle of laughter.

"No. I like being difficult."
She can be such a pain—there's no doubt there.

"Fine," I reply, trying to act
mad, but she can see right through it.

The aisle is lined with so many plastic
packages, I don't know how anyone can find what is what. I take notice of the
different sizes and brands, deciding on ones with little teddy bears on the
front panel. Front panel? Is that even what it's called? Passing the wipes at
the end of the aisle, I take my chances with a refreshing cucumber-scented
selection. Deciding one might not be enough, I grab a couple more and shuffle
back down to the diapers to get another case of those too.

With my arms full, I make my way back to
the cart. She looks at me for a moment, biting her bottom lip. "Good
job," she says, taking stock of my choices. "I didn't even think
about the baby wipes."

“Why thank you, mademoiselle.”

“Bienvenu,” she replies, surprising me
with her French. I don’t know why. I shouldn’t be surprised with anything she
does at this point, but every minute I spend with her, I find myself liking her
even more. She’s like an infection that has invaded my body. At first, she
attacked my sensory nerves, my vision and then my sense of smell. Now, she’s in
my bloodstream, traveling throughout my body to every nerve ending. This
morning, when she stood in my room staring at me, it took everything I had in
me to not reach out and pull her to me. I could feel her craving my touch, her
body practically begging me for it, but I held back.

Not just because of her past and the crazy
situation she’s just coming out of, but because of my own too. I haven’t been
with a woman in over five years—a solitary sentence I condemned myself to, but
after the way my last relationship ended, the last thing I want to do is jump
right back in with someone new.

Now though? Now feels like a good time to
see where things can go, and Charlee feels like the perfect girl to do that
with. The only drawback is if things don’t work out, I might very well lose my
best friend.

“Aaron? Oh my God. Aaron, is that you?” I
turn to look back up the aisle at the same time Charlee does. I see a silent
exchange pass between her and Aaron before he steps forward and greets the
obnoxious brunette.

“What was that?” I ask, tilting my head
between her and Aaron, letting her know that I saw their exchange.

“Oh that? Just a little thing we do for
each other.”

“And?” I ask. I swear, sometimes, getting
this girl to talk is like pulling teeth. Aaron stops back by and asks Charlee
if she minds having another person tag along.

“How about you just take her and go . . .
anywhere but here?” I laugh so hard I snort. I love how blatantly honest she
is, and if I’m being completely truthful, it makes me feel good knowing that if
she didn’t want me here, she would have been the first one to tell me. I can’t
help but respect the hell out of that.

“Fine, but promise me you will buy
everything you see that you like. Not just for Everly. I want to see at least
ten new outfits for you tonight, Char. I mean it.”

“Whatever. Go on. I’m already seeing
enough of her skin. God forbid she decides to strip here and let you take her.
Everly has virgin eyes, and I want to keep it that way until she is at least
three months old.”

“I love you,” he says, kissing her on the
forehead before he joins the bimbo in the aisle, who is shooting daggers at
Charlee.

“Oh shit, Lucas. I dropped something.”
Charlee says loud enough that she catches Aaron and the bimbo’s attention. She
bends over, and as she stands back up, she raises two birds at the brunette.
“No worries. I caught them before they flew off.”

Aaron bursts out laughing, and for a
second, I think he may be joining our fun outing once again, but the chick
apparently decides a day in Aaron Cooper’s bed is worth the slight, even if he
did laugh his ass off about it.

“Now, will you tell me what that thing
between you guys was about?” I ask once Aaron and his company are out of sight.

“Sure, nosy pants. Whenever we’re out and
someone walks up for me or for Aaron, we check with the other to see if they
want the attention.”

“And?”

“Well, like that skank, for instance. If
Aaron didn’t want to be seen or bothered by her, then I would have stepped next
to him and wrapped my arms around his waist or asked her what she needed with
my boyfriend.”

“Oh lord, so you guys pretty much cock
block for each other.”

“Yep.”

“Does it work?”

“More often than you think. People are so
stupid. Like that chick. She could have looked at me and seen the similarities
between us, but instead, all she saw was Aaron kiss another woman and hear him
tell her he loves her, so she felt like someone was encroaching on her
territory.”

“I see.”

“Truthfully, if I was out with a man and
he thought it was alright to kiss me bye and leave me to go to another woman’s
bed, then we already have one too many problems, ya know what I mean?”

“I can say for a fact that if you were
ever my lady, there is nothing on this earth that would pull me from your side.
Nothing.”

I’ve completely rendered her speechless. I
can tell by the way she turns her head away from me and leans in to check on
Everly. That seems to be her go-to reaction whenever she’s uncomfortable. I
think her daughter centers her. We push the cart up to the check-out counter,
and I unload the clothes and diapers and other things we managed to pick out.
She pulls out the debit card Aaron gave her this morning, and with shaking
hands, she swipes it, trying and failing to ignore the balance on the screen.

Chapter Six

Charlee

I’m about to go out of my mind sitting
here at the house by myself. Aaron and Lucas have games for the rest of the
week, so most of their time will be spent on the field either practicing or
playing. I never realized how much time a major league ball player puts into
his career. It’s literally a job to them.

My phone dings, and I look down at it,
seeing Emma’s name. I need to reply to her and let her know how things are . .
. to keep in touch with her. She has been my only friend for the last four
years, but I think we both knew when I stepped on that plane that our
friendship was going to suffer. Not that I don’t miss her and wish she were
here, but to be honest, if it hadn’t been for her constantly showing up and
calling or texting me, we wouldn’t have been friends this long. I’m an
introvert at best. I like my privacy, and Emma and I are as far from alike as
they come.

I swipe right and hit the
X
in the
corner, ignoring the text.

Standing from my crossed-leg position on
the floor, I take the pile of freshly cleaned and folded baby clothes and tuck
them into their drawers. Aaron went above and beyond yesterday, spoiling Everly
with more stuff than she would be able to use in two lifetimes, but I wasn’t
going to complain.

Not today.

Today, I’m going to be thankful for my
amazing brother.

Even if he’s a pain in my ass.

I still can’t believe he left me all alone
with Lucas halfway through the day just so he could chase some ass. Who does
that? I mean, I get that he’s his best friend and all, but I’m pretty positive
the last place he wanted to be was out shopping with me and my infant daughter,
especially after my blatant staring earlier that morning. Judging from the number
of women swarming around him, he could have easily had his pick of any of them
and followed Aaron off to God knows where to do God knows what, but he didn’t.
He actually seemed to enjoy himself.

Surprisingly, so did I, especially when we
came across the small art studio in the square. Lucas didn’t bitch or complain
one bit—the way Byron used to do—about me wanting to go inside and look around,
even though I couldn’t afford anything. Byron hated my love for art and
photography. I think he hated the thought of me loving anything, and that’s the
main reason he didn’t want to have a baby. He knew I would love him or her more
than anything in this world.

I’d had a shitty as hell home life growing
up, but the one thing that taught me was that I wanted to be a good mommy. I
wanted to do everything right. Not a day will go by that my daughter doesn’t
know how much I love her. Even on the days I’m angry and disappointed in her,
she will know without a shadow of a doubt that I love her with every fiber of
my being.

He sensed that, I think, and in a way, I
think he knew he was going to lose the hold he had over me. My entire life, I
struggled with love—loving myself, loving others. The only people I know for
sure I ever loved before Everly was born were my two brothers, but especially
Aaron. My twin. My other half. It’s always been a battle within myself, and for
the most part, I blame my mother. How is a little girl supposed to learn to
love without the love of her mom? Its damn near impossible. And when I finally
did love, I always second-guessed it, not sure if it was true.

Until Everly.

The first moment I felt her move inside me,
I knew true love. At that moment in time, I knew a mother’s love, and there is
no greater love than that of a mother. When she was born and the doctors placed
her in my arms . . . it was like the stars aligned above, and for the first
time ever, I understood.

I understood it all.

And in that moment, I hated my mother even
more.

Because she left. She never cared. She
never loved.

The art studio had a sign up offering
photography classes in the morning from 9-12. I jumped up and down, squealing
with excitement when I saw it, and then I remembered I didn’t have a camera
anymore and forced myself to swallow the disappointment . . . but when we got
back home, Lucas told Aaron about the classes, and he made me promise to call
and register. He knows how much I love taking pictures and capturing that one
moment in time, freezing it for centuries to come, never to be forgotten again.

It’s my passion.

My love.

It was no surprise that I woke this
morning to a box—wrapped in paper towels, no less. When I finish pulling them
away, I barely hold the tears back. A brand new Canon EOS 5D Mark III stares
back at me. I grab my phone and text Aaron
thank you
right away. I can’t
believe he bought me the best camera on the market. I don’t even want to know
how much he paid for it. Jumping up from the bed, I squeal in delight. Now, I
am officially ready to start class, and I have never been more excited for
anything in my entire life.

I have thirty minutes before I’m supposed
to arrive to complete my registration and finish Everly’s paperwork. I can’t
believe they have a daycare worker there at the studio for the mothers. They
call it interactive art, and in some of the classes, they even let the children
participate. I can’t wait to get started.

I park in one of the empty spaces
available at the front end of the Student Services building and climb out, but
not before spending the required two to five minutes adjusting my lip-gloss and
fixing my messy ass hair again. I once read somewhere that you could tell how
hot a woman is by how long it takes her to exit her vehicle. Let’s just say I take
an extra long time. After applying a dab of lip gloss I rub some lotion on my
hands and arms where my skin always dries out and then spritz a little body
spray. One last check in the mirror and I am ready to go.

Within an hour after arriving, I have
everything taken care of, and Everly is settled into a crib in the nursery.
It’s the first time I have ever left her with someone I don’t know, but I find
comfort in the fact that she is just down the hall from me.

When I walk into the class, I’m
overwhelmed by the sheer number of people in here. Are all of these people here
for photography class? I know the lady at the desk said that this was
orientation or something, but I didn’t expect this many people. I look around,
trying to find a place to sit down.

Orientation has just begun. I sneak in the
doors in the back of the room and duck my head as I swiftly walk down the hall.
Dear God, the room is fucking packed!
I’m searching intently for an
empty seat when I hear a
psst . . . psssst.
Lifting my head, I see a
hand waving in the air. I look to my left and right, and then I see her cover
her mouth like she’s holding in a laugh. She nods her head yes and gestures for
me to join her.

I look around the room after I’m seated,
sure that I’m going to see people staring back at me after my awkward entrance,
but no one is paying me any attention. Then the doors slam shut behind me, and
I slump in my seat and release a shaky breath.

“Thank you.” I lean close to her ear and
say. This reminds me of the first day I met Emma so much that I have to pinch
myself just to make sure it's all happening and that I haven't nodded off.

My eyes are drawn back to her repeatedly.
I try not to seem like a total freak, so I glance at her out of my peripheral.
Her leg is bouncing up and down to the beat of the music playing on the screen
above. She reminds me of a trapped bird, keeping her wings tucked tight until
the cage door is opened.

I have no doubt that this girl would love
to open up, dancing and singing right there, but she’s not acting on that
impulse. Her short brown hair is swaying back and forth every time her leg
raises or lowers. My leg starts bouncing alongside hers without me ever
consciously thinking about it, and she looks over at me, her sky blue eyes
sparkling like the moon across a silent sea.

She catches me studying her, and I smile,
wondering what she is thinking. A giggle escapes. I'm not sure who it came
from, but within seconds, we are both leaning over, holding tightly to our
stomachs and trying to hold in the sweet tinkle of laughter. We fail miserably,
of course, and soon every neck in the room is stretching, searching for the
cause of our outburst. The PowerPoint is over, and everyone is instructed to
make our way to one of the student services tables to finalize class
requirements. We stand before the man at the microphone is done with his speech
and flee up the aisle.

“Oh my God! I haven't laughed that hard in
like . . . forever.” She states, still holding her stomach.

“I know, right?” I hold tightly to my
midsection, wondering if it always hurts this much to laugh. Is this normal? “I
hope we didn't cause too much of a ruckus in there.” I say, wondering what the
hell has gotten into me. I'm not that girl. The cheerful, fun to be around girl
who acts on impulses and has fun. I just don't have it in me. Or at least, I
didn't think I did until I met this girl. She changes everything. She’s just
one of those people there is no way you can be around and not
feel.
All
of a sudden, I’m really starting to look forward to my life here in Phoenix.

“Psssh who cares. You know what I always
say? You only live once, and I don't know about you, but I'd rather live my
life laughing.”

“Yes, I see that, crazy lady, but some of
us don't know how.” I realize what I have said the moment the words leave my
mouth, and I want to pull them back in to shove them back down my throat and
lock them in tight. I don't like the sound of longing in my voice or the amount
of truth I spit out. I don't want her to guess I’m not who I pretend to be. My
body stiffens, waiting for her to ask more . . . to pry, but she just ignores
it, and I’m so thankful for it that I wrap my arms around her and squeal . . . right
into her ear.

“Oh my God. That was so crazy. I’m Charlee,
by the way.”

“Ashlin. The pleasure is all mine, me
lady,” she says, bowing at the waist, making me burst out laughing
uncontrollably again. “Are you taking photography too? Oh, please tell me you
are.”

“Oui me lady,” I reply in my worst French
impersonation ever. She is laughing again, and I can almost pretend that I
didn't have the worst case of word vomit just two minutes ago—almost, but my
monster is there . . . always, reminding me every time I fuck up.

I ignore her this time and choose to focus
on the fact that maybe, just maybe, I might have made a new friend.

In Phoenix

And she loves art too.

I can't believe it, but it’s true. I know,
because she’s standing right next to me talking a million miles a minute, and I’m
soaking in her presence like a moth in the night seeking her glowing flame of
light.

“Come on, Charlee, let's go make sure we
get a class together.” Grabbing my hand, she drags me toward one of the many
desks set up to assist new students and proceeds to do exactly that.

While she explains our
dire situation
to a woman who looks like she is doing her best to not laugh, I get lost in
memories of the past. I think about the first time I met Emma and how much my
life has changed since that day. I wish everyone in the world could have
someone like her, even if we ended up growing apart now—someone who could
infect their life in the best possible way, unlike the way my mother infected
me. In a lot of ways, my life ended that day. The day I met my mother. I was no
longer the young, carefree, innocent girl I was thirteen years earlier.

Thirteen years prior . . .

It’s Christmas morning, around seven, and
we are already tearing through our gifts. Wrapping paper is flying all around
the room, only settling when we have to grab another present. Neither of us
pauses to question where Mom got the money for the presents or how they could
just appear in the middle of our living room. I don’t think Mom or Frank could
have afforded any of this when we don’t even have food in the refrigerator to
eat. At the young age of ten, neither of us really cares. We are just happy to
believe for once that Santa has actually found us, even when our daddy
couldn't.

l wish briefly that I could trade all of
my presents for him. Even my new white makeup vanity and stool. I’d happily
trade it all to feel my dad's arms wrap tightly around me again, and then
another present is offered to me, and all thoughts of him disappear as I shred
more wrapping paper, throwing it over my head. “Ahhhhhhh! No way! Thank you.
Thank you. Thank you.” I squeal when I see what I hold in my hands. I tear the
packaging open quickly and slide the cassette tape in before resting the
earphones on top of my head. I hit the tiny triangle key, and Billy Ray Cyrus’s
Achy
Breaky Heart
fills my ears.

Mom walks out of the room for a moment—to
grab batteries for her camera, I think—and when she comes back in, she is pale
and her eyes shift all around the room. She ticks her head toward Frank and
then toward the kitchen. I pull my earphones off when she pulls me to my feet.
Her hands are shaking as she helps me into my coat. I’m about to ask her what's
going on when I hear a car door slam.