Cake (32 page)

Talk about having the wind knocked out of your sail. It’s only been three days since the DNA testing appointment. THREE! DAYS! I look around the park to see if I can find a bench to sit on. It’s early morning, and only several joggers brave the cold morning air. Not spotting one close by, I hobble over to a tree and slide down it to sit at the base of the trunk.

It’s been almost three weeks since that phone call. I haven’t seen or spoken with Trent or Dray. In fact, I haven’t even heard anything about Trent. I don’t know if he is still living with Dray or not. It’s the first Christmas in seven years that I haven’t seen or, at least, spoken to them. Mads had an almost impossible task of cheering me up this year, considering the wicked combination of baby daddy drama and the loss of my aunt.

As far as Dray, I haven’t personally spoken to him, not even a hello. I’ve swallowed the pain of his loss because that is exactly what it is. He left me alone, his own ambitions his first priority. In fact, they lost the final playoff game last Sunday. Madison and I watched it, and my faithless heart hurt for him after the final whistle. I wanted a win for him so badly.

I’ve made these last couple of weeks work for me though. For us. I wake up in the mornings, take my prenatal vitamin, exercise, which I hate more than anything in this world, and then rebuild my life from bottom up once again. Explaining to my parents that they will be grandparents was a nightmare, and expounding the fact that I’m not sure if Dray or Trent is the father was a shitload of fun. My dad refuses to speak to me.

Last week, I found a nice, moderately-sized home in a northern Atlanta suburb, and the same day I made an offer I ditched my tiny convertible for a four-door S.U.V. A little premeditated, but I want this life I’m carving out for myself and the Bean. The
baby
looked like a bean on the ultrasound, so that is what I’m going with for now. It’s better than fetus, or worse,
it.
Calling
it
an “
it”,
reminds me of the Stephen King movie and the scary-ass freakish clown that I had nightmares about for months when I was a kid. So Bean and I, found us a house and a car, and now, we are going to find a father.

“Yes, this is Kylie Lord.” My voice shakes from the butterflies fluttering wildly in my stomach. I can imagine Bean swatting them down or chasing them with a net. Well, Dray’s child would be tackling them down. Unless, well, unless it is Trent’s. That child will be building them homes while making sure they have adequate and safe water supplies. Laughing at myself brings me out of my deranged daydream.

“Is this a good time, Miss Lord?” Dr. Reizman asks, sounding slightly worried.

God, the man probably thinks I’m a psychotic nympho considering the position I’m in. “Sorry, Sir. I’m ready.” Deep breath in and out. Deep breath in and out. Don’t hyperventilate.

He begins by explaining the percentage of possibilities and how they tested the fetal cells from my blood samples and compared them to the other possible matches. “We were able to completely exclude one of the donors, and with a percentage of ninety-nine percent, confirm the other to be the father.”

The doctor halts his words as if he is letting this sink in. No shit, dude. I’m not that big of a whore that I didn’t know that one of these two men is the father. We are not on some motherstinkin’ game show where you need to pause to get the full effect before announcing the winner. SPIT! IT! OUT!

“And?” I squeak out.

“Trent Moss is the biological father.”

WHAT?

HOW?

My stomach drops to my knees. Rolling waves of nausea move up and down my body, lodging in my throat. I retch, not being able to control my gag-reflex.

“Miss Lord, are you okay?”

No, I’m not okay. Not at all. I knew it was Dray’s baby. I would have sworn to you, with a hand on a bible, that this baby was his. He will not be able to handle this. I know he won’t. Trent was right.

“I’m fine,” I lie. “Thank you, Doctor.” Another lie. There is no chance Dray will be mine from this point forward.

“The donors have been notified by my nurses. Should you have any questions, please let me know.”

Jerking my ear-buds out of my ears, I lean my head back against the tree. The jagged bark digs into my shoulders, scraping and scratching, but I don’t really feel the sting. The pain of knowing I just lost Dray forever, assails me. No longer mine, if he ever truly was. Bringing my hands to my throbbing eyes, I rub them with my palms, staunching the flow of my tears from falling.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting here. I absently stare at the picturesque view of the park and city in front of me, digging my hands in the ground at the base of the tree. It comforts me and keeps my hands busy from slapping myself silly. Bringing my fingers up, I peer at the cold soil that clings under my nails. Dusting my hands against each other, I try to clear most of the dirt off.

Trent is the father of my child. My Trent. The Trent that I’ve loved for the last seven years. The man that I’m not in love with. The same Trent that can’t put down roots because that is not who he is. Well, this is the biggest root of them all, but I won’t make him be attached if he doesn’t want it. He can walk. In fact, he can go scratch; however, if he wants to be a part of this child’s life then I’ll make it work from a distance because that is where he will undoubtedly be.

Standing, I take a deep breath and begin to walk back home. I will be okay. Eventually. One day.

Walking back to my apartment takes longer because I stroll around, sorting my thoughts. I think about hailing a cab to Dray’s apartment, but then, I’m not sure what to say. I need to let him come to me. If he comes to me.

In my head, I rehearse how I want to tell him this doesn’t change how I feel about him. At first, I think to say that I wish this baby was his and not Trent’s, but then something inside me stops that thought. It’s almost as if I hear my aunt in my head telling me that, one day, far off, I’m going to look at a little face in front of me and thank my lucky stars that he or she is Trent’s child. God or fate gave me this child. Not Dray’s child. This is who I am supposed to be a mother to, and at that thought, my hands rub the small belly that is beginning to bump up.

Once I’m at the corner of my apartment and shop, I look up to see a tall lanky figure leaning against the front store entrance. His hands are placed in the pockets of his raggedy jeans, and his retro green army jacket looks like it has been used in actual battle. He didn’t even bother to pull his hair back as it falls around his shoulders. When he sees me walking towards him, he stands straight, his eyes red from obviously crying.

When I’m within a couple of feet of him, a solitary tear falls from his eye and he smiles at me. Stepping to me, he shrugs his shoulders and embraces me entirely in his arms. He places his head on my shoulder and silently sobs. At first, I’m lost at what to do, but then, I hug him, rubbing his back with my hands, trying to comfort him. Comforting both of us.

“I’m sorry I acted like an ass,” he softly cries.

“I’m sorry I acted like a bitch,” I say, meaning it.

Pulling back, I smile and reach into my pocket for my keys. Unlocking the door, I reach for his hand, which he offers, and pull him inside with me, out of the cold. We don’t say a word as we walk through the shop and up to my apartment. Having let Jonsie out earlier, I lead Trent to my couch to sit down. I don’t waste time.

“I love this child, and I want you to be part of Bean’s life, however much you want to. I will not force you, Trent. I don’t expect or want money to raise this child. You know I’m fortunate enough to not need it because of my aunt.” He starts to speak, but I interrupt him, saying, “Please, let me finish.” At his nod, I continue, “I love Dray, Trent. I want to be with him, but I know my chances of being with him are pretty slim at this point. It kills me inside, but I can’t let it end me. I’ll go on and make a life with this baby, with or without you or Dray. So, you know where I stand.” I stop, short of crying. My emotions are bouncing all over the place again. I want to cry and then strangle Trent at the same time.

“Kylie, getting that phone call was…,” he freezes, looking for the right words, “it was…life changing. I thought I would be angry, but over these past couple weeks, I’ve thought about being a father and one day showing a child what I wanted to show you. How we can make a difference. It’s exciting and scary. This child will be a part of me and a part of you. Having a baby with my best friend isn’t the worst thing in the world. How could I not love this child, Kylie?”

“Yeah, that’s how I feel,” I say, knocking my knee with his. “We can make this work. I want you to continue your humanitarian works. It’s what makes you, you. Bean will be proud of what you do, and we will work out everything as it comes to us. When he or she is older, maybe I can bring Bean to you so you don’t have to go so long between visits. It will work out. You’ll see.”

He smiles, asking, “You would do that for me?”

“Yes, you are going to make an amazing father. You might not be a full-time dad, but your child will always know what you do and be proud. The same way I am.”

“You’re amazing, Ky.” Leaning in, he kisses me gently on the cheek.

“We are going to have this amazing child. I just feel it, and I can’t be sad about that, Trent.”

He pulls back and gives me a lopsided smile. “Bean? This is just a nickname, right?”

“Yes,” I say, standing to walk over and grab the ultrasound pics. Bringing them back, I show him.

“Ah, Bean is an appropriate name.” He stares at them then looks up with unshed tears in his eyes. “My baby.”

Smiling back, I say, “Our baby.”

We sit for hours discussing the ins and outs of the next six months. Trent will return to South Africa and then return a month before I am due, praying I don’t have Bean early. We will take one day at a time as far as financials go, which he insists on helping with, and with visits after that. The most important fact is that we both want this child and will do what is necessary to make sure it happens. We agree it will not be easy, and also that Trent needs to continue doing what he does, and we will make it work.

After handing Trent a bottle of water, he takes a sip and asks, “You really love him?”

“Yes, I really do, but I can’t blame him for not wanting to be with me. It’s understandable. You know?”

“Dray loves you. He always has. I wanted it to happen for you both for years, or well, I thought I did,” he states, laughing. “If you want him, you are going to have to fight for him. He’s never had that.”

“Trent, I’m having your child. Can you even imagine the ribbing from his teammates should we be together, and our baby looks like his brother’s? Let’s be honest, there is no getting around that. Not to mention, your relationship. I can’t come between that.” Even to myself, my voice sounds deflated.

“If we can get past that ego of his, I know he has to see that having your love is worth it. Kylie, Dray and I both know you are not some slut. We’ve discussed it and the part that he and I both played in this whole fucked-up, fuckery scenario. You didn’t sleep with us to hurt each other. We both unintentionally, and intentionally, played mind games with each other, but now, I want us all to be happy. If that means you and Dray, dammit, that’s what needs to happen. At least I know my child would have a decent fill-in dad when I can’t be here.” He smiles at me.

Tears come to my eyes at his words. This is the Trent I know. The kind, compassionate guy that I met seven years ago and have loved since. “I don’t know what to do,” I tell him.

“Well, I do. C’mon,” he says, gripping my hand as he stands and begins to pull me out of my apartment.

“Where are we going?” I ask, following him as Jonsie barks at us.

“I haven’t been staying at Dray’s. I needed some time after everything, and I figured he did too. I’m going to take you to his apartment right now, and you, my dear girl, are going to stand there and fight for him. You’re going to tell him he’s an idiot if he lets you go and then explain how much you love him.”

Getting into his car, I look up and ask, “And what are you going to do?”

“Kick his goddamn ass if he doesn’t make the right decision,” he states, shutting my door.

Coming around to the driver’s side, he gets in and squeals out of his parking space. I quickly snap my seatbelt on and look over at him, bracing myself against the door.

“Sorry,” he says, sheepishly. “I forgot there is a baby on board.” Winking, he laughs at me.