Her Dad's Friend (8 page)

I can’t seem to get the words out so I reach into my purse and hand him the three tests.

He studies them, face unreadable.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. Tears well up in my eyes. As soon as I blink they streak down my cheeks. “I didn’t do this on purpose. I would never try to trap you.”

He still hasn’t said anything, just stares down at the tests. Several seconds pass, but they feel like minutes.

“Fuck, Rachael,” he finally says, sounding furious. I flinch. “I thought you were breaking up with me. I was half out of my mind.” He lets out a long breath and sinks back into his seat.

Wait, what? He’s more upset at the thought of me breaking up with him than me being pregnant?

“So … you’re not mad about the …?” My voice trails off.

He starts to laugh. I don’t know what the hell is going on. He’s not being loud but it feels that way, trapped in the cab of his truck.

He takes my hand, face easing into a smile. “How can I be mad? I’m going to be a dad—the father of
our
child.”

That was not the reaction I was expecting.

He unlatches my seatbelt and pulls me toward him, wrapping me in a tight hug. He continues to laugh and pets my hair. “We’re going to make great parents. You and this child will never want for anything.”

I lean away from him. “Paul, I don’t know. I have school—”

“And you’ll continue on with school. I’ll stay at home with the baby while you get your degree, and if you want to work after that, you can work. Or if you want to stay home, you can stay home. I’ll do whatever you want to do.” He leans away from me and takes my chin in his hand, lifting it so our eyes meet. “Rachael, I love you. I want to be with you forever. I want us to be a family.”

Suddenly I see a vision of our little family so clear in my head and happy tears begin to toddle down my cheeks. He wipes them away with his thumb. “What about my parents?” I say.

His smile falters. “You leave your parents up to me. I don’t want you stressing about anything right now.”

He presses a delicate kiss on my mouth and down my neck. He takes off my shirt and then my bra and finds a nipple. I close my eyes and bask in the feel of having my breast sucked.

“That feels amazing,” I tell him.

He moves to my other nipple, giving it plenty of attention too. By the time he’s done, I’m wetter than I’ve ever been before. I reach over and unbutton his jeans and release his meaty cock. It bounces out from the open hole of his boxer briefs as if it were spring-loaded, reaching up to his belly button. I suck the head of it in my mouth, teasing, running my tongue down his length. His hand is on the back of my head; not pushing me down, but helping to keep the pace. I can tell by the way his hand shakes that he’s showing great restraint. He’s being careful with me when he doesn’t need to. If he wants to fuck me like a porn star, I’m all for it.

I come up for air and look at him. “Do whatever you want with me. Don’t be gentle just because I’m … I can take it.”

He laughs. “You have no idea what you do to me when you talk like that.”

I glance down at his massive cock, the way the veins strain and protrude. “I think I have an idea.”

“Open your mouth,” he says.

I do what I’m told.

“Wider.” He licks his lips. “Good girl. Now suck my cock.”

I go down on him, relaxing my throat so he slides all the way in and my lips touch his pubes. I’m able to breathe through my nose and get air around my lips when I open wide enough. He’s grunting and moaning and I gag several times, but it’s so hot I don’t let go when he tries to stop.

“Wait, I don’t want to come in your mouth,” he says.

This time I release him and sit up.

He smiles at me and wipes my lips. “God, you give one hell of a blow job, you know that?”

He lays me down on the bench seat. It’s a big truck, but Paul’s a big man and there’s not much room. Still, we move easily enough. He takes off the rest of my clothes. Grabbing me behind the knees, he folds me in half, placing my ankles on each of his shoulders. The entire time his eyes lock on mine. He enters me in one long, slow push. His gaze never wavers as he moves in and out of me in languid, swimmer strokes.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says as he makes love to me.

I always hated that term, making love. Sounds sappy and old fashioned. But this isn’t some fast and furious fuck, a race to get each other off. This feels like love. Full, and content, and emotional enough to make me cry. I don’t do that though. I’m not trying to scare him away. Instead, I watch his face, long for him, consume him, absorb him inside of me until we melt together into a single organism.

A
week
later we go to an OBGYN for the final confirmation and to make sure everything is okay with the baby. When Paul hears the little heartbeat, he’s all smiles and laughter. I’m still slightly freaked out, but once I see the tiny bean in the ultrasound photo, something inside me changes and everything I thought was important yesterday feels like nothing, because all I care about is the person growing inside of me and the person beside me who helped make him/her. We made that. Paul and I, together. That’s insane.

And scary, because I barely know how to use a washing machine, let alone raise another human. Thank God Paul is by my side. I don’t think I could do this without him.

On our way back to my apartment, Paul says, “It’s time to tell your parents.”

I’ve been avoiding it. I even contemplated waiting until I was too far along to hide it anymore. I just really don’t want them to ruin my happiness by telling me what a horrible decision I’ve made or by hating Paul. My parents were only seventeen when they had me, and according to my grandmother, I ruined their lives and stole all their options. She seemed to believe that since I was born out of wedlock I’m somehow marked by Satan.

My parents insist that’s not the case, and that not one day goes by that they regret having me, but I’ve heard my mom over the years long for the experiences she missed out on. That’s why they were so happy for me to get my degree. I wanted that for myself, of course, but they always wanted it just a bit more.

I stare out the window at the cars flashing by and sigh. “I know.”

* * *

I
call
my mom and tell her everything over the phone—I can’t bear to say it face to face. I have a whole speech written out, but by the middle of it she’s asking questions and shrieking, and I end up going completely off script. There’s a lot of crying on both our parts. When she asks me who the father is, I hesitate. And then I tell her. The line is dead silent and at first I think she’s hung up on me. But then I hear her muffled cussing and she’s back on the phone.

“Paul,” she says, “your dad’s Paul.”

“I’m so sorry, Mom. We didn’t mean for things to go this far. But we’re in love.”

“You’re in love with Paul … your dad’s Paul.”

I suppress a sigh. Damn it. This is harder than I thought, and far more annoying than I imagined.

“Yes. Dad’s Paul.”

“And what does Paul think about all of this?”

I glance at him. He sits on the couch, watching my end of the conversation and biting his nails. “He’s happy. We’re both happy.”

More silence. More cussing. “What about school?”

“I’m going to finish school. I promise. There’s only a few more months before I graduate. I’ll just be in my second trimester at that point, so this shouldn’t affect my attendance, or grades, or my graduation plans at all.”

Suddenly my mom squeals. “Oh my god, my baby is having a baby. I’m going to be a grandmother.” It takes me a moment to realize she’s laughing while she’s saying this instead of crying like I initially thought. She starts talking about baby clothes, showers, decorating a nursery. She asks where we plan to live and tells me I sure as hell won’t be moving across the state with her grandchild, and that Paul better figure out a way to move back or else.

By the time I hang up my head is spinning. “I think Mom’s on board,” I tell him. “Now for my dad.”

* * *

M
om holds
my hand while Paul and my dad talk in my dad’s office. They’ve been in there for hours. At first there was yelling. Their voices were too muffled for me to hear exactly what was being said, but telling by the sounds of their voices, it was heated. More time passes and … is that laughter?

Paul comes out of the office. He comes up to me, leans over like he’s about to kiss my lips right there in front of my mom. I turn my head and let him kiss my cheek instead. I’m not quite ready for PDA in front of my parents even though they clearly know things have progressed beyond that point.

“Rachael, come in here,” my dad says from his office in a flat voice that camouflages his mood. I have no idea what I’m getting myself into walking in there. Every atom in my body wants to run. Instead I stand on wobbly legs. I’m too old to be running away from my problems. I’m going to be a mother. It’s time I learn to face my fears, because God knows things only get more frightening from here.

Paul takes my hand. “It’s okay. I’ll be with you.”

I slowly walk toward the office and poke my head in.

“Shut the door behind you,” my dad says.

Once the door is shut, Paul and I sit in the seat across the large oak desk. It’s a beautiful, regal office with stained wood paneling and a floor-to-ceiling library that houses mostly non-fiction about American wars and biographies about generals and world leaders.

My parents didn’t come from money but they have plenty of it now. My dad had to work his way from carpet cleaner to owning his own trucking company. All of that while raising a family of his own at the age of seventeen. He could’ve walked away and not too many people would’ve blamed him for doing so. But he didn’t do that. He’d stayed and worked hard and sacrificed to give me and my mom everything we could want or need.

Knowing I’ve probably broken his heart is more than I can bear. I don’t know what I would do if he looked at me any differently than he always has. I’m his little girl. I don’t want that to change.

He sits behind his imposing desk in a leather high-backed chair. On the desk is a photo of him and Paul at a Giants game. Next to it is a photo of me and mom. Three of the people he loves the most and two of those people have betrayed him.

He stands and walks around the desk, sitting on the edge beside me. He lets out a long sigh and shrugs his lips.

I apologize before he gets the chance to spew venom at me. “I’m so sorry I went behind your back,” I say. “Please don’t hate Paul. I don’t think I can stand it if you two weren’t friends because of me.”

He drops his shoulders and glances at Paul before looking back at me. “I can never hate Paul. He loves you. He’s going to be the father of my grandchild and he’s family. But I want to make sure this is what you want. You’re still young. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. You have options.”

My heart rises into my throat, and I swallow back tears. “I want this, Dad. I love Paul and I want to have a family with him.”

“And what about school? You have to promise me you won’t give up your dreams.”

“I have no intention of giving up anything. I can have it all with Paul’s help.”

He kisses my forehead. “Paul, can you go get my wife? We’re going out to celebrate.”

Paul hesitates. I can tell he doesn’t want to leave me alone, afraid my dad will say something to upset me. “It’s okay. I’ll be right out.”

Paul nods and leaves the room. Once he’s gone my dad says, “I know I seem like a hardass sometimes, and it’s hard to be affectionate, but I really do love you.”

I swallow back tears, my voice thick with emotion when I say, “I know. I love you, too.”

* * *

T
hree Months Later
.

I
’m finally walking
down the aisle.

Not
that
aisle; I’m graduating. Friends and family pile into the university theater. The air conditioning is broken; people are sweaty and uncomfortable crammed inside the narrow seats. It’s a long ceremony and I was fairly certain if the valedictorian didn’t wrap things up he’d be heckled off stage.

Despite the grumpy atmosphere, I’m relieved. It’s been a long four years and a lot of hard work, but I’ve finally made it. The ceremony wraps up and the crowd roars as my graduating class throws our caps into the air.

In the mayhem I find Paul, my parents, and the rest of my family sitting near the back toward the exit. Once we finally make it out of the cluster-fuck of a parking lot, we meet up with Emily and her family at an Indian restaurant. Everyone in my family is giving me gifts. Paul just smirks, empty handed.

“What is that look for?” I ask him.

“You’ll see.”

I pick at my food. I’m not sure exactly what I ordered but I think the meat is goat. There’s also something with curry and yogurt. Every element on the plate has a mush consistency, and the smell is definitely not working for me. The one and only time I tried Indian food in the past, I enjoyed it—I didn’t know what I was eating then either, but it tasted good. Pregnancy has changed my sense of smell and taste. So far this baby inside of me seems to only like candy bars. That’s all I crave, and I’m his/her powerless servant. Luckily I have Paul around to make sure I have a balanced diet or it would be all sugar all the time.

“What do you mean, I’ll see?” I ask. “What will I see?”

My mom leans over and with an exaggerated *wink, wink* says, “He means
you’ll see later tonight.
”

“Ew, Mom, stop,” I said.

My dad is not amused. Though he seems happy for me and Paul and he didn’t protest when I moved into Paul’s gorgeous apartment, I don’t know if he’s fully on board yet with us as a couple. That will take time. Years maybe. I can only imagine how difficult it would be to see my child dating my best friend.

He frowns at my mom. “Yeah, Sharron, stop.”

My mom snorts and apologizes. She’s had one too many cocktails tonight.

It’s still fairly early when Paul and I leave the restaurant. This whole pregnancy thing is wearing me out and I’m hardly even showing yet. The only physical changes I’ve noticed is that my clothes don’t fit like they used to and my boobs are engorged.

There are plenty of other changes though. The big one, I started noticing after the nausea finally wore off, is pregnancy hormones. I’ve heard of expecting women having mood swings and cravings, but no one told me I would be horny as shit twenty-four/seven. Sometimes all it takes is for Paul to brush against me and I’m chasing him down, humping his leg. Seriously, though. All I want to do is fuck. Poor Paul is keeping up, but by the time the evening comes around, he’s wrecked.

“My feet are killing me. Can we go home now?” I ask him on the way to his truck. I lean my head against his shoulder and wraps his arm around me, his hand on my hip.

All I want to do is eat a big bowl of ice cream, watch a chick flick, and have sex until I drift off into dream land.

“Whatever you want,” he says.

As we drive away, we’re going in the opposite direction of the apartment. “Where are we going?” I ask.

“You’ll see.” He drives through town with that same smirk on his face. He’s up to something. Instead of pushing him about it, I lean my head against the window and watch the scenery whip by.

I see the sign for the freeway, and I deflate. I really hope he doesn’t plan to take me out of town for some kind of graduation surprise. My bladder is the size of a pea these days and car sickness is still an issue even if it’s not as bad as it was those first few weeks.

Instead of taking the freeway, he takes a left, into the old Victorian neighborhood. The sun is going down behind the cliffs. The steadfast homes that have been watching over this town from the cliffs for over a hundred years live to see another day. The speed limit through this neighborhood is forty, but he’s creeping through at a mere 25.