Page 4 of Almost Paradise

“Sowwy, Mommy,” the little voice says. The wing falls on my plate and buffalo sauce splatters across my pristine white shirt. My mouth suddenly goes dry and the smell of the food, which was enticing seconds ago, is now nauseating. Blood pounds between my ears, and I’m a few seconds away from falling on my ass and making a fool out of myself.

Did the kid call her Mommy?

“No,” I whisper to myself. “This is not happening. This can’t be.”

“Come with Mommy.” Her voice is as intoxicating now as it was back then. “You want to watch Kyle open his presents, right?”

“Pwesents!” he yells. “I want Piderman.”

I rub my eyes with my hands, hoping that when I stop, this will have all been a mirage, and this scene will just be a figment of my wild imagination. Maybe I’m just as delusional as my mother. Maybe it’s genetic and I’m losing my shit now rather than later.

“Fuck,” I hiss at the stinging sensation of the hot sauce in my eyes. There’s no way the universe can take my dad from me with barely any warning, leave me here to deal with my mother and brother, and now dropthison my lap too.

There’s no way.

I’m a lot like my dad. I do what makes sense. I work with integrity, and I get to the point. I don’t waste anyone’s time, least of all my own. That’s my mother and brother’s department. Mom lives in La La Land and is completely unpredictable. My brother is either selfish or weak.

Or maybe they are both grieving in their own way.

I channel my dad, who is the best part of me. He was strong. He was fair. He was decisive and always did the right thing. Whether it was his work ethic or his charity work, Donald Paradise could be counted on to do what was right.

With that in mind, I steel my spine and spin the stool around. Their backs are to me, but I’d know her body from ten thousand miles away. It’s the same. Motherhood hasn’t changed her at all. She’s wearing tight black jeans, black riding boots, and a bright blue sweater. It’s simple, and she’s still perfection.

She’s on the short side, but I’m six foot four inches tall. Almost every woman is short next to me. Her body is perfect, both in and out of clothes. She’s always liked to work out. That’s one of the things we have in common, but unlike me, she eats whatever she wants without thinking about it.

Even underneath her clothes, I can tell her body is as tight and lithe as it was over four years ago. Her skin is like silk and without a single blemish. I could spend hours trailing my fingertips along her spine while she was cuddled into me.

She squats down to eye level with the kid and starts to wipe his mouth with a napkin. He wiggles and fights her, but he loses. She stands, seemingly satisfied with her efforts, runs a hand over his curly hair, and taps the tip of his nose with her index finger. He grins adoringly at her.

Her hair is different now. Back then it was short, and she complained about having almost weekly hair appointments to keep it trimmed. Now, it’s just kissing her shoulders. She used to have red highlights, but now it’s shiny and black. I’m transported back in time to us in my bed wrapped up in silk sheets with our lips and bodies fused together. Afterward, she told me I was worth sweating her hair out for. I remember having no idea what she meant.

The little boy runs off again, giggling along the way like it’s a game they play all the time. She catches up to him in three strides and grabs his hand, preventing him from taking any more steps.

“Okay, Mama’s baby. Let’s go.” He giggles again, and it’s like music to my ears. It’s pure joy and innocence. She picks him up and carries him back toward one of the party rooms.

She never notices me sitting on the stool watching. No one notices a thing, and I wonder how that can be when those few moments just upended my entire life.

Nia Nash. I’ve thought of her every single day since I first saw her. Not even my father’s sudden sickness and quick death could stop the thoughts. Once the anger over her leaving waned, I was left with a wound that never fully healed. It didn’t hurt anymore, but occasionally, when it’s accidentally touched, all the pain I thought I had gotten over comes back.

I moved on. Eventually. I got over the anger. The pain ebbed. I decided to give Scarlett a chance. We get along well. So well, I put a ring on her finger a year into the relationship.

Yeah, but you still won’t set a date.

My father’s illness and subsequent death gave me a reprieve from talks of a wedding. I’m still mourning, so that’s given me more space, but I know my time is running short. The inevitable discussion is coming. I can feel it, and it’s not unreasonable. Scarlett has been beyond patient, and she deserves the wedding of her dreams. I owe her that much.

What she doesn’t deserve is this sudden complication that dropped in my lap. No wonder I felt something familiar about the kid. He looks just like me and my brother. His hair is curlier, and his skin is darker, but the nose is mine. So is the mouth. Even his smile belongs to me. His eyes might not be blue like mine, but they are the same shape. There is no way in hell I can pretend that I didn’t see what I just saw. That’s not how I’m built. Like Donald Paradise, I always do the right thing, but what I don’t understand is why Nia would keep my child from me.

Chapter 4

Nia

I pick up my little man and squeeze him tight. I kiss his cheek and he grins so wide, I see all his teeth. “You be good, okay,” I tell him. “Mommy loves you so much.” I squeeze him again, and he starts to wiggle in my arms, so I put him down. He runs off to join his friends in his daycare classroom. “Be good for Ms. Dot,” I yell after him.

I leave the room, but I watch from the window as he helps a little girl take off her coat. My heart swells at the scene. My little Carter might be tireless and will put up a hell of a fight before he takes a nap or goes to sleep at night, but he’s the sweetest kid I’ve ever known.

He gives random kids at the park his snacks. He even offered to give a little boy in his daycare his shoes because the kid liked them. If he senses anyone close to him is sad or upset, he’ll sing and dance just to get a smile. If that doesn’t work, then he’ll get sad too. He says it’s because he doesn’t want anyone to be sad alone.

The flip side of that sweetness is that he has endless energy and likes to break things. He also loves to climb and do somersaults and cartwheels. He thinks he’s a gymnast, but he’s a tornado in the shape of a three-year-old boy. He exhausts me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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