Page 58 of Almost Paradise

“What?” I don’t yell in case Carter’s nearby.

“Can I please come in?”

I’m immediately on alert. His voice is lacking the usual hostility. And he’s never asked permission to come into a room in this house before.

“It’s your world, Paradise, not to mention your house,” is all I say.

I expect him to barge through the door, but he doesn’t. It takes another few seconds for him to open it and step inside. I don’t say a word. I refuse to look at him. I open my bag and pour the contents on the bed before plopping myself beside them and yanking my shoes off.

“Where’s your ring?” he asks. I stare down at my bare left hand.

“I took it off,” is all I say. “You can’t leave Carter alone.” I try to walk around him to go to my son, but he grabs my elbow. I roughly pull out of his grasp.

“He’s not alone. He’s with Delores. She was our cook when I was a kid. She retired, but I convinced her to work for us part-time,” he says.

“To work foryou,” I correct him.

“Will you come downstairs and meet her, please? And can we call a truce until Carter goes to bed? Scratch that,” he says, shaking his head. “Can we call an indefinite truce? I don’t want to keep fighting with you, Nia. I really don’t. It wasn’t always like this between us. Can we go back to—”

I cut him off before he can go any further with this nonsense. “You never threatened my father before, and you never sued me for full custody of the child you didn’t want.” He looks away as if he’s ashamed, but I know better. “But sure. Truce. Like I said, it’s your world.” I walk past him, bumping him along the way. He follows me down the long hallway and down the stairs.

When I get to the kitchen, Carter is sitting on the counter, talking nonstop to an older black woman. She looks to be about my mother’s age, in her late fifties. She’s looking down at him affectionately and puts a cucumber slice to his lips. He takes it, and she runs her hand through his curly hair. When she looks up and sees me, she crosses the room to pull me into a tight hug.

“I’m Delores,” she says when she pulls away. “You must be Nia, the mother of that adorable little boy. He reminds me of his father at that age,” she says fondly. She lets me go and returns to the stove.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask her. I go to my son and take him into my arms. He wraps his legs around me and rests his head on my shoulder. Delores tells me to relax while Drake sets the table.

He’d always do that back then. He’d cook and set the table. I’d be in charge of clearing it and washing the dishes. Even then, he’d stand next to me and dry. We could never be far from each other back then.

I barely speak during dinner. Drake and Carter talk the entire time, mostly about nonsense and Spiderman. When Drake promises to wear matching Spiderman Halloween costumes, Carter jumps out of his chair and into his father’s arms. It would be sweet if I didn’t hate Drake so much.

When I was pregnant with Carter, especially when I found out I was having a son, I pictured moments like these. I dreamed of the three of us eating dinner together, going for walks or to the playground, and taking vacations as a family. Despite not liking kids, I always knew he’d make a great father to his own. He was always so caring with me and always doting on me, but I guess I was wrong. He abandoned us, and now he’s back, and while I’m happy that my son finally has his father’s love, I feel nothing but anger, hurt, and resentment.

“Mommy can be Piderman too,” Carter says.

“I’m more of a Wonder Woman,” I tell my son. I grin at him, and he grins back.

“Or Cat Woman,” Drake says. He winks at me, and I lose my breath.

For a brief moment, I’m transported to that first Halloween when I was a sexy Cat Woman, and he was Batman. I wore a black skintight leather jumpsuit and black stiletto boots. We were supposed to go to a bar in my neighborhood, but the moment we locked eyes, we ripped each other’s clothes off and climbed into bed instead. We didn’t leave it until the next afternoon.

I look away and stare at my empty plate, angry at myself for remembering.

“I’ll clean up and then I’ll come give you a bath,” I say to Carter.

“I want Daddy to do it.” He lifts his hands, and Drake leaves his chair to pick him up.

I promise to come read him a story after I clear the table. It only takes me twenty minutes to bring the kitchen back to its pristine order. When I get upstairs, I’m met with Carter’s uncontrollable laughter. He runs down the hall without a stitch of clothes on and Drake runs after him. He catches him and lifts him off his feet. I find myself laughing at the scene. Drake brings him to his room, and I lean against the opened door to watch as he puts his pajamas on.

“Look, Mommy!” Carter picks up a Spiderman coloring book and a brand-new box of crayons. He goes to his little table in the corner of his room and starts to color.

“You’ll spoil him,” I warn Drake. “You already bought him a bunch of toys. I don’t want him to think this is normal.” I gesture around the room and all its opulence.

“It makes him happy, and I’ve missed out on so much.” For once, his tone isn’t accusatory. I almost wish it was so that I can tell him off. Instead, I’m lost in the ocean-blue intensity of his stare. When he takes a step closer, I take one back. “Can I talk to you for a few minutes?” He cranes his neck to look at Carter, who now has his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth while he colors. “In private.”

Chapter 33

Drake

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