Page 18 of Rebound

“The what? The first guy who doesn’t want to murder you?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Don’t worry about it because you’ll never be that guy.”

I take another step closer to her. She has her back to me while she washes the dishes. She goes stiff when I put both hands on her shoulders. She’s a bony thing, and when I squeeze her shoulders, she moans softly. I bend down and get close to her ear without touching it with my mouth and whisper, “You know what they say. Never say never.”

I then take my cake and leave.

Chapter 12

Layla

“I’ll never forgive you,” I say to myself days later. I’ve thought about that night with Wakowski every day for the past five days. I don’t think of the things I should think about when it comes to him. It would make sense if I thought about how good he is with his daughter since I thought he would, at best, pay child support and never see the kid. I would expect him to let nannies or her grandparents raise her. No. Of course, that’s not what I think about. I think about how surprisingly good his big hands felt on me. I thought about how sad he sounded when he talked to his father on the phone. Behind all that anger there was a sadness that I recognized. It’s the kind you have only when you’re disappointed in a person you love.

Maybe it’s because I’m a twenty-two-year-old virgin, and I just enjoy the touch of a man. Any man. Wakowski isn’t special, but I will admit only to myself that he’s handsome. If he wasn’t such a whore, he might make a good catch for a woman. His personality isn’t too bad either. Some might consider him charming. I’ll never admit that to anyone though.

I still wonder why he didn’t tell my mom I wasn’t his girlfriend, or that he can’t stand me. Oh, well. I’ve given him enough thought for today. In fact, I’ve given him enough thought to last a damn lifetime.

I’m working from home, and I’m grateful that Gaga is having a somewhat good day. She’s been calling me by my mother’s name all day and talks about things that happened before I was born as if they just happened yesterday, but she hasn’t been combative. I was happy when she ate an early lunch and went to take a nap.

Just as I decide to warm some leftovers for lunch, my phone rings. It’s from a number I don’t know, but I recognize the area code as one from upstate New York. Thinking that it might be someone at work, I pick it up.

“Hello. This is Layla Jackson.” All I hear in the background is the sound of busy city traffic. Then I hear a baby talking nonsense. “Whorekowski?” I say.

“Yeah,” he says as if it’s no big deal that he’s calling my phone.

“How the hell did you get my phone number?” I know for a fact I never gave it to him. He didn’t ask, and if he did, I would have told him no.

“I have my ways. You wanna let me in or what?” he says.

“Or what,” I tell him.

“Funny. Come on. Let me in. I have to change Jasmine, and I brought food. Stuff is starting to seep out of her diaper.”

“How did you know I’d be here? It’s Wednesday.” For all he knows, I should be in the office, which is where I would be if not for my Gaga.

“Can you let me in before you interrogate me? Jesus! No wonder you have no man. All you do is nag.” My nostrils flare, and I hang up on him. If not for the baby, I would leave him out on the stoop, but I’m not about to leave a baby marinating in a dirty diaper.

I go to the door and yank it open. He’s standing so close that I nearly fall intohim.

“Yaya,” Jasmine squeals when she sees me. As usual, she’s strapped to his chest. She kicks her legs and claps her hands. Wakowski is standing there, wearing sunglasses and looking like a GQ model. He doesn’t wait for me to invite him in. He slides in past me with the brown paper bag he’s holding.

He takes Jasmine out of the carrier and puts her down. She starts to walk around the living room. She’s wearing a dress today. Of course, it has a tutu and it’s pink. She even has pink and white high-top sneakers. This is the first time I’ve ever seen her wearing colors that match.

“You can go change her in the bathroom if you want,” I say, gesturing down the hall to the only bathroom we have in this house.

“Oh, about that. False alarm,” he says as he pulls out containers from the bag.

“False alarm? You told me it was oozing out of her diaper. How the hell can that be a false alarm?”

“You must have heard wrong.” He looks away from me. I put my hands on my hips and prepare to tell him to get lost, but the smell of the food makes my stomach growl. “Anyway, you hungry? It’s time for Jasmine to eat. Isn’t it, Jazzy Girl?” he yells toward his daughter.

“Nom nom,” she says. She signs something, and Wakowski nods at her. She waddles over and wraps herself around my legs. She lifts her arms, and I pick her up.

“I have steak tips and mixed vegetables. I made rice pilaf too,” he says as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to be bringing me food. “And I made fish nuggets for Jazzy Girl. It’s her favorite.” Jasmine bounces in my arms at her father’s words. After he puts all the containers on the table, he turns and looks at the cabinets in the kitchen.

“The one above the sink,” I tell him. He gets three dishes and puts them on the table. Jasmine reaches for him, and when he takes her, I get the utensils. I manage to find the Disney Princess plate my mom keeps here for when she babysits the neighbor’s daughter and I look in the pantry for the old booster seat we keep in the house.

While I do that, he washes Jasmine’s hands in the kitchen sink.

---