Page 41 of Rebound

“Let me hold her,” she orders. “I like babies.”

“Really? Even one that belongs to me?” I tease, but I slide Jasmine into her arms. She doesn’t budge. Normally, she only likes to sleep in my arms or on my chest.

“The fact that she belongs to you only means she needs me more.” She looks down at Jasmine and gently rocks her. She makes little cooing sounds and says, “You’re so cute, I could eat you.”

“Isn’t that what the Witch in Hansel and Gretel said?” I mutter. She ignores me, and I walk to a quiet part of the church. My father answers my call right away.

“Hey, Son,” he says into the camera. He looks nice in the gray suit I sent him. “I can see and hear just fine.” He smiles as if that’s some great feat. A great feat would be if he got his ass here and joined me in person. That would be a fucking miracle, but the Rapture will happen before that.

“Okay. I just wanted to make sure. We’re gonna get started soon.”

“I’m so proud of you, Seth,” he says. I don’t know if that’s a result of his therapy, but he says he’s proud of me every time we talk, and I hate it. The last fucking thing I want or need from him is praise of any kind. It’s too little too late.

“Well, if that were true, you think you’d—” I hold my sharp words and take a deep breath. There’s no point in making him feel bad. All that does is make me feel worse. “Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.”

He exhales and smiles sadly. “I can’t wait to see you two at Thanksgiving. It’s going to be really nice this year. I ordered a little turkey onesie for Jasmine already.”

Instead of rolling my eyes like I want, I force a fake smile on my face and say, “Yeah. Me too. I’ll talk to you in a bit.” Thanksgiving with my father is the last damn thing I need, but my schedule allows it this year, and I haven’t been able to come upwith an excuse not to go. Besides, every time I tell him I can’t visit, I have to deal with the hurt sad look in his eyes.

I end the call, turn around and almost bump into Colt Chastain. I also notice that Layla’s lurking around within hearing range, and I wonder if she heard any of the conversation with my dad. I’ve noticed she’s a nosey thing, always lurking around wherever I am, probably looking for more ammo to judge me. If we weren’t in a church, I’d give her the middle finger. Instead, I ignore her. She’s not even one of my invited guests.

Colt claps me on the back. “You’re doing great.” We’ve become friends since I became a single father. He was in the same situation as me before he met his wife, and he knows how hard it is juggling our job while being a single parent to an infant. Lucky for him, he found someone who not only loves him but his son. Now they’re married and have another son. What the hell do I have? But there’s a big part of me that wants what he has. I just can’t figure out how to get it.

“Thanks.” I shrug as if the compliment is no big deal, but it’s everything on a day like today. “Though I don’t know why Jeannie insisted on a christening. Since when has the Lord ever been good to me? And why did she invite her?” I point to Layla, who is still close enough to hear. The minute I point at her, she looks and narrows her eyes at me. I can’t flip her the bird, but I scowl at her. She scowls back.

Dead mother. A deadbeat father that I’ve been taking care of since I was a tween. He might as well be dead for all the good he’s done for me. That’s my legacy.

“I don’t want to hear that talk,” Colt says. “You know Vickie has volunteered to watch Jasmine for you whenever you need, even though you made the Walshes godparents over us,” he teases. “You’re a good dad, and you’re doing the best you can.”

“Thanks. That means a lot.”

Heleaves and returns to his family.

Layla is still eavesdropping and still holding my daughter, and she doesn’t look the least bit embarrassed about it.

“Why are you following me around?” I look down at her. She’s in a burgundy pantsuit. She has a black shirt with burgundy flowers underneath. Her hair is swept to the side, and her lipstick is the same color as her suit. She has a nineteen-fifties look about her. I’d die before saying it out loud, but she looks pretty. More than pretty. “And why are you here? I don’t remember inviting you. Are you here to try and hook up with one of my teammates? Today is about Jasmine. This is not about you hooking up with a basketball player.”

She does nothing but gush about Jarvis and Harris, two of my teammates. They’re both here, but she’s holding my baby and following me around instead of fawning over them. I wish she’d either leave the church or leave me alone. I can’t stand her judgmental attitude, and I hate that she’s so beautiful, especially in that outfit. If she were ugly, I could deal with her better. Not only that, but she smells good too.

“Following you around? Are you mistaking me for a Sethhead? Don’t flatter yourself, Whorekowski. I’m here because Reverend Okoye says it’s time.” She looks into my eyes, and I think she wants to say more, but she doesn’t. She walks away, and I follow her to the altar. The pants fit just right around her ass. I don’t even care that we’re in a church. All I can think about is taking her inside one of these small rooms and stripping her down to see what’s underneath that suit.

I grin sheepishly when I get to the altar and Reverend Okoye smiles at me and gestures for me to take my spot. Layla hands Jasmine to Jeannie, and I stand next to them.

Layla sits in the front pew as if she’s family. She pulls out her phone and starts to record. If it was anyone else, I’d stop theceremony and ask that she put the phone away, but I leave her alone.

I might not be able to stand her, but she won’t post anything on social media. She might dislike me, but she won’t do that to Jeannie and Coach. I try and do my best to pay attention, but my mind wanders and so do my eyes. They land on her again. She’s holding the phone but looking over it and at the altar. She looks up and our eyes catch.

I wait for her to scowl or to mouth something crude, but she doesn’t. She holds my stare. Jasmine finally lets out a wail when the minister touches her, and Layla looks away from me to my baby.

From where I’m standing, I see Layla whispering shh, but my daughter screams for the rest of the ceremony. Once Reverend Okoye finishes, I take a very unhappy Jasmine away from her godmother. It’s past her naptime, and I try my best to rock her to sleep, but she won’t settle down. I take a seat on the front pew next to Layla.

“Let me try,” she says.

“I’ve got it. She’s my kid,” I say in dismissal.

“I’m good with babies. Come on.” She holds out her arms, and I gently place Jasmine in them. I wait for her wails to escalate, but the opposite happens. They become quieter until they stop completely. Layla hums a soft lullaby to Jasmine, who is transfixed by her. She can’t sing worth a damn because the humming is off-key, but Jasmine doesn’t know any better. She smiles at Layla, who smiles back.

She looks at me with a smug look on her face. “See? I told you. I’m good at this.”

---