Page 10 of Almost Christmas in Paradise

She twists on my lap and smiles sadly at me. “I’m supposed to be consoling you, not the other way around.”

“I take care of my wife. Always,” I say. “Don’t argue with me. Continue, please.” I want to get this over with so I can go on with my life. I’ve put it off enough, and I’m not taking it into another year.

She kisses my lips a few times until I say with a laugh, “I’m getting turned on. Read.”

She giggles and turns back to the letter.

“I know how all of this must sound. How can Donald Paradise, after everything he stands for, do this? I bet you’re wondering if your father is a bigot, and I assure you that I am NOT.” She puts the letter down. “He actually put not in all caps,” she says with an eye roll. “Anyway, let me continue.” She drops that piece of paper and goes to the next page. “I had my vision. I pictured what your kids would look like. I pictured your wife as someone who would be from a family of means. All the right schools. Connections. Power. A family that can make things happen. That’s why I pushed Scarlett, but I knew you weren’t happy. I thought in time, you’d bounce back, but you never did. Not fully. There’s nothing that hurts a parent more than knowing their child is unhappy, and when you know the cause of their unhappiness is you, the pain that comes with that knowledge is indescribable. I can’t give you back the time you missed, but hopefully, envelope two will help. Look at that now before you continue.”

Chapter 10

Nia

I put that letter down and glance at the big white envelope. Drake is staring at it too with a strange expression on his face. He’s more stoic than I thought he’d be. I expected him to rant and cuss as I read the bullshit his father wrote, but my husband has been calm. Way too calm for the circumstances, and that’s what worries me. While he’s not an angry person, he’s not emotionless. I can usually read him like a book, and today I can’t.

He picks up the envelope and holds it. I can tell it has some weight to it, and I wonder what the hell it could be. I expect him to pull the seal and look at it, only he doesn’t. He hands it to me. I was right. It’s heavy, but I can tell there are only papers in there. Within a few moments, I have it unsealed and pull out what’s inside. A piece of paper falls out, but the other contents are wrapped again.

I pick up the piece of paper to read. “Son, I know you better than anyone. I knew you were never going to marry Scarlett, and if by chance you did, I want you to know that she’s known about Carter’s existence for almost as long as I did. I told her, and I told her how to get you. I thought she could help you forget, but all I did was condemn you to a loveless relationship. Open the other envelope now. I think you’ll like what you find inside. Please know that I love you, and I’ve always loved you.” He signs it, Dad.

I put that down and grab the sealed contents. The first thing that spills out is a picture of me. “What the fuck?” I ask as I look at it. “This is about two weeks after Carter was born. This is the first time I took him outside after we got home from the hospital,” I tell Drake. He takes the picture from me and smiles at it. You can’t see Carter at all as he’s bundled up in the stroller. I still look like a mess. My hair was in a bun, and I had no makeup on. I’m in my mother’s sweatpants, and I look exhausted.

“You look so beautiful,” Drake says. “I should have been there. I should have been pushing that stroller with you next to me. Afterward, we’d go home, and I would make you lunch. Then I’d rub your feet until you fell asleep.”

“I would have loved that.” I smile and rest my head on his chest. “That is exactly what you did when Priya was born,” I tease. “And remember what I woke up to that first day home?”

“You mean the great diaper caper?” It was only the third time Drake changed a diaper, and Pixie snatched the soiled one from the changing table and ran. Carter thought it was a game and started chasing him. Priya was naked and screaming, so he couldn’t go after Carter, and the stupid dog dragged that filthy diaper all over the upstairs carpet.

“That was a mess,” I giggle. “I vowed never to nap again.” I remember Drake handingme the baby so he could go after Carter and Pixie. Unfortunately, he hadn’t put a new diaper on her yet, and she peed all over me.

“I should have been there when my son was born too,” he grits out. His voice has a hard, bitter edge to it now. He picks up another picture. It’s from the same day, but I’m now sitting on a bench at the park, cradling a baby in my arms. His face still can’t be seen, but I’m smiling happily down at my son.

There are dozens of pictures of me and Carter, and I don’t know if I should be offended at being followed or happy that my husband gets to have these. I decide to go with the latter since his father is gone, and there’s no one to take my anger out on.

“Look at this one,” he says. It’s of me and Carter at the pediatrician. He’s only a few months old, but it’s summertime, and he’s in a powder blue onesie with matching Crocs. “I remember this day,” I say. “That was the first time I started feeling like a human being again. My mom watched Carter for a few hours the day before, and I went to get my hair and nails done for the first time in months. The nurse at the pediatrician’s office flirted with me and called me mamacita.” I smile fondly at the memory and look at my husband who is now scowling.

“What’s his name?” he asks, and I roll my eyes.

“Whatever,” is all I say. We continue looking through the pictures. They are all candid moments of me and Carter. There are a few with Kyle and Mason too. These pictures bring back many memories of those times. I might appear happy in them, but that was a dark time for me. The smiles were forced, and I'd told myself I had to be happy for my son. The only thing that worked was time, and all that did was numb the pain, not eliminate it.

There’s one of Carter standing on wobbly legs. “He had just taken his first steps the day before,” I tell Drake. “You’ve seen the video of this before. He had just turned one, and I was finallygetting comfortable with this mother thing.” He puts his hand on my shoulder and smiles sadly at the pictures. He would have been there with us that day. “He had been standing since he was ten months old, but he would never take a step. Not until that day, and it took everyone by surprise. We cheered, and that shocked him and made him fall on his butt.” I laugh fondly at the memory, and Drake smiles sadly.

We don’t speak again as we look at the pile of photos, and even though I feel this rage at being followed and photographed by the same man who caused our breakup, I tuck that away for now. Today is not about my anger at Drake’s father. Today is about being there for my husband as he navigates his feelings.

The next picture causes my breath to hitch. I quickly shove it underneath the pile we’ve already looked at, but he grabs it. When I try to take it back, he turns his body to the side to look at it.

It’s a picture of me and the one boyfriend I had while Drake and I were separated. He’s a handsome man with smooth, dark brown skin and light eyes. His beard is perfectly trimmed and shiny. I remember how much I loved pulling on it.

We’re holding hands in this picture, and even though he was a single dad to a son, we were alone. My parents were watching Carter, and his mom was babysitting his son. It’s about dusk, and I remember we were on our way to dinner with his brother and his girlfriend.

“Where was my son?” Drake asks.

“It was his weekend with my parents,” is all I say as I reach for the picture. On the bottom, there’s a sticky note that says turn over.

On the back of the picture is the name of my ex, a name I had always refused to give Drake even though he asked.

“Well, look at what we have here,” he says. “Shawn Gillis. I guess I do have a name after all.” I try to snatch the picture from him so I can rip it apart and throw it away, but he moves it out of my reach.

“This is an invasion of my privacy,” I say. “How dare he do this when all he had to do was man up and tell you the truth? I don’t understand the point of this picture, and I’m not going to fight with you about it. Not when you got engaged while we were separated. See? Now, we’re fighting. This is what he wants. Even in death, he’s trying to divide us. There’s no other explanation for this picture. This should have made him happy. Isn’t this what he wanted? For us to be apart? What better way to ensure that than for me to move on with someone else?” I try to get up, but he tightens his arm around my waist and pulls me to him.

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