Page 50 of Best Laid Plans

I look down at my lap, feeling all kinds of different ways. When I don’t reply, he reaches over and takes my hand in his. “Hey, I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just—” I break off, trying to find the right words. “Complicated. It’s complicated.” Really, that’s the best word, because how else do I explain that my feelings for him never faded, and that he’s always been my gold standard, and that no other guy has ever measured up? Not to mention, I don’t want things between us to get messy and have it affect Tatum.So, yeah, complicated.

“Right.” He swallows roughly before changing the subject. “Maybe y’all can come to my place for dinner one night?”

“That…that sounds good.”

Alden beams his pearly whites at me, and once again my heart pangs, knowing all I have deprived him—and Tatum—of. He rises from the couch, and I do too. Together we walk to the door, where things once again turn awkward. After practically dry humping on the couch, do we hug? Shake hands? Nothing at all? I’m too busy overthinking it when he makes the decision for the both of us, hugging me close and placing a feather-soft kiss to my forehead.

He’s out the door before I can even process everything that just happened. And my God, it’s a lot to process.Wine!I think.Wine will help.

I return to the couch, drink in hand, just in time to hear my phone ding. It’s a text. From him.

ALDEN: For real, Nat. Thank you.

I gulp down half of my glass and reply.

NATALIE: Don’t thank me for doing what I should have done from the start. It’s the right thing to do. For you and for her.

He doesn’t reply after that, and that’s okay; we’ve said all we need to—for now.

Thirty minutes later, Tatum is still napping. Normally, I wouldn’t let her sleep so long, but she’s had a big day, and honestly, I need some time to myself.

Sinking back into the couch, I relish in the peace and quiet—until the sound of my phone ringing cuts through the air. A quick glance at the screen shows my mom’s name. We’ve chatted a few times here and there since all of this happened, but my dad and I have yet to talk, which freaking kills me.

Not in the mood to deal with her, I send the call to voicemail. But she’s persistent and calls right back. I swipe my thumb across the screen. “Hey Mom.”

“Natalie.” My name comes out as more of a sigh than a greeting.

“What’s up?” I ask, already feeling exasperated. I get that I let everyone down, but at this point, I feel like my parents need to accept what happened and move on. Every time my mom and I talk, it feels like we’re both walking on eggshells.

“Oh, your dad and I just wanted to check in.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t speak for Dad when we both know he hasn’t made an effort to speak to me since everything went down at Bayside.”

“Your father loves you, Nat. He’s just struggling.”

“He’s struggling? Really?” I count down from ten in an effort to not flip my shit. “I get that me being a teen mom was hard for y’all. I get me refusing to name the father was hard for y’all. But guess what? It. Was. Hard. For. Me. Too!

“I freaking lived it.Every day, I lived it. And I know I made mistakes and messed up, but I’m doing my best to right my wrongs in a way that’s best for Tatum. Because here’s the thing: she comes first. Now and always. Dad can either decide to forgive me and accept things for what they are or not—I’m not going to beg. But, Mom, I will not let this drama affect my daughter—your granddaughter—and y’all shouldn’t, either.”

Mom’s quiet for a long time, and patiently, I wait her out. Finally, she says, “Okay Natalie. Okay,” and ends the call. I’m not sure which part of my tirade she’sokaying, but whatever. I’ll take it. Okay is better than nothing, I guess.

* * *

As the week progresses, work, home, and school all run smoothly—even things with Alden seem to be looking sunny. You know, aside from lingering glances and a crackling sexual tension that we’re both determined to ignore. Which is why my defenses are up—I’ve learned by now that anytime life looks this bright, I should expect a black cloud to dump rain on me, pronto.

Or maybe it’s just nerves over our dinner at Alden’s tonight. Nerves over telling Tatum who he is. Yeah, that’s probably it. “C’mon Tater Tot! It’s time to go,” I say, poking my head into her room.

Only she’s not there.

Panic rushes through me, and I holler her name, sprinting from her room.

Relief fills my lungs just as quickly when I find her sitting on the floor at the front door. “I’s been ready,” she states in that no-nonsense way of hers. “I’s been waiting on you!”

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