Page 20 of Dirty Little Secret, Baby
I had no plan and, for the moment, only one goal: Jake couldn’t have Beth. I just couldn’t stand the thought.
Chapter 7
Beth
After more than half an hour that seemed to drag on forever, Ben has finally fallen asleep again. He wasn’t really hungry or thirsty, didn’t want to play, and didn’t want to be put down, either. I had tried to lie down with him in bed, but my work clothes chafed everywhere, so I quickly slipped into the floral top and sweatpants—my sleepwear—because I read somewhere that babies love it when clothes smell strongly of Mom.
In moments like these, I always wonder if I’m a bad mother because I have no idea what my child wants. Veronica usually says she doesn’t know either, but she’s combed through a few internet forums and it turns out most parents feel this way, and that it’s especially pronounced for single parents.
This time I don’t put Ben down, because the last few times he kept waking up when I did and made it very clear with loud cries that he didn’t like it one bit. Maybe he just needs closeness and wants to be in my arms? Maybe he senses how agitated I am because his father... I swallow the lump in my throat and correct myself. Because hissperm donorsuddenly stood in front of me in my store and acted like nothing had happened. But that thought is probably nonsense. Ben doesn’t know any of this. I’ll have to answer for it soon enough and shouldn’t read so much into it right now.
Slowly and quietly, with Ben in my arms, I go into the kitchen to turn on the kettle because I want to make myself some tea and a hot-water bottle.
"I can take care of that," Veronica says behind me, and I jump because I didn’t expect her to be back so soon.
"Shhh," I murmur, because Ben furrows his brow and moves his little arms, probably because my startled jolt tugged him out of his well-deserved sleep. I stroke his head while Veronica looks guilty, makes a wordless gesture of apology, and motions for me to leave the kitchen, because the sound of the kettle will surely wake Ben again.
I nod, go back into the living room, and am relieved to find that Ben is breathing evenly again. His head rests against my chest, one nostril is squished shut and he’s breathing only through the other, producing a few little wheezing whistles that bring a smile to my face. I give my little ray of sunshine a gentle kiss on the forehead and...
"Veronica?" I call in a whisper.
"I know, raspberry tea and a hot-water bottle for your feet, right?" she asks and shows me the tea bag already in her hand.
"Yeah," I say with a grin, and that pang of guilt rises in me again because she takes such loving care of me. "But that’s not what I meant. The store..." I break off. "I know it’s a lot to ask, but I can’t just close whenever I want. Could you stay downstairs a while longer until Ben..." I trail off again because it’s so hard to keep roping Veronica in. I have no right to drag her into my life as unpaid labor.
"Honey! Paula, your assistant, is there right now. She came ten minutes ago, just like you arranged." She smiles and gives me a kiss on the cheek. "Mommy brain?" she asks with a grin.
"Probably," I reply, a little ashamed that I’ve got so little control over myself and my life right now, but relieved I don’t have to ask Veronica.
"So raspberry tea and a hot-water bottle, then?" she asks, and I nod.
A few minutes later she’s back with a steaming cup of tea whose scent instantly calms me, and she sets it carefully on the little coffee table in front of me. She lays the hot-water bottle on the floor, ridged side up, so I can rest my feet on it one at a time.
"Well?" she asks, simply looking at me. "How are you holding up?"
"What do you mean? I..." then I realize what she’s getting at. "Oh, you mean because of the asshole who knocked me up and then had me tossed out like trash?" I ask, feeling the anger over his brazen appearance and that shameless dinner invitation gnaw at me.
"That’s exactly what I mean," she whispers, and only then do I realize how loud I’ve gotten when Ben stretches out a tiny hand because my voice pulled him out of his dreams again.
Once he settles again, I carefully—and as awkwardly as possible—take a sip of tea so that, if I spill, nothing can drip on Ben.
"Then he even paid for the old lady’s bouquet because she didn’t have any money on her and helped her pick up her things and..."
"I wasn’t there back then," Veronica says quietly, pauses, and seems to choose her words carefully. "But he didn’t strike me as the classic asshole. Do you think he only helped the woman to make an impression? He seemed like he wanted to explain something, and maybe the invitation to dinner was a kind of apology? Maybe he wants to make it right? Maybe he still likes you and... oh, maybe I’m just talking nonsense," Veronica says, and takes a sip from her own cup.
"I don’t think so. You should’ve seen his well-endowed assistant back then," I say, grabbing my own breasts. And yet: even if I don’t want to admit it, Veronica’s thought does something to me. It sinks deep and clamps on somewhere. Could it be he wanted to apologize? But why? And why after so long? And why domy knees still go weak when he’s standing in front of me, after everything he did to me?
"You’re pretty well-endowed yourself right now," Veronica says with a grin, alluding to the size of my breasts, which have practically exploded from breastfeeding.
"Ha-ha," I say, but I’m grinning too, and I give her a friendly slap on the thigh. "So you’re saying he only wanted to ask me out because of these?" I ask, gesturing to my chest.
"I’m just saying you look great and men are into you. It’s different from back in high school. You’re still the same person, but men have noticed you now and... Do you ever look in the mirror and see how pretty you are, sweetie?"
"I just see bags under my eyes and a tired single mom," I shoot back, feeling a little uncomfortable, as always, at Veronica’s compliment. Maybe it just hurts to think about back then, when in high school I was too short for my weight and the boys laughed at my love handles. Maybe that’s why I just can’t feel pretty?
My phone buzzes on the table. Grateful for the distraction, I grab it because I don’t know what else to say. But when I see the sender and the first lines of the message, an annoyed sigh escapes me.
Want to go out? I want your body! Preferably now! Chris
