Page 125 of Pucked Up Plans
My mouth opens, but no words come out. She always gets the best last word. I confess, “I love you, Ma. I’m so glad Ichose you.” Standing, I pull her into me, towering over her short statue.
“I’ve always thanked the higher beings for bringing you into our lives. You make life so much less boring than your sisters, Walsh, but I’m utterly grateful for receiving onlyoneof you.”
“The best compliment a mother could give.” I let her out of my embrace, leaving my hands on her shoulders. “Can you do me one more favor and keep my kid entertained for ten more minutes while I get rid of the hopefully not-mother of my child?”
Mom shakes her head. “So eloquently put. I’ll do my best.”
“Thanks. Oh, and then totally taste the donuts. We did a smashing job. And by ‘we,’ I mean Aubrey and Tate.” Her name tastes bitter on my tongue, of my doing no less.
“Feel free to knock her up. Your kid would be the cutest.” She smirks, thinking she’s so funny.
“Millie! No. You should not be fostering this.”
She throws her hands up in the air. “I meant in the future, jeez. A few years in the future. When I’m more of a grandma-appropriate age.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
She disappears into Lennon’s room, shutting the door behind her. I take a few minutes to compose myself and decide on the action needed to get Raquel to leave.
Hefty weights tied to my ankles leaden down my legs on the walk to the kitchen. Raquel’s sitting at the table, scrolling through her phone. One hand lazily rubs her stomach.
For one minute, I allow my mind to wander to a place of it being my kid. The scene darkens when Tate’s face fills it, disgust so strong claiming her beautiful features. And while she’s no less beautiful, I can’t help but feel like I’ve let her down.
She and Aubrey both.
Clearing my throat to speak, I offer, “Can I get you a glass of water?”
Raquel’s concentration leaps to me. “Oh, Walsh. You scared me. Do you have milk?”
I answer with a nod of my head and grab a cup from the cabinet. I fill it halfway with milk—I need to get rid of her as fast as possible—and set it in front of her.
“I think it’s best if we don’t communicate until we have the results.”
“It’s your baby, Walsh,” she maintains, although the shakiness in her voice is back.
“If it is, we’ll cross that bridge then. Before, I’m going to assume it’s not.” She hardly reacts to my harsh words. “Give me your number.” I dig my phone out of my pocket, poised and ready to type in the number she rattles off. “I’ll research paternity tests and be in touch. It’s best if you go.”
Standing, I give her no room to argue.Ifthe kid is indeed mine, I’ll do what I have to do. I won’t abandon him or her, but I’m also not taking some woman’s word it’s my kid. Where has she been for the past six months? Why didn’t she speak up as soon as she found out she was pregnant?
Before Tate came into my life.
An unintentional sigh tumbles out of me.
“When did you say you were due again?” I ask, helping her into her coat, her belly making it a little difficult.
“Um, April?” The way she’s doubtful raises suspicions.
“You don’t know?”
She realizes her mistake. “March.” This time it’s a statement, but uncertainty lingers around the one word.
I’m too frustrated to do baby math, but this is exactly why I’mnottaking her word for it.
“Right.” I punctuate my answer with a nod of my head. “I’ll be in touch this week once I determine the protocol. Are you local to Havenwood?” For the life of me, I can’t remember if we exchanged any type of information the night we met.
“I live in Riverbend.” Two towns over.
“K.” Somewhat local, she must have a place to stay. There’d be some guilt on my end if she wasn’t from around here. I surely wouldn’t invite her to stay here, but I’d have the decency to help her find a place to crash.
