Juked (26 page)

Nicky nods. “She’s really quiet, ya know? She tends to be kind of shy, so she never set anyone straight.”

“Wow. She sounds like a pretty remarkable girl.”

“Well, yeah! Why do you think I’m still dating her?”

“Not to get in her pants?”

“No way,” he says adamantly. “She’s not ready for that. She’s way too perfect for me to put that pressure on her.”

“Aw.” I ruffle his hair. “Is our little Nicky in loooooove?”

“Stop, Tio,” he says, batting my hands away. “Respect the hair, man.”

I knew Nicky would do the right thing, and I really like that he found a great girl when he took a step back and let his brain do the thinking instead of his penis.

We sit quietly, me nursing my beer, him staring out into the trees.

“I told her the truth about why I asked her out.”

My hand pauses in mid-air, beer bottle poised for me to take another drink. “How’d she take it?”

“She cried.” He smiles sadly. “Asked how I could do something like that to her. I felt like such an asshole.”

“You kind of were an asshole.”

“I know.”

“Is that why you told her? ’Cause you were feeling guilty?”

Nicky rubbed his fingers across his bottom lip. “I wanted to be honest with her. I didn’t want her to hear about it from someone else. I wanted her to hear it straight from me so she would know I made a mistake. That I was owning up to it.”

His words felt like a sucker punch to my gut. I had seen the papers recently and Quincy probably had, too: the pictures of me walking through a hotel lobby with some girl, the speculation that I was back on the market, the critics saying I didn’t want to play daddy to her kid. They were hurtful and untrue. The girl in the lobby was walking next to me when I left. I didn’t even know who she was. And yes, I’m confused, but instead of being honest with Quincy, I’m letting her hear the rumors and doing nothing to set her straight.

“It really sucked knowing I hurt her like that,” Nicky continues without realizing how much guilt he’s making me feel. “But I apologized and brought her flowers. I told her if I ever did something like that again I’d let her kick me in the junk.”

I chuckle and he smiles. “You better be careful giving out free passes like that, kid. Zavaro men tend to screw up frequently.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think that one through.”

“Speaking of, where is Tamela anyway?”

He looks over his shoulder, trying to glimpse her through the window. “She was going to the bathroom, but I’m guessing she got sidetracked. I’d better go rescue her before Abuela starts going down memory lane.”

“Keep them far away from those photo albums in the den,” I say as he stands. “There are some very unflattering pictures of you as a baby in them.”

“I already moved them so Abuela wouldn’t find them,” he says with a laugh. “Hey, Tio?” He’s at the door. “Thanks for making me man up.”

I nod, and he goes inside, leaving me alone with my thoughts again.

Damn.

I just got schooled by a teenager.

I
hum and run a finger over Chance’s eyebrows and down the bridge of his nose. He finished his bottle a while ago and has been asleep ever since, but I can’t muster the desire to put him down for the night.

I think about how much he’s changed in the last nine months since I got custody of him. He’s longer and not nearly as chunky as he used to be. All the crawling and pulling up is quickly burning off his baby rolls. His facial features are more distinct. He still bears a striking resemblance to my dad’s baby pictures, but Chance looks more like, well, himself.

His pouty lips move in a suckling motion, like he’s dreaming of his bottle. It always warms my heart when he does it. It’s a sign a baby feels safe, loved, and content.

Lucky him. All I feel is terror.

Tomorrow we go before a judge, who will decide where Chance will live for the next seventeen years of his life. A judge who will determine if the man who didn’t care enough to acknowledge his own child can now parent that child appropriately. There’s nothing I can do about it except pray. Needless to say, I’m scared shitless.

“Please, God,” I say, stroking his sweet cheeks. “Please protect my baby. You gave him to me. You trusted me with him and I love him like he is my own. Please, please don’t take him away. I’ll do anything, God. Anything at all.”

Tears run down my cheeks, and I swallow a sob. Losing my dad was incredibly difficult. Losing my sister was horrific. But the thought of losing this baby is flat-out debilitating.

With my dad and my sister, it was so hard. There is no question they were the two worst times in my life. But there was finality to their deaths. There was resolution. They aren’t in pain anymore. I know they’re in a better place, and they’re together.

But to lose a baby like this? There would never be resolution. I’d always wonder. Is he safe? Is he happy? Is he lonely or hungry or being treated badly? Will Erik remember to give him his favorite red washcloth that he likes to snuggle? Will Erik get the bath water temperature right? Will he know to sing random Meghan Trainer songs when he doesn’t feel well?

There is no closure when you hand your baby over to a stranger. There are only never-ending questions that plague you forever.

“Please, God. Please. Please,” I beg.

Maybe if we get in the car right now, we can be in Mexico by morning. They’ll never find us. Maybe I can hire a hit man to take Erik out tonight. Maybe if I don’t show up, everyone will forget.

Chance takes a deep breath and shifts in my arms, pulling me out of my insane thoughts. As much as I don’t want to, I know it’s time to put him down for the night. Regardless of how I want to pause this moment in time and hold him forever, that’s not what’s in his best interests, and best interests are what I signed on for, even if that means forgoing my own desires.

I reluctantly stand and shuffle over to his crib. Lowering him to the mattress, I keep humming. I place his red washcloth in his hands and his chubby fingers clutch it tightly, bringing it up to his chin. He found that washcloth about a month ago when I was folding laundry. I don’t know if it’s the texture or the color, but it’s been his favorite ever since. It’s funny the things kids attach themselves to. I smooth his hair.

Double checking that his monitor is on and the nightlight hasn’t burned out yet, I take one last look around the room, trying to memorize this moment in case it’s the last one I ever get like this.

Surely the judge won’t be so cruel as to never let me see him again. Surely God wouldn’t allow my heart to be ripped away like that. Surely.

I close the door behind me and wipe the tears from my cheeks. Court is just a few hours away, and there is still a lot to do.

I pad my way to my room and wander into my closet to find appropriate clothes for court. My attorney said business casual was fine. That’s pretty much all I wear, so it should be easy to find something, but I keep overthinking how each outfit will make me look. Will I look maternal enough? Will I look like I’m trying too hard? Will the judge look down on me if it clings too much? Picking out clothes shouldn’t be this hard.

I finally give up and plop down on my bed. Glancing over at my dresser, I see the long piece of paper that ripped any hope I had of an easy resolution to shreds. I pick it up and look at it again, hoping the words say something different this time. But as I read, my dream doesn’t become a reality.

Probability of paternity: 99.99%

I cried when I read it the first time. I wanted so badly for Erik to be wrong. For him to not be the biological father. But he is and now I have to fight him for what is his legal right, because as the aunt, I have no legal rights. I’m just an option for the judge to consider. Statistically, the aunt doesn’t win.

I throw the paper on my bed and flop backward, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands. I’m overthinking everything, and I know it, but I feel so out of control. There is absolutely nothing I can control in this situation.

I lift my head up when I hear a noise from my living room. It takes a few seconds, but I hear it again. It’s a quiet knock on my door.

I roll to my feet and walk down the hall. It must be Geni, knocking quietly so she doesn’t wake the baby. Why didn’t she text that she was here?

I look through the peephole, and see a bunch of flowers. That’s not Geni. Is that…?

I open the door and the flowers are thrust in my face while the longest sentence known to man is voiced.

“I’msorryIfreakedpleaseforgivemeImissmybestfriend.”

Daniel.

S
he stares at me, looking beautiful but tired and thin. There are circles under her eyes. Did I do that to her? The guilt I already feel doubles. Once again, my automatic instinct is to flee, but I stay strong. I’m not leaving until she kicks me out.

“What?” She breaths out the word.

I clear my throat and quickly lower the flowers to my side. “Um, I’m, uh, I’m nervous. Let me try this again.” I lift the flowers again. “I’m sorry. I’m here to ask you to forgive me. I miss you.”

She takes the bouquet from me, still looking wary at my unexpected appearance. We haven’t seen each other in over a month. Her concern is understandable, but I’m determined.

“Can I come in?”

She thinks for a moment then moves aside so I can enter. I shove my hands in my pockets as she closes the door behind me. The apartment looks like I remember it, with baby toys sprinkled around the room, like she hasn’t had time to clean up yet.

I follow her as she goes to the kitchen, gets a vase out of the cabinet, and fills it with water. She cuts the stems and puts the flower in the vase.

“Do you want something to drink?” she asks after several long minutes of silence.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I say.

I’ve never known her to be so quiet and subdued. It’s both disturbing and concerning. I want to fix it, but I need to follow her lead. I’m the one who’s in the wrong here, not her. I know that. I can’t force this.

She sets the flowers on the small dining table, walks to the couch and sits, legs pulled up and knees under her chin. It’s painfully obvious she doesn’t want me to touch her. I sit on the opposite side of the couch, elbows on my knees, hands clasped in front of me.