Shelter (15 page)

“They want four hundred bucks for this damn stroller!” Carlos exclaimed.

A fellow shopper gave them a dark look and Alma put a hand on his arm. “It’s just that brand,” she said in a soft voice, hoping he’d follow her lead. “This one’s cheaper.” Though the one-hundred-thirty dollar price tag was making her light-headed.

“And this car seat,” he shook his head. “Bottles, wipes, toys, formula, high chairs. Shit! How can one baby need all this stuff?”

“Don’t forget the blankets, sheets, clothes and hundreds upon thousands of diapers,” she muttered, massaging her temples. She felt more than a little guilty for bringing Carlos along in this scouting expedition. His curses weren’t
sympathetic: they were the product of the pressure he was feeling. As if this were his baby he would need to provide for. After all, he’d said “both of you” that night, his hand on her stomach. “This was a bad idea.”

They left the store empty-handed, in glum silence. They’d left her car at the Silver Plate, so they headed back in that direction. Her stomach grumbled at the first red light and he pulled into the very next fast food place, which happened to be a Wendy’s. She looped her arm through his as they walked across the parking lot in a silent thank you.

At a window booth, over their respective burger and salad, Alma watched the creases etched between his brows. He chewed his food like it perplexed him, which she’d always found cute. But his concentrated face, as she’d always called it, wasn’t so cute this time because she knew she was the cause of it.

She speared a cucumber slice while she debated her words. “Carlos.”

He paused, swallowed, glanced up at her.

“I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“About what?”

Alma sighed and set her fork down. “The baby
.”

He took a sip of his drink, ate exactly three fries – she counted – chewing slowly. “I don’t,” he said at last. “It’s not like that.”

But why wasn’t it “like that”? She believed him that he meant it when he said he loved her, but love went cold all the time. And babies broke solid couples apart. She still wasn’t even sure what they were, so how could he shoulder the financial burden of her child automatically?

“This,” her hands went to her stomach, “is a lot to take in today. Babies are expensive and time consuming and very not sexy.”

Carlos frowned. “I know.”

Either he didn’t get what she was driving at, or he didn’t want to. She knew she walked a fine line between giving him options and offending him. She forced a smile that felt flimsy at best. “You know
, most guys would be running for the door like their asses were on fire right about now.”

The joke
did its job; he cracked a curious grin.

“But I know you’re not that kind of guy. You don’t run away from scary situations.”

A dark look skittered across his face. It was only there a moment; if she’d blinked, she would have missed it, but she saw the downshift in his features. When she couldn’t put a label on the brief expression, she let it slide.

“But,” she went on, “I don’t want you to commit to something now and then regret it later.” He blinked. “Heck, pretty sure I’d send the little peanut back if I could,” she said with a flat chuckle. But the humor obviously failed when he continued to stare at her with an intensity that was more akin to Sam than to him. It unnerved her. “Carlos,” Alma sighed, “I’m giving you an out, okay? Being with me doesn’t mean you have to step into the dad role if you’re not ready.”
And honestly, I’m not sure I’m ready for you to do that either
, she added in her head.

“You remember how just last night you were talking about pushing people away?”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” she protested. She took a deep breath and then another. “I can’t ask you to support me any more than you have. It wouldn’t feel right to ask you to pay for diapers and toys, and…” she shook her head as she looked into his big, deep brown eyes, willing him to understand. “It’s too much.”

“Because,” he swallowed, and this time not because he was eating, “I’m not the father?”

“Because…I’m not sure what you are,” her voice came out a bare whisper as she tried so hard to convey her confusion in a way that didn’t insult him. “We haven’t really talked about that and…” he looked so hurt – in this new, intense Sam sort of way – that she glanced away and took stock of their surrounds. “Hell of a place to have this conversation,” she muttered, dabbing at eyes she hadn’t realized were moist.

“Alma.”

She didn’t want to look at him with this bundle of guilt a tight knot in her stomach, but she did.

His expression had become fierce. He’d never looked that way before in all her recollection. “Do you love me?”

“What?”

His lips pressed together into a hard line. “Do you love me?” he repeated, slower, as if it were the most important question he’d ever uttered.

“That’s a loaded question,” she forced a laugh, then sobered. “But yeah, you know I do. It’s just…”

Some of the seriousness left his expression as one corner of his mouth twitched to the side. “You just don’t know how.”

Ashamed, she nodded.

Carlos started to reach across the table, then looked down at the spread of food between them with disgust. He pushed his half-eater burger to the side and put his hands on the table, palms up, in what she took to be an offering gesture. “I’m in, Alma. Whatever it is we’re doing, I’m all the way in. And it’s cool if you need some time to figure things out, but I’m not going anywhere.” The small smile came back. “I already told you that.”

“Babies are expensive,” she repeated. “I don’t want you to resent me.”

“Not possible.”

You always shoulda been with me instead.

On some level, he’d been right when he’d said that.

15

Lots of progress could be made in two and half weeks. Alma learned how to balance her tray at work and could carry eight drinks at a time without so much as a drop sloshing over the sides. Her tips improved and Sharon’s dirty looks dwindled. Emily proved decent company, but more than anything, being around the other waitresses reminded her that she sorely missed having a go-to gal pal she could talk to about anything.

She and Carlos split time between his place and hers. Wherever she was, she pushed the cooking and cleaning to domestic goddess levels. Martha Stewart would have been hard pressed to offer her advice.

Carlos continued, she couldn’t help but notice, to come home from work in a pensive, withdrawn mood. A beer and a little time in front of the TV loosened him up. And by dinner, he was smiling again. Alma knew it was because of the financial stress – he had to be doing the math in his head and coming up empty. Guilt nagged at her, kept her up at night. Once, she’d rolled over in her king sized bed at the house to find him awake too, staring at her across the sheets. Neither of them had spoken about the mental weights they carried.

But less and less often did she tear up when she glanced at a picture of Sam. The feelings of betrayal faded and when Carlos positioned himself on top of her, it was his touch she anticipated, not Sam’s.

They passed the days in a limbo of sorts. Equal parts happy and depressed. Somewhat hopeful. Decidedly together. Whichever direction they were headed, it was hand-in-hand.

They talked for four days straight about Thanksgiving and it was with nervous butterflies flapping around in her belly that she straightened her dark brown cardigan over a white tank top and studied her reflection.

“You ready?” he called from the kitchen. She’d told him to stay out of the cookies, but he sounded like he was chewing one as he spoke.

“As I’ll ever be,” she said to herself. She had a few stray hairs that needed tucking into place with a dab of styling crème, and her lip gloss needed a fresh application. Now if she could just keep her breakfast down, she’d be all set to go.

Alma didn’t realize that she stood and stared at herself, a stricken expression on her face, until Carlos popped his head in the bathroom.

“You alright?” he asked, frowning in concern.

He looked good, she noticed with approval. Dark jeans, clean white sneakers and a black button-up shirt that was fitted in all the right places, the sleeves rolled up so those tan, vein-laced forearms she loved were exposed. Smelled nice too – she recognized the scent of Davidoff Cool Water.

“Nervous,” she admitted. “Really nervous.”

“It’ll be fine.”

She narrowed her eyes at his reflection in the mirror. “Liar.”

“Yep. Now come on. Does your mom still make that sweet potato stuff I like?”

**

Thankfully, Carlos drove because Alma was shaking so badly she thought she might not have had the strength to press the gas and brake. As they turned onto her parents’ street, her stomach fisted up into a knot that left her nauseas and panting.

“You’re fine,” Carlos said as the car slowed and the turn signal clicked on.

The Firebird was low slung with deep, bucket seats, and Alma burrowed down into hers, arms crossed tight beneath her breasts. She felt the bump-bump of the tires rolling over the runoff drain that bridged the asphalt from the concrete of the driveway, heard the transmission growl as he shifted into park. Then the engine cut off and it was silent except for the sound of her pulse thumping in her ears.

Carlos gave her a moment, then she heard him shift around in his seat. “We can leave if you want to. They probably haven’t seen us yet…oh, no, wait. There’s your dad. Okay, so we can still leave, but it’ll look weird.”

She groaned. “No, let’s just go.” When she popped the handle on her door and pushed it open, an empty Red Bull can clattered down onto the drive. “Oh my God.” She glanced up through the hair that had fallen in her face and saw Tom coming down the front walk toward them, his carefully schooled blank expression not as blank as he probably wanted it to be. In a scramble, she climbed out of the car, gathered her plate of cookies and purse, adjusted her hair and jacket and hem of her skirt with a series of awkward moves that somehow left her hopping on one foot. She exhaled in a rush, made one last attempt to tidy her hair, and was ready for the hug her dad offered.

“Hi, sweetie,” he sounded confused. “We didn’t expect you…I mean, of cours
e you’re welcome, your mother - ”

“Hey, Dad,” she cut him off intentionally, breaking loose from the hug. More hair straightening and a glance over the roof of the car. Carlos was doing a good job hiding his nerves. “Is it okay that we showed up?”

“Of course,” Tom didn’t even hesitate, for which she was grateful, though she had a feeling Diane wasn’t going to adapt so easily.

But then her father folded his arms over his chest in a move that reminded her of the old photos from his football glory days and
gave Carlos a hard stare. “Glad to see you, Carlos,” he sounded anything but. “How’s it going?”

He’d pulled the same routine when Sam had first made it clear that they were together, so Alma didn’t expect anything different. What surprised her was Carlos’s very un-Carlos-like reaction.
He puffed up, shoulders seeming to expand, and met Tom’s gaze head-on. “Good,” he said firmly, “real good.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

Alma shut her car door and the sound seemed to break the macho spell that had fallen over them. “I brought cookies,” she said in a desperate reach to further shake them loose, and Tom offered to take them.

“Here, let me - ”

“No, it’s fine. I’m pregnant not an invalid,” she said with a little smile, hoping she sounded like her normal, joking self. Her dad slipped an arm around her shoulders in a clearly protective gesture and steered her up toward the front stoop, leaving Carlos to follow. She flashed a glance backward as they reached the lowest of the three brick steps that led up to
the door and saw that he had his hands in his jeans pockets, brow furrowed in agitation as he trudged behind them.

“Hey, Dad,” she paused. “Actually, would you mind taking these from me?” She handed him her plate of cookies and waved him onward up the steps, giving her a chance to fall back beside Carlos. She slipped her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder a moment. “I want you here with me,” she whispered like she’d once whispered to Sam, hoping that, despite the dark looks from her family, he would stay by her side.

He pressed a fast kiss to her temple that made her smile – Sam hadn’t done that – and followed her up to the door. She thought she heard both of them take a deep breath.

The aroma hit her first: turkey that had been stuffed with oranges and rubbed down with butter and herbs, cornbread stuffing, fresh bread, sweet potatoes, roasted veggies. Diane knew how to throw a dinner and Thanksgiving was one of her favorite times of the year. Then she registered the festive fall wreath hung up in the foyer, the pine cones and faux pumpkin potpourri on the sideboard. Voices echoed from the family room. It was warm inside, the air thick and moist, doubtless from the steam emanating from the kitchen. As the
y moved toward the rear of the house, past the staircase and formal sitting room where the piano was, Alma saw the dining room table draped with a white cloth, the good china laid out, the centerpiece a flamboyant explosion of fall flowers, miniature pumpkins and dozens of lit candles.