He still stood silent, his arm firm around my back, his eyes never moving from mine. When his brow furrowed, I was finally able to confirm that the crinkles around his eyes had in fact deepened.
“I’m good with numbers. You remember that, right? So, was there someone else? Someone after me? Who the fuck got you pregnant?” His voice was angry and hurt, his pupils inky depths amidst the storm brewing in his eyes. “Did this guy hurt you? Ace, I mean Coach Hall, never mentioned anything. He never said you had a baby.”
I looked at the ground, the black asphalt more consoling than sea blue. “There wasn’t anyone else after you or during you.”
He broke free and leaned his forearms on the car. Thank God, his long sleeves had fallen back down. After a moment, he lifted his head and looked at me dead-on.
“So the baby, the little girl ... What the hell, Claire?” My new name came out on a snarl. “She’s mine? Ours?”
My gaze dropped to the asphalt.
“Is this a fucking dream? A nightmare? Who the hell are you? And how dare you say this shit now?” He continued to rant, his jaw clenched, angrier than I’d ever seen him.
His large frame pulled away from the car and loomed over me, his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look up. “And why exactly did you decide to keep this from me?”
“You left.” My words were a soft gurgle, a pathetic mewling.
“You’ve heard of Google? Right, Claire? I know you didn’t have a smartphone back then, but surely you’ve outgrown all that bullshit. Especially now that you’re amom.” He spat out the last word with a snarl on his face.
“Just like you left, wanting a better life for me, I didn’t want any repercussions for you.”
“Coach Hall knew how to reach me too.”
“I wasn’t sure it mattered to you. That she mattered to you. Darla—”
I caught myself, unsure what had compelled me to use her name. It didn’t feel right, tossing her back and forth in verbal jabs like an inanimate object. She was a person named Darla.
“I don’t believe you. This is fucking absurd. It’s bullshit. We didn’t make a baby.” And just like that, he stormed off.
As for me, I got into my car and drove home. Once I’d paid the sitter, I crawled into my bed, where Darla had snuck in to sleep.
Pulling her to my chest and inhaling the scent of her hair, breathing in the sweet strawberry smell that lingered from her bath, I decided it was for the best. Drew didn’t think she was his, and therefore, he was done with me.
It made my decision to stay far away from him easier.
Drew
Iditched the rest of the dinner, went home, stripped off my clothes, and sat on the floor of my walk-in shower until the water ran cold. With my back pressed against the custom tile, my mind ran laps.
Am I really the father of a little girl named Darla?
What’s her middle name?
Christ, when was her birthday?
When my body was shivering and pruned, I got out and crawled between the covers, soaking wet and naked. All night, I tossed and turned, beating down the urge to vomit.
A baby?
Does she like French fries? TV? Going to the playground?
Can she swim?
Does she know about me?
These questions and more plagued me into the early hours of the morning. Even my weariness couldn’t overcome the depths of pain I felt. Finally, I rolled out of bed at dawn and went to the gym an hour earlier than usual for a Sunday.
“I’m watching the TV,” I said curtly to the girl next to me, not caring how obnoxious I sounded.
