“Did you even use protection last night?” Talia asks, ignoring my questions.
Heat rushes to my face, giving me away. Talia’s expression hardens; she throws her hands up in frustration.
“What the actualfuck, Emma?” she hisses, glancing toward Laddie’s room to make sure he’s out of earshot. “This guy shows up, and suddenly you’re sixteen again. Out all night, not thinking about consequences, acting as if nobody else exists. Well, newsflash—you don’t need Liam swooping back in, trying to playfather, and you sure as hell don’t need another one of his kids.”
“I’m not doing this again,” she spits out, her voice trembling with anger. “I’m not stepping in to play nanny while you lose yourselfover him. I have my own life to live, Emma. I’m not putting everything on hold for you again.”
Her words sting, humiliating in their accuracy.
“My nanny?” I manage, the hurt sharper than I want to let show. “Talia, that’s not?—”
She cuts me off with a dismissive wave. “Whatever. I picked up a shift, and I need to go. And when I get back, I’m looking for another job, maybe in another city, because I can’t keep doing this. I am sick of this shit.”
Before I can reply, she grabs her bag and storms out, slamming the door so hard the artwork rattles on the wall.
I turn, and there’s Laddie, peeking out from our bedroom door, wide-eyed and anxious. I rush over and kneel, pulling him into my arms.
“Why were you and Auntie Tal fighting?” he asks in a small voice.
I press a kiss to his hair and hold him close. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s nothing for you to worry about.”
His eyebrows scrunch together. “Is she mad at me?”
“No, honey. Not at all. She’s not mad at you. She’s just… a little mad at me. But it’s not your fault, I promise.”
“Mama,” he says quietly, eyes wide and serious. “I heard you say something about a father.”
My heart sinks. Tears spill down my cheeks, and I struggle to figure out what to say.
Shit, shit, shit.
I’m not at all ready for this conversation.
“Sometimes life is complicated, honey,” I say. “For adults, especially.”
“I didn’t know I had a father,” he says. It’s just a factual statement, nothing emotional. But it just makes my tears flow harder.
“Everyone has a father, sweetheart,” I say.
“Nuh-uh,” he argues. “Malachi has a mom and a mom.”
I can’t help but smile a little at his logic. “Well, you’re right, families come in all kinds of ways. But everyone has a mom and a dad somewhere...” I stop talking. He’s too little. “Never mind. We’ll talk about it later, when you’re older.”
He considers this. “So… do I have a father?”
I pause, searching his face. If things go well with Liam, and I want them to, I owe both of them the chance to know each other.
“You do,” I say softly.
His eyes light up, the tiniest bit of excitement. “Is he nice?”
I let out a teary laugh. “Yeah, baby. He’s very nice.”
“Can I meet him? I want to meet him. Do you think he likes Paw Patrol?”
I laugh again, brushing a tear from my cheek. “I’m not sure about Paw Patrol, but I know he likes hockey.”
“I don’t know anything about hockey.”
