“Hey, you’re the one who said the bad word.”
My mom appears in the doorway, her hands on her hips, ready to lay into me. The little tattletale peers under her arm with a self-satisfied look on his face.
“Are you using the devil’s language in front of my grandchild?”
I point at Anneli. “It’s her fault.”
Mom walks over, then whacks me across the back of my head.
“Ouch.”
“If you use another bad word around my grandchild, I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.”
“I’m sorry, jeez.”
“Good. It’s nearly noon and my baby hasn’t had lunch yet.”
“Grandma, I’m not a baby,” Sebastian protests.
“You are absolutely right, big boy.” She grasps his cheeks, placing a kiss on his forehead.
“Yuck!” He pulls away from her.
She pops him on the butt. “That’s a million-dollar kiss, boy. I’m going to use the bathroom, then I’ll make you something to eat.”
Once the door closes, I turn to Sebastian. “You know snitches get stitches, right?”
“Grandma! Grandma!” He hightails it towards the bathroom.
I look heavenwards. He always runs to his grandmother for protection.
Anneli laughs. “Sebastian, I have a special treat for you.”
He changes direction as quick as a whip and comes to a stop in front of Anneli, holding out his hand.
Spoiled brat.
“You owe me one.” She winks.
“No, we’re even. You’re the reason I’m in this mess to begin with.”
She hands Sebastian a candy bar from her bag.
“Thank you, Auntie Anneli!”
“You’re welcome. Now beat it, kiddo.”
Sebastian runs off with his treat.
I lean back against the couch cushions.
“He looks just like his dad,” Anneli says.
“I know.”
That’s why it pains me to look at him sometimes.
I decided not to tell Trevor about my pregnancy while still living in North Carolina because I was afraid of his reaction. He became this person I didn’t recognize after we broke up. I waited until relocating out west before reaching out to him. Of course, he called me all types of horrible names and denied being the father, which is understandable since I wasn’t sure myself. I thought it best not to contact Art unless Trevor was proven not to be the father. But there was no doubt in my mind who Sebastian belonged to after I gave birth and looked into his bright blue eyes—the same as Trevor’s. I filed for a paternity test through family court because he refused to go on his own. I learned Trevor ended up attending college in California after all, so we were able to meet at a DNA laboratory in Los Angeles. It broke my heart when he looked at our baby boy in disgust. Trevor was proven to be Sebastian’s father. I thought his hate for me wouldn’t prevent him from wanting a relationship with his son, but he made it clear he and his family wanted nothing to do with us. I didn’t stop him from walking away, nor did I demand he provide financial assistance for Sebastian.
