I was Santa Claus.
I knocked her up.
A hysterical laugh creeps its way up the back of my throat and I force myself to swallow it down.
I have a kid? I got a woman pregnant when I didn’t even know her name. The laughter bubbles up, threatening to take over as I wonder what my mother’s society friends would think about that. Would my mother think this more or less respectable than marrying a cheater?
I take my phone out of my pocket and type up a message as an edge of panic colors my laughter. I need reinforcements.
Archer
I have news. Come over. Bring alcohol.
Eric
Uh, okay? What kind of alcohol?
Archer
Any kind. And lots of it.
Scratch that. Anything but tequila. Bring tequila and you’re getting dick-punched.
Chapter 9
Wait. Who Got Santa Pregnant?
Archer
“Okay,Icameasfast as I could.” Eric closes the door behind him only to find me sitting on the floor, the papers exactly where I dropped them after I read about the baby. “What’s your problem? Why are you on the floor?”
I haven’t moved from this spot since I read the letter. After I messaged Eric, I continued to laugh hysterically in startling surges until I finally got myself under control a few minutes ago. By then exhaustion weighed so heavily on me I couldn’t be bothered to even think about moving, so I stayed on the floor. Now that Eric is here with alcohol, I find the motivation to get up. I grunt and force myself off the floor, bringing my jacket but leaving the letter. “So, it turns out my mom really is trying to get me to marry Annabelle.”
Eric’s face darkens. He walks to the kitchen area of my open-concept penthouse and places three bottles on the counter. All whiskey, by the looks of it. Thank god for that. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to stomach tequila again, not after last night. “What the fuck?”
I shrug, trudging behind him to the kitchen. “It doesn’t even matter. I have bigger things to worry about now.”
He looks at me with his eyebrows drawn. “Worse than your mother trying to make you marry Annabelle?”
I sigh and shake my head. “Yes. Worse than that. Or…maybe not? I don’t know.”
Still confused, he looks around. “What could be worse, or not, than that?” he asks, mirroring my confusion with his choice of words.
I gesture at the papers on the floor in the entryway. “See for yourself.”
He does a double take, then walks over to gather up the papers and holds them at his side. “What is this about, Archer? Are you okay?”
“I found her. I found the bride.” I mutter, grabbing a bottle and removing the cap.
Eric makes a choking noise deep in his throat. “What the fuck, dude! Way to bury the lede. Who the fuck cares about your mom and Annabelle’s bullshit? Tell me about your bride. What did the wedding dress look like this time?” He comes back to the kitchen and sets the papers on the counter, going around the other side of the island to grab a glass from the cupboard. Suddenly, his hands freeze and he fixes me with a stare. “Wait. What the hell are you doing here with me if you found her?”
I nod at the stack of papers and take a drink from the bottle in my hands. “Read that.”
While Eric reads, I take myself to the living room and drop onto my couch. Thoughts are still swirling through my mind. I have a kid? I can’t believe it. We used protection, didn’t we? I think back, trying to recall what my hotel room looked like that morning. I’m positive I saw condom wrappers next to the mess of hair pins she’d left on the nightstand.
So what, then? Why wait this long to find me? Was it so she could find me at a Christmas party? What the fuck am I going to do?
More importantly, when do I get to meet my kid? Because despite the strangeness of the situation, nothing could stop me from being involved in my kid’s life.
