Still, as far as Daddy issues go, I suppose it could be worse. At least I waited until my thirties to get knocked up by a loser.
Ugh. Dating sounds awful, though. That’s why I’d agreed to marry Webster in the first place. We’d been best friends for so long before the wedding that never happened. It was… comfortable. I was looking forward to a boring, suburban life. So what if we weren’t exactly romantically compatible? We were best friends, and being married to him would have been so easy. I’m glad he had the guts to call it off, because I’m not sure I would have. I can’t even blame him. Once he told me why he couldn’t go through with the wedding, it all made sense.
And after that night with my Santa, a passionless marriage sounds like the worst kind of torture.
I can’t deny it would have been nice if we’d called it off before we paid for the wedding. It’s going to take a long time to replenish my savings.
Gavin storms out of the kitchen, clutching his phone in one hand and a protein shake in the other. The angry look he’s sporting tells me Charlie must’ve told him all about the message. “What’s this guy’s name?” he asks, phone poised in front of his face. “I won’t hurt him. I only want to talk to him.”
I snort a laugh. “Nice try, Gav. Even if I knew it, I wouldn’t tell you. You’d show up at his next Christmas party and make a scene. No. I said I’d give him the option to get to know Lincoln and that I’d accept his choice, whatever it was. I think he’s made it clear he doesn’t want to know him.”
He snorts. “He’s made it clear he’s an asshole who needs to be taught a lesson, you mean?”
“He probably does, but I’d prefer you not be the one to teach it to him. I can only imagine the guilt trip Mom would lay on me if I let you get arrested while you’re visiting for the weekend. It’s not something I want to deal with.”
He sits right next to me on the couch, grabbing Lincoln’s foot and absentmindedly give it a gentle squeeze, an instinct I completely understand. Who could resist squeezing a baby’s chubby little feet when presented with the opportunity? I know I can’t.
“How anyone could not want to know this guy is beyond me.” He takes a deep breath and affects a serious tone, “I’m sorry to break it to you, Fee, but it turns out you went and procreated with a dumbass.”
A laugh bursts from my throat before I can hold it back, and Lincoln squawks his displeasure at being disturbed. His cry lastsmaybea millisecond before Gavin takes him from me and snuggles him against his chest. It happens so quickly I don’t even feel guilty about the little diaper surprise he’s about to discover.
Hey, it’s not my fault he didn’t give me a chance to warn him.
“Aw, come here, little dude. Let Uncle Gavin rock you to sleep.” He passes me his protein shake so he can use both hands to soothe Lincoln. “Did that mean old mommy wake you up? Shh, shh. It’s okay, kiddo. I got you.” He stands up and bounces Lincoln in his arms while making shushing noises. He pauses, and his face goes a little green before he lifts the baby high enough that he can sniff his backside. “Dude. Seriously?”
I snicker as he takes Lincoln back to the bedroom to change him. Ever since I brought Lincoln home, my siblings have tried to take him for snuggles so frequently that I had to implement a sort ofyou break it you bought itrule, where if you’re holding him and he poops, it’s your job to change him. It’s worked out well for me since I’d otherwise be the only person changing diapers around here. And if it occasionally works out in my favor when they grab him from me while he’s actively pooping? So much the better.
With a sigh, I heave myself off the couch and head into the kitchen, where I find Charlie laying out the ingredients for what look to be a batch of cookies.
“Stress baking again?” I ask, reaching into the cupboard above her head to grab a coffee mug. One great thing about Lincoln being formula fed is that I don’t have to worry about whether what I eat and drink will adversely affect him. That, and anyone can take a nighttime feeding if I’m too tired, not that I let that happen very often. He’s my responsibility, not theirs.
It would be nice to have a partner throughout this whole thing, though. I swear, the next baby I have will be with an actual partner, not a random Santa Claus impersonator I hook up with when I’m feeling sorry for myself after being left at the altar by my best friend.
I’ve been so lucky to have my family around to help with Lincoln. I don’t know what I would have done without them beside me throughout my pregnancy, and now, helping with this trip to look for his dad. Without Charlie and Gavin, I would have had to find a babysitter, or worse, bring Lincoln to all the Christmas parties I went to while looking for his father. I need to buy them thank you gifts. Good ones.
The doorbell rings as I grab the creamer from the fridge. “I’ll get it. You know, since out of the three of us, it appears I’m the only one with my hands clean at the moment.”
“Har har,” Gavin calls from the back bedroom. “My hands are clean, but this kid definitely isn’t. Are you sure he’s still only eating milk? Because this diaper is fu-ull.” He stretches the word, making it two syllables. I can hear his fake retching all the way from the kitchen. “Heurgh.Oh, god.Heurgh.It’s all the way up his back. Noooo! It’s down inside the toes of his sleeper. Again, dude?”
I shake my head and walk to the door, reaching it as the doorbell rings again. “Alright, alright. Hold your horses. What’s the fucking russshhh…” My mouth drops open, the last word dragging before fading to silence. Standing here on my front porch is the last person I’d expected to see today. Or ever again, to be honest.
He’s attempting to hide behind a slightly shorter, dark-haired man with a grin plastered on his face. Not that the dark-haired man matters. No, the person who matters right now is the man I found two nights ago. He looks pale and sweaty, and more than a little guilty. And right now he’s inspecting my porch floor so thoroughly, I’m tempted to ask if he wants to see a work permit.
Good. He should be afraid.
At least, he should be if I could figure out how to be mad at him for his insane message. Sadly, I can’t seem to muster up the will to be angry. All I am is sort of sad and disappointed. I hadn’t realized how much I’d built up meeting Lincoln’s father in my head before he called and told me his thoughts on the situation in a drunken message. I thought I’d kept my expectations reasonable, but he proved me wrong. I had high hopes, and he crushed them. And because I have Lincoln to think about, I have to pick myself and keep going. This mom stuff is hard.
“Everything okay here?” Gavin walks up behind me, a freshly changed Lincoln wiggling in the crook of one arm as he eyes the two men at the door. “Who are these assholes?”
I snort a laugh when my Santa flinches at being called an asshole.
“Hello. You must be Phoebe. I’m Eric Baxter and I believe you’ve already met my friend, Archer Fade.” He steps to the side slightly, allowing us to see my Santa better. Huh. Archer Fade. I suppose it’s nice to finally know his name, even if he’s proven to be an asshole. “May we come in?”
“I don’t fucking think so.” Gavin places Lincoln in my arms and Archer’s eyes follow the movement. “You’ve said your piece. You can fuck off now.” My little brother reaches around me and grabs the edge of the door, closing it slowly, a smirk on his face. Right before the door closes he glares at Archer. “Oh, and just so you know, Lincoln is the coolest baby ever. You’re missing out,” he says, then slams the door.
“Fuck that guy.” Grabbing me by the shoulders, he leads me back to the couch. “You and Lincoln are better off without him.”
The doorbell rings again, followed by a sharp knock.
