“Absolutely not,” I say, trying to decide if I should lighten my hold on the door so I can slam it in Earl’s face or push harder and hope his limp noodle arm gets cut right in half.
“Delilah, I know you did this. Glitter? Seriously? You’re a fucking child. What are you going to do next, put salt in my sugar bowl?”
Heh. Guess he didn’t make coffee today, because that’s already been done.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Earl.”
“That’s not my fucking name! It’stheEarl to you. THE fucking Earl. Fucking call me by my fucking name, bitch!” Earl tries to lunge again, but I throw my weight into the door. Fuck it, he can live withoutan arm. And once the door cuts it off, I’m going to beat him with the loose appendage.
A rough hand on my shoulder gently pushes me out of the way. Henry is there, his face a terrifying sea of calm rage that I’ve never seen before. He nudges the door open with his hip, and when Earl tries to push past him, he carefully but forcefully grabs the man by his salmon pink polo collar and lifts him to his tiptoes.
“Listen to me, you rat bastard piece of human garbage,” Henry says in a voice so calm and slow, I might mistake him for an undercover assassin. “I’ve put up with your shit for years because my daughter chose you. Some of us actually know a thing or two about being a supportive father. But now Delilah is done with you, which means I’m done with you. Now I don’t know what the heck crawled up your butt and made you think it was a good idea to come here and interrupt the dinner I was enjoying with my wife, daughters, and granddaughter, but you best get to digging that roach out because you’re done here. You want to talk to Delilah? You call me, you call her lawyer, hell, you call God himself if you think it’ll help. But what you don’t do is show up here at my home ever again unless you want the business end of my boot shoved so far up your ass you could lick the bottom, you hear me, boy?”
Never in my life have I been attracted to a man, and I definitely see Henry as nothing more than a father figure—I didn’t miss the way he said daughters, not daughter, after all—but that scene he just pulled off? Hell, I see why he and Suzanne have such a happy marriage. That was objectively very hot.
Henry lets go of Earl’s collar, and he stumbles back, nearly tripping on the porch step in his haste to get away from the door.
“Don’t forget about the paternity test, Delilah. You think you’re getting a dime from me after you and your crazy fucking family pull this shit? Fuck this, I’m out of here.”
Earl half-jogs back to his Mustang—the one he calls a classic since it was built in the nineties but is actually just a hunk of steel junk—and I smirk, knowing that the quarter-pound of Tennessee ham we hid under the passenger’s seat is going to start stinking about his stupid Vanilla Ice-ass sports car any day now.
“That asshole wants a paternity test for Sadie?” Henry fumes, slamming the door shut behind him. I turn to see Delilah staring at her father with wide eyes, Sadie on Suzanne’s hip a few paces back. My little girl has tears in her eyes, looking impossibly small in her grandmother’s arms, and the sight makes my heart shatter in my chest.
“Not exactly,” Delilah murmurs. “I’m…well…uh…”
I take Delilah by the hand and squeeze her palm in mine.
“Delilah is pregnant. We’re having a baby.”
10
BUZZING ENTERTAINMENT
DELILAH
Sitting at my parent’s kitchen table and explaining to them I’m five and a half months pregnant with my soon-to-be ex-husband’s baby was…an experience. It was like one of those surreal moments in time where I felt like a sixteen-year-old kid about to be grounded for the weekend rather than the thirty-five-year-old mother that I am.
After I confirmed the Sadie-friendly version of why I left Earl in the first place (because of course, Mom had already heard the whole damn thing from the Fox Hole gossip channel weeks ago and had been waiting for me to bring it up), I had to endure the “I’m not mad, just disappointed” looks from both of my parents as I explained that, yes, I am pregnantand yes, Ivy is staying in Fox Hole for the foreseeable future to help me out.
Sadie had no questions other than wondering where the baby was going to be a boy or a girl and where it was going to sleep, so after we finished eating, Ivy took her out back to play on the old swing set. Alone with my parents, I explained more of the nitty-gritty details. How Earl reacted at his auto shop when I told him, the requests for a paternity test, mine and Ivy’s petty revenge plot. Dad offered to off Earl himself and make it look like some sort of construction accident, and while the thought of my father feeding my ex through a wood chipper is tempting, I told them I’d stick to making his life miserable in small but satisfying ways.
I already filed the divorce papers earlier this week, asking for nothing from my ex-husband but full custody of our daughter and Little Bean and the (few) assets I brought into our marriage. Earl will be served soon enough, so hopefully this complete nightmare will be over before I know it.
Now Sadie, Ivy, and I are back home at Grandma Millie’s and the three of us are lying in Sadie’s bed, my daughter sandwiched between us while she reads out loud from one of her summer reading books.
“Mama,” she says when we reach the end of thechapter. “Is the baby gonna have the same daddy as me?”
Over Sadie’s head, I look at Ivy. She strokes my hair and gives me a reassuring grin.
“Yeah, Lollipop. The baby has the same daddy as you.”
Sadie looks at me, thoughtfulness swimming in her big, brown eyes. She’s so impossibly small and yet so grown up, it makes my heart ache in my chest.
“That’s okay, me and you and Vee Vee will love my baby brother or sister enough that their daddy doesn’t matter, right?”
Did I think my heart was aching ten seconds ago? The damn thing is throbbing now, threatening to cease beating just to put an end to the painful sucker punch my daughter’s words have given it. Tears well in my eyes—a side effect from both pregnancy and the indescribable pain of motherhood itself—but I do my best to put on a cheerful face. Or, at the very least, a less miserable one. I open my mouth with no idea how I’m going to respond, but Ivy beats me to it.
“Of course we are, Sadie Girl. You feel loved by me and Mama, right?”
