“Then you should let him. He sounds like a good man.”
Despite how it might seem, Mom’s not a traditionalist, and she’d support me in a heartbeat if I told her I was going to raise the baby on my own. I know she has my best interest at heart. If she can’t be here for me, she wants to know I have someone else to lean on.
“Alfonso, maybe it’s time to move back.”
“No.” The word rushes out of me. “No. Don’t you dare. You’re living your dream, and now I’m going to live mine. I have plenty of people here to help out. Caroline and Shawn, Griffin and his family. We’re perfectly fine.”
“Are you happy, stella mia?” Dad asks.
It’s the second time in a week I’ve been asked the same question. Faced with it again, I don’t feel any reticence in my answer.
“I will be.”
“That’s all we want for you, Lina,” Mom says.
“I know, and I love you for it.”
The conversation shifts, and she fills me in on everything they’ve been up to since the last time we talked. It’s not much, but I get all the best gossip about the neighbors I’ve never met. Apparently, Gino cheated on Stacia, and she left him for some man she met at the trattoria where she works. It’s the perfect distraction from the looming phone call with Tyler.
Mom and Dad say their goodbyes, and I promise to sendthem photos from my wedding and keep them updated about the pregnancy.
I collapse against the cushions as the call ends, and an overwhelming sense of dread washes over me. I wish I’d asked Griffin to stay, if only so I could have someone to lean on. But I’ve been doing a lot of that lately—leaning on Griffin—and I have to remember how to stand on my own again.
My thumb hovers over Tyler’s contact for longer than I care to admit before I finally get up the courage to let it fall. The phone rings and rings until I get his voicemail. “This is Ty. You know what to do.”
I hang up and type out a text instead.
Me: It’s yours.
But the text message feels too disingenuous, so I delete it and try again.
Me: Call me.
I hit send and toss my phone onto the sofa. I could really go for a margarita with a side of magnum dick right about now, but the margarita is off the table, and the magnum dick already walked out the door.
Since options A and B are both out of the question, I settle for option C: curling up in the corner of my couch with a soft blanket. I drift to sleep a while later, and wouldn’t you know it, I dream of a sandy beach on some unknown coast, a margarita in one hand, and a magnum dick in the other.
Two days pass, and not a single peep from Tyler. Every call goes unanswered, every text left on read. I can’t stay on this endless merry-go-round any longer. He needs to know the truth. What he does with that knowledge is his business.
I pull out my phone and tap on his contact. Last night, in a fit of rage fueled by rampant pregnancy hormones, I changed the name from Runaway Groom to Captain Cuck.
His voicemail picks up for the sixth time in two days. “This is Ty. You know what to do.”
“It’s Angie. Thought you might wanna know that the baby is yours, but I’m pretty sure you don’t actually give a fuck. I guess I thought after three years together, you would at least show me a little bit of respect and tell me to my face that you don’t want this. Either way, I’m done. DNA doesn’t mean anything to me. You can go fuck yourself. I won’t waste another moment of my life on you.”
I hang up the call and breathe a sigh of relief.
Maniacal laughter escapes as I catch sight of the ring on my left hand. What has my life come to? I feel like I’m living in a daytime soap opera or one of those old nineties TV shows where they bring both baby daddies on stage to find out who the father is. Tyler’s probably somewhere, throwing a chair.
As for Griffin, I don’t know what to make of him. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner—steadfast, attentive—but my life is complicated as it is. Can I really take everything he’s offering? Can I let him raise Tyler’s baby as his own? If I do, will he stay?
I may not have all of the answers yet, but I know one thing for certain. My life is about to change in immeasurable ways. I press my hand to my lower belly. “One day at a time.”
Chapter 18
That Makes Three Of Us
? Girl On Fire - Kameron Marlowe
