Who's Your Daddy? (26 page)

“Preaching to the choir, believe me,” he muttered. “But, he’s a moot point now.”

“Really?”

“I told him off.” He laughed bitterly. “Took me long enough.”

I exhaled. “God, I wish I could do that.”

“You never know,” he said. “You might get your opportunity tonight.”

My stomach turned. “Don’t think I quite have the nerve for that tonight. Just telling them I’m pregnant is going to take all the intestinal fortitude I have.”

He patted my leg. “You’ll be fine. Just get through tonight, let them chew on the news, and see what happens.”

“I can probably make a few educated guesses,” I grumbled.

Don didn’t respond. We’d had conversations like this before. He was one of the few people on the planet who both understood what I dealt with and didn’t hassle me for continually letting my parents walk all over me. Between my parents and my ex-husband, I must have looked like a completely spineless doormat to most people.

But parents aren’t easy creatures to oppose. I’d been browbeaten as long as I could remember, and to this day, my mother could reduce me to a quivering ten-year-old with that scowl. Marrying Paul was just, as Isaac had explained it to me, a subconscious attraction to what was most familiar to me. Around the time I realized my parents had no right to treat me this way, I didn’t do such a hot job of standing up to them, but I did start putting my foot down with Paul. Big surprise my marriage started unraveling at that point.

Thankfully, I’d been able to commiserate with someone who had parental horror stories that could rival mine. And an insightful marriage-counselor boyfriend.

Pity we’re all taken, I’d thought back then.

Pity they still are, I thought now with a sinking feeling in my chest.

Don broke the silence. “So, aside from your folks, how are you holding up with everything?”

I brushed some hair out of my face. “I’m holding up, but I’m definitely stressed.”

“I know the feeling,” he said softly.

“Just be glad you’re not getting some of the crap I am,” I said. “Unless you’ve also been regaled with horror stories of breastfeeding mishaps, gaping episiotomies and C-section scars.”

“You do remember I’ve been through this before, right?” he said. “I haven’t exactly experienced it firsthand, but I
was
there for it.”

“Were you there when Ryan was born?” I asked. “In the room, I mean?”

Don nodded. “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

“What was it like for you?”

He was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “It was intense.”

“In what way?”

“I have never in my life been more exhausted, more nervous or more worried,” he said. “And Julia damn near broke my hand a few times. But I was also excited. Wasn’t exactly ‘right’ for a kid in my situation to be excited, but hey…” He shrugged. “I was about to see my own kid for the first time. Scared the shit out of me, but…” He trailed off.

“So, it didn’t…” I paused, searching for the right word. “Bother you?”

“What?”

“Being…in the room?”

“Hell, no. It was, like I said, intense.”

“A few of my friends have talked about their husbands and boyfriends being grossed out or passing out.”

Don rolled his eyes. “Anyone who’s that hung up on the gross parts is missing the point. I was a damned kid and I still didn’t pay much attention to that aspect of it.”

“Would you be opposed to being there again?” I asked. “It would be kind of nice to have someone there who’s at least seen it before.”

He took my hand and glanced at me. “Are you kidding? If you want me to be there, of course I will. Wouldn’t even think twice.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He met my eyes again and gave me a reassuring smile. “You’ll be fine. And you know Isaac and I will be there for you.” He paused. “I mean, you need someone’s hand to break when contractions get—”

I smacked his arm. “Oh, fuck you.”

Don laughed. “I’m just saying.”

“Uh-huh. Shut up and drive.”

He shut up and drove. My stomach wound into tighter knots as Don turned down my parents’ street. When he put on his signal to turn into their parking lot, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

I could do this. Don was with me. I could do this.

The car stopped. The engine quieted.

Don put his hand on my leg. “You sure you want to do this now?”

“No.” I unbuckled my seat belt. “But I need to. Let’s go.”

He didn’t protest, and on the way into the lobby of the condominium, he put a reassuring hand on the small of my back. For the millionth time since he’d picked me up, I was silently thankful he was with me. There was no way in hell I could face them now without him.

My parents’ condo was on the seventh floor. The elevator ride was agonizing. Just before the seven lit up above the door, Don squeezed my hand.

“You’ll be okay,” he whispered.

I moistened my lips. “You know my parents.”

The elevator lurched to a halt. As the doors slid open, he said, “I know, but whatever they do, you’ll get through this. If they have a shit fit, it’s on them, not you.

I exhaled. “Well, let’s see what happens.”

“After you.”

As we walked down the hall and neared my parents’ door, the pungent smell of my mother’s spaghetti sauce smacked me in the face. My stomach jumped into my throat, and I put a hand to my mouth.

“You okay?” Don asked, touching my arm.

“Yeah.” I swallowed hard. “Just not looking forward to Mom’s spaghetti.”

He grimaced, and we both laughed. He’d had the misfortune of being subjected to her cooking before.

It wasn’t the dish itself that turned my stomach. Spaghetti was one of the few things she made that I actually liked. It was the reality. Smelling it meant we were here. It meant we were doing this.

I was about to tell my parents I was pregnant.

Oh. Shit.

My hand shook against my lips.
God, please, let me get through this without getting sick
.

Don stopped, so I did too. He touched my shoulder. “Are you sure you want to do this tonight?”

“No. I don’t want to do it tonight or any other night, but I need to just get it over with.”

He cupped my face in both hands. “Just remember what I said. If they say or do anything stupid, we can leave. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He kissed my forehead. “Need a minute? We’re hardly late, so—”

“No.” I chewed my lip. “The longer I stand out here and breathe in that smell, the more likely I am to get sick. Let’s just be done with it.”

He nodded and leaned in to kiss me.

I managed a quiet laugh. “You’re a brave man, kissing a woman who’s threatening to puke.”

Chuckling, he slid his arm around my waist. “Well, at least I was considerate and didn’t suggest putting my cock down your throat.”

I snorted. “Don, you are
such
a gentleman.”

He beamed. “Guilty as charged.”

Rolling my eyes, I gestured toward my parents’ door. “Come on, let’s do this.”

This wasn’t the usual family dinner night, so neither of my sisters had come over tonight. Just Don, myself and my parents. Hooray.

All the way over here, I’d debated when I should actually tell them. Now, standing in the kitchen beside Don, carrying on pleasant, mundane conversation with my parents while that pungent meal cooked, I still couldn’t decide. I wondered if I should just tell them right away, wait until dinner or break the news while everyone drank coffee afterward. My parents were usually mellower and more subdued during after-dinner coffee, but there was the issue of my somewhat volatile stomach. With nervousness came more nausea, and the thought of eating anything had me clenching my jaw and praying.

If I got sick now, they’d catch on. Last time, I’d brushed it off as a stomach bug I hadn’t quite shaken. This time, they’d know something was up. They’d ask questions. If I fessed up then, they’d be certain I’d only admitted to it after they pried it out of me, and they’d be even more upset.

I understood there were people in this world who didn’t have to play these stupid mental strategy games before speaking to their own parents. Lucky bastards.

Just get it over with, Carmen.

I took a deep breath. “So, there’s a reason I wanted to come see you guys tonight.” I gestured at Don. “Why we did.”

My parents looked at us, eyebrows up, and I could only imagine the speculation going on in their heads. Wouldn’t have surprised me if one or both of them thought of something closer to the truth than any of us wanted to admit.

“All right.” My mother inclined her head. “So…?”

I cleared my throat. “Um, we actually have some…news.” My heart pounded. I willed myself not to get physically ill just then, and it had nothing to do with hormones or any of that. If it was possible to have a conversation less comfortable than the night I told Isaac I was pregnant, this was it.

Wringing my hands, I looked at him before turning to my parents. The hand he rested between my shoulders was both reassuring and a reminder of why we were even here.

“Carmen?” my mom said. “Honey, is something wrong?”

“I, um, I’m…” I made myself stop wringing my hands, but only for a second. “I’m having a baby.” Beat. “
We’re
having a baby.”

My mother blinked. “You…and Donovan?”

I nodded.

She looked at Don, then me, then him again. “But I thought you were gay.”

Beside me, he shifted his weight. “I, well…”

My mother’s eyes narrowed at Don. “So you and your boyfriend decided to use my daughter as a surrogate, then?”

“No,” I broke in. “This is
our
baby.”

My parents stared at us for a long, uncomfortable moment. Just as I figured she would be, my mother was the one to break the silence, and she wasn’t nearly as thrilled as Isaac’s mother had been.

“Carmen James,” she said, almost squealing with fury. “Your marriage isn’t even cold in the grave.”

“My marriage has been over for a long time, Mother,” I said as calmly as I could. “The only thing recent is making it official and putting it on paper.”

“So you could go out and get knocked up as soon as the ink was dry?”

“Jesus, Mom, it wasn’t exactly intentional—”

Don stiffened slightly, and I cringed inwardly at my own slip of the tongue.

My father’s lips thinned into a bleached line. He glared at Don. My mother shot me the same look.

“Listen.” I put up my hands and smoothed the air. “What’s done is done. I’m pregnant, and—”

My mother pulled in a sharp, indignant breath. “I didn’t raise you to be a slut, Carmen.”

“Mother, I’m—” Her venomous glare shut me down, but then Don put an arm around my waist. With his protective touch, I found another reserve of confidence. “Mom, this wasn’t planned, it wasn’t intentional, but we’re—”

“You’re behaving like a whore,” she growled.

My face burned. It was bad enough hearing it from her. With Don present? I suppressed a groan.

“You’re not sixteen years old,” my father said. “You’re a grown woman.”

“Yes,” I said. “Which means I can handle the consequences of my actions.”

My mother bristled. “The consequences of being a damned slut who—”

“That’s enough,” Don snarled.

Both of my parents stared at him, slack-jawed.

“I
beg
your pardon?” my mother said.

“I said that’s enough.” He drew me back a little, let go of my waist and moved so his shoulder was between my parents and me. “There’s no need to talk to her like that.”

My mother thrust her shoulders back and set her jaw. “This doesn’t involve you. I don’t need you telling me how to speak to
my
daughter in
my
home.”

I cringed. No one in the world could make me feel like I was a little kid all over again like my own mother.

Don wasn’t about to back down, though. “She’s your daughter, but you’re sure as fuck not treating her like it,” he snapped. “And yes, this does involve me. She’s the mother of my child, and I’m not going to sit here and—”

“Hey.” My father stabbed a finger at Don and stepped between him and my mother. “You don’t need to talk to my woman like that.”

“Then maybe she ought to think twice before talking to
my
woman like that,” Don snarled.

My heart skipped, and I looked up at him, disbelief lodging air in my lungs.

“Well,” my mother said from behind my dad, “you’ve certainly marked your territory, haven’t you?”

“
Mother
.”

“My territory?” Don said. “Please. I couldn’t think of a better woman to have a child with. Yeah, we’re bringing a kid into an unusual situation, but I’ll take that any day of the week over having a child with someone who’d call her own daughter a whore to her damned face.”