The waiter comes back over and hands her a chocolate crepe. She thanks him and starts eating. “I’ve been craving them.”
“You were drunk,” I tell her.
“I didn’t know then,” she says, defending herself. “It was the next morning when I couldn’t stop being ill. I haven’t told a soul, you’re the first.”
I sit back down.
Eyes that were on me are no longer there.
“So, you came to Paris?” I ask her, confused.
“I needed to breathe, and what better place to do that than in the City of Love.”
“You flew around the world to decide to breathe?”
Carla takes another bite and looks up, watching me. So many emotions run through me. Like how the fuck did this happen? But I already know how, don’t I? And I don’t know if I’m angry, excited, scared, or all three at the same time.
“I needed to know I could do this.” She looks down at her stomach. “And I needed to be as far away from you and my father as possible.”
“That didn’t turn out quite like you expected.”
She nods. “Yep, but I guess life has a way of sneaking up on you, hey?” she says, looking at me.
“I never wanted to be a father,” I tell her.
Carla doesn’t look at me. She’s also not shocked by my admittance. She just waits to see what else I have to say.
“I never wanted to be married, either.”
Her breathing picks up. “What a way to tell your wife, in Paris, that you don’t want her,” she says. “You know how to make my heart pitter-patter, don’t you?”
I reach forward and take her hand in mine. “What I am saying is, rich girl, I never wanted any of that…” I pause, looking right at her, “… until I met you.”
She pulls her hands away from me. “You can’t do that. You can’t come here and try to make me love you. It doesn’t work like that. You didn’t just fuck up, you ruined me, Whiskey.”
“And I would do it all again, if the end result was that I got to have you.”
Carla’s hands come to the top of the table and she clasps them together. “But you don’t have me.”
“No, but I want you. And I will do whatever it is you need for me to do to show you. I know words won’t help, but maybe showing you will?”
“I want to go to Disneyland Paris,” she says, changing the subject.
“Disneyland is where I will take you then.”
She stands, and when she does, she covers her mouth. I rush to her, my hand on her stomach and my other on her back, rubbing it slowly.
“Are you okay? Should we go to the doctor?”
She manages to take a deep breath. “No, it’s just the sickness. It’s really hitting me. I should probably go to the doctor when I get home.”
I step back. “You haven’t been?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “I took a test. It said it reads as early as two weeks.”
“You need to go to a doctor.”
Carla waves me off. “I will when I’m home.”
I pull out my cell, and her hand stops me. “Don’t try to find me a doctor. I’ve told you already, when I’m home I will deal with it.”
“Do you plan to keep it?”
She slips the money inside the folder to pay the bill, and I immediately give her the money back and put mine inside instead.
“I can pay for myself.” Carla shakes her head as she starts walking to leave. “And I haven’t decided. A baby is a big deal.” The night air hits us when we exit the café. “Do you want me to keep it?”
“It’s you, so yes.”
She nods, and we come to a standstill. Both of us just standing there staring at each other. “I am sorry about your father and your mother.”
“I’m learning I shouldn’t hold grudges.”
She smiles. It’s soft but I’m pretty sure it’s also forced.
“Especially if this baby’s grandfather is going to be related to you. Family dinners could be awkward.”
“I may never like the man, but I will give him respect that’s due for you.”
“You talk as if you will be in my life.”
“Baby or no baby, I want you either way.”
She turns and looks down the street, then back to me. “Meet me tomorrow. You can take me on a date to Disneyland.” Then she gets in a cab and it drives away.
Disneyland?
What the fuck?
34
Carla
Whiskey messaged me all night. A string of messages I didn’t reply to.
It’s because you make me smile when I didn’t know I needed to.
When you smile, my heart does this stupid pitter-patter I didn’t agree to.
I didn’t love you straight away, I just knew I wanted you.
I’d give it all up for you. I want you to know that.
A black car pulls up outside my hotel. I told him where I was staying this morning, not commenting on the messages. Whiskey gets out, opens the back door to let me in, then walks around to the other side and slides in beside me. The driver pulls out and I smile, seeing what he has on—sneakers, black jeans, and a white T-shirt.