“No. I…” She sighs. “I’m not sure. I mean, I could see myself being fine without kids as long as I got to be the fun aunt, or, like… say I had a stepchild or something like that, then that would be fine. I don’t have to have kids of my own. My life could be perfectly full without any. But if I married someone who wanted kids, then I would also be content to have one or two. I’m flexible. I don’t have baby fever, if that’s what you’re asking. But you already have this baby for me to love on, so I might as well, right?”
“You don’t have to defend what you want, Virginia, I was merely asking.”
“I know,” she replies, a faintly defensive. “And I answered you.”
“If I said I wanted kids, then how would you feel?”
“Confused,” she answers. “But as I said, I’m open to both possibilities.”
“All right. I don’t want kids,” I add, to clarify.
“I know,” she assures me.
“I don’t see that changing,” I add, in the interest of fairness. “This one came out a boy, now I have an heir, I’m all set. The only reason I might have had kids is gone now.”
Looking down at Nicholas, she says, “I wouldn’t want you to have kids, if that was the only reason.”
“I don’t dislike kids or anything. They’re cute. They’re fun. I like them well enough when they belong to other people. I just like my freedom. I know who I am, I know the life I want, and I know kids don’t fit into it.”
Virginia nods her head. “I understand. Not everyone has the desire for procreation. I think it’s good that you know that about yourself already. It’s shitty when guys know they don’t care about having kids, but they meet a woman who wants them so they have some anyway, and then they don’t care. Or worse, they don’t like it, and they leave and start a new life, and she’s stuck alone in a life she planned to have with someone else.”
“No, I wouldn’t do that,” I remark. “Even Laurel, we may not be in a relationship, but naturally I’ll provide whatever she or the baby needs financially. That’s my responsibility; I won’t bail on it just because we aren’t together. I’m just not equipped to be as into the daddy thing as Sin is, and that’s what she wanted. He clearly gets something out of it, good for him, but to be honest, I don’t understand what.”
Sighing, Virginia says, “I have so many questions about your childhood.”
My lips curve up faintly. “You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”
“What were you like as a little kid?” she asks, shifting Nicky’s weight and leaning into me a little more.
“Quiet. My parents fought a lot, gave me headaches, I tried to stay out of the way. Even as young as five, I remember thinking if I ever got married, I would never be like that. I would never scream at my wife. Never give her reasons to lose sleep and stay up all hours, wondering where I was.” My lips curve up faintly. “That’s probably not true, though. The screaming part, sure, I’m pretty even-tempered, but if you ask Laurel for the review of what living with me was like, there was probably a lot of wondering where the hell I was. If she even wondered. To be honest, I’m not sure. She gave very few fucks.”
Virginia shakes her head. “That’s not indicative of what you would be like as a husband. You and Laurel never chose one another, you just got stuck with each other because of Nicky. You’re not a man suited to being trapped. Your natural response is to make her want out, thereby escaping the trap yourself. That might be what you were like when you felt stuck in a relationship, but… much as I hate bringing her up, that’s not at all how you were with Cassandra. You chose that relationship, that’s the difference. A loveless relationship is bound to be unhappy. It sounds like that’s what your parents had.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “All of the men in my father’s generation had terrible relationships, but they were all terrible men. It’s not easy for many women to have lasting happiness with terrible men.”
Her smaller hand comes to rest over mine. “You’re not a terrible man,” she states. “You won’t have that problem.”
She’s only being nice, but it’s starting to make me itch, like I’m wearing a collar. Just the mention of Cassandra reminds me of relationships, and when combined with Virginia sitting here curled up against me on Christmas day, holding my baby…. Jesus Christ, what is this sweater made of?
Commitment issues. This sweater is made of commitment issues.
Goddammit.
Seeking to change the subject, I reach over and take the sleeping bundle of my genetic material and settle him against my chest. “All right, enough of that. Why don’t you open your gifts?” I suggest.
“Gifts?” she questions, dropping to the floor and crawling over to the tree to retrieve the gift she put back when everyone was awake. “As in, more than one?”
“There should be three under there for you,” I tell her, watching her ass. Now I just want to fuck with her. “I think it’s in the back, bend down lower and crawl under the tree.”
“There’s nothing back there,” she mutters, but she pushes her ass up and creeps back there to look anyway.
I smirk. “Keep looking, you’ve gotta be close.”
It takes her a minute, but finally she backs out from under the tree and peers at me over her shoulder. “You’re just looking at my ass, aren’t you?”
“It’s a very nice ass,” I say, in my own defense.
Virginia rolls her eyes, sitting back on her legs. Then she sees the third present—it got pushed under the tree skirt. Scooting back toward the couch, she remains on the gray-carpeted floor and tears into the first present. I can’t help a faint rush of anticipation. It’s the cheapest of the three presents, but my favorite.