I look at him long and hard.
Do I tell him? Do I tell Kieren he has a daughter? Would he run, or would he stay?
He’s a player. I met him at a bar. He won’t want to be saddled with a baby. I can’t tell him. Not yet.
When I first found out Layla was on the way, I hunted for Kieren. I tried to find him, convinced he would step up and do the right thing. But after eighteen months on my own, I’ve found my own way. Me and Layla have our own routines, and we’re fine without him.
No, I don’t need him disrupting our lives.
The cry gets louder, and Kieren shifts uncomfortably.
“Do you need to go see what it—ah, he, she wants?”
I pull the door open a crack.
“I do. Before she wakes my boyfriend,” I say quickly.
Kieren does a double take. I hate myself for the lie that rolls easily off my tongue. But I can’t do this right now. I can’t tell him the truth.
“You’re with someone?”
“Yes, Kieren. Babies have fathers, you know.”
He looks shell-shocked. His hair falls messily over his eyes, and I long to tuck it behind his ear, to pull him close. But I can’t. I must be firm.
“But the other day…?”
“Was nice. But it can’t happen again.”
Kieren’s still looking shocked as I duck inside the house.
“So, thank you for your concern, but we’re all doing just fine.”
As I close the door on him, my last impression is of Kieren with a broken look on his face, the bunch of tulips hanging by his side.
I lean with my back against the door for a moment, wondering if I’ve done the right thing, feeling regret for all that happened and all that could have been.
Then Layla wails again, and I go to her.
Regret is an indulgence I don’t have time for. I have a child to take care of.
11
KIEREN
My body sways drunkenly to Aerosmith’s “Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” coming from the jukebox. It takes a few beats for my head to catch up to my body, the liquor making me slow. Slow and numb. Exactly how I want to be.
In no scenario did I envision Jodie having a baby and a boyfriend. I was so caught up in my own memories of our perfect weekend together and the electric connection I thought we had. I was sure she’d felt it too. Or at least felt it enough not to immediately find someone else, someone she wanted to have a baby with.
The thought of Jodie with someone else sends a blood-boiling shot of jealousy through my veins. Even through my alcohol-addled body, I still feel a possessiveness for her.
I pick up my bourbon glass and drain it, welcoming the sweet oblivion that can’t come soon enough.
Through blurry vision, I see a woman coming toward me. She’s too short but her face looks pleasant enough and kind of familiar, but I can’t see her features properly through the alcohol blur. Maybe this is what I need, a new kind of way to forget about Jodie.
“Hey, beautiful. What’s your name?”
The woman tilts her head and gives me a pitying look that’s not unkind.