Say Yes (Something More) (12 page)

When I see him break into a huge, goofy grin, I scowl. Why had I ever fallen in love with that smile? It’s so large and obnoxious, he looks like the Cheshire cat on steroids. 

I narrow my gaze at the woman. “We’re not together,” I say through hardened features. “It’s just dinner.”

“Oh, of course. Don’t worry.” She flashes a look which I can only describe as mock sincerity before leaning closer. She winks so hard, I think she may bust a stitch. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Ha! Not likely,
I think. Her Twitter feed will probably blow up with “Christina is back together with Jackson” posts.

Just what I need to make my day complete. I’m only glad Andrés and the country club socialites move in two totally different circles.

“Nora!”

I’m pretty sure those few French fries I ate fall to the bottom of my stomach like a lead ball at the familiar nails-on-chalkboard grating screech of The Spitting Cobra, aka, my evil estranged mother.

My mouth falls open, and I look past Nora to see the woman barreling toward us. She’s all smiles, keeping her gaze centered on her friend. She doesn’t bother looking in my direction, but I know she sees me.

I know.

This is all part of her game to make me feel beneath her notice, insignificant. It’s like childhood all over again.

“I’m sorry,” I can hear Jackson whispering to me from across the table. “I thought she left.”

He
thought
she left?

I’m so angry with him for putting me in this situation, I don’t bother looking at him as I slowly rise on unsteady legs and kiss Ty on the forehead. My lips linger on his baby soft skin. So sweet, innocent, and loving—such a bitter contrast to the woman who raised me.

“Bye, bye, sweetie,” I say as I stroke his cheek and turn to leave.

The Spitting Cobra is standing next to her drunk friend, looking at me with a venomous glare. I repress the urge to shiver as an icy chill sweeps up my spine. It seems she’s had more work done. I didn’t think it was possible, but her waist is smaller and her breasts are bigger. Her face is more plastic-looking than Nora’s, pulled so tight it must pain her to open her eyes. And those lips, so full and fat, they threaten to collapse in a collagen-induced avalanche.

“Hello, Christina,” she says to me, no hint of affection in her cold-as-ice tone, although I shouldn’t have expected any. That woman is like the north wind, the Anti-Christ, and The Plague all rolled into one. 

 I turn up my chin and give her a haughty acknowledgement of my own. “Mother,” I sneer.

She sweeps her hand toward our table. “Well, don’t you three make a happy little family?”

“We’re not a family,” I growl, squeezing my hands so tight, fingernails break skin.

“Oh?” She arches one thin brow. “It looks that way to me. You remind me of our family when you were a baby.” She heaves an exaggerated sigh while planting one hand on her hip. “You were so sweet then.”

My gaze tunnels on my mother, white hot rage pounding a wild staccato in my ears. It takes all my effort to keep from slapping that smug look off her face. “That was before I knew what a selfish bitch you were,” I hiss.

Nora gasps and takes a step back, and I think I hear Jackson swear behind me.

Mother’s eyes widen and her mouth drops. I tilt up my chin and flash a triumphant grin. It’s not often I catch the snake by surprise. She’s not used to me standing up for myself.  

But my triumph is short-lived. In the blink of an eye, she rips Nora’s wine glass out of her hand and splashes the liquid all over my shirt. Stunned, I gape at her in disbelief.

Tyler’s screams pull me back to reality. Wine is dripping down his hair and into his mouth.

Jackson swears and wipes Tyler frantically with a cloth napkin. 

“Tyler?” he cries. “Are you okay?” Then he turns to my mother with a thunderous expression. “You got wine on my son!” He pounds his fist on the table so hard, I jump back.

Then it hits me. Oh, no, Tyler’s disease. “Will wine make him sick?” I ask Jackson as I grab another napkin off the table and wipe the mess off Tyler’s hands.

“I don’t know.” Jackson’s tone is frantic. “It’s not like we give him wine, anyway.”

“I-I was aiming for Christina,” The Cobra sputters behind me.  

“What’s going on here?” A man I recognize as the restaurant manager comes to our table. He’s got a tapered black goatee, an obvious toupee, and a fake French accent, but he’s always been nice to me in the past. 

“This
woman
threw wine at us.” Jackson waves his fist at my mother. “She got it all over my son. I hope there’s no gluten in it. He’s got Celiac Disease.” Jackson picks up Tyler and cradles him in his arms, giving my mother the death stare.

By this time, all eyes in the restaurant are on us, and the only sound in the room is the clanking of silver hitting a plate. Even Tyler has stopped crying.    

The manager turns to the busboy. “Go get the chef,” he says. Then he scowls at my mother. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

His fake French accent is so thick, I feel like I’m drowning in it. He obviously gets the point across, because my mother’s paper-thin cheeks turn a bright shade of red.

She stomps a stiletto. “I’ve been a member of this country club for twenty years!”

The manager speaks into his headset. “We’ve got a situation in the restaurant.” He eyes her with disdain. “We’re going to need Security.”

“Security?” She stumbles back and splays a hand over her chest, looking as if he’s just slapped her across the face. “How dare you! Do you know who I am?”

“You’re a washed-up whore.”

It takes me a moment to realize I’m the one who spoke those words. My face flushes as collective murmurs and gasps spread across the restaurant like wildfire. And then, much to my amazement, a woman about my mother’s age stands up at her table and starts clapping. Soon, other women and then many men join her. They are applauding me because I called my mother a whore? Omigod. For the first time, I realize her selfish behavior has affected others than me.

My mother’s heavily painted eyes are wide and glossy. Hands balled into fists, she takes a step toward me, but the fake French manager blocks her path.

“You are going to regret this,” she says over his shoulder.

The other diners are still clapping. Some are booing and hissing as she turns and storms out of the room. 

* * *

After the chef reassures us the wine is gluten free, and after I clean myself and Tyler as best as I can, I decide it is time to leave. My visit with the baby has been interesting, to say the least. I almost regret accepting Jackson’s offer, but some sinister, vindictive part of me, is so glad my mother was humiliated at her country club.

This place has been her second home, especially after my father died. I’m pretty sure she’s slept with half the male members here, which explains why so many women applauded me when I called her a whore. I’m fairly certain she will find a way to retaliate, but for the moment, it was worth it. It was
definitely
worth it.

Jackson seems to think his dad will pull some strings and get my mother kicked out of the club once he hears what she did to Tyler. That would be a huge blow to my mother. Where else would she go to backstab her friends and sleep with their husbands?

Jackson insists on walking me to my car, which is annoying. With everyone in the club watching us leave, we really do look like a family. Ty, I wouldn’t mind claiming, but not Jackson.

Still, it gives me one more chance to hold Ty. He fits so perfectly on my hip, giggling as I bounce him next to my car.

Jackson is looking at me like he’s got something to say, which is my cue to get the hell out of there.

“I’ve got to get home,” I say. “Andrés is making dinner.”

“Okay,” he says, flashing a flirtatious grin. “I wish you didn’t have to go so soon.”

Please, not this. “I can’t stay here,” I say tersely.
And I’m not ever coming back,
I think.  

Tyler yawns as he leans into me, and I know it’s getting close to his bedtime. I try to pry him off my hip and hand him to his dad, but his eyes go wide and he clasps my wet shirt in his little hands. I think I hear my heart sigh as I snuggle him tightly to my chest.

“I’ll ask my dad to come up with more restaurants. This is all new to us,” Jackson says as I lean against the door of my car with Ty in my arms.  

“I know,” I say as I kiss Ty on the forehead and I attempt one more time to pry him off me. “A little help,” I say to Jackson.

He finally takes the hint and pulls the baby from me. Ty kicks and squeals, “Teeny!” reaching out to me.

Every time he says my name, he chips away a little piece of my heart.  

“I have him every other Sunday and sometimes during the week,” Jackson says as he juggles the squirming baby in his arms, “so if you want to see him again.”

“I do, but I don’t know.” I open my car door and throw my purse inside.

“Teeny!” Tyler screams again while pounding Jackson.  

“You should have been his mother.”

I look up at Jackson, my breath hitched. Please, not again.

“You’ve already told me that,” I say.  

“I’m sorry.” He turns his lips down in a pout. “I wish it had been you.”

Really, Jackson? Then maybe you shouldn’t have put your dick in my supposed best friend.

I roll my eyes. “Well, it wasn’t me. And you know how I feel about having kids.”

But even as I say it, a pang of guilt stabs my chest as Ty holds his arms out to me, whimpering my name.

Jackson flashes a dimpled grin as he looks down at his son. “I know, but you have to admit Tyler is pretty awesome.”

I look at the man I almost made the mistake of marrying through narrowed eyes. “Are you seriously the same Jackson I knew six months ago?”

He shrugs and flushes all the way to his wavy blond roots. “No and yes. I’ve changed a lot.” He pulls Ty to his chin and kisses the baby’s forehead. “It’s been so hard watching the little guy suffer.” Jackson’s bottom lip quivers as he speaks, and he almost looks like he cares about someone other than himself. “I’ve never known fear until I thought I was going to lose my son. And then the relief at finding out he was going to live.”

I choke up, unable to speak. Jackson’s performance is pretty darned good. I wonder if he really has changed, if he really will be a good father to Ty. I sure hope so. That baby has lost his mother to drugs. He needs at least one loving parent in his life.

I heave a sigh and slump against my car. “I’ll talk to Andrés and see how he feels about me going out with you again.”

Jackson’s smile fades and a darkness settles into his eyes. “This isn’t about Andrés, it’s about you and Tyler.”

I fear Jackson wants to add his name at the end of that equation, but it isn’t going to happen. Not ever again.

Chapter Eleven

Andrés

I’m nearly finished cooking dinner by the time Christina gets home. I know it’s her night to cook, but after the way I treated her last night, I feel the need to make it up to her. Besides, she’s been hinting for my chicken and rice dish, and I meant it when I said I’m sick of pizza. It’s already past six, and I know she’s been off work for several hours; I’d stopped by the paint shop on my way home to make sure tomorrow’s payroll goes smoothly.

I wonder where Christina had gone to, but I figure she was shopping or hanging out with Grace. Judging by the way she slinks into the room like a dog with her tail between her legs, I’m not so sure.

“How was your day?” I turn off the burner and set the big wooden spoon on the counter. 

“Okay, I guess.” She slouches into a chair and rests her elbows on the kitchen table before covering her face with her hands.

She’s upset, and I suspect it has something to do with that big red stain on her shirt. I pull up a chair, waving a hand at the spill. “What happened?”

She looks at me from between slitted fingers and then pulls back her hands and stares down at herself as if she’s seeing the stain for the first time. “Oh, that?” she mumbles while averting her gaze. “I had a wine accident.”   

“Wine?” I jerk back, a feeling of dread settling in the pit of my stomach. “Where did you go?” But I already suspect her ex-fiancé is involved. Why else would she be shielding her eyes with her hands and acting like she’s got something to hide?

She shrugs. “I met Jackson and Ty at the country club.”

I rise from my seat, so angry I know I need to get away from her. She went to the country club with her ex and shrugs it off like it’s no big deal? My girlfriend hanging out with her ex and his kid
is
a big deal to me.  

Words fail me as I grab the spoon and stir the chicken and rice. I stir for several long moments, heedless as I toss rice out of the pan and all over the stove. She couldn’t have called me to find out if I’d mind her going? She went out to dinner with that
pendejo
without so much as a text message to let me know.

“You should have told me,” I growl as I violently toss the food around in the pan. “I already started cooking.”

“I’m sorry,” she pleads at my back. “I only had a few fries. I couldn’t say no to seeing Ty. I’ve missed him so much.”

And that right there is the heart of the problem. Her love for her ex’s baby. Her world seems to revolve around the kid. She’s drawn dozens of his pictures. She’s always buying him toys, and she talks about him non-stop. All this love she has to give to this child who’s not her own, and she can’t find any room in her heart for more children.
My
children.  

I toss the spoon in the pan and turn to her. My internal temperature starts to soar, and I know it’s not from the heat radiating off the stove. “He’s not
your
baby.” The words sound jarring and cold, even to my own ears, but I won’t take them back. I want them to wound her. She needs to feel the hurt I’m feeling.

“I know that.” Her bottom lip quivers as she rises from the chair. “Does that mean I can’t love him?” There is an edge of despair to her voice, and I know I’m pushing her too far, but I can’t help it.