Who's Your Daddy? (9 page)

I raised an eyebrow and lowered my voice. “You needed a break, and you came
here
?”

“Trust me, this is the lesser of two evils.” Eileen clicked her tongue and shook her head. “The kids have been driving me insane. If one isn’t crying about something, the other is getting into something else.”

Rose glanced at me but masked her concern with a laugh and turned back to Eileen. “I don’t know how you juggle four of them, hon.”

Eileen grinned. “I just remind myself that in about twenty years, I’ll have the ultimate revenge.”

Rose and I glanced at each other, then turned to Eileen.

“The ultimate revenge?” I asked.

“Yeah.” She laughed. “Grandkids.”

Any other day, that probably would’ve made me laugh out loud. Instead, it just tightened the knot beneath my rib cage.

And as if it needed a reason to tighten any more, our mother’s singsong voice came from the kitchen. “Rose? Carmen? Do I hear you two in there?”

“Guess we’d better go say hello,” I said.

Rose and I exchanged “here goes nothing” looks, and went into the kitchen with Eileen hot on our heels.

As soon as we stepped into the kitchen, the smell went from eye-watering to overpowering. I clenched my jaw, silently willing my stomach and its contents to stay put.

I can do this. I’ve been sick enough today.

I can—

Nope. Can’t
.

“Excuse me for a minute.” I nearly knocked Eileen aside as I hightailed it out of the kitchen to the bathroom down the hall.

Once the porcelain god had been duly worshipped, I flushed the toilet and carefully stood, moving slowly to make sure I didn’t get light-headed. I cupped my hands under the faucet and rinsed my mouth a few times. Then I dried my hands, rested them on the sides of the sink and stared at my reflection. Familiar surroundings framed an unfamiliar face; of course I recognized myself, but…I didn’t. I didn’t recognize the woman who was keeping a secret like this from her parents.

I can’t do this. I can’t be pregnant around them without telling them.

I can’t tell them.

But how much longer could I hide it? I wasn’t showing yet, but I would be before too long.

Just get it together, Carmen. They won’t be any happier about it if you wait until later, so just get it over with.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then I turned the knob and stepped out into the hall.

Eileen waited for me, arms folded across her chest and her eyebrows pulled together with concern. “You okay, hon?”

“Yeah,” I croaked. I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just, you know…” I gestured up the hallway toward the kitchen and made a face.

My sister wasn’t buying it, though. “Carmen. Sweetheart. I know you. You can stomach the worst of Mom’s cooking without batting an eye. Is there…something going on?”

“Something?” I chewed my lip. “Like what?”

“Are you…” She paused, searching my eyes. “Are you pregnant?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Seriously?”

I looked at her and nodded.

She wrinkled her nose. “It’s not Paul’s kid, is it?”

I laughed out loud. “No way. We stopped sleeping together a
long
time ago.”

“Thank God,” she said. “Last thing this world needs is something Paul spawned.”

Our eyes met, and we both laughed.

She went on. “In all seriousness, I’m really glad to hear it’s not his. You don’t need a reason to be tied to him for the next eighteen years, so it’s just as well.” She smirked. “I think I’d rather be knocked up by a stranger.”

“Tell me about it.” I bit my lip. “And…it wasn’t a stranger.”

“That’s good.” She paused. “If you don’t mind my asking…” The tilt of her head finished the question.

I swallowed. “That’s where things get a little…complicated.”

“What? Is he married or something?”

I laughed bitterly. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?” She cocked her head. “To use a perfectly appropriate analogy, being sort of married is like being sort of pregnant. You either are, or you aren’t.”

“Well, he’s not married,” I said. “But he’s…attached.”

She groaned. “Carmen, please tell me you didn’t sleep with some guy who was cheating on his girlfriend.”

“Actually, he has a boyfriend,” I said.

Eileen blinked. “Pardon?”

“He has a boyfriend. And his boyfriend was…” I cleared my throat. “Let’s put it this way: one of the two of them is the father of this baby.”

She stared at me. Then she shook her head and put her fingers to her temples. “You’re not…you’re not telling me this involves Donovan and his guy, are you?”

Heat rushed into my cheeks. “Yes. That’s exactly who it involves.”

“Really?”

I nodded.

“Well, I’d say snagging those two was a hell of a way to cash in all the karma you racked up putting up with Paul for so long.” She grinned but then cringed. “I mean, not the baby, but…the…”

I waved a hand. “I know what you meant.”

“And anyway, I thought they were gay,” she said. “They both bat for both teams?”

“Apparently so.” My face burned hotter. “I didn’t realize it either, but we were sort of celebrating my divorce. With some wine.” I coughed. “A lot of wine.”

Eileen laughed. “A lot of wine and…yeah…”

“Yeah.”

“Does Mom know?”

“Are you kidding?” I stared at her, wide-eyed. “She’d have brained me by now.”

“Good point.” She chewed her lip and raised her eyebrows. “Are you going to tell them?”

I glanced down the hall. “Eventually. Not tonight, though.”
Coward.

“I don’t envy you,” she said with a grimace. “We—”

“Carmen, honey.” Mom’s voice interrupted Eileen, and a second later, my mother appeared in the hallway. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine.” I forced a smile in front of clenched teeth as nausea roiled in my stomach again. “Just getting over a stomach bug.”

Her eyes widened. “What? You’ve been sick? Oh, honey, why didn’t you tell me, you—”

“Mom, I’m fine,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”

She pursed her lips, and I half-expected to be interrogated about everything I was doing to cause myself to get sick—not taking care of myself, letting myself get too stressed, being divorced, leeching off my sister instead of working a job my mother approved of—but she mercifully let it go.

“Well, why don’t you come in here and get something to eat, then?” She put a hand on my arm and tugged me toward the dining room. “Can’t have you ill.”

Oh God. My mother’s cooking.
That
would help me feel better.

Mom insisted I sit at the table while everyone else brought plates and glasses in. I didn’t know if I was irritated by the assumption I was frail and fragile, or thankful for one less opportunity for an inopportune moment of light-headedness to give me away.

Rose laid a plate in front of me. I stared at the salmon casserole and gulped. I had a cast-iron stomach thanks to years of consuming my mother’s culinary masterpieces, but this? If this went down at all, it wasn’t staying there.

I glanced at Eileen as she sat beside me, and I raised my eyebrows in a “help me” expression. She laughed behind her hand, and I couldn’t help grinning to myself when she gave a subtle nod that said she had me covered.

Dinner commenced, and everyone discussed the grandkids, our jobs, and all the things we kids—including our brother, who wasn’t there to defend himself—were doing wrong with our lives. My mother was unusually easy on me tonight. She didn’t harp on me about my divorce or anything, so she must have truly believed I was ill. Well, that was a plus. If being queasy kept Mom off my back, then at least it wasn’t completely bad.

All the while, Eileen and I strategically consumed our meals with military precision: me polishing off the more palatable side dish while Eileen ate her main dish, and both of us eating about half of the overcooked vegetable of the night. And we waited. We waited for that moment that always came about two-thirds of the way through the meal.

“Jack, would you like another drink?” Mother held up her own empty glass.

Dad looked at his glass, just like he always did, and predictably nodded. “Yes, please, dear.”

Mom pushed her chair back, collected his and her glasses, and went to the kitchen for more iced tea. As soon as she was out of sight, Eileen and I switched our plates. Rose snickered. Dad chuckled. Eileen and I dutifully continued eating just like we had before, and when Mom returned, she was none the wiser. As much as she noticed every little thing we did, we somehow always slipped this past her radar.

It was a skill we’d perfected as kids: the art of moving an undesirable piece of food from one person to someone who could stomach it. Eileen would take salmon casserole off my hands tonight, and some future night when I wasn’t so queasy, I’d pay it forward by taking her lamb curry. Woe be unto the sibling who ended up sitting next to an in-law who wasn’t in on this little pact.

Most people didn’t continue such childish things going into their mid-thirties. To be fair, though, most mothers couldn’t singlehandedly render three types of herbs extinct just by seasoning one meal. Maybe it was childish, but it meant we made it through a meal without insulting our mother or having to gag down something excruciatingly unpalatable.

Once dinner was finished, and my sisters and I had helped our dad with the dishes, everyone retreated into the living room. Apparently, now that I’d eaten something, I was once again a fair target for my mother’s scrutiny, because she stopped me on the way to the living room. We hung back in the dining room, and she peered at me over the rims of her glasses like the Church Lady. It was an expression that might have been comical if I wasn’t so used to the blistering criticism it always preceded, and I silently cursed the temptation to clasp my hands behind my back and concentrate on my feet like a kid about to be disciplined.

“I wanted to ask you,” she said, “have you called Nancy Harper about that job I told you about?”

Without allowing any frustration to slip into my tone, I said, “No, I haven’t.”

Cue Mom’s famous sigh of disapproval. “That job’s not going to be available forever, you know.”

“I know. But, I don’t need it.”

She huffed. “Carmen, you’re taking up a room in your sister’s apartment and barely making ends meet. You don’t have Paul’s income anymore, so you need to get a real job instead of flitting around with this writing nonsense.”

I bit my tongue. There was no point in arguing with her. Since I wasn’t rolling in riches like everyone who’d ever published a book, clearly I was a complete failure and couldn’t possibly support myself without someone’s help.

Without thinking about it, I dropped my gaze and reached back to clasp my hands behind me. A jolt of panic stiffened my posture, though, and I quickly folded my hands in front, as if the opposite position had exposed my stomach enough to nearly show my mother I was pregnant. Of course I wasn’t showing yet, but I was terrified she’d see right through me.

“Carmen?” She touched my arm. “Honey, I know you want to write, but you need to start supporting yourself. You don’t have Paul to take care of you, so this is something you need to do.”

Fine, I will. Just please, please, don’t figure out I’m pregnant.

“I’ll talk to her,” I said quietly.

“Good.” She smiled. “You’ll be much less stressed when you have a real job and a steady income again.”

If I bit my tongue any harder, I’d draw blood. Yes, Paul had had a steady income. Yes, he’d made twice what I made. He also spent it three times as fast, and getting any money—from his paycheck
or
mine—was like getting blood from a stone. The only reason money was tight now was because of that monstrous bill from my attorney.

And just when that gets paid off, I’ll have a baby to take care of
.

Stomach, stay put, and I swear I’ll have Rose stop for
Häagen
-
Dazs
on the way home
.

Mom wasn’t done yet, though.

“I was talking to Carlene the other night. Her son’s going to be moving back this fall after he graduates.” She grinned like she was bragging about her own kid. “He’ll have his PhD, you know.”

“That’s great.” I smiled like I didn’t know where she was going with this. “Tell Carlene I said to congratulate him for me.”
Oh, good one. Just walked right into
—

“Well, maybe you could tell him yourself.” The grin broadened. “I can have her give him—”

I put up a hand and shook my head. “Mom, no. I’m not ready to date yet.”

She let out a long, disappointed, disapproving breath.

Before she could start again, I said, “When I’m ready, I’ll give him a call, okay?”

She scowled. “A man like him is a catch, hon. He won’t wait around forever.”