“It’s only been—” He cuts me off, his body trembling beneath my hold.
“A week, Bibiana. It’s been a week that you’ve been here. That’s a week I can’t get back. A week of not knowing I had a son and of him not knowing me.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, because he’s right. If roles were reversed, I’d feel the same way.
“I want to hate you,” he whispers almost too quiet for me to hear, but I do and my heart plummets to the soles of my feet. “And when my head stops spinning, I just might. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get over the fact that you kept him from me. I missed so fucking much.” He releases me and takes two steps back.
I feel cold at the loss of contact and wrap my arms around myself.
“I—” I don’t know what to say to that.
“I want to get to know him,” he says, voice firm. “I want visitation and I want it in writing.”
His last statement takes me by surprise, and I swallow hard as a trickle of fear worms its way through me before reason has me locking the emotion away. This is what I wanted. I want my son to have his father. I want him to feel wanted and Emilio demanding visitation is him showing that he wants to be in Luis’s life. I take a deep breath and force out my next words.
“I’d like that too.”
His eyes widen before he nods his head. “Okay. Good.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “When can I have him?”
I frown. “Um…”
“Can I pick him up tomorrow?”
“You want to pick him up?” I ask, licking my lips. “And take him where?”
“I don’t know. The park. Maybe Roman’s.” He shrugs.
It’s the middle of winter. What does he think they’re going to do at the park? Luis isn’t even walking on his own yet. “Have you ever looked after a baby?” I ask as gently as possible because I really don’t want to fight with him about this. “Luis is only nine months old. He …umm…” I can see that Emilio is about to argue so I rush out my next words. “What if you came here instead? You could take a few days to get to know him. Make sure he’s comfortable with you and it’ll give you a chance to learn umm … how to look after an infant?” That sounds a lot more patronizing that I mean it to be.
He considers it and the silence stretches between us. “Fine.”
I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Okay. Good.”
We stare at each other for a beat. “His name is Luis?” he asks. His eyes keep flicking toward the staircase, and I know he wants to see him again.
“Yeah. Luis Afonso Sousa.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw.
When he doesn’t snap or yell at me, I move closer and tentatively reach out, tugging on his sleeve. “Come on,” I say and lead him up the staircase to my room.
Outside the door, he hesitates for only a minute before following me inside. The lights are out, but there is a small night-light and sound machine beside Luis’s crib that illuminates his sleeping form. Careful not to wake him, I wave toward my bed, indicating that Emilio have a seat. His eyes are glued to our son and a small smile curls the corners of his mouth as he takes a seat, leaning forward for a better view.
“He’s perfect,” he whispers, and I can’t help but match his smile.
“He has your eyes and your mouth,” I tell him, claiming the space beside him.
“He does?”
I nod.
We sit in silence, watching our little boy sleep, and despite today being a complete disaster of epic proportions, a small part of me is hopeful. Emilio wants to be in Luis’s life, and that alone is more than I could have hoped for.
Eleven
Istay at Bibiana’s until just past midnight watching my boy sleep, the steady rise and fall of his tiny body doing something to soothe the raging devil inside of me. I have a kid. A son. One she kept secret from me for all this time. Fuck. I scrub my hands over my face and look down at her. She drifted off to sleep close to an hour ago, her tiny body curled up beside me on top of her comforter. Exhaustion lines her face and a part of me is sorry for that, but the bigger part of me, the all-consuming asshole deep inside is furious with her. I’m having to try real hard not to explode.
What the actual fuck?
