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“My dad left when I was really young,” I find myself saying, before I can stop. “My mom and grandma basically raised us. And my auntie. We were like this fucked up family unit, because my uncle actually took off too, right after my dad did. I guess he followed his older brother’s example. Our family worked. Without our dads. It worked just fine. I’m not saying that my brothers and my cousins and maybe even me- that we aren’t effed up to some extent from our dads abandoning us like that, but I am saying that our moms did an incredible job, and so did my granny. So I know it can work.”
“What if I don’t want it to be that way?”
“Then we’ll talk about visitation.”
I realize Daniel’s cheeks are still wet when I smooth my hand up from his jaw, and that’s all I can take, because Jesus, his cheeks are wet. I don’t think those are good tears either. Emotional tears, yes. Tears of shock, probably. But I’ve hurt him by trying to do the opposite and I hate that I was thoughtless and caused him pain. I have almost no experience with male emotions. Other than laughter and grunts from my brothers and my cousins over the course of my lifetime, I’m pretty oblivious.
I twist in the seat and lean in, basically freaking kneeling so I can get close. I rest my forehead on Daniel’s and keep my eyes open so that he has like five eyes and two noses and six hundred eyelashes, and I smooth my hands over his wet cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Daniel. I really wasn’t trying to hurt you. If that’s what you want, to be in our baby’s life, and I know that he or she is our baby, then you’re more than welcome. We have nine months to figure out what that will look like.”
“What if I wanted to be in your life too?”
“Mine?” I squeak like I’m the one with the bruised teabag. I swallow thickly to get my voice under control. “What’s- uh- you can’t- we barely know each other. I think that would be a terrible idea. In my experience, nothing ever works out and that would just cause drama. I don’t want our baby to have to do deal with parents who are falling apart, fighting, or just sticking it out because- well- because a baby happened.”
“You think that’s how it would go?”
“How do I know?” I moan. “We’re strangers. We’re strangers, and look at our first date! You got punched in the ass, the dick, and the balls by a cactus- a bloody trifecta if I’ve ever seen one- and then we ended up at the hospital, and we found out we’re going to be parents. That’s- that’s- about as rough of a first date as I can imagine. You think it bodes well for the future?”
Daniel’s massive hands come up to frame my face. He draws me away so I’m not looking at him from the perspective of a freaking microscope anymore. His face is gentle, his eyes so soft, his perfect lips actually turned up a little at the corners, and for some reason, I find that shard of ice lodged in my chest softening fractionally. It’s there because of the pain of the past. The pain of all the disappointments and hurts I’ve suffered over a lifetime. It’s an icicle of distrust because I’ve been the one left over and over again, starting with my dad and my uncle, like I said. The past year has been a never ending string of crap-shit and before that was no picnic relationship wise either. My high school boyfriend introduced me into the ways of pleasure in a dang bathroom at a freaking house party, and then a month later, stole two grand from my room because he knew I kept cash in my jewellery box, and then promptly broke up with me and never spoke to me again. Right before prom. So, I went alone. That ice is there because I’m afraid. I’m afraid to give Daniel a chance. Afraid that if I do, my sore, tired, aching heart will end up torn in half again, just like it has all the other times I’ve put myself out there and done the stupid thing called trusting.
“I don’t like to use the past as a gauge for the future,” Daniel says in his beautiful deep voice, which is a little thick and raspy. “Every situation and every person is unique. I know why you’re hesitant and if I could find all those douchebags who hurt you, I would. I would introduce them to my cacti. A prick for a prick.”
“Stop,” I gasp, grinding down on my teeth so I don’t laugh. “That’s horrible.”
“It is, but they’d deserve it for treating you badly. Since I can’t do that, I’d like a chance to prove to you that I’m not an asshole. That I’m not going to treat you badly or leave you.”
