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What a loaded question. I bought relationships with women and kept them in my bed for a few months, but never in my heart. It sounded cold and clinical, maybe it was, but they left with a fat bank account. I chose this life because I didn’t want to be alone, though I couldn’t give them anything of myself. They served as a physical escape. The brief moments of sexual pleasure freed my mind from dark memories. When the high wore off or I grew to care more than I should, I’d choose another woman to take the last one’s place.
The answer to her question was a sad reality. I didn’t have friendships with women. I just fucked them like a selfish prick.
“I’ll only disappoint you in the end. It’s the pattern of my life when someone gets too close.” I couldn’t release my hand from hers, though. My words said one thing, but my body wanted another.
“It’s okay. I don’t want to be your friend for what you’ll give me. That’s not how friendships work. I care for you. Let me do that little bit at least. I don’t want anything from you in return. Can you try that?”
I exhaled, knowing it would be best for both of us if I requested a different nanny from a company my lawyer suggested. Perhaps someone older who did her job without all the damn feelings.
She gazed up at me, eyes wide with hope, waiting for my answer like her happiness depended on it. Telling her yes led us down a road where I’d use her and break her heart in the end. But the selfish part of me strangled the still small voice.
“Sure, Maggie. We can be friends.” I spoke the untruth without a flinch, hiding my deceit.
The smile lighting up her face made the lie almost worth it. Except I knew where the road ended with a man like me who didn’t allow others in his world. And this time, money wouldn’t help soften the goodbye or her broken trust.
21
Maggie
Waiting for his attorney to call had me on edge. I fixed cold-cut sandwiches for us with fruit on the side. It kept me busy. He ate all his food. I hardly took a bite of mine. My nerves were making me jumpy with worry.
I went to check on Esmé, who still had Xs over her eyes, when the buzzer sounded through the still apartment. I dashed to the main living area, my heart pounding in my chest, but not from exertion.
Lucas stood at the smart panel by the front door. His shoulders were high and his jaw was strained. You could file a photo of his posture under stiff as a board. He was wearing the weight of this moment in his life.
I waited in the kitchen, not sure if I should go to him. He had thrown so many different signals my way over the last two days, I never knew which version of him would appear at any given moment.
Which one would win tonight? I prayed it would be Herb. If it was the hardened man with the cold and indifferent arrogance, I wanted to hide out in the master bedroom with the baby.
“Yes,” Lucas said, his voice curt.
“Mr. Sloan is here, sir,” the doorman responded through the speaker.
“Send him up.” Lucas placed a palm against the wall, leaning forward and dropping his head. I itched to console him, let him know I cared, but I waited.
“Well, it’s showtime.” The air felt heavy from the weight of his words.
Lucas pushed off the wall and headed to the door, awaiting Mr. Sloan, the attorney who supervised the DNA test yesterday. It’s crazy how a swipe of a simple cotton swab could determine a man and baby’s future.
I jumped when a knock echoed through the air. Lucas wiped his hands over his jeans and opened the door before the sound faded from my ears.
Mr. Sloan walked into the apartment, his tailored navy suit and yellow tie perfectly pressed and over-the-top formal for a Sunday evening. But it was a professional call. He was also wearing an epic poker face. The man could make a killing in Atlantic City.
His attorney carried an envelope in his hands. Mr. Sloan was not over five foot five, if I had to guess, and he held it up to Lucas, a giant in comparison.
Lucas swallowed hard. I did too. There was a lump of nervousness stuck in my dry throat.
Finally, he took the results from Mr. Sloan and walked over to the elegant dining table. He sat at the head, laying the envelope in front of him. It made sense. I would want to sit down before I found out something so important too.
Mr. Sloan took the seat to Lucas’s left while I leaned against the kitchen island, trying to blend into the surroundings. So far, it had worked. I warred with whether I should give Lucas his privacy, but I wanted to know too. Should I stay or should I go. The crazy eighties song popped into my head. I covered my mouth, fighting back a nervous laugh. I knew from my behavioral psychology class that humans often did this as a way for the subconscious to relieve stress. But if I’d laughed out loud, it would have only made the tension worse. I hated being so impulsive.
