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Gently, I stroke my baby’s soft head and coo at him as his tears slowly subside into sniffles. He smiles up at me then, causing my own eyes to well up.
It took me the entire seven months after I found out I was pregnant to decide on what to name my baby. I went back and forth between a million different names, accepting input from various friends and family members. The one name that I always came back to was Trent. I told everyone that it was just a name I’d heard once and liked so much that I wanted it to be my son’s name. They don’t need to know the truth: that I named him after the father he’ll never know. I’m always engulfed with a mix of emotions whenever I remember that amazing night, but the one thing I know for sure is that my son is the result, and I’ll always be grateful no matter what.
After all, I stopped trying to contact Trent Senior after that fateful day when I stopped by his place. He clearly hadn’t wanted to see me and instructed his entourage to give me the brush-off. I knew a cold shoulder when I saw one and wasn’t going to keep begging to see him like a pathetic, lovesick girl. But sometimes, doubt overwhelms me. I definitely thought there was a spark that night and would have loved to see where it went. He was dreamy, charming, and sexy—who wouldn’t want to be with a man like that? But I had to be realistic. He was Trent Moore, billionaire extraordinaire. Why would he want to bother with a plain Jane like me? So knowing when to admit defeat, I stopped trying after that day. It was the most alone I’d ever felt, but it was all worth it because now I have my baby, and it’s the two of us against the world.
When Trentie stops crying, I return to my room to finish getting ready. I would love to pull him into my arms and carry him into my room while I get dressed for the party I’m working tonight, but every book I’ve read on the subject says putting space between you and your baby is necessary if you plan on working full-time. Honestly, it rips my heart in two to even leave him with a babysitter tonight, but I have no choice. I have to make a living, and that thought hardens my resolve. Determined, I look into the mirror.
The pregnancy and delivery were rough on my body, and I was haggard for months afterwards, what with the night feedings and nonstop crying. But we both settled into a routine eventually, and I’m looking better now. The makeup hides my pale complexion, and I daub a bit of red lipstick on for color. My body is fuller of course, and my breasts much larger from nursing the baby. I lost some of the extra weight, but my stomach hasn’t toned down to where it was before I got pregnant. It’s poochy, and I stare at it critically, but then I take a deep breath in resignation. Between jugging a newborn and running a business, I haven’t had time for the workout routine I used to follow. Exercise? That’s a foreign word to a single mom.
Not that it matters. I can’t imagine trying to date now that I have a child. Maybe someday I’ll be ready, but right now my world begins and ends with the baby boy lying quietly in his crib down the hall.
With my hair and makeup ready to go, I slip off my robe. I haven’t been able to do a lot of shopping since having a child. Just bringing a baby to a department store is a huge ordeal, what with the extra changes of clothes, the snacks, the huge stroller, and the chance that he might decide to cry incessantly for no reason. Sure, I take him to play dates with other children and the occasional stroll through a grocery store, but I try to avoid spending any excessive amount of time outside of the house. It’s just too hard, what with the extra hassle.
So this is going to be my first time out to an event since I had my son. I hold up the dress I chose for tonight’s event and purse my lips critically. It’s a sleek black dress that falls just above my knees. The bodice is accented with subtle green sparkles that taper off down the skirt. It’s an old dress, but it’s perfect because tonight’s party is a St. Patrick’s Day extravaganza hosted at a large, luxurious venue. My outfit is casual enough that I’ll blend into the background, but fancy enough to wear to a St. Patrick’s Day soirée.
I lift the dress up over my body and slide it on. The zipper snags when I try to pull it up, but I get it after a few tries. The material is a bit tight against my breasts, but the bodice and skirt hug my curves beautifully.
