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10
“He’s so cute,” my oldest daughter gushes as she and her siblings coo at their new brother. Mark brought them up to see him within a couple hours of giving them the news he’d arrived. They couldn’t wait to meet him.
I had my doubts about Mark, thinking he’d be weirded out by seeing me holding another man’s child. And I think he was…at first. He’d kept his distance initially, staying on the outskirts of the room and hovering closest to the door while the kids scoped out their brother.
Eventually, and with a bit of coaxing from our youngest, he made his way over. Now he’s perched on the arm of the rectangular sofa, grinning ear to ear and occasionally reaching out to touch the baby.
“What’s his name again?” my son asks as he watches the baby curl his tiny fingers around his much larger one and squeeze.
“Ben.” I knew before he was born what I would call him. Call it woman’s intuition, but just as I knew he’d be a boy, I also knew what his name would be. Dreams can tell you a lot, and I’ve always trusted mine.
They have yet to steer me wrong.
I look at my babies, all lined up together, and my heart melts. And to think a part of me worried that a new baby would cause a divide. If anything, it’s brought them closer.
While the kids are busy bonding, Mark looks up, and I know by the look in his eyes he has something big on his mind. Instantly, I’m on high alert.
Standing, he comes over to the opposite side of the bed and sits on the edge of it, his back to the kids. I shift around, putting as much distance as I can between us. Which isn’t much, but at least he’s not touching me.
I wait, holding my breath, for him to speak.
“Any word from him yet?”
I don’t have to ask to know who he’s referring to. The distaste in his voice is plain, although he probably thinks he’s hiding it well.
“Not yet,” I say, fiddling with a loose threat on my blanket. The kids made sure to bring the charger that I forgot at home, and since then, I’ve checked my phone numerous times. No response from Alejandro yet, and my stomach feels sick when I consider what it might mean.
Of course, my thoughts spiral down the rabbit hole of despair and arrive at the worst possible conclusion, which is that this is too reminiscent for comfort of the first time he disappeared on me. With the way men tend to run in the opposite direction at the first smell of responsibility, as if children carry the plague, I can’t help but worry that he’s decided having a baby is too much and has left me to deal with it on my own.
I’ve entertained the possibility a few times in my head before. I’ve even talked about it with Jean, and we both concluded that if it went that way, I’d raise the baby on my own. Screw him and the horse he rode in on and all that. I don’t need a man to raise a kid.
But I want him. God, do I want him.
I send up another silent prayer for Alejandro to get here, to prove me wrong, to set my racing mind at ease. The doubts and insecurities are threatening to eat me alive.
A glance at the as-yet empty doorway reveals nothing new though.
“Do you think he’s going to show?”
“I’m sure he will. He’s trying to find a flight out,” I say, but my voice lacks the proper amount of confidence to be convincing.
Mark’s expression is one of pity, and I’d do just about anything to escape that right now—especially since it’s coming from him.
“What if he doesn’t? You don’t think he’d just not come, do you?”
“It’s his baby,” I reason.
Mark nods and glances away. When his eyes come back to meet mine, there’s something I don’t want to name in them staring back at me. “Do you… What if…” As he struggles for words, my heart starts to pound. “What if he doesn’t come back?”
Acknowledging the question makes my stomach roll. “Well, if that were the case, then I’d raise Ben by myself. It’s not like I’d have another choice in the matter.”
Mark grows quiet again, and then he says the one thing I never thought I’d hear come out of his mouth. “What if you didn’t have to?”
My eyes snap up and I stare at him in total shock. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean,” he says, twisting around so he’s facing me, “I could help. I like kids. And it’s not like I haven’t done it before.” He glances at our oldest daughter who’s adopted. “I’d love him like he’s my own.”
He reaches for my hand, but I pull it away, unsure if I want him to touch me or not. “Where is this coming from? What about your…her?”
