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“Mom, are you okay?” he asked, looking me over.
“Of course, my darling. I’m fine. You still got an hour before you have to get ready for school. Go back to bed, will you?”
He flashed a little smile. “Okay.”
“Honey, be careful. Mind the broken glass,” I instructed, gesturing at the fragments of glass on the floor. I grabbed a broom and dustpan and hurried back to the room to clean up the broken glass pieces while ensuring I got every piece taken out. My mood, which wasn’t so great to begin with, had turned sour. So, I decided to sort through the huge stack of mail. It was bills and more bills. A particular branded red envelope caught my eye. It was a two-week eviction notice from the landlord’s estate agency. I was waist-deep in debt and sinking fast, and I knew I had to find something soon. I got an idea and dialed Olivia’s number. She picked up just when the dial tone nearly ended.
“You better have a good reason for disrupting my beauty sleep,” she said groggily.
“We need to talk, babe.”
“About what?”
I looked towards the direction of the room and dropped my voice an octave. “Jason’s father.”
All traces of sleep disappeared from her voice when she said, “I have the day off. Let’s meet at the spot by nine, yeah? I could use a day out of this space, and I need all the juice.”
“Alright, luv. See you soon.”
The smellof freshly baked pastries wafted into my nose immediately after I walked into A Fresh Tart. Olivia and I discovered the spot in our second year of high school, and even though it was passed around within the founding family, the taste never changed, and every owner always ended up warming up to us, so you could say it was our place.
“Hello, bestie. I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. I had to go in for a quick meeting with Jason’s teacher,” I explained, mustering a cute puppy eye.
“Everything okay?” Her face paled in concern.
“Yeah. Uhmm…” I sighed and threw my head back in defeat. “She said he doesn’t talk much in class and wouldn’t interact with the other kids.”
Her eyebrows creased in a small frown. “What’s going on?”
“That’s the thing. When I asked Jason, he said it was the other way around and that the other kids always made fun of him, saying he doesn’t have a dad.” The subtle frown on her face deepened into an intense glare. She was always quite… passionate whenever it had to do with her godson.
“But he does have a father—”
“Yeah, and I saw him, Liv. I was not kidding, okay?”
“How? We couldn’t find him all those years. It was almost as if he didn’t exist.”
I blew out a breath. “I know. But I saw him. He works at the hospital Mrs. Crawford used to visit. Apparently, he is a doctor.”
A waitress brought a wooden tray containing two steaming mugs of coffee and our favorite cinnamon rolls. She gave a kind smile as she set the mugs before us.
“Thanks, Sue.”
“You’re welcome. You look good today.”
“What? Thank you,” I said, fanning myself in an exaggerated gesture. Susan started working at Fresh Tart a few months ago, and like all the others before her, we had managed to befriend her. She flashed one last smile our way and returned to her place behind the counter.
“So, what are you gon’ do? You’ve got to tell him.”
“No chance in hell.”
“Why not?”
“He wouldn’t believe me,” I mumbled.
“That’s bonkers. He will. When you do a DNA test.”
“I’m not sure.” I frowned into my coffee.
