With the window still cracked, a soft breeze blows in the room, making Magnolia shiver. The thin chenille throw barely covers her, let alone the two of us, so I bend down to pick up my shorts.
Her wide eyes meet mine and I know she’s wondering if I’m leaving. “Just closing the window.” She stays where she is, neither of us saying a word as the window shuts with a creak.
I imagine I’m not welcome to stay, so I won’t ask for that. All I can imagine is a sweet little three-year-old, waking up to see a strange man she’s never met before.
All that emotion stirs in my chest again. Our moment of distraction over.
She lifts her head as I sit back down so she can rest it in my lap. Still quiet.
“Did Robert take a paternity test?” I dare to ask. I pet her hair, hoping the touching and staying calm will let her know I’m not mad and I’m not going anywhere. Her tongue darts out to wet her still swollen lips and she answers, “No. He didn’t.”
It’s quiet for a long moment. All I do is nod in response until I gather the courage to ask her, “Can I meet her?”
Keeping the throw wrapped tight around her to cover herself, Magnolia sits up and leaves me, making a beeline for a photograph hung on the wall. She doesn’t hesitate to take it down.
Without a word she stands in front of me, offering the black wood frame.
“So many curls,” I say and rack my brain as I take in every feature. I don’t think any of my family has curls like that.
“From my family,” Magnolia says and tucks her hair behind her ear. “If my hair was shorter, I’d still have curls.” Although the air is tenser, she takes a seat beside me. “She looks a lot like I did when I was younger.
I note her eyes the most. The shape is all Magnolia, but they’re pale blue. So pale. Robert’s are like that and I’m surprised how much that hurts to realize. I don’t know if she is mine or his. Not by looking at a photo.
Handing the frame back I say, “She’s beautiful, like you.”
With a simper she takes the photo back and stands, the cotton nightgown falling just beneath her ass as she strides across the living room to place the frame where it belongs. Everything just so, in a modest home, obviously laid out for a family.
It’s in this moment I realize I’m in the home of a woman who has struggled on her own, yet she still smiles. She’s been alone in a world that can be brutal, especially in a town like this, and worst of all, with every action she takes there’s a small voice reminding her that it all comes down on her daughter. Just like her father’s actions came down on her.
And who am I to stand next to a woman like her? High risk, high reward, never sit still, never look back—has been my motto for years. The only time I ever looked back was to think about her and that one night, because I wanted more of her but she wasn’t there where I thought she’d be.
It’s not just the two of us. The gentle creak of a toy box is opened and Magnolia busies herself putting away a few stray items. This late at night, she’s still going and all I can think is that I wasn’t prepared for this, but then again, neither was she.
Magnolia
I can still feel him. He left me sore; it’s the good kind, though. The morning light filters in through the kitchen and without much up and about at this hour, the sound of his car engine revving to life is nearly as loud as the coffee machine.
The smell of the fresh brew surrounds me and I inhale deeply, grateful that we woke up before Bridget and that Brody was just fine sneaking out this early in the morning.
I suppose this is a different kind of walk of shame than the one I took four years ago.
My head is killing me and even the first sip of coffee doesn’t help. Crying that hard will do it, I suppose. Although if anyone asks, I’ll tell them it’s allergies. After all, the seasons are changing.
My phone pings from where it’s plugged in on the kitchen counter and after rinsing the spoon I used to stir in the creamer, I read my friend Autumn’s text about a playdate this weekend.
Playdate at the library? It’s 9 am on Saturday.
There’s a reading group where the kids play in their section and then Mrs. Harding reads classics to them while they sit cross-legged.
Yes, perfect. I’ll see you there.
Bridget loves Henry and Chase. The three of them are as thick as thieves although they’re two years older than her.
I stare at my phone, wondering who I can talk to about the one thing that’s been on my mind since I laid eyes on Brody. A paternity test. I don’t know a soul who’s ever needed one in this town … I don’t feel comfortable asking my doctor either. She’s Robert’s neighbor and I remember the look she gave me when I stared back at her in disbelief that I was pregnant.
There’s no way in hell I’d ask that woman for a paternity test. Patient confidentiality my ass; you can read what that woman is thinking with every expression she makes. The hmms of confirmation and raised eyebrows add to silent conversations I know she has.
I’m certain I can buy one online. You can get anything and everything online nowadays. Away from prying eyes.
Glancing down, I realize my texts are opened up to the ones between Robert and me. The last few are innocent messages. Telling me he knows the gala will be amazing. That he’s ordered specific champagne for the politicians he’s invited to the event so he can rub elbows with them.
With a numbing prick in my hand, I can’t text him that I’m going to get a test. The chill runs from the tip of my fingers all the way to my heart.
When I told him about the pregnancy years ago, he was happy. He was genuinely happy. Until I told him about Brody.
It’s complicated is … such an underused statement.
Picking at my nails I decide I’ll order the test, Brody will want to take it and that’s all I need really. With the realization that I’ll know definitively who the father is, I try to swallow but my throat is tight. Opening up the cabinet drawer, I take out the Advil, listening to the bottle rattle and take out three. I down them with my coffee before ordering the test on my phone once and for all.
I didn’t ask Brody to stay last night, but I also didn’t ask him to leave. And he stayed.
That is my plan in all of this, even if it feels like it’s tearing me up on the inside. I won’t ever ask a man to stay, but I can’t imagine ever asking either of the two of them to leave.
“Mommy, are you okay?” Bridget’s voice surprises me from behind and I’m quick to turn around and smile. Her little baby voice is full of worry until I boop her on her nose and tell her good morning.
“Mommy’s allergies are acting up this morning,” I say, lying to her and scrunch my nose.
She makes a sniffling sound while pulling at the hem of her Paw Patrol pink nightgown and climbing onto her seat for breakfast.
With my back to her, I pull myself together and get out a bowl and Cheerios before she even has a chance to tell me she wants cereal for breakfast. I already know she does. My girl loves her milk.
Me with my coffee and her with her cereal, we sit at the table like we do every morning, but today is so much different.
“Mommy loves you more than anyone, you know that, right?” I ask her and she doesn’t bother looking up as she slurps her milk and nods at the same time. I tell her, “More than anyone in the whole wide world, I love you the most.”