Sympathy floods her face, and she covers my hand with hers. “I know you did, babe, but he obviously never got them, and he has a right to know about her. I know it’s scary, but you have to tell him.”
I wet my lips, damming back the tears so desperate to fall. “I will. I’ll do it.”
She squeezes my hand in reassurance. “Don’t overthink it.”
Staring at the number I put in my phone against my better judgment I pace back and forth down the upstairs hallway of my townhome.
I’m being pathetic. A total and complete wimp. My mom didn’t raise me to be like this.
Straightening my shoulders, I click on the contact and bring up a new message.
Me: Travis?
Almost immediately a response comes through.
Travis: Who is this?
Me: Do you frequently write your number on your coffee and then steal the other person’s coffee?
We’re only three texts into this conversation and I’m already starting to sweat. Bending over I take off my socks and ball them up, tossing them into my bedroom.
Travis: I didn’t think you’d use my number.
Me: I didn’t plan on it.
Exhaling a deep breath, I pinch the bridge of my nose.
What the hell are you doing Alba?
What has to be done.
Travis: Why are you using it then?
Me: Because I have to.
Travis: That’s not cryptic at all.
Me: There’s something I have to tell you in person. Can you come over tonight?
I send him my address, my eyes widening in panic with realization.
Me: This is NOT a booty call. I repeat, this is not a booty call. Do not get your hopes up. Your dick is going nowhere near my vagina.
Travis: You sure? This sounds like a booty call.
Me: I hate you. Can you come over or not? This is important.
Travis: Yeah, give me a few.
My anxiety mounts with the realization that this moment is finally here in front of me, unavoidable. Going forward Travis will know about Dahlia and he’ll be a permanent fixture in my life—her life.
My palms dampen with perspiration. I wipe them on my sweatpants, giving myself a mental pep talk.
I shoot texts to my mom and Astrid, letting them know I’m telling him. They both respond with finally. Well, Astrid’s says fucking finally.
Tiptoeing downstairs I light a candle, filling the home with the scent of freshly baked cookies. Hopefully he doesn’t think I’ve actually baked cookies. God knows I burn everything I attempt to make.
I sit down on the couch, but my butt has barely touched the cushions before I’m up and moving again because oh my God I have to tell Travis he’s a father.
Not only do I feel nervous, but I’m ashamed. Astrid was right, I should’ve told him as soon as I realized he’d come back to town for good. I think my anger overshadowed rationality, because I had to go through my entire pregnancy, delivery, and now the first few months of her life without him. Sure, we weren’t a couple, but he should’ve been there at least for her sake.
And, well, if I tell him and he decides to bounce again I know I can be all my daughter will ever need. I’ll make sure of it.
Just then a fussy cry rings out from the upstairs nursery. Pinching my eyes shut I curse my luck. Of course she’d wake up now for a bottle when she’s not due for another hour. I was hoping to be able to tell Travis first, not just shove a baby in his face, but I guess the fates have decided for me.
Climbing the stairs, I push open the door to the nursery. It’s painted a calming green and then I painstakingly painted a mural over top of frolicking forest animals and trees. The white noise machine in the corner irritates my ears, but it helps Dahlia sleep more soundly, so I tolerate the thing. Stars twinkle on the ceilings from the nightlight my stubborn baby girl won’t go to sleep without.
My bare feet sink into the large fluffy gray rug I put down on the floor to help hide the old, stained carpet beneath. One day I’ll be able to afford a beautiful home for her, but for now this does the job.
Leaning over the crib I find Dahlia squealing, her tiny arms and legs kicking violently, her small face contorted with rage and blooming a bright red.
“Come here, little one.” I scoop her into my arms, and she quiets somewhat. A horrible smell hits my nose and I gag. “Oh, Dahlia you smell nasty.”
Placing her on the changing table I wrangle her small squirming form out of her sleeper and get to work cleaning her up, all the while choking on the smell that has somehow turned into a bitter taste on my tongue. No one warned me that infants have poops so bad that you not only smell them, but you can taste them too. It’s a circle of hell I never thought I would visit.
Once she’s clean, I cradle her in my arms and carry her downstairs, warming a bottle. I’ve barely pressed the nipple to her mouth when there’s a knock on the door.
The heavy weight on my chest only grows harder to bear. “That’ll be your daddy.”
One foot.
Another.
I take each step until I stand in front of the door. My eyes take in the peeling paint, the crack at the bottom, stalling for more time. He knocks again.
Hand on the door.
Turn the knob.
Swing it open.
Blue-gray eyes wait for me. He starts to smile but then he sees the baby in my arms. His lips turn into a surprised O, shock bleeding into his eyes.
I utter one word, it’s all I’m capable of and pathetically inadequate.
“Hi.”
Chapter Seven
Travis
“Hi.”
My eyes flicker from Alba to the baby in her arms and back again.
“You’re holding a baby.”
She sighs, holding the door open wider so I can step through. “That’s typically what one does when they’ve had a baby and said baby is hungry.”
I step through the threshold and she shuts and locks the door behind me, good thinking since the neighborhood looks sketchy as hell.
“Y-You have a baby,” I stutter, feeling awkward and completely out of place. I slide my hands into the pockets of my sweats, rocking back on my heels. When Alba asked me to come over this was the last thing I was expecting. Even though she said it wasn’t a booty call I stupidly thought she was lying.
Now her behavior since I returned is starting to make sense. I guess she couldn’t find a way to tell me she’d had a baby. At least according to Astrid there’s no guy in the picture, but Alba … she’s a mom now and that makes things different. With a kid to take care of she doesn’t have time for my juvenile bullshit.
“You’re taking this surprisingly well.” She lets out a breath of relief. “I thought you were going to be mad I didn’t tell you.”
I raise a brow. “Why would I be mad about that? I mean, you don’t owe me an explanation on having a child. That’s your business and you have the right to share it with who you want.”