“But?” There’s totally a but, it’s stinking up the air.
“But, you left,” she finishes, moving the magazine to the side to busy her hands. “You had good reasons, sure, and I understand them, but she’s my mom. She’s allowed to be mad at you for hurting her daughter. I know I’d feel the same if it was Dahlia.” She traces her finger idly on the black quartz countertop dotted with specks of silver. “She’ll get over it one day if…” She trails off, dark brows narrowing together.
“If?” I prompt, not letting her off the hook.
She sighs, straightening her shoulders. “If you don’t leave again.”
“I’m not leaving you again.”
“Me or her?” she voices so quietly I don’t think she intends to be heard. There’s a tiny flinch after she says it and I know then she really didn’t mean to say it.
“Both.”
Her eyes spark to mine, but quickly look away flitting across the room and not settling on one thing in particular.
I know she’s doubtful and doesn’t want to trust me. Can’t say I blame her, but when I left I had no way of knowing she was pregnant. It was a complete fluke that I broke my phone. Still, I don’t regret being there for my brother. I’d do it all again. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try my damn hardest to make it up to her. Alba deserves that.
That back door bangs open and Alba hops up before I have a chance to blink, hurrying to help her mom.
I quickly follow, taking Dahlia in her carrier while Alba gets the diaper bag from her mom’s shoulder.
Her mom follows the two of us to the front of the studio. She watches us both closely, like she’s taking notes and detailing every nuance. She leans casually against the wall as I set Dahlia’s carrier down. She coos, already reaching for me as I bend down to snap her out of the carrier.
“How’s my beautiful girl?” I grin at her, lifting her into my arms. I never knew babies had a specific smell, but I do now. I think it’s my favorite scent in the world besides the hint of rose and vanilla that always lingers around Alba. Coming up from kissing each of Dahlia’s cheeks I find both women watching me closely. “What?” I ask hesitantly, hoping I haven’t done something horribly wrong. “I’m holding her head the right way, aren’t I?” I panic, ready to adjust my hold.
“No, you’re fine,” her mom assures.
“Then what is it?”
Alba clears her throat and starts rearranging things on the counter she had already straightened before I even walked into the shop.
Her mom bends to pick up the carrier—it’s hers so that she doesn’t always have to swap with Alba—and gives me a curious look. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Oh.” I eye the tattoos covering every inch of my arms. I can’t see the ones on my neck but I’m sure those are cause for concern too.
Her mom laughs, shaking her head. “Not your tattoos. I’m well-used to those and don’t judge anyone based on them.” She cocks her head toward her daughter. “I just … I guess I expected you to just be here out of some weird sense of obligation. Not because you want to be.”
Dahlia touches my cheek with her chubby hand. When I reach out to take it she wraps her fist around and holds on with more strength than something so small should possess.
Clearing my throat, I look her mother in the eyes. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.” Then my gaze swings to Alba, silently trying to express to her that that night was more than just a whim or trying to get off. In the moment I might’ve tried to make myself believe that, but it was a lie.
“Hmm,” her mom hums, giving Alba a little smirk. “Interesting. You two have fun,” she tosses the last part over her shoulder as she leaves out the back.
It’s silent for a solid thirty seconds between us before Alba claps her hands together. “So, food, yeah?”
The Thai restaurant is packed. It’s a favorite among locals. Hell, I’ve heard of people driving all the way from D.C. just for this food. It’s that good. Dahlia sits in the carrier Alba had me grab from her car so we could eat without one of us holding her. A few people eyed us warily when we came in with the infant. Terrified I guess that she might start screaming and disturb their meal. But Dahlia is a princess and would never scream like a banshee, I’m sure of it.
Alba rocks the baby carrier absentmindedly, nibbling on her bottom lip. Her dark brows are drawn, and you wouldn’t have to know her well to sense her obvious tension and worry.
I’ve never been much good at the whole talking aspect when it comes to women, but with Alba I find myself wanting to delve further into her mind and learn everything I can.
“What’s bothering you?” I prompt, wiping condensation off my glass.
“Nothing,” she responds in a voice that tells me something is definitely bothering her.
I’m a guy, but I’m not an idiot.
“Alba, come on. Talk to me. Whether you like it or not we’re in each other’s lives. Communication is kind of part of that deal.”
She pushes noodles around her plate, clearly thinking about what she wants to say.
“What’s your end game here, Travis?”
My brow furrows and I lace my fingers together, resting them on the table.
“My end game?” I repeat. “What do you mean?”
She exhales a breath, her eyes drifting over to the snoozing infant. Dahlia sucks on her binky, her lashes fluttering against her pink cheeks, lost in a blissful dream world.
Slowly, Alba brings her dark eyes to mine. “We’re not a couple. We’re not … anything. Not to each other anyway. So why are you here? You must have some idea of what you’re doing but I’m clueless.” She wiggles her fingers between the two of us. “Forgive me for wanting some clarity on the situation.”
Rubbing a hand over my jaw I try to think of the best way to respond. “We’re parents,” I finally say. “This was all a bit unexpected for me.” Understatement of the century. “But I’m trying, Alba. To be here for you. For her.”
“But why?” she practically cries. Confusion is written plainly on her face. I wish I could erase it, but frankly I don’t know how, not when I’m as lost as she is.
Wetting my lips, I admit, “I don’t know.”
She winces, that answer apparently not being what she wants to hear.
“I want to go.”
“Go?”
“Yeah.” She pulls her dark hair into a ponytail. “I’m not very hungry anymore.”
“Oh.” Something heavy sinks into the pit of my stomach. “Okay. I’ll get the bill.”
Standing up, I go in search of our waiter so I can pay, but when I get back both her and Dahlia are gone.
Chapter Eleven
Alba
I hate myself.
I hate myself for being confused over Travis.
For not wanting anything from him but then wanting everything.
I hate myself for wishing he’d go away, but I hate myself more for wishing he was here.