Her Secret Baby Read online

  No, I can’t. Denise may be my best friend, but what I feel for Ryan is very real, and somehow, it would spoil it to share everything with my friend. I’ll just keep to generalities, and leave it at that. Hopefully, Denise will chatter on about whatever guy she’s been seeing lately.

  Later that night, I pull into the parking lot at Jacinto’s. A loud honk startles me so badly that I almost fall over when getting out.

  “Regina!” I turn at the sound of Denise’s voice once I recover. She hops out of her car and runs toward me. She throws her arms around me and squeals, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp, even though she’s barely half my size.

  I return her embrace with equal affection. “Denise! Oh my God, it’s so good to see you.”

  “I know, it’s been like a year!” Denise says.

  “It’s been a little over a month,” I laugh.

  “Well, you look good, girlfriend! Lots of sex certainly suits you.”

  “Oh my God, are you going to be like this all night?”

  Regina grins evilly. “Yep! I want to hear all about your bazillionaire boyfriend, and don’t you dare leave out any deets.”

  “Well, we’d better go inside and get this over with, then,” I say with mock exasperation.

  A few minutes later we sit at our table enjoying appetizers and wine.

  “So,” Denise says, “Tell me about it. I want all the details.” Her eyebrows waggle playfully as her wicked grin widens.

  I roll my eyes and sigh heavily but then giggle. I can’t pretend any longer.

  “To be honest, it’s amazing. The kids are wonderful and Ryan is so sweet. He’s kind and generous and, and…”

  “Hung?”

  I glare at her but again my attempt to be difficult ends with a giggle. I nod and lower my voice before looking around.

  “Like a horse.”

  “I knew it!” Denise crows happily. “Ryan Blythe just as hot in person as he is in the commercials, isn’t he?”

  I look around, shushing her.

  “Even hotter,” I admit in a whisper. “But it’s not just that; it’s everything. He’s so kind and sweet to me. I feel like I’m his girlfriend, and not just his kids’ nanny.”

  “Like you’re his girlfriend?” Denise shakes her head at me like I’m a little child. “Where I come from, you call a girl a girlfriend when you’re having regular sex with her. In this case, you live with him and take care of his kids. Hell, you’re closer to a wife than a girlfriend.”

  The thought makes my cheeks flush.

  “Oh my god,” I stammer, even though the idea warms me from the inside. Wife. Girlfriend. It all sounds so right. Then, I shake my head playfully. “No, no. I’m just there to take care of his kids.” Denise stares at me meaningfully until I add, “And occasionally his erections.”

  Denise giggles too, covering her mouth with her hand like we’re sharing a huge secret.

  “Wow, I like this Regina! If I’d known all it took was an available dick to get you to loosen up, I would’ve set you up a long time ago. Not that any of the men I know could hope to compare to your bazillionaire Hercules or anything.”

  “Denise, stop calling him bazillionaire or Hercules. It’s not like that. But yes, I didn’t realize I could have so many orgasms in a row.”

  “Goddamn!” Denise almost screams with excitement. “Look at you! The billionaire’s girlfriend gets a little hanky-panky and now she’s got a stanky mouth. What would your parents say?”

  “Billionaire’s wife,” I correct. “As you’re so fond of reminding me, I live with him now.”

  “Of course, my apologies Lady Blythe!” she says. “Like I said, from babysitter to baby mama before the month is out!”

  But then, that makes me pause.

  “Ryan already has five kids,” I say. “He said he doesn’t want any more.”

  Denise waves her hand.

  “Yeah, whatever. Anyone with five kids would say that, but this guy can’t get enough of you, Regina. Besides, you want kids, don’t you? I’m sure you can convince him to come around.”

  I nod, suddenly stricken. What if we begin dating for real, and Ryan sticks to his no-kids position? What will I do? My heart begins racing, but I force myself to calm down. We’re a long way from that point, and it’s no use getting worked up about it now.

  The rest of dinner is more of the same. By the time we leave, I’ve laughed until my sides hurt, and stuffed myself full of tamales and margaritas. But as I drive home, the same thought lingers in the back of my mind. I’ve always wanted babies, but what if Ryan doesn’t want any more? Will we have a future then?

  My heart heavy, I press my foot to the gas pedal and stare into the darkened night. Only time will tell, and right now, we’re not there yet.

  Or so I tell myself.

  11

  Regina

  The next morning, I startle awake, and suddenly, I know why I’ve been so tense since dinner last night.

  My period is late. In fact, I don’t think I got my period last month either, after Ryan and I began sleeping together. Oh shit, oh shit! Why didn’t I notice? Usually, I’m like clockwork, but I guess between the fire and the excitement of being with the billionaire, it slipped my mind.

  I fly from my bed and pull on my clothes. It isn’t until I’m halfway out the door that I realize it’s still dark out and glance at my phone. It’s only four a.m. A quick search on my phone tells me that the nearest drugstore opens at seven, which is three hours from now.

  How am I supposed to survive until then?

  My phone chimes, and I glance down, my heart leaping. It’s a text from Ryan. Receiving a text from him at this odd hour isn’t that unusual because he’s been having trouble sleeping lately. It seems we’re so used to being in bed together, that the nights are long and lonely for both of us.

  Hi sweetheart, he writes. I miss you. I’ve been thinking about you, and I can’t wait to see you again.

  I can’t deal with this right now, but I know I have to answer, so I just send a heart emoji back. He sends one back as well, and my throat closes. Are we in love? But what if I’m pregnant?

  I hurry to the shower and turn the cold water on full blast. I have to clear my mind. I have to get answers. For five minutes, I feel better, but when I’m out of the shower and drying off, I’m in full panic mode again. I try breathing exercises. I even try meditation, but my mind just goes in circles.

  Ryan doesn’t want a baby.

  But what if I’m pregnant?

  Ryan doesn’t want a baby!

  But what if I’m pregnant?

  Ryan doesn’t—

  “Damn it!” I curse softly. Suddenly, I realize there are tears in my eyes, and I look down at my hands. They’re twisting around each other, the knuckles almost white. Ryan doesn’t want a baby, but I could be pregnant right now. The thought just keeps repeating like an annoying song that won’t leave my head.

  Miserably, an event from eighth grade pops into my head. We were doing a module called “Our Bodies, Ourselves” during that time, and they’d hired a special teacher to do lectures on adolescence and sexuality. My gym coach, already annoyed that her class time had been replaced, was irritated by the stupidity of the presentations. After the special instructor left, he got up and said, “Well that sucked. Girls, the bottom line is if you’re old enough to let a boy stick his dick inside of you, then you’re old enough to be responsible.”

  An image of his craggy, judgmental face hovers before me.

  “Fuck you, Coach Hoag,” I say softly. I’m old enough to take responsibility, but sometimes it’s not so clear. A baby isn’t just about being responsible. A baby is a child who needs love and laughter. What happens if the daddy doesn’t want to be part of the picture?

  I start typing a text to Denise but then, I delete it. I pick up my phone and call her instead. By now, it’s about six thirty, so it’s not too bad.

  “Urrrrumph,” she yawns when she answers. “Girlfriend, this better be
good. I was having wet dreams about Spencer the Dispenser when…”

  I cut her off.

  “Oh my God,” I say, and then anything I might say is utterly irrelevant because I’m weeping. It’s ugly, soul-heaving sobs, and it has none of the cleansing power a good cry usually brings. If she asks why I cry, I don’t hear it. All I hear is the sound of my hopes and dreams crashing, tumbling to the ground, and falling apart. I can’t form words. I can’t think. I can’t do a damned thing.

  “Girlfriend,” comes Denise’s panicky voice. “Regina! Answer me! What’s wrong?”

  “I’m… I’m late,” I finally manage between sobs. “I haven’t gotten my period in two months, and I only just realized it.”

  She pauses for a moment.

  “Okay, but you don’t know for sure yet, right?”

  I sob again.

  “He doesn’t want any more kids. He’s dead set against more.”

  She doesn’t say anything for a moment and then she speaks.

  “Right now, you just need to get a test, Regina. Your brain is going in circles with the what-ifs and it’s driving you crazy. Maybe you really are just late, but until you find out for sure, there’s no sense in climbing up the walls and making yourself miserable.”

  I sniffle a bit on my end of the line.

  “Honey, listen to me,” she says persuasively. “Let’s not get carried away until we know for sure, okay? When can you get a pregnancy test?”

  Still sniffling, I answer, “Um, I think the drugstore opens at seven.”

  “Okay,” Denise replies soothingly. “That’s only fifteen minutes from now. When the store opens, get yourself a test and call me after you’ve taken it. If you leave now, you’ll get there as soon as the store opens. I promise you, everything will be fine. Sound good?”

  I nod and sniffle some more into the phone.

  “That’s a good girl,” Denise soothes me. “Now get in your car. My computer says that the Walgreens over at Fifth and Ashwood is opening in five minutes. Head over there, okay?”

  I sob again and say in a small voice, “Thank you.”

  Denise’s voice is kind.

  “Anytime, girlfriend.”

  Slowly, I hang up and take a big, shuddering breath. Then, I grab my keys and head out. The morning is still gray, and dew clings to the grass. The neighborhood is silent, and nothing moves as I drive to the Walgreens. After I park the car, I merely sit there for a bit. My heart races and my cheeks feel flushed. It’s now or never.

  When I enter the store, I’m the first customer. A portly man in a blue vest greets me.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  My voice comes out faint. “Where are your pregnancy tests, please?”

  My cheeks color immediately, and I feel like I’m back in junior school. But thankfully, the man is kind and doesn’t blink an eye.

  “Right up against the back wall,” he says. “I’ll get the registers ready for you.”

  I mumble my thanks and hurry to the back of the store. But when I come upon the display, my heart sinks.

  There are far too many choices. There are big boxes, small boxes, different brands, different types of tests, and so many options that I feel overwhelmed. You can do this, Regina, the voice in my head speaks. You have to do this.

  I grab a store brand and hurry to the self-checkout counter before rushing out with my purchase in a plastic bag. Then I sit in my car, weeping again like a four-year-old who’s scraped her knee. It must be pregnancy hormones, although that thought merely makes me cry even harder.

  Fifteen minutes later, and I’m home. The sun is peeping out now, and sparkling lights dance off the grass. It feels like this could be any other day, but I know the truth. One of the most important moments of my life is just around the corner, and my heart races. Suddenly, my cell chirps again. It’s Ryan, and for the first time, my heart plummets when I see his message.

  Love you, pretty girl.

  I can’t believe it. Right when I feel like my world is about to crash down, he texts me to tell me that he loves me? What does that even mean? Does it mean “I love you” like lovers say to one another? Or is it a casual “Hi, hello” salutation? Even Denise and I tell each other that we love one another, but clearly, we’re not talking about deep, romantic love. Denise and I share a different kind of love. So what kind of love is Ryan talking about?

  The tears start again, but I make myself get out of the car. I creep into the house and use the guest bathroom on the first floor, as my parents are still asleep on the second floor. Quietly, I unwrap the package, my feelings almost numb now. What will be, will be.

  Minutes later, the indicator is lying on the bathroom counter as I flush quietly. My heart pounds, but I force myself to stay still. It only takes two minutes, and then I’ll know. My breathing is shallow even as a sweat breaks out on my forehead. I feel clammy and hot. Maybe it’s the confined space doing it to me. Or maybe it’s the hormones.

  I desperately want to look at the test, but at the same time, I desperately want to avoid looking at it. While I sit there trying to work up the courage, I realize I’ll be disappointed no matter the result.

  If I’m not pregnant, I’ll feel the loss of the baby that never was. I’ve always wanted children, and now the seed has been planted: could I really be with a man who doesn’t want more kids?

  If I am pregnant, I’ll feel a loss because I’ll be losing Ryan. The billionaire who’s charmed his way into my heart will drop me like a hat once I announce I’m expecting his child. In the pit of my stomach, dread builds. He’s made clear his views on this subject, and I can’t pretend to misunderstand.

  In short, it’s a lose-lose situation. But I have to make myself look. With trembling fingers, I reach over and see the results: I’m pregnant. Immediately, the indicator clatters to the floor and I shoot over to the toilet, ready to heave again. Vomit comes pouring out of my mouth, and I retch horrifically, with sweat forming in my armpits.

  Finally, I finish and wash my hands in the sink. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror with my pale skin, my hair stuck to my temples, and my forehead shiny with sweat. I’m going to be a mother.

  Suddenly, I know I want this baby. Tears come to my eyes, and I’m weeping again. The sobs are soft this time, and I sit on the edge of the tub, my shoulders slumped. I’m going to be a single mother, and yet the baby still fills me with joy. This child is a reminder of the love Ryan and I shared, and I’m going to treasure him or her, no matter what.

  I’m still weeping when I call Denise again, and still weeping when she arrives at my house. I weep as she wraps her arms around me, and holds me like a baby. I weep for what seems like hours while Denise says nothing and strokes my hair. I weep for the love that could have been, and the love for my baby that has already begun.

  12

  Ryan

  A week.

  A goddamn week!

  I haven’t heard from Regina in a week.

  She doesn’t answer when I call. She doesn’t reply to my texts.

  What the fuck is going on? Has something happened to her?

  How in the hell do I not have all of her contact information, anyways? I only have her cell, and not even her home phone, email address, or home address. Ursula doesn’t have it either. Her employment paperwork was supposed to be done the day after she arrived, but Ursula was out and then there was the fire. Hell, I don’t think Regina has even been paid yet. That’s not fair to her and it creates liabilities for me as well. I hate accounting discrepancies. Sloppy recordkeeping leads to sloppy operations and sloppy operations change the culture of an organization until—

  “Stop it, Ryan!” I say the words aloud, and I’m surprised at how harsh the tone is.

  “You better just go and see her, son,” my father says. He doesn’t look up from his fishing pole. The kids are fishing fifty or sixty yards away with my mom, my sister, and my nieces, and they have nary a care in the world. Their black heads gleam under the sun, and their
merry laughter carries to where I sit with my dad.

  For a man in his seventies, Ronald is unusually spritely and agile. He’s fishing too, and I treasure these moments with him. It’s quiet by the river, and a good time for us to catch up. I remember it was by the river when he told me that my supposed friend, Red Simpson, was the one who had stolen my bike. It was also by the river when he mentioned that Sandy was going to leave me. It was only a few weeks after the twins were born, and I’d dismissed his concerns as the worries of an old man.

  I never dismiss his concerns now.

  He lands a striped bass about seventeen inches long and in seconds, the bass is cleaned, filleted and packed away in the cooler: filets in one baggie and the rest in another. Ron never wastes anything. The bones and head will become stock and the guts will fertilize his olive orchard. Still not looking at me, he baits his hook and casts again.

  “Take my car back to the house,” he says. “Just leave the keys on the table. There’s plenty of room for everyone in your sister’s car. Go find Regina. You miss her, and she needs you.”

  I haven’t shared anything about Regina with my father, but naturally, the kids won’t stop talking about her. They chatter on about Regina this, Regina that, and my mom and sister are very amused. They’ve asked me a few questions about my very popular nanny, but I’ve sidestepped them. I answer vaguely, and never get into the details.

  But Dad has some sort of almost magical ability to know what I’m thinking even when I don’t say it out loud.

  “Does Mom know, too?” I ask.

  Ron doesn’t look up from his line. His fingers are nimble as he cranks the rod.