“No.”
“You and Jake should suit each other nicely. You’re both strong characters. You can stand up to each other.”
Her father thought she was a strong character? That was news to her. She’d always thought he considered her a total wimp.
“We were always too much alike, you and I,” he continued. “And I had no clue what to do with a daughter. If I had, then maybe you would have talked to me about your mother years ago. I’m afraid I failed you, and I’m sorry for that.”
She sat for a minute almost speechless with shock. It was as if her life was being rewritten. They’d both made mistakes, but maybe now they could move on.
“I should have contacted you,” he continued. “But I didn’t believe you wanted to see me, and I knew Jake was keeping an eye on you. He kept me informed on how you were.”
“And I’m sorry I made such a stupid mistake with Michael.”
“I’m sure it was a learning experience.”
“Oh, yes.”
He sat back and smiled. “So will I get an invite to the wedding?”
“I’m hoping you’ll give me away.”
He beamed. “I gave you to Jake a long time ago. You know he loves you?”
“I know.”
“And you love him?”
“Yes. And I’m just about to go and tell him.”
“Can I give you a little fatherly advice?”
She nodded, albeit a little reluctantly.
“We men like the illusion that we’re taking care of our women. Maybe you could remember that in your dealings with Jake.”
“I’ll try.”
…
One more thing to do.
An hour later, she sat on the bathroom floor in Jake’s apartment and stared at the two pink lines.
Apparently, she was going to have a baby after all.
How the hell had that happened? She had a mental flashback to lying naked on Jake’s desk. Oh yes, that was how.
She hugged her knees and waited for the panic to engulf her. Instead, a rising sense of happiness bubbled up inside. She was going to have Jake’s baby.
And maybe, if the baby was a girl, she could name her after the mother she’d always doubted.
But right now, she needed to tell Jake she loved him—this time without the qualification. And she needed to tell him they were having a baby. And finally, that she was going to take his advice and jump. Hopefully, straight into his arms.
First, there were preparations to make. She bathed and shaved and spent ages drying her hair in her just-got-out-of-bed look. Her bags had been delivered while she was sleeping, and she put on new underwear, red lace that she’d bought for the weekend but never got around to wearing. Then added the leather miniskirt, because Jake had seemed to like that. And her cropped red top that showed off her belly button ring because Jake liked that as well.
Then she sat on the sofa, too nervous to eat, and waited.
And waited.
By eight, she was gnawing on her fingernails. He’d decided he didn’t love her after all and run away from home to avoid the embarrassment of facing her. Or he’d been in an accident and was lying in hospital and calling for her.
She tried his cell phone, and it was off.
At nine, she gave in and called Margie at home to ask if he had a late meeting.
“He went for a drink with Dave and a couple of the lads.”
What? “A couple of the lads?”
“Your friend Steve, and I think Pete.”
Kim put down the phone and eyed it as though it was a cockroach that needed crushing. Jake never went for a drink. Apart from the occasional glass of wine or cold beer, he never drank. So what was going on?
Here she was waiting to spill her heart, teetering on a high ledge, all ready to leap, and the man who was supposed to catch her had gone for a goddamn drink? It had better be a quick one.
It was actually 12:15 before the front door slammed. Kim gritted her teeth and sat up straight, determined to be mature about this. But when the living room door opened and Jake stumbled through, her mouth dropped open.
He weaved his way from the doorway to the sofa and collapsed beside her.
“Kimberly, you’re still here. I thought you’d have scurried back to your own apartment by now. Well, actually it’s my apartment as well.”
“You’re drunk.” It was inconceivable. Jake never got drunk. According to Jake, only dickheads and assholes got drunk.
Which one was he?
“I was drowning my sorrows,” he mumbled. “Trying to forget my broken heart.”
That made her feel marginally better. She opened her mouth to tell him she’d help him mend it, though this was hardly the declaration she’d been hoping for—she doubted he’d even remember in the morning. But he waved her words aside with a wildly gesticulating hand so she had to duck.
“And I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve been too nice to you.”
She peered at him through narrowed eyes. “You have?”
“Yes, and your old friend Steve agrees with me. ‘Treat ’em mean to keep ’em keen.’ That’s what Steve reckons.”
“Does he?”