“Let’s get something to drink first,” she says as she heads toward the bar. I watch as she moves around with ease, making herself a drink. “Do you want something?”
“Sure, why not?” The why not should be because it’s before noon, and I shouldn’t be drinking. The sure is because I’m here and what else am I going to do? It’s pretty much all a lame excuse on my part.
After a few minutes she returns with two glasses of some orange and pink looking drink. I’m either a hard liquor or beer type of guy. Fruity shit and I do not get along. When she places it down in front of me, I try not to roll my eyes. I hesitantly pick it up and take a sip and surprisingly don’t gag, but am wondering what the hell it is that I’m drinking.
“I think you forgot the Vodka.”
She shakes her head and takes a long drink of her concoction. “I don’t drink, smoke or do any of the stupid shit I used to do.”
It takes me a moment realize she’s talking about drugs. The first night we met, she offered me something, and I took it, no questions asked. I had just been told via voicemail that I had ruined Josie’s life and I needed to feel numb. I needed to forget about the lives that I had ruined when I left mine behind and Layla was the answer to that – in more ways than one.
“Good for you. What made you change?”
“Took some ecstasy, had a one night stand and ended up pregnant.”
I swallow hard, knowing that’s what we did minus the pregnancy part… I hope.
“So you have a kid?”
“Yep, she’s almost twelve.”
Layla finishes her drink as if nothing is amiss. I’ve barely touched mine and have suddenly found that I’m not very thirsty, though my mouth is parched and my tongue feels numb. I can’t even begin to describe what I’m thinking or feeling. I do the math quickly, using Noah’s age when I found out about him. They’re about a year apart and as I mentally tick off the months in my mind all I can see is Josie’s face as she hears the words that I may have another child. This will kill her and end us. We have been unable to conceive another child and to hear that a fling – one that I went to days after breaking up with her – could have possibly had my baby because I was stupid will kill her. She’ll leave me and I’ll deserve to be alone.
Maybe if I don’t ask if I’m the father, she’ll never bring it up and I’ll never have to tell Josie. Of course, that will never work because the guilt will eat away at me and I’ll end up caving. My life, as I know it, may be over. She will maim me, stringing me up by my toes in the basement.
No that would be too easy. I can see my wife looking me in the eyes and telling me to get to the fuck out. She won’t even bat an eyelash. It won’t even matter that this happened while we were broken up.
“Liam?” Fingers are snapped in my face, breaking me from my train of thought.
“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” I adjust myself in the chair, seeking some sort of comfort, but finding none.
“My husband… he didn’t want to be the father to another man’s child and the night he punched you in the club, he said he was done with my ‘ways’.” She waves her hands dismissively in the air as if it’s no big deal. My life is falling apart, tearing away at the seams and she’s acting like this is just another day for her.
“Do you have a picture of your daughter?”
“Yeah, sure,” she says, as she digs through her purse, pulling out her phone. My palms are sweating as she swipes through her photos looking for the one that is going to seal my fate. Fuck, I need a shot... or fifty... to get me through this.
Layla slides her phone over for me to look. I wish I was the observant type and could tell if this child is mine or not, but I can’t. She has brown hair, hazel eyes and could look like Noah… maybe. I’m not sure. Hell, I stood next to my son in the bathroom and saw him in the mirror, but never fully looked at him until he told me he’d seen me kissing his mom on TV. Staring at the girl now, she looks like Layla, and that’s probably because she’s standing next to her. She takes her phone back and locks the screen, ending my viewing session. Part of me doesn’t want to know if this is my child and would rather go back to Beaumont in the dark, but the other part of me needs to find out. As much as it would hurt Noah, he’d have a right to know that he has a sister.
“What’s her name?” My voice is low, broken and barely above a whisper. My life is fucked. There’s no fixing this unless I lie, and I’m not about to do that. Layla doesn’t answer, nor seem to even acknowledge that I asked a question. I want her phone back. I want to look again, to study the photo or maybe multiple ones so I can compare. Put her daughter and Noah side-by-side and see if they match.
At this rate I’m Dad of the fucking year. I’ve missed both my children growing up, coming in after most of the hard stuff is done, but being there for the ever so lovely teenage years.