That One Day (That One #1.5) (12 page)

We carry all the stuff inside for her. After she exchanges a few sentences with her parents, she excuses herself to her bedroom, wanting to put her son to bed.
Her son
, that just sounds so fucked-up. I must look like I’m not right in the head. I keep staring at her, not paying attention, still trying to wrap my head around all of this. Until Dave interrupts, that is. He laughs, throwing a bag toward me and I barely catch it before it hits me in the face.

“Move your ass, you lazy bastard.”

Without replying, I simply follow him up the stairs, trying to sort through my thoughts while I do so. I expected a lot, but not this. She sets the baby in his crib in the corner of her room and after we put her bags down, she quickly says goodnight to Dave. All the while, she ignores me. Not even a single glimpse my way—nothing at all.

When Dave leaves the room, she turns her back to me as if I’m not even here. Her body is still tense, her movements stiff. She unzips one of her bags and starts taking things out, placing them on the bed. I wonder if I should say something, talk to her. I’m tempted to just grab her by the shoulders, press her against the wall, and ask all the questions burning through my mind.

I don’t understand why she’s so angry, so pissed off at me. Why she appears so hurt. It’s not like she took a long time to get over our night, considering the baby sitting in the crib, watching me intently. A thought crosses my mind—something that would explain her hostility and nearly makes me hurl.

I shake my head, trying to shake off the thought. I’m going crazy even thinking this could be my kid. Am I that desperate to get her back? Jesus. I push the thought away and leave her room, pausing at the door, wondering if I should just ask her. But she’s making it clear my presence isn’t welcome.

For the rest of the night, I hang out with Dave, playing video games, trying to get lost in killing aliens. Yet that one thought keeps coming back, causing me to lose more games than I care to count.

***

It’s three a.m. and I haven’t slept a wink. Once Dave and I finished our umpteenth game at midnight, I went to my room. Dave’s parents have three guestrooms in their house, so I don’t need to crash in Dave’s room or on the couch. This gives me the opportunity to lie in bed, look at the ceiling, and replay the past few hours. Frankie has a kid. Frankie is a mother. This doesn’t compute. At all. The craziest thing is I still want to win her back. Even though some fucker got her pregnant, I want her for myself.

After a couple hours of sleep and some more tossing and turning, I finally give up and take a shower before making my way downstairs to the kitchen. To my surprise, Dave is already up and dressed. His dad is sitting at the counter reading the newspaper.

“Yo, man, do we want to go out for breakfast? My mom went shopping and I want something decent, a man’s breakfast, not just cereal,” he says with his mouth full of said cereal.

His dad just shakes his head, smiling.

Figuring I not only get to hang out with Dave but maybe have a chance to question him about Frankie and her kid without his parents snooping around, I agree.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

I grab my jacket from the hanger and slip on my shoes, following Dave out to his car. Once we’re at our favorite place in town, Bec’s Diner, and have ordered our food, I bring up what’s been bugging me since last night.

“So you didn’t tell me Frankie has a kid,” I say, glaring at him across the table.

“Yeah, must’ve slipped my mind.” He gives me a stupid grin and then turns his attention to Bec, who’s bringing our breakfast. I give her a tight-lipped smile, but otherwise ignore their conversation.

As soon as she leaves our table, I lay into him. “Seriously, man?” I’m not even trying to hide my annoyance. It would have been nice to get some warning. “You suddenly being an uncle has slipped your fucking mind?”

“Dude, if you would’ve called any of us, we might’ve been able to tell you. Telepathy isn’t one of my strong suits.” He narrows his eyes at me. “And what is it to you, anyway?”

Oh, I fucked your sister before I left without saying a word and now I want her back, right after I kill whoever got her pregnant, unless it was me.
I don’t think Dave would appreciate that version.

“I was just surprised.” I evade his question. “So who knocked her up?”

Dave raises his eyebrows in surprise, but then shakes his head before responding.

“No clue.” He focuses on devouring his pancakes while I have yet to touch mine. No clue—what the fuck does that mean? She had so many she can’t narrow it down?

“What do you mean no clue?”

Dave sighs, clearly getting frustrated with my sudden interest in Frankie’s life.

“Listen, man, I don’t know. She didn’t tell us. Didn’t want us to know, I suppose.” He swallows a bite. “If you want to know more, ask her. I’m sure you have enough to talk about as it is.”

A state of utter confusion keeps me staring at my breakfast instead of eating it until it’s time to head back. My mind is reeling with the information, making me slowly question my sanity. There is no way in hell I’m the father. If that was the case, she’d never keep it a secret. It doesn’t make sense, and I feel like I’m missing something here. I need to talk to Frankie.

***

When Dave and I walk into the kitchen after our breakfast, we find Frankie preparing something to eat. She’s wearing sweatpants and a tank top that does nothing to hide her curves. As soon as she notices us, she focuses on her brother, completely ignoring me again. This is going to be fun. The room temperature has already dropped a few degrees from her less than warm welcome, and I haven’t even said a word.

“Hey, guys,” she says, still not sparing me a single glance and it’s starting to piss me off.

Dave seems oblivious to his sister’s iciness. “Hey, Stinker, you finally up?”

“Been up longer than you. Just didn’t want to see your face first thing in the morning,” she replies, her voice filled with warmth and affection for her brother.

I decide to make her take notice of my presence, forcing her to interact with me.

“Morning, Frankie. How did you sleep?” I keep my tone even, not letting her see the frustration eating away at me.

My voice draws her attention to me and our eyes meet. Just as quickly, she looks away.

I really wish she would talk to me instead of playing these games.

“Good, thanks,” she replies, her voice now monotone and void of any emotion, bordering on robotic. I want to rip my hair out, or grab and shake her. I’d rather have her screaming at me and kicking my ass at this point. Maybe we could get this awkwardness over with. But from the look of it, she’s hell-bent on ignoring me.

I notice Dave grabbing a pizza slice from the fridge.

“Didn’t you just come back from eating out?” Frankie looks at Dave wide-eyed.

In an attempt to break the ice, I snatch the pizza from Dave and take a bite, my eyes not straying from her face for even a second. “Like that’s ever stopped him,” I say with a smile, knowing I have her attention now. Finally, her eyes meet mine and hold our connection. She’s chewing her lip—a nervous habit she’s always had. It’s fucking cute and sexy at the same time, not that I will tell her. At least not now.

Even when Dave elbows me in the stomach and grabs the pizza out of my hand, taking a bite, I keep the eye contact with her. It’s the first time since she got here yesterday that she isn’t trying to get away from me as fast as possible.

“Dude, you eating the slice of pizza I just took a bite out of is like you’re French-kissing me.”

“Not cool, man. Not cool,” Dave says and I laugh when he drops his pizza into the trash as he glowers at me. But my laugh quickly fades when Frankie jumps at the chance to look away. Dammit.

I hang my head and sigh. Not that she would notice. As soon as Dave leaves the room to take a shower, she goes back to ignoring me. She’s concentrating on cooking as if her life depends on it.

The air is stifling with all the unspoken words between us. I move closer, standing next to her. It takes all of my self-restraint not to press my body against hers and hold her. But the vibes she’s sending off aren’t inviting. She goes tense as soon as she feels me next to her, her shoulders pulling back, her jaw clenching.

“Frankie, I think we should—” I start, hoping we can talk and clear the air, although I want so much more than that. But she interrupts me by yelling to her dad that breakfast is ready. Her voice is loud and shrill with a tinge of panic to it. As soon as her father enters the room with the baby in his arms, and she’s placed the plate in front of him, she grabs the kid and beelines it out of the kitchen like a bat out of hell.

I’m left standing next to the stove, staring after her and wondering what the hell happened to the Frankie I know. I’m confused. She isn’t someone to dodge conflict. I’d expected her to throw things at my head—literally and figuratively. Instead, it’s as if she’s hiding, trying to stay out of my way.

***

Dave and I are playing video games in the basement. After Frankie fled the kitchen, I came down here to wait for Dave to finish his shower and join me. Now we’re shooting shit, with an occasional conversation thrown in. I’m about to win a damn boss fight when Dave clears his throat.

“So, what did you and Frankie talk about after I left the kitchen? Anything interesting?” He sounds oddly amused, and once again I question what he knows about that night between me and his sister.

“Your dad showed up, and she left to meet up with a friend. So we didn’t talk. She’s acting really strange.”

“You think?” Dave shoots me a glance, arching his eyebrows.

Yet again, thanks to Frankie being on my mind, I lost the fight. I put the controller aside and grab my water bottle, taking a swig.

“I still can’t believe she has a kid. I mean, fuck, it’s Frankie.”

“Yeah, hard to believe. I bet the father would think so too, if he knew.”

I nearly choke on my water, unable to hide the surprise. It’s not like Frankie to hide something like this.

“The father doesn’t know?”

Dave turns off the game, reclining back on the couch.

“Nope. I asked her about it once, and she said she’s the only one who knows. I’m sure it’ll be quite the surprise if he ever finds out.” He chuckles before adding, “And when he does, he better fucking step up to the challenge.”

The gnawing thought that kept me awake last night comes back with a fucking vengeance and lingers in my mind, even when we make our way upstairs for dinner hours later. It simply can’t be. I mean…me? A father? It’s not possible. No way. At least it’s what I tell myself when I walk into the dining room.             

I’m already at the table when Frankie comes downstairs, eying the last empty chair—right across from me. She looks less than thrilled when she takes a seat, glowering at her plate.

Her father starts saying grace, but I don’t pay any attention. My focus is on Frankie, knowing she can’t run away from the table without giving her parents an explanation.

So instead of bowing my head, I keep watching her while she keeps looking around the room with her lips pursed in a mix of annoyance and boredom. Every time her eyes meet mine, she instantly looks away.

Conversation fills the table during dinner. Everyone is talking except Frankie and me. She seems utterly focused on her food and feeding her son.

Knowing she won’t be able to ignore me or run away with her parents at the table, I decide to force her to talk to me.

“So Frankie, you have a baby? How did that happen?”

This is definitely not the most intelligent question I’ve ever asked. But I need to get some answers. Although, I’m not sure what I want to hear. Do I want her to tell me it’s my kid, or would I rather hear it’s someone else’s, knowing full well it will kill me?

She looks up at me, and this time she doesn’t break eye contact, shooting daggers at me instead. I wouldn’t be surprised if she lunged across the table and rammed a fork in my eye.

I wait for her reply, but it’s her father who answers.

“You see, Ben, our daughter thought it would be a good idea to go and get herself pregnant. But that is what happens when you sleep around; you become a single mother and everyone thinks you have loose morals. We don’t even know who fathered our grandson, although we suspect it was her married professor. Not the type of man to bring home to your parents.”

Whoa, I’m not sure what shocks me more—her father’s abrasive tone and words, or the fact that she might have fucked her professor.

I watch Frankie sit up straighter in her chair and notice her nails digging into the palm of her hand as she takes a deep breath.

“And we are back on the
Our Daughter is a Raging Whore
show. Tonight we present you the same old shit as usual. And just for the fucking record, I know damn well who the father is. I just choose to not disclose that information. But it definitely isn’t my professor.”

Her father growls something about manners before her mother speaks up. At this point, I feel like I’m on reality TV. It’s fucking crazy.

“Don’t get me wrong, Ben. We love our grandson. It would have been nice, though, if Frankie could have done things a bit more traditionally and a bit less her way. Archer is such a happy little boy. I guarantee you’ll fall in love with him over the weekend. It’s impossible not to. He’s nine months now, and he’s the smartest little boy I’ve ever seen.”

This is the first time someone mentioned the kid’s age. Everything around me fades into the background as I start counting back. It’s been eighteen months since I’ve left. Taking the duration of a pregnancy into account that would put the kid’s age at exactly nine months. Jesus fucking Christ. I barely manage to swallow down the roasted potato. Frankie squirms in her seat, her gaze flitting to the side, avoiding eye contact with me. Between what her parents said and her reaction, it’s hard not to flip out. I set down the fork on my plate, no longer hungry.

As if to dispel any doubts I might still have, her mother continues, “You know, we all missed you so much, Ben. Even Frankie did. I think that’s why she gave Archer your name as the middle name, to always let you be part of the family. We all thought that was such a great idea.”

The world crashes in around me, and I close my eyes to keep my cool. I don’t believe it. I can’t. Fuck. I’m a father. Frankie’s son is mine. Shit, that’s crazy. It’s not possible. I open my eyes again, looking straight at her, searching for answers to my questions. She’s pale, her breath coming out in short bursts, and she looks like she’s going to puke, or faint, maybe both.

That’s enough of a confirmation to make my head spin. This means I’m a father. It fucking means I left her alone to deal with this. I left my son alone. Motherfucking shit. My mother’s lies have not only fucked up my dad’s life as well as mine, but now also Frankie’s and Archer’s. I don’t blink or breathe, trying to wrap my head around the news. This is huge. Too huge for me to grasp right now. And I can’t even ask her about it, not with her parents sitting right next to us.

My attention is brought back to the table by Frankie suddenly getting up and excusing herself before rushing upstairs. I watch her leave and fight the urge to follow her, to corner her. I need to know for sure, need to hear her say it before I’ll be able to fully believe it. But I don’t want to cause a scene.

She’s gone for a few minutes before I make up an excuse about needing something out of my room. I climb the stairs and lean against the wall next to her door, waiting for her to come out.

I don’t care if I have to stand here all night.

Now her behavior makes sense. Fuck, I left her, and she didn’t know if or when I would come back. If Archer would have a father. I can’t even begin to imagine how she must have felt seeing me here all of a sudden and trying to hold it together.

My mind is reeling with the revelation when I hear the door open. Frankie walks out and even in the dim light of the hallway I can see her makeup is gone, her eyes puffy and red. I grab her wrist, trying to stop her from going downstairs. The need for answers is overwhelming.

“Not now.” She yanks her arm away, her voice shaky and barely more than a whisper.

I get why she’s been avoiding me like the plague. I even understand if she hates me. But she needs to fucking talk to me. I’m frustrated and angry—at her, at my mother, at the world, but mostly, at myself.

“Fuck, Frankie, we need to talk,” I grind out, trying to get a hold of her wrist again, wanting her to face me, to stop shutting me out, but she moves her hand out of my reach.

“I can’t. Not now.” Her voice is trembling. She sounds broken, and I’m left standing there feeling like a complete asshole while she hurries downstairs. I’ve caused this. I’ve broken her.

Sitting around the living room with everyone and pretending like shit hasn’t hit the fan is pure torture. Her mother plays with Archer. My son. Fuck. I have a son. Every time I look at him, I wonder how I didn’t see it before.

He looks exactly like I did when I was a baby. Earlier, I went to my room and looked at the picture of my dad and me. Archer and I are so much alike there’s no way he isn’t my son.

Most of the night, I just stare at him, trying to reconcile myself with this turn of events. If it’s not him I look at, it’s Frankie. She tries her hardest to avoid eye contact. The few times our gazes lock, she looks like she might start crying again.

I’m so fucking confused and want nothing more than some clarity. I don’t understand how she can just sit there instead of talking to me. I have so many questions. I know I left her in a shitty situation; I know I hurt her, but fuck, we need to talk.

The evening seems endless and my patience is wavering more and more, but I can’t confront her. Not in front of her parents or her brother. None of them seem to know what’s going on, which confuses me even more. Just when I’m close to losing it, she suddenly stands up.

“Archer, time for bed.”

She declines her mother’s offer to stay downstairs and socialize while her mother brings Archer to bed. All of a sudden, I feel nervous. Should I follow her upstairs? Should I wait? Once I confront her, there will be no denying it. I will have to face a new reality, one I didn’t expect in the least.

“Man, I thought the three of us could go out for some beers and have some fun like back in the old days,” Dave says, looking between me and Frankie.

Frankie declines and then turns to me. Though she ignored me all evening, it’s clear she’s waiting for my reply. There’s no way in hell I’m going to leave this house before I have some answers. As skittish as she looked all evening, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was gone by the time I came back.

“Nah man, the bar scene ain’t for me lately. Let’s just play some games here.”

Judging by the quiet sigh that escapes her lips, she’s relieved about my answer. Despite all the chaos in my head, it gives me something to hold on to. It might not be much, but she cares about me.

“Wow, and I thought Florida was like an old peoples’ home. Then I come back here and realize, compared to you, they are the life of the party.” Dave sighs in mock annoyance. “Okay Ben, let’s go and shoot some shit then.”

Before he’s even fully finished, Frankie has disappeared upstairs, and I have no other choice but to follow Dave back to the basement, instead of doing what I want to do—get answers.