Chapter 2
Motherhood
Savannah
“Are you ready to go, Savannah? If we don’t leave within five minutes we’re going to be late.”
Savannah Fiacco barely resisted the urge to roll her tired, red rimmed eyes. Her mother, born in Italy, still had a thick accent. She loved her mom to death, but when she was stressed or irritated, that accent got mighty thick and her voice became a little shrill. It grated on Savannah’s already raw nerves.
“Coming,” she called down the stairs. She knew her voice would travel out of her room, through the hall and down the stairs to where her mother was clearly waiting. She’d done the same thing ever since Savannah was a kid. Always calling, calling calling, from the bottom of those damn stairs.
“Three minutes.”
Savannah ground her teeth together in an effort to keep her patience. It was already shredded, seeing as Carter saw fit to remain awake, screaming, most of the night. It wouldn’t have been so bad, had he not pulled the same act for the past six nights in a row. Or was it seven? Eight? She’d lost count.
“There you go, baby boy.” Savannah’s irritation vanished when she stared into her son’s deep brown eyes. He had the rich dark skin she had, always bronzed, with an olive undertone. His hair was jet black, like hers. She’d nearly destroyed it by dying it blonde. She’d probably lost at least six inches to breakage after she dyed it back to her natural color, but it grew out nicely, one of the only bonus side effects of pregnancy.
At the moment, her usually glossy hair hung almost to her waist in unbrushed clumps. The roots were oily, a fact which she could do nothing about at the moment. She had about five minutes for a shower or quick bath lately and that didn’t include the luxury of actually washing her hair.
Carter Fiacco smiled up at her, waving a pudgy hand in the air. He cooed something, some baby language, which melted her heart.
“Next time we’re just about out the door, promise mommy you’re not going to poop your pants. No doctor wants to give you a checkup when you smell like something died in there.”
She received another huge, drool filled smile in response. Because she knew her mother would literally be pacing by now, likely in the same one foot square at the bottom of the staircase, she reached down, grabbed up her son and hoisted him onto her shoulder. “I wish you didn’t have your days and nights mixed up. We have to get ourselves on a schedule, me and you. No more keeping mommy up all night. It’s just about killing me.”
Carter babbled away in her ear, clearly uncaring that she was dead tired. Didn’t all babies though? She was sure she wasn’t the only underfed, overtired, unkempt mother out there. To think that a year ago she was going out to clubs and parties, living up her freshly found freedom after graduating high school. She had long, fake blonde hair, manicured nails, high heels, skin tight jeans, too short shirts, and a fake ID. Now, now what did she have?
Everything. I have everything.
Her smile was wide and genuine as she picked her way carefully down the stairs. Her mother, spotting her, let out an exasperated sigh. “How long does it take to change one simple diaper?”
“It wasn’t simple, I promise you that.” She handed Carter over to her mother. Gianna took him, bouncing him happily, naturally, onto her shoulder. She’d always wanted more than one child. Savannah heard that enough throughout her lifetime, though she’d never fully been told why she was an only child. She’d never fully comprehended the pain of that until she became a mother herself. Gianna, though she often pretended otherwise, was very happy Carter was a member of the family.
“I’ll put him in his car seat and then we’ll go, yes?”
“Yes. I just have to grab the diaper bag out of the kitchen.”
“I filled up the formula bottles with water. Don’t worry, I sterilized them all. The formula is packed, extra diapers, wipes, soother.” Gianna rattled off the checklist and Savannah sighed in relief.
“Thanks, mom.”
Her mother nodded, all the usual judgment and condemnation filling up her dark eyes. Savannah walked off towards the kitchen, pretending not to notice. It wasn’t that her mother and father didn’t love Carter. They adored their grandson. It had everything to do with the fact that no Italian parents, hell, no parents in general, wanted their daughter to tell them that she was pregnant at twenty years old. Worse, she was unmarried and refused to tell them who the father was. She’d said she didn’t know. She’d lied.
Mike Arman wasn’t exactly daddy material. Her parents didn’t like him, especially not her dad. Which was odd, given that Mike’s best friend Kian was her father’s business partner. It was an odd and somewhat confusing arrangement, but it worked for her father nevertheless. He made a good living running the club that he most definitely did not allow Savannah to get into, even with her fake ID. He’d never taken her there, wanting to protect her from what he considered the evils of life. If only he knew what kids got up to these days…
He might have been able to keep her away from the club, but he’d made the fatal error of inviting Kian Boychuck over to the house for dinner over the years. The man was a god. Savannah had never seen a more beautiful, sexual, striking man in her life. She’d been instantly smitten. She’d loved him since the time she was what? Fourteen? Fifteen? She wasn’t even sure. He was the reason she’d met Mike. She did almost anything to be around Kian. Running errands for her father, visiting his tattoo shop. Mike worked with Kian. He was a great artist. At first she’d been with him in hopes of getting closer to Kian.
And then it hadn’t been that at all. Somewhere, during the six months they were together, something shifted. She realized that she loved him. Not just a little bit, with some girly infatuation. No, it was deeper than that, the abiding kind of love that could have lasted for years. Which, of course, scared the hell out of her. She didn’t want to make the mistake of falling for someone or getting married young, wasting the best years of her life and getting a divorce twenty or thirty years later, starting her life over as some bitter, dried up old hag.
She hadn’t told her parents about Mike because she hadn’t wanted to. She hadn’t told him about the baby because she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life with him. She’d broken up to give herself a fighting chance, to protect herself as well. She was far too young to have her heart broken.
“Savannah Fiacco! Where are you? Carter is already in the car!”
Savannah started. She grabbed up the handle of the diaper bag, spun around and nearly flew head over heels as their tiny Yorkie, Melly, scurried into the kitchen. No doubt frightened by the beast her mother could be. God, Gianna Fiacco could put the fear of god into anyone.
“Oh my god, Melly!” Savannah muttered under her breath. She checked to see that the cowering dog was alright, giving her a few pets on top of her soft head. “Coming!” She yelled as she stomped through the house.
Her mother was standing in front of the open door, one eye on the car, which had every single door open, as though the AC blasting inside wasn’t enough to keep her son alive for all of ten seconds while her mother came back into the house to yell at her to move her ass. God, it reminded her of high school.
As she climbed into the backseat, smiled at her son and handed him a stuffie from his diaper bag, she wondered if she hadn’t made a mistake. Over the past year, throughout the pregnancy and after Carter was born, she’d thought about telling Mike.
The thing was, even if she wanted to, even if she wanted to complicate her life even further, even if she missed seeing him, missed the way it felt when she was with him, she knew it was probably far, far too late.