I hardly slept after my very brief but nerve-wracking phone call with Alden last night. Instead of getting much-needed sleep, I laid in bed and picked apart every last little detail of our conversation.

He didn’t sound as mad as he had the night before. Not happy, by any means, but less like he wanted to snap my neck. So, that’s a plus, I suppose. And he actually wants to talk. That has to be a good sign, right? Either way, that’s what I’m telling myself, because the alternative is downright unbearable.

It’s been less than an hour since I dropped Tatum off, and I’m already on my fourth cup of coffee. Usually I would be getting ready to head into work, but since, Alden gave me the day off, I have a bit of free time.

Mind you, every bit of that said free time will be spent obsessing over our lunch meeting. It really could go either way, but I am determined to think positive. I mean, it’s not like I expect all to be forgiven and forgotten in two seconds flat, and I certainly don’t expect him to ever want to pursue something romantically with me, but…I do expect him to want to get to know Tatum, and to do that, we at least have to be civil. Baby steps and whatnot.

I decide to make the best of my free time and do a little laundry—Lord knows it is easier to do while Tatum isn’t here. She likes to help fold, only we have very different definitions of the word.

With two loads down and one in the dryer, I hop in the shower. I take my time, washing and scrubbing and shaving. I’m hoping the whole look good, feel good can somehow extend to my meeting with Alden. If I look good and feel good, maybe things will go…good.

After drying off, I wrap my hair in my towel and slather on some lotion. I start on my makeup immediately after, opting for subtle and soft. I decide to toss my still-damp hair into a braid so it can air dry into waves. A few squirts of my sea salt spray and I’m good to go.

I check the time when I step back out into my bedroom. It’s only half past ten; that gives me plenty of time. I dress in a pair of black skinnies that are slightly distressed in the knee, pairing them with a simple slub knit gray top and gold sandals.

I still have about fifteen minutes to kill after getting dressed, but I’m too antsy to wait around. I grab my purse and head out to my car. The drive seems shorter than usual, but I’m not sure if its nerves or an actual lack of traffic—either way, I find myself rolling into the Bayside employee lot at 11:15 a.m. I guess in some circles, fifteen minutes early is considered on time.

So, with that in mind, I take down my braid, finger comb my hair, and head on in.

Giselle is at the hostess stand, and she greets me with a plastic smile. I used to think it was fake, but eventually learned it’s just her smile. “Hey Natalie, I thought you were off today? Lord knows Carlos called us all looking for someone to cover you. Is everything okay? Is Tatum okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Um…” Jesus, this is awkward. “Yeah, Nat’s fine. Um…”

Jenny walks up and saves me from answering. “Girlfriend. We need to talk.”

“We do?”

She nods and pulls me away. “Yes ma’am. I texted you this weekend and you never replied.”

I give her a sheepish look. “Did you? I’m sorry, J. This weekend was…a mess.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll talk tonight.”

“Sounds good.” I start to talk away, toward Alden’s office, but Jenny speaks up, stopping me.

I slow my pace as I approach the office, taking a deep breath before approaching. The door is partially open, but I knock anyway.

“Come in,” Alden’s deep, masculine voice calls from inside.

I take a timid step into the room, taking great care to leave the door exactly as it was. “Hey,” I say lamely.

“Take a seat, Nat.” His voice is borderline emotionless, and that worries me.

“S-sure.” I lower down into one of the chairs on the opposite side of his desk, looking everywhere but at him.

For several tense moments, we sit in silence until finally Alden stands. “Let me grab our food and then we can talk.”

He stalks out of the room, and I use the time he is gone to give myself a little pep talk. “You’ve got this, Nat. Just tell him your side of things. It’s okay.”

Alden steps back into the room, and I zip my lips. Unlike me, he doesn’t leave the door cracked. He shuts it completely, and I gulp.

“Hope you’re in the mood for a grilled shrimp Caesar.” He casually drops the plate in front of me along with a roll of silverware.

“Sounds great, thank you.”

I dig into my food, mostly to have something to do. I expect him to do the same, but instead, he slides open a desk drawer and pulls a bubble mailer from within it and sets it on the desk between us.

“You say she’s mine, and I believe you—mostly. But I’d be a fool not to get proof. I don’t want to drag this shit before a judge, so here.” He gestures toward the package. “I’ve already swabbed myself. All you need to do is swab her and mail it.”

Slowly, I pull it toward me and peek inside. A paternity test. My heart sinks a little, but deep down, I know he’s right to ask for this. Especially with him not remembering even sleeping with me. Still, it hurts, just a little.

“Sure.”

“If she’s mine, you’re not going to keep her from me, Nat.” His tone is hard and cold and so unlike the boy I fell in love with.

“That was…no. Never.” I stumble over my words and he scoffs.

“Never? That’s fucking rich.”

My eyes fill with tears, and I tilt my head back, desperate not to let them fall.

“Jesus Christ. Do you ever get tired of playing the victim?”

My sadness and hurt morph to anger. “Do you ever get tired of making assumptions and not letting people speak?”

“There’s not a damn thing you could say to justify keeping my daughter a secret from me for four goddamn years!” He yells the words, slamming his palms down onto his desk.

I shove my chair back and stand, getting in his face. Fuck being nice and understanding. “Did you ever, even once, stop to think I was seventeen and alone and scared? Did it ever fucking occur to you that I was trying to protect you?” I’m so mad that I’m crying. I fucking hate angry crying.

“Protecting me? Get fucking serious! The only person you were looking out for was you!”

“Right. You called it. I was looking out for me by going it alone. I was looking out for me by not getting any parenting support, much less fucking child support. You’re absolutely right. It was so easy and breezy for me.”

“Always the martyr, huh, Natalie?” He pitches his voice to mimic me, “Oh, poor me. I’m a single mom and my life is so hard.”

“Fuck. You.” I spit the words in his face like they’re venom. “I was terrified and so infatuated with you that I suffered the humiliation of letting my parents think I was a whore just to save you!” He starts to rebut, but I yell over him. “I was seventeen, Alden. You were twenty! I was scared you’d be charged with statutory rape and that your entire future would be destroyed. So, yes, you asshole. I. Was. Protecting. You!”

By the time I’m finished, we’re both breathing heavy. I’m still crying, and he looks utterly broken and on the verge of totally losing his shit. He parts his lips to speak, but the door flies open, silencing him.

We both turn and watch in horror as my father bursts in, looking ready to kill. My mom lingers outside the office with wide, worried eyes, while my brother is right behind Dad, grabbing him by the collar of shirt just as he rears back to punch Alden.

This day just went from awful to fucking awful in about two seconds flat.