Helena
Blood rushed back to my head, ringing in my ears loud enough to deafen me. It was probably for the best, I decided. Dominick already had enough reason to hate me without adding eavesdropping to the list, and besides, the little bit that I'd already heard was more than enough. Feeling guiltier than ever, I turned to the side so I wouldn't face the two men while I waited for their conversation to end.
Eventually it did, and Alton left the arena.
Or maybe he'd stormed out of the arena. Without overhearing how their talk ended, I couldn't be sure.
The one thing I could be sure of was that he'd forgotten to bring his date with him. It was an awkward situation, made even worse by the fact that Chanterelle had apparently decided to tag along with us. The unexpected company didn't deter Dominick, however, who seemed to be in a good mood and continued the tour without hesitation. He had enough cheer for both of us, which was good—because I didn't have any left at all.
I practically sleepwalked my way through the arena, not really listening to anything. Instead, I obsessively focused on my own problems and fears.
What was I going to do, and was there even a way out of this mess?
If I came clean now, Dominick might forgive me. He was a wonderful man, patient and empathic. But it seemed like yesterday, before the sex, had been my last good chance to tell him about the pregnancy. Dominick had unknowingly talked me out of it, and while it was still clearly my fault, at least I could point out that I had tried. If I explained today, as soon as we got back home, he would probably understand.
Probably.
Or he might also leave and never come back, not even for Ali.
If I waited any longer to tell him, no one—not even Dominick—could reasonably overlook it. I would clearly, unquestionably, be in the wrong. He'd have every right to be furious with me.
But it would also give him more time with Ali. Time he still needed to settle into his role of being a father, to develop a relationship with her that had nothing to do with me. To form the kind of bond that would survive him deciding he hated me and wanted nothing to do with me.
Even if I lost him, she wouldn't.
If I told him everything today, he would forgive me…probably. But was it really a chance that I was willing to take? Could I justify gambling with my daughter's happiness just to salvage my own, even if I was almost certain that I would win?
I didn't know. I needed to think about it.
Actually, that was a lie. I didn't need to think about it. It's just that I had nothing to do but think. The arena tour continued, seeming to take forever, and so the question circled my mind again and again. Every time, though, my eventual answer was the same.
No.
I couldn't do that to Ali, no matter how much I wanted to be with Dominick.
I had no choice but to continue my silence, giving Dom and Ali the time they needed. I didn't delude myself that I was somehow justified here. I wasn't—deceiving Dom over something so major was the worst thing I'd ever done, or hopefully ever would do. But the only other option was to put my own happiness ahead of my daughter's, and that was even worse.
The endless cycle of angst and internal monologue only ended when I felt a hand on my shoulder, making me yelp quietly in surprise.
"Are you okay?" Dominick asked.
No, not at all, I wanted to say. But I knew that I couldn't. If I answered honestly, then he'd ask why. If he asked why, I would break down and tell him.
"I'm fine," I said after a pause. "Sorry, what's going on?"
"I asked where you wanted to go for lunch," Dominick said, his green and blue eyes filled with concern. "Are you sure you're okay?"
I suppressed a shudder. This was going to be harder than I thought—Dominick made me so happy, and every instinct I had was screaming at me to confess. For the time being, my only option was to simply ignore the problem until…well, it's not like it was going to go away.
Ignore the problem until it exploded in my face, perhaps? I couldn't let that happen, either. I needed a date, a timeline to tell him.
Two weeks. That sounded good. I'd do my best to ignore the problem for two weeks, and then tell him afterwards. No more delays, no more excuses.
"Yeah, sorry," I answered. "I'm just tired. And hungry. Where did you want to eat?" I asked.
"I know a great little greasy spoon place nearby. Kind of trashy and cheap, but pretty good. Sometimes the team will hit it up after a long day of practice."
"Greasy spoons? Ewww," Ali said. "That doesn't sound good at all!"
"Trust me," Dominick said with a laugh. "It's delicious. They fry everything!"
Ali wrinkled her nose, still unconvinced.
So did Chanterelle, I realized, noticing that she'd followed us out into the parking lot. "Uh…I guess this is my cue to leave, huh," she said a bit sadly.
"Do you need money for a cab?" Dominick asked.
"No, it's fine. There's a bus stop nearby that runs to my apartment," she explained with a shrug. "It was nice to meet you all. Especially you, Ali," she said after an awkward pause, bending down to give Ali a hug.
I felt a little bad for her. She seemed like a good kid—or young woman, anyway—and more than a bit lonely. Part of me wanted to suggest she stay longer, at least until she turned to walk away on clacking stiletto heels.
That's when I noticed that the back of her dress was even more revealing than the front, most of it open to the air and exposed. As nice as she had seemed, I just wasn't sure that it was a great idea for Ali to spend a lot of time around her.
"Mom?" Ali whispered at me, interrupting my thoughts.
"Yes?" I answered.
"Why does she have a tattoo on her lower back? She can't even see it there!"
I blinked several times, processing the question. This was not a conversation I wanted to have with my daughter, especially today. It would be difficult even at the best of times, and right now I was mentally and emotionally exhausted.
Still, I'd never been one to just brush off Ali's questions with you'll understand when you're older. If I began now, it would only make her even more interested and curious.
"It's…a tradition," I said finally, hoping to make the subject sound as boring as possible by making it overly academic. "A cultural tradition."
"Oh," Ali answered quietly, her eyebrows scrunched together in thought as she deciphered the arcane sentence. "So it's a…what did you call it? A rite of passage? Like those people you told me about who get tattoos all over their face?"
"Er…in a manner of speaking, I suppose," I said, worried that my plan about to backfire spectacularly.
"But they get those when a boy becomes a man, right? Why do you think Chanterelle got hers? To tell people she's a woman?"
"I, uh—yes. I suppose you could say that," I said, my eyes shooting towards Dominick's to silently plead for help.
"So," Dominick said, clapping his hands together to get everyone's attention. "I've been thinking. Maybe greasy food isn't the answer. Who wants ice cream instead?"
"Oooh!" Ali cooed. "I do! I do!" she said, bouncing on her heels. Just like that, her questions about the tattoo and its meaning had been forgotten.
"Thank you," I silently mouthed to Dominick. He gave me a subtle nod in reply.
When I'd gotten pregnant with Ali, I'd had absolutely no idea who the donor really was. At the time, I didn't care much either—as long as she was healthy, it didn't seem to matter. But now he was here, it and suddenly did matter…and I couldn't have asked for a better man.
Despite everything, I smiled. Even though it was just dumb luck on my part, I felt ridiculously proud that Dominick was Ali's father.