Chapter Seven
“So, what’s on your mind?”
Jeremy slid his gaze away from the view of the Chicago skyline and the wispy purple, pink and orange clouds painted by the setting sun. He glanced to his right as his mom sank down onto the sofa beside him in his parents’ penthouse.
Dressed in straight-legged black dress slacks with a maroon blouse and a simple strand of Cartier pearls, her blond hair pulled back in a low chignon, Laura Taylor looked the epitome of a prominent lawyer’s wife, ready for one of her many charity board meetings or events. While some who read the society pages dismissed many women in her position as vapid shopaholics, his mom’s sharp, grey eyes told of her intelligence and keen insight.
Right now, those grey eyes were trained on him with motherly intuition.
“Come on, spit it out,” she insisted, giving his knee a gentle pat.
He’d been impatiently waiting for a moment alone with his mom since arriving at his parents’ penthouse several hours ago for dinner. Anxious to talk with her about Rosa and the baby, and how scared he was that Rosa would continue pushing him away.
With his younger brother Michael finally off to meet up with friends and his dad on a business call in his office, Jeremy had her undivided attention.
He rubbed his sweaty palms against his thighs, wiping the moisture on his grey slacks.
“What makes you think something’s on my mind?” he asked, stalling for time.
Chicken.
His mom smiled, her eyes crinkling with that expression of loving indulgence he’d seen countless times growing up. Even during his moody periods in high school and his difficult years at the end of undergrad when he was mad at everyone, but mostly himself.
She reached out to press her pointer finger in between his brows.
“This little crease makes me ask. And a mother’s sixth sense.” She took a sip of her favorite after-dinner drink, chilled Limoncello. A habit she’d acquired on her and Sherman’s last extended trip to Italy. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Jeremy slouched back against the stiff sofa cushions and balanced his Scotch on the rocks on his thigh. The ice cubes rattled in the glass, mimicking his rattled nerves.
He’d danced around this moment for a week now, trying to figure out how to share the news with his mom. Without dredging up painful memories of her past. Hating the idea that she’d see anything of his birth father in him.
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”
Her words soothed the unease twisting his stomach.
That was his mom. Always there, but not hovering unless necessary. For as far back as he could remember, even when it was just the two of them and she was working during the day and taking online classes at night to finish her degree, she’d made sure he knew he could count on her.
There was no one whose opinion he trusted and valued more. Though Sherman had become a close second.
“No, I’ve been needing to talk with you about this for a few days now.” He sat up and turned to face her. Excitement and uncertainty clashed inside him in a cacophony of swords. “I need your advice about something.”
“Sounds serious.” His mom’s cool hand clasped his forearm when he nodded, her diamond solitaire glinting in the fading sunlight. “Whatever this is, we’ll get through it. Nothing, no one, gets us down.”
Jeremy winced at the irony.
Though the name went unspoken, he understood that she referred to his birth dad and the trouble the jerk had tried to cause a few times. Thankfully they hadn’t heard from him since his sentencing nearly five years ago.
What gnawed at Jeremy was the fact that his situation with Rosa might bring echoes of Roger Wilson. How the creep had mistreated Jeremy’s mom when they’d dated, going into a violent rage when Laura told him that she was pregnant. It hadn’t been easy, but Laura had eventually gotten away from Roger. Never looking back.
She hadn’t heard from the scumbag again until Sherman Taylor came into the picture when Jeremy was five. Then Roger had shown up, thinking he’d benefit by trying to extort hush money from Sherman. Huge mistake.
Laura Taylor was no longer the scared coed Roger had abused and manipulated. She’d finished her degree and started her career as an office manager before meeting Sherman Taylor at a fundraiser. Together, the new power couple had outwitted Roger. Bringing Laura’s story of mental and physical abuse to the press while donating resources and funds to a local women’s shelter.
While her situation had been significantly different, if there was anyone Jeremy trusted who could provide some insight into what Rosa might be feeling and thinking when confronted with an unplanned pregnancy, it was his mom.
Only, no way would Jeremy act like the degenerate Roger Wilson had been. Still was. Jeremy had been fighting most of his adult life to prove himself a better man. God forbid this news make his mom see him in the same light.
The very idea sent a shiver across Jeremy’s shoulders.
Nervous, but desperate for advice, he laid his cards on the table. “You remember Rosa Fernandez? I’ve mentioned her to you before.”
“Yazmine’s sister? The one who was in Champaign while you were there this past spring?”
“Yeah, she graduated and is a librarian in Oakmont now.”
“That’s nice.” His mother’s noncommittal tone told him she wondered where he was going with this.
He took a sip of his Scotch, welcoming the slow burn down his throat and into his chest. Kind of like the slow burn he’d been carrying for Rosa in secret for a while now.
“She and I recently reconnected, so to speak. At Yazmine’s wedding.”
“Wait, I thought you took Cecile as your date.” His mom tilted her head to the side in confusion. “You two were giving things another chance, weren’t you?”
Cecile.
He hadn’t even thought of her in the midst of everything this week. Hell, they hadn’t spoken since he’d left for Japan, and that conversation hadn’t gone too well.
It’d been wrong to consider reconnecting with her when he moved back home. He’d done so tentatively, thinking he’d give their relationship another try, mainly for Sherman and his mom. For years, they’d hoped for a deeper union between Cecile’s family and theirs, as if being partners at the boutique law firm Sherman and Harold Millward had started together wasn’t enough.
Her leaving Yazmine’s reception early so she could “put in an appearance” at the Millwards’ event had been a light bulb moment for him. Bright enough to convince him that breaking things off when he’d taken the job in New York years ago had been the right decision.
“Mom, I told you a while ago, Cecile and I are not going to happen.”
A disappointed frown marked his mom’s pale brow. “Honey, you haven’t been back in town all that long. Maybe if you give it some time. . . .”
Her words drifted off as he shook his head. Dismay stamped his mom’s face, giving her high cheekbones and angular nose a sharp look.
“Are you sure?” she pressed.
God, he hated disappointing her. And he hadn’t even gotten to the big news he needed to share.
“I’m sorry. I tried.” He lifted a shoulder, then let it drop in a listless shrug. “We’re better as friends. She and I talked about it over the phone before I left. Honestly, I haven’t even thought about calling her since I’ve been back.”
“Because of Rosa.”
It was a statement, not a question. Spoken with a hint of resignation.
“No. Or, not only because of her.” The sudden negative turn the conversation was taking had Jeremy angling to face his mom on the couch, his drink splashing over the rim in his haste. “Don’t blame Rosa. It’s me. I moved back home because I missed you guys. But, you know me, I didn’t miss the spotlight that shines on us here. That’s what Cecile craves.”
“And Rosa doesn’t.” Again with the resignation, now with an added touch of accusation.
“If anything, Rosa seeks the opposite. It’s refreshing.”
His mom set her aperitif glass on the teakwood coffee table, then crossed her arms. Her gaze assessing, she eyed him like she had when he was a kid, beating around the bush rather than admitting whatever he’d done wrong. “This is why you had reservations about going to Japan, isn’t it? You never mentioned anything, but I could tell something had changed right before you left.”
“I didn’t have—”
She gave him The Look. The one all mothers mastered, that never failed to coerce a confession.
“Okay, there were slight reservations,” Jeremy amended. “I can’t say I wasn’t relieved the project got held up and they decided to bring me back home. In fact, I’m going to ask that they send someone else next time.”
“But you’re in line for a potential promotion, and this project will benefit that. You can’t possibly consider derailing those plans, the prestige that comes with it, because you ‘connected’”—her hands finger-quoted around the word—“with a new woman.”
“She’s not new,” Jeremy shot back, his frustration growing at his mom’s surprising dismissal of Rosa. “And you of all people should know that prestige isn’t something that matters to me.”
His mom’s chest rose and fell on a heavy sigh, her pursed lips indicative of her frustration over a debate they’d held for ages. A debate that would always end in an unspoken truce.
She wanted him to accept what she thought was his rightful place in their social strata. But he’d never felt fully comfortable there. Especially after his decision to forgo law school.
“Anyway,” he said, “it’s more than a connection with her, especially since we found out that . . .”
Worry about how his mom would take this news had his voice faltering. Especially since she’d just been championing Cecile’s cause.
Not to mention, if there was one thing she’d made clear when she’d sat him down to give him the sex talk when he hit puberty—even though Sherman had volunteered—it was the expectation for him to be responsible. Use protection. Take care of his partner as well as himself.
Hell, he’d done all that. He was still doing everything he could to take care of Rosa. She simply wasn’t interested in letting him. The only thing she’d asked for was space.
Other than a few text messages, he hadn’t heard from her since dropping her at home after the doctor appointment on Friday. He’d spent the weekend worrying about if she had gotten worse. If she was resting like Dr. Jiménez had ordered. Wondering if Lilí needed any help, maybe someone to run to the store while she stayed with Rosa.
“Found out what, J?” his mom asked.
Jeremy nervously shifted his glass from one hand to the other, then he crooked an elbow on the dark wood framing the couch’s deep green brocade.
“We had one night together. An amazing night I doubt I’ll, well, you probably don’t need the details.” He paused, embarrassed.
Her motherly Spidey senses must have picked up on the level of his discomfort because his mom’s expression sobered.
Dread tightened his chest.
“We were careful. Honest. But somehow, not careful enough.”
He stopped, unable to say more. Waiting for her to connect the dots.
It didn’t take her long.
“She’s . . .” His mom pressed her fingertips to her lips as if to hold her words back. Her grey eyes filled with shock in the moment before she closed them.
Remorse gutted him.
“Mom, I—”
She shook her head. “Give me a minute.”
Dejection tightened his chest as he watched his normally poised mom work to gather herself. She smoothed a shaking hand along her hair to her chignon, then leaned over to grab her glass for a fortifying sip of Limoncello.
Once again, he was disappointing the most important people in his life. The same way he had when he’d finally admitted to his parents that he had no interest in law school and joining Sherman’s firm.
He’d come back home this summer confident he could make the Sherman name proud in his own way. This development might not help that cause, but he could never think of Rosa’s pregnancy as a negative.
“This is surprising, unexpected news,” his mom finally said, more to herself as she stared down at the tiny glass in her hands. “Makes me think about, well, quite a few things.”
Guilt slammed through him and he hung his head. “I’m sorry if telling you this dredges up memories of the past, Mom. You’ve got to know that I don’t plan on—I won’t be like him, I promise I—”
“Look at me,” his mom demanded, her tone sharp.
The twelve-year-old boy in him, ready for the lecture he knew he deserved, obeyed.
One hand fisted in her lap, her face taut with anger, his mom pierced him with a razor-sharp glare. “You are nothing like Roger Wilson. Don’t ever think that. Do you hear me?”
He gave her a timid nod in answer, but it wasn’t until he finally mumbled “yes” that her tension eased and her fist unclenched.
“This situation is not the same,” she said, her expression softened with regret. “You care about Rosa. I can see that. Roger . . . he couldn’t have cared less about me. You know the story. You know what happened.”
Jeremy nodded, unwilling to have her repeat—relive—the terrible details.
“I’m sure whatever the two of you shared was consensual.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he immediately answered.
“And, how’s Rosa?” she asked, her concern far different from the resignation that had tinted Rosa’s name when his mom had spoken it earlier. “This has to be difficult for her.”
“She’s not too good, actually.” Jeremy frowned, picturing her sickly green complexion when her nausea hit. “She’s lost weight, can’t keep anything down. Yesterday her doctor diagnosed her with hyperemesis gravidarum so she’s on partial bed rest. At least for the rest of this month.”
Before his mom could respond, the maid stepped into the living room area, interrupting their conversation. The middle-aged woman, new to the family since Jeremy had moved away, inquired whether either of them needed anything, then, at his mother’s request, began reviewing the next day’s dinner menu.
Listening to them discuss an upcoming soiree his parents were hosting at home, Jeremy couldn’t help but compare their plans for staff and extra hired help to what Thanksgiving preparation at Rosa’s had entailed. How the entire Fernandez family had pitched in, rubbing elbows in the kitchen while cooking the meal. It’d been crowded, sometimes messy, but entertaining. Comfortable. Like pretty much every time he’d visited the Fernandez home.
Rising from the couch, he walked to the glass windows overlooking the outdoor patio, a perk of owning the penthouse. With its potted plants, open pit brick fireplace, and strategically placed comfy chairs and end tables, it was the ideal location for a private cocktail party. The city at dusk and early evening, streetlights casting their beams across Lake Michigan, created a beautiful backdrop. Many lucrative deals and some important networking had taken place out on that patio.
An invite to a Taylor private party wasn’t something most people would pass up.
Funny, he couldn’t help but wonder what Rosa would think of one. If she came, it wouldn’t be because of any deals or networking she hoped to capitalize on.
“Bed rest, huh?” his mom said from behind him.
He turned away from the sliding glass doors to find his mom approaching him. The maid had already cleared their empty glasses and left the room.
“Yeah, and she’s not happy about it.” He explained about the doctor visit, following up with Rosa’s request for space and her absolute refusal, multiple times, to marry him.
His mom flinched with surprise at that last bit of info.
“What?” he asked.
“Marriage? That’s your answer?”
“It’s the right thing to do.”
She spun away and strode a few paces toward the fireplace, her stiff-shouldered gait telegraphing her displeasure.
“Mom—”
“Jeremy, please!” Her arms lifted and fell on a frustrated huff. “Don’t sacrifice yourself because you feel the need to atone for Roger’s behavior with me.”
“I’m not.”
“Aren’t you?” Her voice was a harsh whisper, even more gut-wrenching than if she’d yelled at him.
Dismay clouded her grey eyes, carved deep grooves that bracketed her mouth.
Her question hit a nerve. Doggedly, he ignored it.
God, he’d known she’d be upset about this news, but he’d never imagined she’d be against him proposing to Rosa. At least not this vehemently.
“J, it is truly admirable that you want to ‘do the right thing,’ but—” She paused, dug her hands in the pockets of her crisp black slacks, and seemed to weigh her words before speaking again. “In this case, son, you’re not the main person who can determine what that is.”
“I know.”
“I’m not sure you do.” She shook her head slowly, her disappointment palpable. “Be careful that you’re not so afraid of being Roger, that you err on the other end of the spectrum. Marriage isn’t something to jump into, especially given the situation. No good will come of that. For either you or Rosa.”
Jeremy turned away to face the glass doors. His mother’s warning echoed in his head as he stared blindly at the darkening Chicago skyline. Dusk’s waning light sent long shadows creeping across the patio, mimicking the doubt slowly creeping up on him.
He’d been so sure before. Now . . . now, he didn’t know anymore.
“So, you’re really taking Rosa’s side?” he asked.
“This isn’t about sides, J.”
The gentle reprimand confirmed his complaint sounded as whiny as he’d thought.
“I know,” he grudgingly admitted.
“It’s about a woman whose life is set to change, drastically. And she probably still needs to come to peace with that, on her own terms. Not yours.”
His mom’s hand on his shoulder drew his gaze to his left, where she now stood. Her usually calm expression was back in place, the light sheen of tears in her eyes the only sign of her emotional disquiet. “I’m not saying back off completely. Make sure she’s aware that you want to be a part of her life. And the baby’s. But you cannot push. That’s not fair to her.”
If there was one thing his mom would demand of him, it’s that he be fair. That he treat the mother of his child with respect and compassion. Two things she’d never gotten from Roger Wilson.
Anger flared in Jeremy’s gut, fueling the determination to prove himself that had always driven him. “I’m not going to be a deadbeat dad.”
“Of course not, I raised you better than that.”
Her patronizing tone cooled his anger and had his lips curving in a smirk. His mom’s answering smile calmed him even more.
Then her expression sobered. “But a father and a husband are two different relationships. Before you rush things with Rosa, you need to make sure marriage is the right answer. For both of you and your child.”
Darkness had fallen outside. With a resigned sigh, Jeremy closed his eyes, blocking out his reflection in the glass doors as he contemplated his mother’s advice. Which was not the advice he’d expected when he had started this conversation.
As much as he hated to admit it, maybe proposing had been a knee-jerk reaction. One that forced Rosa to kick him in the shins and give him the Heisman stiff arm move to make him back off.
Jumping into a quickie marriage could be as rash as jumping into bed with her. As amazing as that night had been, so far it had backfired on him. Despite their intimacy and her resulting pregnancy, he and Rosa were on shakier ground than before.
His mom was right.
Tomorrow he’d talk to Rosa. Calmly, rationally. Do whatever, say whatever it took to reassure her that their next move was up to her. As long as it didn’t involve cutting him out of his child’s life.
No way was that an option.