7
“We’re going to have a little brother or sister!” my youngest shouts as soon as Mark walks in the door.
I cringe, put on a fake smile, and try my best to pretend to watch TV. I’m abjectly ignoring Mark’s wide-eyed gaze that’s trained fully on me. “What?” he asks as our daughter jumps up and down in front of him. His voice is a bit too high and full of shock and disbelief.
That makes two of us. Despite knowing the possibility, I never really expected the test to come back positive. Pregnant. My God, what do I do now?
I have been asking myself that question all day, unable to get a stitch of work done because my head is just not in the game. How could it be after getting such life-changing news? Of course, I texted Alejandro right away—he was the first and only thought on my mind at the time. Thankfully, he wasn’t mad, or even terribly taken aback. Unlike me. Although a bit shocked, he was rather supportive and even a bit…happy—just as he said he’d be.
I swear, his culture is better than mine. Whereas I was always taught that having babies was a huge burden and something to be ashamed of unless you had every single I dotted and T crossed, his has taught him that babies are a blessing, to be accepted always.
I like his way of thinking. It’s how I’ve always felt, but again, it’s hard to shake the stuff that gets drilled into your head from an early age.
“Mom’s having a baby!” my youngest says again with no less enthusiasm.
Mark is having trouble digesting the news—it’s in his eyes and that fake, strained smile. He walks into the living room and sits on the love seat a foot away from me, looking at me as if he doesn’t recognize me. “What’s going on?”
As if he didn’t hear her the first two times? Like a child whose internal regulators are too immature to control, I smile even though that’s the last thing I feel like doing. “The test came back positive. Looks like I’m having a baby.”
He swallows tightly and continues staring at me as if I might, at any moment, shout “Just kidding!” When he finally realizes that’s never going to happen, he sits back and utters a small, “Wow.”
I nod my agreement.
“What does…what’s his name. Ricardo? No, Julio. Fernando? I can never remember his name.” He laughs, but it’s so condescending it pisses me off.
“Alejandro.”
“Right, that.” He shakes his head. “So, what does he have to say about all of this?”
This time my smile is purposeful. In a snide tone that matches his, I say, “He’s happy.”
Mark’s eyebrows pop up for a second and he looks to the floor. I don’t think he expected that answer. “Well, I guess that’s good. But he’s never going to be around, is he? With all his travel stuff for work I mean.”
“He’ll be gone a lot,” I agree. That’s the part I don’t like, but as Jean once told me, I’ve been raising three kids by myself already when I never thought I’d have to. I can handle it.
He mulls this over, his eyes darting from the floor to the television to the dining room where our daughter is now playing with one of the cats, and back to the floor again. Sucking in a deep breath he says, “So what does that make me, its stepdad? I like kids. I’d treat it like my own, take it places ‘n stuff like that.”
Is he seriously putting himself in my baby’s life—as a father figure? I don’t even know what to say to that. I’m at a total loss for words. And I highly doubt Alejandro would be too pleased to hear that my soon-to-be ex-husband is fully ready and willing to fill his role in our baby’s life. My God.
“So how do you feel about it?” Mark asks.
I shrug. “It’s an adjustment, but it’s a baby. Of course I love it already.”
If I’m not mistaken, Mark is stewing over this—hurting. Good, he should. I don’t think he ever really expected me to move on from him. Me having another man’s baby is about as final as it can get though. There’s no denying it now.
“I mean, that’s good,” Mark says again. “The kids will love having another baby in the house.”
“I want a brother,” the youngest says, looking up from her game of pull-the-string with the cat.
Mark acknowledges her with a half-smile and a slight nod. After a few more minutes of conversation consisting of Q&A and awkward pauses, Mark clears his throat and goes off upstairs to join our son in his room. Their visit is always terribly predictable—our son plays video games while Mark lies on his bed scrolling Facebook. They exchange a couple words here and there about video games, and maybe touch on how their days have been since the last visit, and that’s it. Nothing deep or heartfelt. No real connection going on. It’s the same minimal effort Mark put in when he was here, and it’s downright pitiful. Sometimes I wonder how I wasted so much of my life on such a self-centered man.
I busy myself doing laundry, the mundane keeping me moving so I don’t have to sit around and think so much. It’s better to have a quiet mind, especially when mine is spinning non-stop today.
Eventually, I make my way upstairs with an armload of my clothing to put away, and set about doing just that. It’s about the time that I am stuffing my dresser drawers that I realize the pair of lacy blue panties I just bought and had laid out on my dresser for Alejandro’s next visit are gone.
With a frown, I search my drawers to make sure I didn’t accidentally put them away, then the floor, under and behind the dresser too. I look high and low before going into the girls’ room. “Hey,” I say as I knock on the door then let myself in. “Have you seen the blue underwear that were on my dresser?” I ask them as I take notice of Mark’s shoes poking out from the bottom bunk.
He’s laying with our youngest, watching her play games on her iPod I assume, and doesn’t move a muscle when I come in.
“No,” the girls both reply.
“Are you sure? They were right on top.” I describe what they look like, but neither of them admit to having seen nor taken them.
I stare at the soles of Mark’s shoes, a nagging suspicion coming over me. A part of me wants to tell him to turn out his pockets, but I don’t know why. He wouldn’t steal my panties, right?
“Well, if you see them or do know where they’re at, just put them on my dresser please.” I close the door on my way out, unable to shake the feeling that I know exactly who has them. But that’s ridiculous. Has to be. What could he want with my underwear?
After a while, Mark and the girls come downstairs and decide to play a dance game on the Kinect. I sit off to the side, watching and smiling because it’s always a joy to see my kids having fun.
By the time Mark leaves, he’s back to his normal, friendly self, and even comes up to give me a hug on his way out, which is odd to me. He usually tries to avoid physical contact with me…unless we’ve had a disagreement or he thinks I’m mad at him.
As soon as he’s gone, I call up Jean and tell her about the visit, especially the part concerning the case of the missing panties.
“He’s such a creep. He’s probably going to tell his trashy bimbo he bought them for her and make her wear them for him.”
“Oh God, that’s disgusting!” I’m laughing, but honestly, it really is creepy. “I doubt he took them though. I mean, what could he really want with them?”
My oldest daughter is entering the room as I say that last bit and says, “I saw Dad coming out of your room earlier.”
I pause, my jaw dropping open. “What?”
“Yeah, I was coming out of my room and he was coming out of yours. I just thought you knew he was in there.”
I didn’t. In fact, I close the door when I know he’s coming by because of how often he’s prevailed himself of my personal space. It was supposed to be a deterrent. “No, I didn’t know that.”
I relay this information to Jean, who becomes even more adamant that he’s the thief. I have to admit, it’s beyond suspicious now. Still, I don’t want to wrongfully accuse him if he didn’t do it.
“He’s a creep!” Jean insists. “Look at everything else he’s done. He took those underwear and he’s probably smelling them right now.”
“That’s so sick.” I laugh again. “But you’re probably right. I mean, I thought I knew the guy and look how that turned out.”
“See what I mean. I’m telling you, Julie, the man is seriously screwed up in the head.”
“Yeah, I think you might be right.”
“I know I am. I’m so glad you found someone hotter and worth your time.”
“No kidding. Alejandro is great.”
“I’m glad. You deserve someone who makes you happy. And oh my God, I can’t wait to see that baby! You’re going to make the cutest brown babies ever! Do you know what you want?”
“Umm…I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it. As long as it’s healthy, it doesn’t really matter.”
“Yeah. Right. Girls are the worst. I’m telling you, Julie, I love my girls, but they are holy terrors. My boys are so sweet. And look at yours. He’s so quiet and gentle.”
She’s right. I don’t know where people get the idea that girls are sugar and spice and everything nice. Mine tear the house apart, are filthy on their best days and meanwhile, my son is the most reserved, well-behaved kid a parent could ask for. That whole thing about boys being hell raisers must be an old wives’ tale.
“You know, you’re right. I prefer a boy.” I picture holding a little boy in my arms, one that has Alejandro’s eyes and perfectly full lips, his skin a few shades lighter than his father’s, and my heart instantly melts.
“You’re going to have an awesome life. I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks, I’m happy for me too.”
And I am. Things seem to finally be falling into place, and that’s a damn good feeling.