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I ask so much of my mother; asking her to facilitate a meeting between Evie and the father she's never met is a little much to pile on top. Especially during my mother's divorce, when she's already emotionally fragile and stressed out.
“We’re just two busy people, I see.” He's still smiling at me, but I'm still feeling uncomfortable. For some reason I thought it would be easy to just set up a meeting between us all. My work isn't even that demanding. But I guess Methew doesn't have weekends or the middle of the day available, so I’m racking my brain trying to figure out what we should do next.
“Maybe I could come to your place to meet her later in the evening. We could watch a movie as a family?” Something in the way he's staring at me gives me the ick.
Even though he doesn't come out and expressly admit that he wants to sleep with me, I can't help but feel like that's what he's driving at. Coming over to my home late at night watching a movie, my daughter going to bed, and then we’d just be two adults alone together. It's hard not to read between the lines and know what he’s hinting at.
“I don't think you meeting her in a non-neutral location is a good idea.” It's not the first time I've said almost exactly the same words, nor the second, or even the fourth. I'm starting to think he's not getting the hint - this meeting isn't about us, or for us or for him; this meeting is so he can meet his daughter.
His phone rings and I glance up at him. He lifts a single finger and gets up from the table before walking into another room. Surprised, I glance back down at my phone before realizing I need to use the little girl’s room. I'm a little hesitant to use the restroom at his place, but I decide I'd get up and go ask him where to go.
As I step into the room that he'd gone into, I hear his voice and freeze. “Yeah, I'm not even convinced the kid is mine, but I am sure that I can use this as a way to get to her, if you know what I mean.” He lets out a mean chuckle to whoever he’s on the phone with and anger fills me.
“Yeah, it's driving Charles absolutely insane. I think the poor bastard might actually have feelings for her. She comes in here thinking I’ll feel so sad and desperate to meet her kid; it’s funny. I’ve been fucking with her the whole time she’s been here.”
I walk right over to his side and touch his shoulder with my fingertips. He turns to me, a stunned expression on his face. “I was going to ask you where the restroom is, but now I think I'm just going to tell you that if you wanted to establish paternity, then a test would have probably been a good way to go. But I'm leaving and I’m not interested in hearing from you again. Oh, and you weren’t even an average lay, so I’m sure as hell not letting that happen again. That’s three minutes of my life I’ll never get back.” Furious, I turn toward the door, but he grabs my arm and white-hot panic flashes through me.
“Wait,” he says, ending the call with whoever he was talking to. “I-”
Without hesitation, I slap him across the face and he drops me like a bad habit. With that, I race for the door, suddenly afraid of what he might do given what I said and the angry look on his face now. I let myself out the front door and slow my run to a speed walk toward my car, afraid to look over my shoulder and see if he’s following.
Only after I'm in my car and hit the lock button do I breathe.
I just talked some mad shit, slapped Methew, and left.
My nervous fear comes bubbling out as maniacal laughter that I can't hold back, and I turn over the engine before pulling out of his driveway and pointing my car toward anywhere but here. At this point, I'd go anywhere, as long as it's far, far away from him.
But after a few moments of driving, it becomes very clear exactly where I'm going. When I pull up to the security booth outside Charles’ gate, I nod at the security guy who lets me in without even glancing my direction.
I drive up the driveway without hesitation and park my car, sitting for a moment behind the wheel, trying to come to terms with what just happened. But I realize that I need a comforting shoulder. So I get out of my car and go to the front door, letting myself in and calling out for him as I step across the threshold. Charles meets me a few moments later near the living room and wraps his arms around me. I hear and feel him inhale.
“Are you okay?”
I shake my head. “Not really. Kind of. It's a long story. I slapped Methew.”
He gently pushes me away to look down into my eyes and I can't hold back a smile. “I might have also insulted his manhood and his, um... ability.”
Without warning, Charles burst out laughing and he holds me close, his whole body shaking with mirth. “I take it he finally showed his true colors.”
I nod my head. “You could say that. It was definitely an unintentional showing, but I saw it nonetheless.” Even though I think about his conversation with some stranger over the phone, I get angrier. How dare he talk about me like that? How dare he think about our beautiful daughter that way? My beautiful daughter. She might be related to him, but all he was was a mistake that led to a beautiful gift that I’d never want to miss for anything in the world.
“What do I tell her?” That’s part of what kills me. I'm not sure how I'm going to explain to my daughter that her dad is garbage.
“Why do you have to tell her anything now? You have some time to think about what you'd like to say. And who knows, maybe it'll be years and years into the future before she ever even asks.” His soft words help calm the fear raging within me and I take a deep breath, allowing myself to relax, finally. Something I wasn't able to do at Methew’s house.
I pull away from Charles and walk into the living room to sit. He follows me in, sitting on the couch beside me, our knees nearly touching as he angles his body to face me. “I want to hear more about how you slapped him.” He sounds almost giddy and I laugh, reliving the memory for a moment. Of course, his hurtful words also rise to the surface, and I feel more justified slapping him as I think about what he’d said about me to some stranger. Who knows? Maybe he wasn't talking to a stranger. Maybe he was talking to somebody I know, which makes everything worse.
“We were trying to figure out a time for him to meet Evie and he got a phone call so he left the room. I realized I needed to use the little girl’s room. So I went to go find him and overheard him talking about me to whoever was on the phone.” My throat squeezes as I think about the hurtful words he’d said. “He’s not sure Evie is even his and currently the only reason he's humoring me is to get back at you and to get in my pants.”
The words hurt to say, but I brighten as I think about what I said back; I'm sure that, at the very least, I ruined his day. Charles rubs my leg comfortingly.
“And I may have said he was the worst three minutes of my life.” As I say the words, Charles throws his head back and lets out a hardy laugh.
“I'd be surprised he even managed three minutes,” he says, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.
I lift a shoulder. “I was being generous.”
He laughs even harder and I realize that I enjoy making him happy. With that, he stands up and makes his way toward the kitchen, and I follow. As I fall into step beside him, he speaks. “I'd be happy to make you something to eat or... I did pick up some ice cream.” He says the last words so quickly they blur together and I realize he's worried that I'm going to say something about his treat. So I decide to mess with him just a little bit, because why not?
