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“Can we discuss it tomorrow, please?”
“Fine. I’ll see you at eight. Goodbye.”
He hangs up, and I realize that I’m barely breathing. Chase is in New York, but for how long?
In the last two weeks, my life has changed so much. I told my son’s father that he was a father, and I broke up with Steven. Now I am a single mother and have no idea how long that will be. Maybe forever.
The minute the clock hits five, I’m out of my office like a shot. My apartment is a disaster. CJ started to teethe last week, and he’s been keeping me up at night trying to soothe him. The poor little guy was crying so hard last night that he started to hiccup. I finally had him chew on a teething ring that I keep in the freezer. It seemed to help, and he fell right to sleep. When I last checked, I could see two bottom teeth trying to break through the gums. I hope they emerge soon because it kills me when my sweet son screams in pain. He’s been such a good baby, rarely waking up in the middle of the night. Even when I change him, he goes right back to sleep without a fuss.
I stop by Lexi’s to pick him up, and she asks why I’m not staying for dinner like I usually do on Friday. She laughs and tells me to join the club when I explain that I have to clean because my apartment is slowly becoming a petri dish. My place needs to be immaculate when Chase comes. I don’t want to give him any excuses to worry about my mothering skills.
Before I leave, I pull Hunter aside to let him know Chase is now seeking visitation rights.
“Megan, you have to tell everyone. It’s not fair to keep them in the dark. Though I’d like to punch the guy, it’s not fair for your family to think he’s a creep even though I think he is.”
Crossing my arms, I say, “I know. I’m planning to tell them as soon as we work out some type of schedule. The problem is that he still lives in California, and there is no way I’m letting him take my son out of my sight.”
“He is the father. You’re going to have to trust him some time,” Hunter points out.
“I know, but until we hammer out the details, I don’t.”
I kiss Hunter and make my rounds before I pack CJ up in his stroller and leave. He falls asleep on the walk home, which I’m grateful for. That will give me a little while to clean. Lexi fed him before I picked him up, but he will need one more feeding before I put him down for the night.
I race around my apartment, scrubbing, vacuuming, and dusting. In two hours, my place is a lot cleaner than it was but not perfect. It will have to do because CJ starts to cry and needs me to change, bathe, and feed him before bed.
By nine-thirty, I’m ready for bed myself. I set my alarm for six, so I can get up before CJ and take a shower. I want to look halfway decent for when Chase comes, although I have no idea why since he will never look at me the way I want him to.
The next morning, CJ wakes me at 5:30. He’s screaming his head off, and I know it’s from those damn teeth trying to come through. I have several teething rings in the freezer and take one to him. After sucking on the ring for a few minutes, he stops crying and goes back to sleep. As soon as he does, I hurry to take a quick shower.
When I come out, he’s still asleep. I smooth his hair, wanting to enjoy a few more mommy moments before I wake him to get him ready for the day. At seven, I do just that. It doesn’t take long to dress and feed him, then settle him on his play mat where he’s content for the time being.
As it gets closer to eight, I begin to pace. After checking the time for the tenth time in five minutes, I force myself to take a few deep breaths. I don’t know why I’m nervous; this isn’t about me. It’s about CJ and his father.
The knock on the door startles me. Usually, the front desk buzzes me. When I answer it, I want to bury my head in Chase’s neck. He’s tan, stunning, and sporting a closely trimmed black beard. I’ve never seen him with a beard. He was always clean-shaven when we were sleeping together. It makes him look more rugged.
“Good morning, Megan.”
His voice is seductive, my name rolling deliciously off his tongue as he hands me a bag of bagels and Danishes as well as my cup of coffee, which is huge. I could use the jolt the caffeine will give me. I thank him as I carry the food into the kitchen. He stops by the play mat and kneels to stroke CJ’s hair, cooing to our son. I busy myself setting out plates, napkins, and silverware.
“Megan?”
My back is turned when he approaches, so he surprises me when I turn to see him standing close.
“Uh, hi.”
“So, do you want to tell me why you aren’t breastfeeding any longer?” He sounds annoyed.
Setting out the food on plates becomes a good excuse to avoid eye contact as I answer, “My production dried up. CJ lost a few ounces, and the doctor recommended switching to formula.”
“It dried up?”
I take my time arranging the Danishes and bagels. Still avoiding his gaze, I explain, “He said it was probably from stress.”
“Why were you under so much stress?”
“I was getting ready to go back to work, and there were a few relationship woes.”
“You mean you weren’t getting along with Steven?” he asks, then pulls the food away, drawing my attention back to him.
