Best Laid Plans Page 14

  “Right.” He swallows roughly before changing the subject. “Maybe y’all can come to my place for dinner one night?”

  “That…that sounds good.”

  Alden beams his pearly whites at me, and once again my heart pangs, knowing all I have deprived him—and Tatum—of. He rises from the couch, and I do too. Together we walk to the door, where things once again turn awkward. After practically dry humping on the couch, do we hug? Shake hands? Nothing at all? I’m too busy overthinking it when he makes the decision for the both of us, hugging me close and placing a feather-soft kiss to my forehead.

  He’s out the door before I can even process everything that just happened. And my God, it’s a lot to process. Wine! I think. Wine will help.

  I return to the couch, drink in hand, just in time to hear my phone ding. It’s a text. From him.

  ALDEN: For real, Nat. Thank you.

  I gulp down half of my glass and reply.

  NATALIE: Don’t thank me for doing what I should have done from the start. It’s the right thing to do. For you and for her.

  He doesn’t reply after that, and that’s okay; we’ve said all we need to—for now.

  Thirty minutes later, Tatum is still napping. Normally, I wouldn’t let her sleep so long, but she’s had a big day, and honestly, I need some time to myself.

  Sinking back into the couch, I relish in the peace and quiet—until the sound of my phone ringing cuts through the air. A quick glance at the screen shows my mom’s name. We’ve chatted a few times here and there since all of this happened, but my dad and I have yet to talk, which freaking kills me.

  Not in the mood to deal with her, I send the call to voicemail. But she’s persistent and calls right back. I swipe my thumb across the screen. “Hey Mom.”

  “Natalie.” My name comes out as more of a sigh than a greeting.

  “What’s up?” I ask, already feeling exasperated. I get that I let everyone down, but at this point, I feel like my parents need to accept what happened and move on. Every time my mom and I talk, it feels like we’re both walking on eggshells.

  “Oh, your dad and I just wanted to check in.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t speak for Dad when we both know he hasn’t made an effort to speak to me since everything went down at Bayside.”

  “Your father loves you, Nat. He’s just struggling.”

  “He’s struggling? Really?” I count down from ten in an effort to not flip my shit. “I get that me being a teen mom was hard for y’all. I get me refusing to name the father was hard for y’all. But guess what? It. Was. Hard. For. Me. Too!

  “I freaking lived it. Every day, I lived it. And I know I made mistakes and messed up, but I’m doing my best to right my wrongs in a way that’s best for Tatum. Because here’s the thing: she comes first. Now and always. Dad can either decide to forgive me and accept things for what they are or not—I’m not going to beg. But, Mom, I will not let this drama affect my daughter—your granddaughter—and y’all shouldn’t, either.”

  Mom’s quiet for a long time, and patiently, I wait her out. Finally, she says, “Okay Natalie. Okay,” and ends the call. I’m not sure which part of my tirade she’s okaying, but whatever. I’ll take it. Okay is better than nothing, I guess.

  * * *

  As the week progresses, work, home, and school all run smoothly—even things with Alden seem to be looking sunny. You know, aside from lingering glances and a crackling sexual tension that we’re both determined to ignore. Which is why my defenses are up—I’ve learned by now that anytime life looks this bright, I should expect a black cloud to dump rain on me, pronto.

  Or maybe it’s just nerves over our dinner at Alden’s tonight. Nerves over telling Tatum who he is. Yeah, that’s probably it. “C’mon Tater Tot! It’s time to go,” I say, poking my head into her room.

  Only she’s not there.

  Panic rushes through me, and I holler her name, sprinting from her room.

  Relief fills my lungs just as quickly when I find her sitting on the floor at the front door. “I’s been ready,” she states in that no-nonsense way of hers. “I’s been waiting on you!”

  “You scared me, Tater Tot. Why didn’t you answer me when I called for you?”

  “You said we not yell through the house. I sorry.”

  I crouch down and kiss her pudgy cheek, unable to argue with her logic. “It’s okay, baby. Let’s go. I bet your—Alden made us something tasty.”

  The drive from our apartment to his house is quick—he lives much closer than I realized—walking distance, in good weather. His house is a split-level white brick ranch with a yard so picture-perfect the Cleavers would be jealous.

  Tatum and I walk up the little stepping stone path that leads from the driveway to the front porch. Well, I walk; Tatum runs. Her little fist is pounding on the beautiful blue door before I even make it halfway. Needless to say, the kid is excited.

  The door swings open, and a very nervous-looking Alden appears. I’ve never in my life seen the man look more frazzled. Tatum flings herself into his arms, and right before my very eyes, his stress melts away. It’s beautiful and completely reaffirms it’s time to tell her. So, those rainy clouds I was worrying about can take a hike because tonight is going to be nothing but rainbows and happy tears.

  Reminiscent of his first time at our house, I have to ask if he’s going to invite us in. Which he promptly does, a slight blush coloring his cheeks, making him look younger than he is.

  “What you cooks us?” Tatum asks, smelling the air like a dog sniffing out its dinner. “It smells like pizza.”

  Alden reaches a hand over his left shoulder, rubbing at the space between his shoulder blades. “Ah, about that. It is pizza. I planned on grilling steaks, but they…didn’t turn out.”

  Oh, my. I might just die from the cuteness. “Alden Warner, did you get nervous and burn our dinner?”

  He studies his feet like they’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. “Maybe.”

  “Ha!” My laugh bubbles up and out before I can stop it. He glares at me for about two seconds before he starts laughing, too.

  Meanwhile, Tatum’s looking at the two of like we’re insane. “Peoples! Pizza is no laughing matter. My tummy wants it! Now!”

  “Yeah, true that,” Alden agrees, hoisting her up and flying her, airplane-style, all the way to the kitchen.

  We waste no time digging into the gloriously cheesy pie. We’re all on our second slice when I decide it’s time.

  “Tater Tot, there’s something we want to tell you.”

  “Der is? What?” She takes another bite, cheese stringing from her lip down to the slice on her plate.

  Alden reaches over and severs it, leaving Tatum to happily slurp it up into her mouth. “What, Mama? What!”

  “We wanted to say…to tell you that…um.” Alden trips over his words in the most endearing way.

  Tatum though, she’s fed up with waiting. “You Mama’s boyfriend now?”

  “No!” Alden rushes out, his eagerness to correct her is a small arrow to my heart. “No, pretty girl. That’s not it.” Guess I’m good enough to kiss but not to date. The thought invades my mind uninvited, but I send it packing. Tonight is not about me.

  Tatum pouts and her shoulders slump forward. “Why does that make you so sad, Tater Tot?” I ask.

  “A’cause if Alden was you boyfriend, he could be my daddy.”

  We both inhale sharply. All this time, I thought Tatum was content—happy with it being just the two of us. The knowledge of all that I’ve truly deprived her of is another arrow to my heart, only this one splinters and embeds itself into the very core of the muscle.

  “I am.” Alden chokes out the words. “I am your daddy.”

  Tatum swivels to face him so fast her movement is a blur. With her eyes wide and her heart on her sleeve, she asks, “You are? For reals?”

  “Yeah, pretty girl, for really reals.”
>
  She shoves her chair back from the table so hard it topples over, but that doesn’t stop her. She’s on a mission—and that mission is to hug her dad. She flings herself onto his lap and wraps her arms and legs around him in a monkey hold.

  He hugs her close and presses his lips to the top of her head. I feel like I’m intruding on a magical but private moment, so quietly, I excuse myself and retreat to the kitchen. But as I go, I hear my girl whisper through her happy tears, “I lub you, Daddy Alden. A lot.”

  Tears wet my cheeks as I cry silently. I’m not sad. I’m happy—so incredibly happy. And remorseful. And full of regret. It’s funny how back then, I was so convinced I was doing the right thing…how I planned this all out to make sense in my mind. But, we know what they say about the best-laid plans.

  The sound of their muffled talking floats into the kitchen. I’m tempted to listen in, but I know that this is their time. Still, the temptation is strong. In an effort to fight it, I let myself out onto the back porch.

  But the nighttime silence is too much. I need a distraction. Fumbling, I slide my phone from my back pocket and dial my brother. No answer—duh, he was switched to night shifts last week. Unsure of who else to call, I find myself scrolling to Jenny’s contact info. I hit the green button, and she answers on the first ring.

  “Nat! Hey girl!”

  “H-hey.” My voice breaks.

  “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I sniffle. “Everything.”

  “Nat, you’re kind of freaking me out.”

  “S-sorry. It’s just…” More sniffles. “It’s just too much, you know?”

  “No babe. I don’t know, because I have no clue as to what you’re talking about.” We’re both quiet for a moment. “But…something tells me this is about Alden.”

  At the sound of his name, a small sob breaks free, and I slide down the side of the house until my ass hits the wood of the porch. “We told Tatum tonight.” Since the entire café knows our drama, that’s all I have to say. Jenny remains quiet as if she knows I have more to get off of my chest. “He’s such a g-good man, Jenny. He’s stepped into his role as Tatum’s d-dad like a duck to water. He’s so kind and compassionate and just…good. Even with my bullshit and lies, he’s k-kind to me. He sh-should hate me for keeping his daughter from him.”

  I’m mortified by the words falling from my lips, but I can’t seem to stop. “I thought I was d-doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting him. But I was selfish and stupid. I took so much from them.” My words dry up as my tears fall harder.

  “Babe, I’m gonna stop you right there. From what I’ve gathered here, you were still a kid. We all do stupid shit that seems smart when we’re young—learning from our mistakes is how we gain wisdom. And sure, he missed out the first couple of years, but they have their entire lives together ahead of them. You’re a good woman, and a good mother, and Alden forgives you because he can sense that. Just breathe, sweetie.”

  Her words are just the balm I needed. They wrap around me and soothe my hurt. “I…thank you, Jenny. Sorry to dump on you like that.”

  “No problem, babe. But know this—my ass just got promoted from your work wife to your real-life bestie. Deal with it.”

  Her sassiness turns my cries into laughter. She’s the exact medicine I needed. “I can handle that.”

  “Wasn’t asking. Talk later. Oh, and Nat…you’ve got this.” She ends the call, and I lean my head back against the side of the house, staring up at the twinkling stars in the night sky. Is Jenny right? Do I got this? I sure hope so.

  31

  Alden

  Swear on everything I’ve ever cared about, my daughter hugging my neck and telling me she loves me is the most amazing feeling on this earth. It’s everything I never knew I wanted, yet everything I ever needed, all at once.

  The feeling punching around in my chest is like nothing I have ever felt before—it’s sadness, joy, hope, elation, and reverence, all rolled into one. That this kid could truly accept and love me is the greatest gift I’ve ever been given.

  When Tatum finally draws back from our embrace, she touches the tip of her little button nose to mine and places her palms flat on my cheeks. “You really my daddy?”

  I nod, my throat too clogged with emotion to attempt to speak.

  “And you wub me? Forever?” More nodding. “Den where you been all my life?”

  Her questions cause an ache all the way down to my soul—dammit, Natalie. “I…” my voice is gravelly. “I was away…studying and working…on becoming the best man I could be so that I’d be worthy of being your daddy.”

  She studies me for a minute, and I swear she’s, at all of three years old, about to call me on my shit. But instead, she snuggles in close to my chest again, nestling her head beneath mine. “Okay…Daddy.”

  We stay just as we are for a few more quiet minutes before she pulls away again. “I’s still hungry. You got ice cream?”

  I shake my head and smile. Damn, toddlers are resilient. “You know what, I think I do. Wait here, and I’ll go find your mama, and we’ll scoop up some ice cream.”

  My girl nods and moves back to her chair, helping herself to another slice of pizza. For such a small thing, the kid really can put away some food.

  I walk into the kitchen, fully expecting to see Natalie. What I’m met with though, is completely different. The door leading to the porch is ajar, and drifting in on the breeze is the sound of Nat breaking down. Her tears and sobs and sorrow are so visceral, it’s almost as if I’m the one experiencing them. I can feel just how much she regrets the decisions that led us here. I once accused her of being selfish, but the reality is, she is anything but. She was a scared kid who didn’t fully comprehend the ramifications of the decision she made.

  I shouldn’t stand here and listen to her pour her heart out like this, but I’m a shit, because I do. I listen to every word until I hear her end the call. I let a few seconds pass, and then I step outside and join her.

  “You okay, Nat?”

  The smile she aims my way is watery. “Yeah. Totally fine.”

  I don’t bother calling her on it. Instead, I extend a hand down and haul her to standing. “Our princess is requesting ice cream.”

  “Oh, well, we better—”

  Natalie doesn’t have the chance to finish her sentence because a very impatient Tatum bursts through the doorway, joining us.

  “I want ice cre—you have a pool!”

  We both snicker at her abrupt subject change. “Yes, I do.”

  “I lub swimming!”

  “Tater Tot, you don’t know how to swim.”

  Totally undeterred, she stops her little foot. “So! I still lub it! It’s like a really super big bathtub, and baths are da best!”

  I wink at Natalie. “Girl’s got a point. Y’all will have to come over and swim soon before the temperature drops.”

  “Yes! Please, Mama! Please, can we?”

  “Of course, baby. Alden—your dad and I will figure out a date, okay?”

  “Okay! Now we can has ice cream?”

  “No,” I gently correct her, “we can have ice cream. Not has.”

  Tatum gives her mama an eye roll worthy of a teenager. “Fine. Can we have ice cream? I fink I might die without it!”

  I snort at her antics. If she’s this dramatic now, I can only imagine her at thirteen. “Yeah, kiddo, let’s head inside. I have chocolate, vanilla, and chocolate chip cookie dough.”

  “Dat one! I want dat one!”

  32

  Natalie

  The past two weeks have been nothing short of pure bliss. Thanks to Alden hanging out with Tatum on the days I do my classes, my grades are top notch. They’ve also had several solo outings. I’m so totally impressed with the way Alden makes Tatum his number one priority, even over the café.

  One day last week, she was sick, and the preschool called me to come get her. My section was crazy busy. Even though things with my parents
are still rocky, I tried calling them, but they didn’t pick up. Alden, though—he rearranged a whole day of vendor meetings and picked her up. He stopped by my place and grabbed her blankie and her Poppy Troll and set her up with his tablet on the couch in his office.

  Hell, he even had Darren whip up some chicken noodle soup for her and sat on the edge of the couch where he fed it to her—when I walked in and saw that, swear to God, my ovaries exploded. Ka-boom.

  As promised, Alden has kept me off the schedule on the third Saturday of every month. And on this particular Saturday, we’re headed to his house to swim. To say that Tatum is over the moon would be an understatement.

  Me, on the other hand? I’m a too-deep-in-my-own-thoughts mess. After the handful of heated kisses we’ve shared, the silly teen inside of me wants to look good for him…she wants him to notice me as more than the mother of his child.

  Pathetic, right?

  Even knowing what a sap I’m being, here I am, standing at the foot of my bed looking at every swimsuit I own. Do I play it safe and go with my black one-piece that screams I am mom, hear me roar!, or do I walk on the wild side and don my sexy, rust-red bikini with cheeky bottoms? Maybe I should just split the difference and go with my high-waisted bottoms that hide—as Tatum calls them—my tiger stripes?

  I blanch at the thought of Alden seeing my stretch marks. High-waisted it is. The bottoms are a gray-ish blue, and even though they don’t match, I pair them with my rust-red top. It pushes my boobs together, and Lord knows, after nursing, they need all the help they can get. I toss on a simple black cover-up and grab some towels, Tatum’s floaties, sunblock, and some after-sun lotion and toss it all into a bag along with a change of clothes for each of us.

  Just like every time we go to Alden’s, Tatum is ready and waiting at the door. “Are you fine-ah-wee ready?”