An Innocent Thanksgiving (Holiday Heat Book 2) Page 4

  I shrugged.

  Mark shook his head, still chuckling. “I’ve mentioned her plenty of times but you must’ve been focused on your work. You remember that time I told you that you were liable for a huge hit on your taxes from the time you sold that giant canvas for close to a million dollars?”

  I nodded, but to be honest, I barely remembered that conversation. Maybe Mark was right. I did have a tendency to lose myself fin my art. But could I really have zoned out so much, gotten so lost in my own little artistic world of color and light, that I didn’t hear about Maggie being pregnant?

  Casting my mind back five years ago, I tried to remember what happened. Specifically, what happened after that Thanksgiving night between us. I’d started a whole new series of art after that—stylized news that were all, if I was being honest, versions of Maggie. I hadn’t studied her exactly, while we’d been together. Our coupling had been wild and passionate, heat of the moment. I hadn’t stopped to take pictures or to admire. Now I kind of wished that I had—some memento to remember her by. Or at least taking a moment or two to really look at her and drink in her beauty.

  But I’d been kind of obsessed with that series. I’d imagined my muse, the woman—the not-Maggie, as I had christened her in my head to try and lie to myself about what I was doing—in every pose imaginable. I’d focused on that series for almost a year and a half. It had been one of my most successful series, actually, and I’d even done a few gallery openings in New York and L.A.

  Oh, right, that had been right before LACMA had done a retrospective of my work and I’d gone out there for a while—done the lecture circuit. Visited various colleges, mostly on the west coast. Made some appearances. In a way the art world moved faster than other worlds. By my mid-forties I was an old-timer while the young whippersnappers in art were pushing boundaries, etc. Just as I had once been.

  At the same time, it often took until your forties for the work you’d done in your twenties to even be appreciated. Ah, life.

  Maybe that was how I missed out on all the baby fever. Mark and Violet would’ve been bit bad. They’d always wanted grandkids. Jesus, how had I missed it? Aside from my thing with Maggie… Mark was my best friend. This was a huge milestone in his life. To have paid so little attention—it seemed that whether I meant it or not, I was a real asshole to the people that I was supposed to care about the most.

  What made it all worse was that I was pretty sure… well, it might be arrogant of me, but I’d seen the kid. I’d seen what she looked like. That, plus how old she seemed to be… I could be wrong, but I suspected I was the baby’s father.

  Violet poked her head in. “Table’s all set, boys, come and get it! And Cal, you need to properly meet Fern!”

  Fern. That was the girl’s name. It was a soft, sweet name, just unusual enough to make her stand out but nothing too crazy that would get her laughed at. It was the sort of name that made you think the person was a poet. The perfect name.

  Dammit, two seconds of knowing the kid existed and I was getting all soft. This did not bode well. I wasn’t even sure that she was my kid. I hoped she was, I thought she was, but I wasn’t sure. I wouldn’t be, until I spoke to Maggie.

  Dinner was… awkward. Well, Mark and Violet probably didn’t see it that way. They did most of the talking—and so did Fern, full of energy and ready to inflict all of her best stories on this strange new man. I listened appropriately, but it was hard to choke any food down when I could see my own eyes staring back at me. My eyes had always been a bit unusual, and now it was extremely disconcerting to see a color that I’d only ever seen in the mirror, now staring back at me from across a dining room table.

  Fern was also happy to tell me that she was four years old. As if I needed any more confirmation. Her age matched almost exactly. So unless Maggie had gone out and been with someone right after me… I couldn’t have blamed her if she had, but I doubted it. Maggie didn’t seem the type to have a fling, even if it was as a rebound to get over someone else.

  I had no idea how to feel about this—I had never considered having a kid. Had never considered having a family like that. Now I had one, whether I liked it or not. What was I supposed to do about that?

  While Mark and Violet were getting the pie, I took my chance, leaning into Maggie. Maybe it was forward of me, but I couldn’t beat around the bush. I had to know.

  “Maggie.”

  She looked at me, and fuck, she was lovely. How had I ever made the mistake of giving her up?

  “Who is Fern’s father?”

  Maggie stared at me, her expression staying the same, but her face went a bit pale.

  “I can tell from her eyes,” I went on. “She’s mine, isn’t she?”

  Maggie looked away from me, towards the kitchen where her parents were.

  “We need to talk—”

  “I need to give Fern a bath after dinner, and put her to bed,” Maggie said. Her voice was a whisper but there was nothing soft about it. Nothing soft about her towards me. It hurt, and made me realize just how soft towards me she had been, once.

  “We need to talk,” I insisted. “Tonight.”

  “Fine.” Maggie looked at me again. “If you’re set on it. I’ll go to your place after I get Fern settled.”

  I leaned back in my chair as Mark and Violet returned, but I didn’t relax. I was going to get answers, one way or another, and I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like them.

  6

  Maggie

  I knocked on Cal’s door. My stomach was in so many knots I was pretty sure that I was in serious danger of throwing up all of my Thanksgiving dinner. I shouldn’t have eaten so much, but I hadn’t wanted to say anything either, hadn’t wanted to contribute to the conversation with Cal there, so I’d just eaten instead to give myself an excuse in case my parents wondered why I was so quiet.

  For all of my careful planning, this day had finally come. I had always known that it would come, someday. Cal and my parents lived too close to one another, and they were best friends. It was bound to happen. But I’d tried to put it off for as long as I could, and I’d hoped… I’d hoped that I could put it off long enough that when the day finally came, I wouldn’t have any feelings for Cal anymore. I would be able to look at him and feel nothing.

  That was far from the case here.

  In my daydreams, when I’d imagined Cal and Fern would cross paths, she’d be old enough that she wouldn’t look like me, or Cal, but like herself. That he wouldn’t recognize himself in her. That enough time would’ve passed that I could more easily pass her off as someone else. Maybe I would be in a relationship with another man, and Cal would assume that Fern was someone else’s. But now the worst had happened, and I had to explain myself.

  Oh joy.

  The door opened, and just like on that night five years ago, Cal stood there. Just like that night, I couldn’t help but think how handsome he was. How he looked, somehow, like a king allowing me to enter his kingdom.

  Unlike that night, I wasn’t all dolled up and wearing my sexiest clothes. I was wearing an old pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and my hair was just thrown back into a ponytail. I wasn’t going to let myself get dressed up for him. I didn’t want him thinking that I cared.

  “Come on in,” Cal said, stepping back to let me walk inside.

  I hadn’t been here since that night. It was as if no time had passed. The same paintings were on the walls, the same knickknacks and books were on the shelves. I could have been stepping back in time for all that I knew, except that two things had changed: Cal, and me.

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Cal asked. “Or maybe a stiff drink?”

  I wasn’t sure if he was teasing about that last part or not, or if he needed a stiff drink himself and wanted an excuse to grab one. Either way, I wasn’t playing ball. “No, thank you. I can’t stay long.”

  Cal started to gesture for me to sit, but I turned to look at the bookshelf instead, pretending to peruse the titles. Ignoring his offer. Once,
I had trusted that this man would notice and take care of my emotions. Now, I knew better. Cal was a brilliant man. He was talented, hardworking, funny, commanding, charismatic. He was all of the things that I loved—had loved—about him.

  But he wasn’t the man I had dreamed about, either. And if it broke my heart all over again to see him in person and be reminded of that… well, that was my secret. I didn’t owe it to him to tell him that.

  I took a deep breath. I owed him the truth, I supposed, if nothing else. “Yes, Fern is your daughter. You’re the father.”

  Cal went stiff, then nodded, seeming to consciously force himself to relax. “I figured as much.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Fern looked too much like him, I knew that had to be how he figured it out, but a part of me wanted to rail at him and say that he had no right to assume that. I could’ve had any other number of boyfriends in the time since I’d seen him. I could’ve adopted her, even, for all that he knew.

  But I held my tongue. Yelling at him wasn’t going to fix anything, honestly. It wasn’t going to undo the hurtful things that he had said and it wasn’t going to mend my broken heart.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Cal asked. “Why did you never… I could’ve helped… support her, or…”

  I almost laughed, but I knew that I would sound far too bitter if I did. I was probably sounding angry enough already, and honestly, I didn’t want to be angry. I was just tired. “The way that we left things, I figured you weren’t interested in helping to raise a child born from a mistake.”

  Cal reacted like I’d slapped him, struggling to hide a flinch. He opened his mouth to say something, but I wasn’t having it. “The past is the past. It doesn’t matter.” It did matter, very much, at least to me, but that wasn’t the issue. Fern was. Becoming a mother had changed my priorities. I didn’t matter so much as Fern did. I’d go through any number of things if it meant that Fern would be happy and taken care of. “What matters is the future. That’s what we need to talk about.”

  “Is this why you changed schools?” Cal asked, as if the idea had just occurred to him.

  “Yes.” There was no sense in beating around the bush. “I wanted to avoid this situation. I wanted space to raise my daughter and I didn’t want you to have to worry about us.”

  “I didn’t worry about you because I didn’t know that she existed,” Cal replied. “Why didn’t you—I could’ve helped. I should’ve known—I deserved to know, to make my own choice, not have you make that choice for me.”

  I ignored him. He couldn’t possibly think that. When he’d made it clear that our night together was a mistake, how could he have thought I would tell him about an even bigger commitment? He hadn’t wanted to commit to just casually dating! I took a few deep breaths to calm myself. I had to say what I wanted to say and get out of there before the few remains of my courage failed me. I gathered together the shreds of my resolve and held on tightly. “I’ve done a lot of thinking about this, and I believe that I’ve made the right decision. You might have thought I was just a reckless child, but I’ve always been a good decision maker. Logical. You know this. So please, spare me any attempts to say I made the wrong choice. I’m not going to introduce my daughter to a father that considers her a mistake, so you don’t have to worry about that.

  “My parents love you, and you love them, and I don’t want to change that. You’re a good person, and you’re a part of their lives. That means you’ll be a part of Fern’s life, and that’s okay. She’ll love to have an Uncle Cal. You don’t have to worry about anything else. I’m not expecting any money, or time commitment. You’ll just be her friendly ‘uncle’ and nobody has to be any wiser.”

  My words were probably harsh, I knew that. I tried to keep my tone even and kind and not to sound angry, but it was difficult. I was angry at him for rejecting me and for treating me and my choices like I was some foolish child who hadn’t known what she was doing, who had caused us both to ‘sin’ or something ridiculous like that. If what we’d done was such a mistake, then he should have said no to me. It’s not like he tripped and his dick fell into my vagina.

  Besides, I had to protect my child. I had to protect Fern. If Cal wasn’t sure about being her father, and she found out, and had to feel rejected… no. Fern deserved only family that was in a hundred percent, that wanted her without question or doubt, that adored her and all that she was and all that she could be. If Cal couldn’t be her father than her didn’t deserve to be.

  If it were just about me, if I hadn’t gotten pregnant… maybe things could’ve been different. Maybe I could have taken some time, and come back, and Cal and I could have a torrid affair or something, I didn’t know. We could’ve been… lovers, maybe, of a sort. It hurt to think of myself only as a dirty secret, as someone he would sleep with but not properly be with, but I knew myself all too well, and I knew that if it weren’t for Fern I would have subjected myself to that pain, to being that secret, if it meant that I got even a part of Cal.

  Smart or stupid, I still had feelings for him, even after all this time. I couldn’t look at anyone else. They just… didn’t compare.

  But Fern was in the picture, and so things were like this. And I was going to do what it took to protect her, keep her happy and safe. She would never know rejection, not if I could help it.

  Even if in the process it meant that I hurt Cal, or hurt myself.

  7

  Cal

  I almost couldn’t believe what I was hearing and seeing. The Maggie that I knew was sharp-tongued and blunt, honest to a fault as her mom would always joke, but she was also hilarious, loving, and compassionate. I almost didn’t recognize the woman in front of me, a woman who was angry, sharp-tongued, and uncaring.

  Had I done this to her? Had I made her this way? Maggie had once been so vibrant, and I could see that during dinner when she spoke to her parents or her daughter, but around me, there was a clear wall. She was keeping me out, and that hurt me more than I had ever expected. I wanted to knock that wall down, whatever it took.

  I let Maggie talk as she explained what she had in mind: that I would just be ‘Uncle Cal’, a family friend, a fun and occasional presence in Fern’s life and nothing more. “You really have this all planned out, huh?”

  Maggie grabbed her purse again and started towards the door. “I’ve had five years to think about this, so yes.”

  I quickly walked around her, cutting her off, stopping her from getting to the door. “I let you do your talking, Maggie, now let me do mine.”

  “You did plenty of talking that night,” she snapped, but I detected a crack in her voice, a hint of vulnerability. It occurred to me, suddenly, that perhaps she was being so harsh with me because she saw no other way to protect herself.

  And why should she? I had given her no reason to think that I would welcome her with open arms, after the things that I had said that night.

  “I don’t think you should have kept me in the dark. I don’t appreciate your tone, or your intimation that I’d be the type of guy who would reject his own daughter.” I didn’t usually get angry. I was a pretty easygoing guy. But it made my blood boil to think that I had been painted as the kind of cad who would cop out on looking after his kid. “If you had told me—Christ, Maggie, I would’ve done whatever it took to help you out. How hard was it to finish school while you had a kid? How hard was it to juggle a job? What sort of sacrifices—and all on your own? That wasn’t fair to you, and I should’ve been there, you should’ve let me be there.”

  My voice rose in pitch as I spoke and I had to force myself to take a deep breath and calm down. I knew that I could be intimidating when I got going. I was a tall man, and a strong one, usually the biggest guy in the room. I didn’t want her to be scared of me.

  But Maggie didn’t budge an inch. She just glared right back up at me, standing her ground. “You didn’t want a relationship with me, Cal. What was I supposed to think? How was I supposed to think? You’re a famous a
rtist. Did you really think that I wanted your name and mine splashed all over the news in the art world? Middle aged artist has affair with the daughter of his best friend, love child is born, do you know how that sounds? It would have ruined both of us, made both of us laughingstocks. Made you sound like a predator and made me look like the biggest idiot—as if I didn’t feel like the biggest idiot already, sleeping with you.”

  “You didn’t ask for a child. You didn’t ask for any of this. What else was I supposed to do? I took the option that would mean the fewest people got hurt. Fern has no idea her father thinks our night together was a mistake. My parents have no idea that I slept with their best friend, or that their best friend slept with their daughter. You didn’t have to bear an emotional and financial burden that you never asked for. Everybody wins.”

  “You don’t win,” I pointed out. “You’ve had to raise this girl all on your own. I know—well, I don’t know, but I’ve seen and heard what it’s like for single mothers. You should have been spending the last five years being young! Figuring out your life! Not burdened…”

  “My daughter is not a burden!” Maggie hissed, tears springing into her eyes.

  She was so very protective of Fern. It warmed my heart against my will. I should have known that when it came to being a mother, Maggie was nothing short of a grizzly bear, tearing to shreds anything that might hurt her daughter.

  “No,” I said, gentling my voice. “No, she’s not. She’s wonderful. You’ve clearly done a great job with her.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes, but they were still wet. “You haven’t seen enough of us to know if I’m good or not.”

  “Maybe not, but I saw enough. And I know you. You were always so capable and mature.” Was it any wonder that I had been knocked for six when she’d shown up at my doorstep, wearing a practically see-through blouse and jeans that looked like they’d been painted on? I should have resisted her, and yet, even now, it was hard to keep myself from reaching out and touching her.