Claire’s family gathered around her like witches in a coven, around a table. Her father had not driven to her house but took everyone to his home instead. For twenty minutes, Claire had been bombarded with questions on how she ended up at the police station.
She had quickly gone through the details and repeated them twice, because her grandmother seemed confused.
"So, you were not trying to kill yourself because of your ex?" Her grandmother asked, for the third time.
Claire nodded, pushing down a groan. "I would rather kill my ex." Although at the moment, she was sure that she would kill Apollo first.
The old woman leaned back in the chair, patting her chest in relief.
Grandpa Donovan walked into the living room from the direction of the kitchen. He was carrying a big yellow cup filled with orange juice. "So.." he started, sliding the cup before Claire. "How did you end up choosing Apollo Ashford as the fake father of your child? His reputation is notorious. His family seems nice on the surface, but who knows what they are like in private? Wealthy families are not simple."
Claire groaned in frustration. "Why would I punish myself by choosing him? I thought it was you." She looked at her grandmother curiously. "Wasn’t it the work of your knitting club?"
Wilder shook her head. "Me!! Nobody in my little club is Ashford rich, so we don’t know him. I thought it was something you two agreed to. He was screaming about it being his baby when we arrived."
Victor looked around the room cautiously. "So, none of us arranged this fake baby daddy."
Everyone confirmed that they were not involved. All eyes lowered to Claire’s stomach, including hers.
"Then, why is Apollo Ashford claiming it’s his baby?" Victor asked warily.
"He sounded so sure about it." Donna muttered.
Wilder’s eyes widened. "Claire, how confident are you that this is Andrew’s baby?"
Claire’s brows almost came together under the weight of the memories of the night she barely recalled. Andrew had sent her hotel number and said he was planning a surprise that night. Claire recalled attending three different event parties and drinking a little more than usual before locating the hotel room. She had vague memories of hands touching skin, lips meeting and raspy moans.
Early the following morning, she had received a call about an urgent inspection at a restaurant in Denver, so she scribbled a note for Andrew who was showering and left. She figured they would talk later.
"It has to be Andrew," she whispered. He had even sent her a message four hours later that read: You snore like a tiny chainsaw. The message had been accompanied by three hearts and an update on their tenth anniversary plans.
If he had not spent the night with her, why else would he send her such message?
"Are you sure?" Her mother asked. "Because you don’t sound so sure."
They all leaned in like detectives demanding answers from a criminal, or sharks that smelled blood in the water.
Claire reached for the big yellow cup and took a sip of orange juice. Her heart was unsettled and she didn’t like it. Her brows knitted as her mind raced, numbers flickering like equations on invisible chalkboards.
Apollo had been at the convention. She had not seen him, but she had heard someone mention it. Andrew’s attendance of the convention was uncertain, because she had not met him. He had simply sent a hotel room number and promised a surprise.
If Apollo was the father of her child, the odds tilted at thirty-seven percent, based on timing, proximity, and the soap operas about wrong rooms bringing male and female leads together that her friend Madeline enjoyed very much. She wanted to give Andrew one hundred percent, yet the margin of error gnawed at her.
She hadn’t seen the man’s face that drunken night, only shadows and fragments of touch. In the morning, she had left too quickly, without observing her surroundings keenly. Every probability she calculated collapsed into doubt.
"She doesn’t know." Benedict declared. "Look at her face. It’s the same one Benjamin makes when he is staring at his math homework."
"Or Paddy when she sees broccoli in her bowl instead of meat at lunch time!" Donna’s voice rose a few octaves.
Paddy was the dog Wilder had stolen from the K9 unit of the police station. The old woman called it liberating, but it was theft. Paddy was the mascot of the knitting club, and their beloved family dog.
Claire did not know who Paddy was, but she agreed with Wilder. There was broccoli in her meat bowl!
Wilder burst into laughter. "Hallelujah! Anyone but Claire’s ex. I will take Apollo Ashford and his bus of bimbos over the trash that broke my granddaughter’s heart."
Claire put the cup down on the table. She rose with a focused look in her eyes. "I don’t want to think about it anymore. It doesn’t matter who the biological father of my child is. All I know is that it’s my baby and I will raise it. For the record, I still don’t think Apollo Ashford is the father, no matter how many times he screams it." She sighed, feeling exhausted after a short few hours that felt like weeks. "I don’t think any of you understands how far Apollo would go to take revenge for the punch I landed on his cheek when we were toddlers."
Grandma Wilder’s eyes lit up. "You two go that far! This is like the start of a romcom."
"No." Claire yelled with all her might. "No romcom. He hates me, I hate him. End of story."
Grandma Wilder pushed forward, smiling like she ate gossip for breakfast, lunch and dinner. "Oh no, I want the whole story girlie. What else did you do beside punch him?"
"I remember that incident." Victor laughed. "Alden likes to claim it was the single most embarrassing moment of their lives."
With joy, and an abundance of energy, Victor dove into the tale of the punch which resulted in the brief, playful arrest of a toddler.
Meanwhile, Claire settled back into the chair and looked around her parents’ house.
They were still unpacking, and cardboard boxes stacked like uneven towers stood near windows. A few family photos already hung crookedly on the walls--smiling faces, mismatched frames, warmth radiating from every image.
In two photos, Ritah had been cut out!
It was silly, but it brought a smile to Claire’s face. She couldn’t help wondering who the petty one in her new family was. Other than Wilder, she couldn’t imagine someone else capable of such behavior.