The Baby Deal Page 7

  “Seriously.”

  Marta rolled her eyes. “Men. They can be so dumb sometimes.”

  “Especially the really young ones,” Delia said somewhat under her breath because she wasn't eager to get into that part of the story despite the fact that she knew there was no avoiding it.

  Marta looked appropriately confused. “The really young ones?”

  “How old did you think Andrew was when we were in Tahiti?” Delia asked.

  “About your age, I guess. I didn't really think about it. You two looked so good together and he fit in so well—”

  “I thought he was about my age, too,” Delia said. “But when he seemed kind of naive about the baby stuff Monday night I asked how old he is.”

  “And?” Marta urged when Delia dragged her feet about revealing what she knew would be as big a sticking point with Marta as it was with her.

  “He's twenty-eight,” Delia said with a grimace.

  “Twenty-eight? Kyle's age? No.”

  “Yes. Twenty-eight. Nine years younger than I am.”

  Marta sobered considerably and Delia read into it.

  “I know. Boy toy. Deep down I must be as bad as Peaches.”

  “You aren't like our mother,” Marta said forcefully. “Andrew didn't seem at all a boy toy, and that was always part of the appeal for her, if you'll recall. They were always incredibly immature and very obviously a gazillion years younger. That isn't true of Andrew.”

  “I don't know…” Delia hedged.

  “Andrew isn't obviously young and immature. I thought he was older than Kyle and you know what an old soul Kyle is,” Marta insisted.

  “When I told Andrew on Monday night that the baby is his he ran like a rabbit—right out of the restaurant. Just like when Peaches told Kyle's father about Kyle when he was three—remember?”

  “I remember. He was in such a rush to get out of there that he knocked over my bicycle.”

  “Well, if there had been a bicycle in his way Monday night, Andrew would have knocked it over, too. I thought that was the last I'd ever see or hear from him again. Just like Kyle's father.”

  “But you've already seen or heard from Andrew again?” Marta guessed.

  “He was in the parking lot when I left here last night. He wanted to talk, but he looked like he was facing a firing squad.”

  “Still, he came back and wanted to talk,” Marta said, surprising Delia by defending Andrew. “What did he have to say for himself?”

  Delia told her, omitting nothing. Including Andrew's marriage proposal.

  Marta's eyes widened when she heard that. “What did you say?”

  “What did I say?” Delia repeated as if she couldn't believe the question that had been asked reasonably. “I said no, of course.”

  Marta didn't respond to that except to raise her eyebrows.

  “What? You think I should have said yes?” Delia demanded as if that were the most absurd idea yet.

  Marta shrugged. “I just don't know that I find the idea of you marrying the father of your baby as outrageous as you seem to.”

  “It's too early in the morning for jokes, Marta.”

  “I'm not joking.”

  “You have to be. This is a twenty-eight-year-old guy I don't even know.”

  “Right. Who also happens to be your baby's father.”

  Delia deflated slightly in her chair, resting her head on the back of it to stare at her half sister.

  “I'm just thinking,” Marta continued, “about how much you and Kyle and I craved having a dad around when we were growing up. And what if your baby is a boy? Since we're reminiscing, remember the first jockstrap fiasco when Peaches took Kyle to buy one?”

  “She made him try it on over his jeans in the aisle of the store,” Delia recalled.

  “Right. And after that poor Kyle did everything he could to find a male influence. He was on the list of every mentoring program he ever heard about. He was always beating the bushes for someone to toss a football with him or take him to a baseball game.”

  Delia was beginning to feel less certain of the position she'd taken with Andrew.

  But even if it showed it didn't keep Marta from going on anyway.

  “And what about you?” Marta persisted. “That's how we ended up in Chicago in the first place. It's why you live in the house you live in. Maybe you should think about whether or not you really do want to turn up your nose so easily at the opportunity to give your baby what none of us had—a live-in dad married to its mom.”

  Delia hadn't thought about it like that. She'd just rejected Andrew's proposal out of hand because it had seemed so utterly insane to her. Putting it in the terms Marta had just put it in, though, gave her pause.

  Still, there were other things—important things—that were unchanged.

  “But he's only twenty-eight, Marta,” Delia said. “And proposal or no proposal, I don't think he has the kind of staying power or tenacity that Kyle has. He's… I don't know, I just had a really strong feeling that he was proposing because he thought he had to, that he was going through the motions, not that he was doing anything he honestly wanted to do.”

  “So you said no without considering it.”

  “Yes.”

  “And did he breathe a sigh of relief and say he was glad you hadn't taken him up on the offer?”

  “No.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He said we should get to know each other,” Delia admitted, thinking for the first time that Andrew's persistence said something positive about him in spite of his age—and she was giving him credit only now that her sister had pointed out that he hadn't breathed a sigh of relief because she'd turned him down.

  “Getting to know each other seems reasonable,” Marta remarked. “And like a mature way to proceed.”

  “I don't know how mature it was. It was just… It was just like an excuse not to end everything right there and then. Which was what I was trying to do.”

  “But you didn't succeed,” Marta guessed.

  “He wouldn't have it. I ended up agreeing to see him again, to spend some time with him and get to know him, but I still had—and have—my doubts about whether or not I'll hear from him again.”

  “And if you do?”

  “I guess I'll have to stick to my word and see him. Get to know him.”

  “Give him a chance,” Marta said as if finishing what Delia had been saying.

  “Give him a chance at what?”

  “Maybe making things work out between you? For the baby's sake?”

  Delia shook her head, having difficulty believing what she was hearing from her sister. “There isn't anything between us to work out. And for the baby's sake? Are you actually suggesting that I try to have a relationship with and maybe marry someone just for the sake of the baby?”

  Marta shrugged. “I'm just thinking, Dealie,” she said, using the nickname Marta and Kyle had had for her since they were all kids, “that you liked Andrew well enough to sleep with him in Tahiti. There must have been something there or you wouldn't have done that, because that is sooo not you. And even if you don't end up marrying the guy, maybe you should at least try to be on friendly enough terms with him that he can be some kind of a dad to the baby—if nothing else, an 'occasional phone call' kind of a dad, or an 'exchange cards now and then' kind of dad. But just a dad the baby can know is out there in the world for him or her, if he or she needs him.”

  Delia gave her half sister a sympathetic smile. “Is there a little of your own childhood wish fulfillment in this, too, maybe?” she asked gently.

  “Okay, yeah,” Marta admitted. “I wasted a lot of time calling my father, trying to get him to visit, trying to get him to say I could turn to him if I needed to. But that's the point, hon. Kyle did the mentoring thing, I begged for acknowledgment and a safety net, and you came all the way to Chicago—what it boils down to is that every one of us went to extremes to put a father or a father figure into our lives somehow. Just in case your b
aby wants to know his or her father, wants him in his or her life, maybe you should give Andrew a shot. And who knows? He could surprise you.”

  Delia was glad to get home Wednesday evening at the end of another long day. Another long day of work and worry, and of the added strain of half hoping that every phone call her secretary informed her of, every opening of her office door, might bring Andrew into the picture again. That he might actually make good on his claim that they should get to know each other.

  Not that it was for her sake, she made sure to tell herself a hundred times throughout the day. But after having talked to her sister, it did seem as if maybe, for her baby's sake—as Marta had said—she should keep the lines of communication open with Andrew.

  And if she'd felt disappointed each time the call was not from Andrew? That was for her baby's sake, too, she told herself. Only for her baby's sake. Not because deep down she might have been hoping to hear Andrew's voice on the other end of the line.

  And if she'd felt the same kind of disappointment each time there had been a knock on her office door and it had opened to reveal her secretary or Marta or someone else she worked with…? That had definitely been for the sake of her baby and not because she was hoping to glance up and see the carved features of Andrew's remarkable face or that honed body that managed to inspire far too many memories for her.

  It was only the baby she had in mind. The baby and the baby's future. A future that Delia was beginning to think would be fatherless after all, when her doorbell rang.

  She was upstairs in the circa-1945 house she'd inherited from her grandmother five years before. She'd just changed out of her dress clothes into a pair of jeans and a gray hoodie T-shirt. Zipping the hoodie up, she descended the steps that ended in a small entryway only a few feet from the heavy walnut door.

  When she looked through the peephole, she discovered that face she'd been hoping to see all day long. Distorted by the wide-angle lens and barely lit by only the illumination of her porch light, but that unmistakable face nonetheless.

  Andrew.

  And there she was in her laying-around-watching-television clothes, with her hair caught up in a rubber band at her crown just to get it out of her face.

  Still, if she ran back upstairs to put on something better and redo her hair without answering the door, Andrew would think she wasn't home and leave. So, wishing she looked a whole lot more fabulous than she did, she opened the heavy wooden panel to him.

  He smiled and raised both arms from his sides, showing her multiple bags with various fast-food logos emblazoned on them.

  “Burgers, fries, tacos, burritos, chicken sandwiches, salads, chili, hot dogs and fried chicken—can we have dinner?”

  Delia had to laugh. “For about two weeks. If you want to die young,” she answered, bypassing any greeting, too.

  “Or we could order pizza,” he added.

  “Feeling gluttonous?”

  “No, I just want to find something that will get me in the door.”

  “Then you should have brought donuts and cookies,” Delia confided guiltily.

  He grinned and looked over his shoulder at his car parked at the curb. “I can go back if that's what it will take.”

  In spite of having allowed herself to be convinced that continuing contact with Andrew might be what she should foster for the baby's sake, and despite all her disappointments during the day when it hadn't been him on the phone or at her office door, Delia still didn't think she should feel quite as elated as she did to have him standing on her front porch. Because seeing him again pleased her so much she actually felt giddy, and that didn't seem like what she should be allowing to happen.

  So she tried to temper it by taking a deep breath, reminding herself that he'd run scared on Monday night and that on Tuesday night he had appeared looking as if he'd been through the wars in coming to the decision to see her again. And although none of that haggard appearance was there tonight, she didn't think she should lose sight of the difficulty he'd clearly had in making himself set this course.

  “Okay, I'll give you a minute to think it over,” he said when she let too much time lapse while her mind raced.

  Still, Delia didn't rush to invite him in. Instead she took a closer look at him, searching for lingering signs of reluctance. But the haggard appearance was definitely gone tonight. He was wearing slacks, a T-shirt and a short, lightweight leather jacket that added to the effect and seemed just right against the still blustery June weather.

  “Come on, what do you say?” he cajoled when she really had left him standing there longer than she should have. “Can I tempt you with junk food or do I need to go in search of donuts and cookies to sweeten the deal? Because I'll do it, if that's what it takes. Even though you did agree to spend some time with me and this is some time….”

  The way he looked hadn't aided the cause of toning down her giddiness, or her pleasure in seeing him again but she finally stepped aside anyway and said, “I do need to eat,” as if that were the only reason she would let him in.

  He stepped across the threshold, out of the way of the door so she could close it. Once she had, Delia turned back to him, finding him standing in the center of her entryway.

  Against the aged and scarred dark wood paneling that was on nearly every downstairs wall outside the kitchen, it struck her that Andrew was like a diamond in the rough in her modest, dated house.

  He glanced around—into the living room to the right, up the stairs, down the hallway that led to the kitchen in the rear—and said, “This is not what I expected of someone who owns two branches of a very successful business.”

  “No?”

  “Not that it isn't an interesting old place with possibilities for improvement,” he amended. “But—”

  “I know, it needs a whole lot of remodeling and refurbishment. But I inherited it as is, and I've needed to devote all my time and energy since then to getting Meals Like Mom's going in Chicago in order to stay here. So I haven't been able to do anything. The remodel is in the works, though. I've hired a contractor and a decorator, and we're getting started by the end of the month so everything will be redone by the time the baby is born.”

  Andrew again held the bags aloft. “Why don't we eat while this stuff is hot and then you can give me the tour and tell me what you're planning?”

  That seemed innocuous enough. “Okay. There isn't a dining room—that's one of the additions I'll make. So that leaves us either eating at the kitchen table or the coffee table in the living room. Your choice.”

  From the distance of the entryway, Andrew eyed the oval-shaped coffee table in front of her white sofa. “Doesn't look like that's big enough for all this stuff. We'd better do the kitchen.”

  “Good choice,” Delia said, adding, “It's back here,” and leading the way to the family-sized space that sported a beautiful round pedestal table surrounded by cane-backed chairs.

  The table and chairs were the only nice things among the cupboards that were painted to match the walls and appliances so out-of-date Delia was surprised they still worked.

  “It's Incredible Hulk green,” Andrew commented as he followed her into the space lit poorly by a single fixture in the center of a high ceiling.

  “I know, it's awful. The kitchen will have to be gutted. Everything's going—cupboards, appliances, the chipped and speckled linoleum, and the color, for sure.”

  “The table and chairs are nice,” Andrew said as Delia took him there and he set the sacks of food down.

  “The furniture is all mine.”

  “Then you do have taste. That's a relief,” he joked.

  “You doubted me?”

  “Not until I saw this place,” he said with a laugh.

  He took off his leather jacket then and for no reason Delia understood, she couldn't tear her eyes away while he did. Why such a thing should intrigue her seemed completely irrational, but there she was, drinking in the sight of those broad shoulders spreading like an eagle's wings. That
strong, powerful chest thrusting out to stretch the confines of his T-shirt. And something inside her went weak.

  So weak she actually felt the need to pull out a chair and sit down.

  Although when she did, that put an entirely different portion of his anatomy into her line of view. And looking at his zipper brought a whole other element to mind.

  “Sit,” she said a bit urgently as he hung his coat over the back of the chair across from her.

  He finally did as she'd commanded and Delia forced her gaze to his face. His oh-so-handsome face…

  “Tell me again what all we have here,” she said, turning her focus to the safety of the food to prevent herself from any further ogling.

  “A little of everything,” he answered, naming each item as he peered into one bag after another.

  “So what'll it be?” he asked when he'd listed everything once more.

  “I'm a sucker for the Mexican food. I'll go with a burrito. And maybe a little salad. But I don't know what you're going to do with the rest of this stuff.”

  “My roommate will eat anything.”

  “You have a roommate?” Delia asked as Andrew took one of the burgers for himself and set the French fries between them so she could have a few of those, too.

  “Mike Monroe,” Andrew answered. “We've been friends since we were kids. It was sort of an upstairs-downstairs kind of a thing, I guess you'd say. His mother was the nanny for a family that lived near where I grew up. Part of her work arrangement was that she keep Mike with her while she was with the family's kids and that Mike be sent to the same schools. His mom thought she was getting a better education for him and letting him hobnob with kids who could end up being business contacts or names to know when he got out into the world. The trouble was, everyone knew he was the nanny's kid and they just gave him a hard time.”

  “Everyone except you?” Delia asked as they both ate.

  Andrew shrugged. “Trust fund aside, I had more in common with Mike than with anyone else and couldn't have cared less who his mother was. Actually, I thought he was just lucky not to have a stepmother, the way I did.”

  That last comment was fraught with disdain but before exploring it, Delia said, “And the two of you—you and Mike—still live together?”