“You know I’d take your call.”
My mother gave me a harmless slap on the arm. “Be nice.” She knew more than anyone how frustrating my father could be.
Ignoring her comment, I crossed the living room to the bar. “Drink?”
“Yes, please. It has been a day.” She lifted her hand in an overly dramatic gesture.
I sighed. “Tell me about it.”
I poured us both a glass of wine and carried them back to the couch. After I handed one to my mother, I started slowly pacing the length of the room. At first, I didn’t realize I was doing it until I saw her watching.
“What’s wrong?” She eyed me carefully. “I’m getting dizzy. Sit down.”
“How do you know something’s wrong?”
My mother gave me “the Mom” look. “I’m your mother, Marcus. It’s my job to know when something’s bothering you.”
“Rough day.” I didn’t elaborate, unsure of how to broach the subject of Ella. While I had contemplated keeping Ella’s confession a secret, I suspected my mother would have some insight on the subject. I’d never really shared much with her in the past, but she’d been making an effort to get close to me, and I thought I should attempt to meet her halfway.
“I had lunch with a woman today.”
My mother took a thoughtful sip of wine, and the expression on her face revealed it wasn’t the best she’d ever tasted, but it would do. “Doesn’t sound like it was a very pleasant event. Did things not end well between you?”
“They ended fine. That’s not the issue.”
“Well, then what is it?” my mother asked. “Does she want to see you again? You’re thirty-six, Marcus. You’re independent. You’re no longer in that dreadful motorbike gang. I still get chills thinking of those days.” She shuddered.” What was the name? Hellbrothers? No, that wasn’t it. Devilish Boys?”
“Devilish Boys?” I was almost insulted by that one.
“Thank goodness I’ve forgotten,” she continued, “that’s one good thing that comes with age, darling, you no longer have to recall those terrible things. And please, son, do not bother to remind me.” She waved her hand theatrically. Again, in a way only my mother could. “The point is, you can afford to settle down. It’s been a long time since you’ve had a serious relationship, and I do want to be a grandmother at some point.”
Be careful what you wish for, Mom.
“Well, I’m glad you think so. Because she believes her daughter is mine.”
My mother’s eyes widened, and she practically choked on her wine. If the situation hadn’t been serious, I would have laughed. Instead, I waited patiently as she coughed her way through it, startling Samson. He got off the couch with a huff and wandered away to find a quieter resting place.
I took the spot on the couch next to her while she tried to pull herself together.
“What? No. Son!” She set her wineglass on the table, to keep it from spilling. “I didn’t mean I wanted to be a grandmother right this second!”
“And I didn’t want to be a father today.” I shrugged. “It looks like we both got more than we bargained for.”
She stared at me, dumbfounded, her mouth slightly agape. “A daughter?” she managed to ask. “She says you have a daughter?”
I nodded as I sipped my wine, which was actually better than I’d expected after my mother’s dismissal.
A myriad of expressions passed across Mom’s face as she tried to process the information. “How old is she?”
“Almost two.”
“Two? She’s almost two years old!?”
I was surprisingly calm. I assumed because my mom was close to having a full-blown panic attack. “Mom, if your voice goes any higher, you’re going to spook Samson…”
“What’s her name?”
“Nylah.”
“Nylah? Her name is Nylah!?”
“…and all the dogs in the neighborhood.”
“Marcus, now is not the time for joking around,” my mother scolded. “You need to take this seriously.”
“Trust me, I am. It’s all I can think about. I have no idea what to do with this information.”
“Well, I do.” She sat up straight and eyed me pointedly. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You don’t even know for sure whether she’s yours.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
That wasn’t possible. There was no fucking way I could just go back to my own life knowing that there was a child out there who I’d helped bring into the world. I was never one to sit back and do nothing, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to start.
“She wants money.” My mother picked up her glass of wine. “That must be her motivation.”
I shook my head. “No, she doesn’t. I can tell.”
“Why? Because she said so?” She scoffed, giving another dismissive wave of her hand. “Marcus, your uncles and your cousins have been through this situation more times than I can count. Trust me, women always want money. First, it’s child support, then the next thing you know, you’re paying her rent, her bills, her mother’s pedicure, her ex-husband’s car payment, and who knows what else while she’s off doing God knows what.”
“Her ex-husband’s car payment? Mother, don’t be ridiculous.”
“Mark my words.”
“Normally, I would agree, but Ella isn’t like that.” I knew she wasn’t, regardless of what my mother thought. “And wouldn’t she have come to me earlier if that were the case? She knew who I was from the beginning. As soon as she found out she was pregnant, she would have been on my doorstep asking for a handout. But she didn’t do that.”
My mother sighed and placed her glass on the end table and turned her body toward mine. “Well, what took her so long? She’s probably down on her luck and desperate for cash. I can guarantee she’s going to ask you for help.”
“If the kid is mine, I’ll do what’s necessary to make sure she’s taken care of.”
“Does anyone else know?”
“No, it didn’t sound like it. She was clear she didn’t want to be associated with the Willinghams.”
“Oh, is that so? She didn’t want to be associ—” She stopped midsentence and then seemed to think about it for a moment. “That’s good at least. Regardless, we need to keep this situation under wraps. The last thing we need is for the press to get wind of the fact you might have a secret love child.”
The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.
My parents had been the ones who were always concerned with the press and gossip columns. I’d been too focused on establishing myself outside of the family name to really care about that.
“I’ll talk to our attorneys and have some papers drawn up,” she continued. “She’ll need to sign an NDA before we hand over a dime.”
I rolled my eyes and took another sip of wine. I should have known she would focus more on appearances than how the situation might be affecting me. “That’s not necessary.”
“The hell it isn’t.”