Page 4 of Accidental Baby Daddy

My parent’s separation brought a lot of that up again, and it was hard to ignore.

When we got into my truck, Trent whooped out a cheer from the backseat.

“Grampa!”

“Hey, slugger,” my father responded, his mood seeming to lift. “What have you been up to lately?”

“Coloring,” he said, his l sounding like a w.

Trent was every bit of five years old, but his speech impediment sometimes made him sound younger. He had a big vocabulary for his age, but some people didn’t understand that just because he had trouble with pronunciation didn’t mean he was slow or underdeveloped.

The speech therapist at school assured me that some kids just take a while to catch up, and that Trent was well on his way. I found it kind of cute, but I didn’t want Trent to be bullied for it, so I was relieved to know he was improving.

“Gonna be an artist, huh? Your dad used to draw, you know,” my father said, humming in the back of his throat.

“Dad used to draw?” Trent asked, his blue eyes widening.

“He did. I think I may have kept some of his drawings. I’ll show you when we get back.”

“Wow, Dad,” Trent said solemnly. “You’re full of surprises.” He was so grownup for his age.

I snorted out a laugh. “Well, don’t say that until you see the drawings.”

We arrived at the restaurant, a local steakhouse that I knew served a burger that Trent would actually eat. He was a picky eater, but if all the burger had was cheese and meat, he’d be okay.

The hostess smiled brightly at us before taking us to our seats, her cheeks flushing when I smiled back. I was used to getting attention from women. I wasn’t egotistic, but I saw myself in the mirror every day and I knew that I was attractive.

My parents were still good-looking, even in their mid-fifties. Mom, with her dark auburn hair showing a few streaks of grey and a figure that most twenty-year-olds would envy, and Dad, with a full head of salt and pepper hair and a body that was still in good shape.

Years on an oil rig had made him broad and muscular, and he kept it up as he got older, only developing a slight belly pouch.

I ordered myself a beer yet when I tried to order Dad one, he held up a hand to stop me.

“Not drinking right now,” he muttered.

“That’s a good idea, Dad,” I said softly, and cancelled my beer, ordering a soda instead and a juice for Trent.

I knew that my dad had the tendency to drink too much when he was upset, and I was proud of him for denying himself alcohol while he was in a bad spot.

The waitress brought our drinks, and we ordered dinner. Trent occupied himself with crayons and a couple of kid’s menus, while Dad looked over at me, rubbing his hands over his thighs nervously.

“How is your mother doing?”

“Dad—” I started, but he cut me off.

“I just want to know she’s okay.”

“She’s okay,” I said softly. “She’s hanging in there. She misses you.”

He scoffed. “I don’t know about that.”

“I’m sure she does, Dad, it’s just... you know Mom. She’s hard to get a read on.”

“Don’t I know it.”

My father was always the emotional, passionate one while my mother was more reserved. When she asked him suddenly for a separation, my father was floored. So was I. She wouldn’t explain exactly what it was that spurred her to do it, and my father and I were both at a loss.

It could be a million things, I supposed. I didn’t know the intricacies of my parent’s relationship anymore. I’d been living on my own for years.

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