Page 4 of Christmas with the Baby Daddy

I breathed through the pain of that one and only lie I’d ever told him. It wasn’t a lie, technically. I hadn’t seen his father in years and doubted I ever would again. Of course, George had a father. Soon, he’d know that every person came from a mom and dad, from a sperm and egg, and with that, he’d know his dad just wasn’t there.

“He said his mom calls me a bastard. What’s that mean?”

I gripped the steering wheel tighter.Reagan, I hope you rot in hell. “Nothing, honey.”

He furrowed his brow. “I’ll ask Jenny.”

“No!” She wouldn’t hold her tongue. “Um, it’s just a mean name to call someone.”

“Oh. I know how mean Brent is.”

Don’t we all.“Ignore him,” I said, desperate to get off the topic of bastards and fathers. “We’ll go to the store and you can be my big helper. Then how about we get one of the fancy pizzas on the way home so we can still have time to play Uno?”

“Okay, Mama.”

I sighed, gazing at him while stopped at a red light. He was such a sweetheart, eager to please and so chill. I’d never regret how he’d come into my life.

Managing my work hours was a headache. The guilt of never being the present mom I wanted to be for George was a never-ending struggle. But the worry about my son feeling lousy about not having a father in his life?

I couldn’t bear it.

I’d have to tell him and explain. I hated myself a little more each time I kept quiet about the fact that I was too intimidated to tell his father about him. That was the truth, but all these years of lying and hedging the topic worsened this pit of dread in my stomach.

One day, I would need to reveal who his father was, but not now. Not any time soon. There was no point in ruining the holiday spirit like that.

Besides, it wasn’t like we’d ever see him again. He’d made sure of that.

2

ZACH

Inever thought I’d see this place again.

Vernford, Indiana was a typical small town in the smack middle of nowhere. It was a far cry from the hot climates of the Middle East and the more brutal terrains of wherever my troop was sent to for the last almost twenty years. After two decades of being on the move and never considering coming “home”, I stood in the airport terminal and people watched, wondering if these travelers were coming or going.

My trip back to Vernford couldn’t be it. I was too much of a nomad now to seriously consider staying put in that little destination. But three months after surgeries on my shoulder and routines of physical rehab, it would be my next stop. Medical discharge from the military did that to a man. I never counted on being kicked out of the only career I’d ever wanted. I certainly hadn’t anticipated that a helicopter crash during standard, non-combat training would be the event.

“Hey, stranger.”

I smiled, hearing Amanda coming from the distance. My younger sister wasn’t a stranger. She couldn’t be. She was blood, and part of the very small family I actually had left. But with the twenty-year age difference between us, it was our inside joke.

I spun to face her, amazed by how much different she looked from the last time we’d FaceTimed. It had to have been a mere six months ago, before that crash and the shoulder injuries that ensured I’d never be in active duty again. Her hair was longer. Her eyes were sharper. “Hi, Amanda.” Holding my good arm out, I welcomed her for a hug. “Happy belated birthday.” She’d turned eighteen just last week. “How are you liking adulthood so far?”

“Eh.” She eased out of my hug, which surprised me. Even though we weren’t close and many long spells separated me from her, she was always touchy feely and wanting hugs. “It’s the same shit, different days.”

I cracked up, stepping back. “Where’d you learn to talk like that?” I joked.

“You,” she teased right back, smiling and patting my back in an urge to move.

We didn’t call or FaceTime often enough for me to have that much of an influence on her. “No, really.”

“Grandma Jenny.”

I nodded as I followed her. Our grandmother was a frank, blunt, and eccentric woman prone to profanity here and there.

“That’s all you have?” she asked as she hurried a route back to her car that she’d pulled up to the curb. “One bag?”

“Yeah. What’d you expect?” I opened the back door and tossed my large duffel in. When the slight twist and use of my upper-back muscles didn’t cause a twinge of discomfort or pain to pull through my movement, I marked it as a small but hopeful sign of recovery.

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