Page 121 of Who's Your Daddy?

“You can do it.” I sit down and open my arms to Ambrose again. “Come to mommy. Come on.”

“That’s it, buddy.” Peter zooms in on him. “You’re almost there.”

Ambrose moves a few more inches before he stumbles over his hands and flops over onto his back, the rubber mat cushioning the fall. He’s a little stunned, looking bewildered, like he doesn’t understand how the world flipped over so fast. I waddle over to him on my knees and place a hand on either side of him.

“I’m gonna level with you. The actual Kung Fu Panda showed more grace than you just did. I’m not trying to put you down, but we had the whole theme song going for you and everything, and you gave us nothing. Where’s your drive? Where’s your dedication? You gave up at the first obstacle. I honestly expected more from you.” I look up at Peter when I hear him chuckle. “He brings dishonor to the family name.”

His jaw clenches even though his smile sort of remains intact. “And what exactly is the family name?”

The question catches me off guard. “Uh...well...as you can see...he’s a slacker. No ambition or drive to do anything but laze around. Pretty sure that makes him a Danahay.”

That gets a laugh out of him. “Fuck off.” His smile slowly fades, and his expression turns serious. “Why did you name him Ambrose?”

“Because...” That’s another loaded question, and I give a helpless shrug, looking down at Ambrose instead of at him. “I don’t know. It was such a shock when I found out that...he wasn’t yours, and I guess...a part of me still refuses to accept that. And even though I thought I would never see you again...I wanted to carry that memory of you...and us...and that dream we had for him...I wanted to keep that with me always. I think it was the best thing...and the worst thing I could’ve done because on the one hand, it was a constant reminder of all the happy moments we had throughout my pregnancy, but...” I clear my throat to get rid of the lump forming in it. “But on the other hand, it was like my heart broke all over again...everytime I said his name. It was, uh, it was an unconventional form of torture. And that made it kinda impossible to get over you.” I chew the inside of my lip and risk a glance up at him. “I know you hate me now. I’ve apologized a thousand times, but I know that you still don’t trust me, and you think that everything I ever told you was a lie. You don’t have to forgive me, but at least believe me when I say that...he’s my son, my whole world. I never would’ve named him that if what we had wasn’t real.”

Uncertainty flickers in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me, letting me stew in my own exposed vulnerability. That’s about the millionth time I put myself out there and received nothing back. I brush off the rejection the same way I always do and stand up.

I try to focus my eyes on anything but him because it’s the same dreadful humiliation I face every time, and I just can’t bring myself to look at him. One would think I’d be smart enough to stop doing this to myself, but no. I keep laying my soul open and making an ass of myself because I want to make amends. I want to show him how sorry I truly am, but I need to be real with myself. He’s not going to forgive me.

“Okay, well, um, I think...you can hold down the fort here just fine. I need to get ready for Tori’s wedding.” I force a smile and look down at Ambrose again. “You’ve got your work cut out for you. By the time I get back, I wanna see a medal or something for the fastest crawler in the world, okay?”

I keep my head down to avoid eye contact as I make my awkward escape out of the living room. My legs feel numb as I race up the stairs. My cheeks are on fire, and I just try to breathe through the pain and embarrassment as I turn on the shower and step inside. I push it out of my mind and focus on something else.

Gerald, my new boss, usually sets up a station in the store every Christmas for all the parents who want to take pictures with Santa. He keeps a camera in the backroom for this and told me I could use it for Tori’s wedding because the camera on my phone wasn’t going to cut it. It’s a damn good camera, better than I expected, and much too sophisticated for basic Christmas pictures. I’m going to make sure I put it to good use today.

I take my time making sure I have all the equipment I need before I curl my hair and apply my makeup. Choosing a dress is more daunting than I expected. While I can still fit into most of my old clothes, my body has definitely changed after Ambrose. Some parts are more plump than they used to be. Other parts are a little less firm. After trying on a few dresses, I settle on a burgundy evening gown because it highlights the good and hides all the bad.

The sweetheart neckline does wonders for my cleavage. The lace across the bodice is adorned with intricate, hand-sewn beadwork that adds a touch of glamor. The back of the dress dips into a deep V-cut, stopping just above my waist, and is also embellished with lace and beads. It’s elegant, but the daring thigh-high slit up the side adds just the right amount of sexy.

With the beating my self-esteem has taken these last three weeks, I could use a bit of elegance and beauty. My work uniform makes me feel frumpy and very undesirable, so it’s a nice change to have an occasion where I can dress up a little. I apply a deep plum to my lips and smack them together to even out the color. I put on gold jewelry to match the beadwork on the dress and finish with a splash of perfume.

“Not bad,” I say, twisting and turning in front of the mirror.

I open my bedroom door to head out but have an attack of self-doubt at the last minute and rush back to the mirror. Maybe I overestimated the power of this dress. Maybe it doesn’t hideallthe bad.

My eyes zone in on the pooch on my stomach that wasn’t there before, and it looks like it’s popping right out of the dress. I suck it in and let it out, suck it in and let it out.

“Maybe I should change.” I suck it in and let it out. “That looksawful.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

The unexpected voice startles me, and I wildly spin around, knocking my makeup and brushes off the dressing table. Peter’s standing at the doorway...watching me, and I wonder how much of my in-and-out belly dance he actually witnessed. I look across the hall to the nursery and see Ambrose asleep in his crib. Hopefully, that means he’d been more focused on getting the baby down quietly and paid no attention to my antics.

“Oh, hi. Uh...I didn’t...see you there.”

It’s so awkward, and I don’t know what to say because he’s just standing there. He glances at me, then looks away, only to steal another peek a few seconds later. It’s like he doesn’t want to look at me, yet something keeps catching his attention. Whatever it is, makes me feel ten times more self-conscious.

“Ambrose is sleeping?” The answer is obvious, but he’s making me nervous, and that’s the first thing that popped into my head.

“Uh...yeah.” His eyes finally settle on me for a few short moments. “He’s beat. I told him you were right, and he needed to do better, so I had him do some drills.”

There it is. That tiny glimpse of how we used to be, and I grab it with both hands. “Good. He can’t keep slacking off like that.”

“You don’t think we were too hard on him?”

“Pfft. No. That was child’s play. We can go harder.”

He smiles. The most heart-warming smile that makes me melt inside. His gaze subtly travels up and down my body, studying every part of me in acute detail. It’s penetrative, so intense I feel like he’s taking note of every change my body has undergone and secretly judging me for it.

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