Page 104 of More, Daddy
After we part ways,West and I head over to the Eat O Rama, where we sluggishly shop the aisles, our hands locked together, my head on his bicep.
“I like mundane things with you,” he says quietly, as the intercom comes on, announcing a sale on hot dogs.
“Me too,” I sigh. West pushes the cart into the next aisle—feminine products, beauty items and toilet paper. He picks up a package of toilet paper and tosses into the cart. My eyes catch on all the pink and white boxes, and Dolly’s comments from earlier come rushing back as I catch yet another yawn in my hand.
“I used all the detergent this morning, washing your pajamas and pink blanket,” West says, selecting a blue bottle of extra sensitive and gentle detergent. He presses a kiss to my temple, softly and privately adding, “Gentle for my baby.”
I nuzzle into his arm. “Thank you for doing my laundry, Daddy.” It feels weird using that word in public, but in the relatively empty store, it’s the perfect amount of safe and risky. I look up at West, analyzing dryer sheets, and say, “Hey, West, you wanna know what Dolly said at lunch today?”
“Hmm?” He asks, still reading the bright orange box.
“She said I have the four to five week look.” I watch his face, but it doesn’t change until he finally hears me, then faces me with confusion etched into deep grooves along his forehead and between his eyes.
“Four to five week look? Look of what?” he asks, dark eyes holding mine in a way that makes my stomach go all swoopy.
“Pregnancy.” I swallow, finding a knot of nerves in my throat. Suddenly, my palms are clammy, too. “She thought I was pregnant.”
I don’t know why my instincts tell me to watch his reaction. The same way some part of me knew that following West for a few months before getting the IT guy to put akeystroke recorder on his laptop was smart, watching him now feels smart, too. Crucial even.
The lines in his forehead fade. The question in his eyes dissipates. His lips part, but he doesn’t say anything. And before I know it, he’s abandoned the box of dryer sheets, and finds my hands with his, weaving and locking our fingers together.
Untangling our hands I step away from him. His face is suddenly full of concern, yet excitement quirks the corners of his eyes. A concerning reaction.
“West,” I breathe, unsure of what to say or do, or what I’m even feeling other than nauseous from the wave of confusion washing over me.
West abandons the cart and lifts me up, my legs looping his waist naturally. He smooths his hands over my ass and up my back, dropping his forehead down, pressing it to mine. He presses my back into the shelves, bottles of dish soap and packages of sponges falling to the tiled floor. We don’t acknowledge the mess he’s making, mostly because we can’t take our eyes off of one another.
“Briar, honey, now listen to me, okay?” His voice is raspy, almost smokey, and I realize right then that this is what my daddy looks like when he’s worried. I’ve seen him angry, I’ve seen him happy, I’ve seen him full of adoration, and I’ve seen him prideful. But never worried. And his worry deeply concerns me.
I collect his face in my hands, loving the heat of his forehead pressed to mine, the feel of his breath against my lips. I nod. “I’m listening.”
I don’t question why I’m shoved into the shelves at the Eat O Rama, being intensely held and whispered to. I trust my daddy. I trust West.
“About a month ago, I don’t know, maybe less,” he says,and my mind circles onfour to five weeks. “I was still so angry with you for lying about being Cadence. I wanted revenge, to make you feel what I felt.”
I nod, understanding completely. “Betrayal.”
He nods, kind of. “I fell in love with you onVeiled. I don’t know if you knew that already, or if you wondered, but I did. I fell utterly in love with you, the way you made me laugh, and the way opening up seemed easy, and how vulnerable I could be with you. It was everything. And that’s why I wanted to meet. Because I fell head over boots.”
Tears spring to my eyes and a few roll through my lashes and down my cheeks, but I let them, because West Dupont is admitting his love to me and I refuse to take my hands off of his beautiful face and change this moment.
“You’ve never said it,” I whisper, eyes burning from tears. “I always say it. I figured you’d say it when you were ready.” I kiss him. “When I moved in, I thought for sure but…” I shake my head. “I’m just so happy to hear it now.”
He shakes his head a little. “Falling in love with you was the easiest thing I’ve ever done, and loving you, Briar, makes complete and total sense.” He presses his mouth to mine, and kisses me hard. Our teeth gnash, our tongues tangle, and when he pulls back, his lips shine from my saliva. “There were so many times I wanted to tell you but… I never wanted you to think I was telling you I love you to divert from or soften bad news.”
The edges of my smile droop. Bad news. “What?”
West clears his throat, and suddenly I can feel the metal shelf digging into my lower back, and a bottle of dish soap pressing into my ass. The air between us grows heavy, dense with an invisible electrical current that begs to explode.
“In my anger, in my rage, learning that the woman I fell for wasn’t even honest with me about who she was, I didsomething impulsive, and in my mind, at the time, I believed that it was also out of love. That I’d be giving us both something we actually want, but I’d be able to hurt you with it, too.”
Something tells me to shimmy out of his grip, but he doesn’t want to let me down, so I whine, slapping at his hands.
“West, put me down.” His eyes grow wide at my request, and my voice gets louder, so does my anger. “Put me down. Now.”
For once, our roles reverse, and West obeys.
My heart is racing. “What did you do?”
