Page 49 of Top Scorer
“She can’tforceme to tell her.”
“Why didn’t you tell them I’m the father?” I ask, already dreading the answer.
She doesn’t respond right away but when she does, her voice is almost sweet. “At first because I wanted to give you a chance to change your mind.”
“I told you I was in.” There’s a curtness to my response. How many times do I have to tell her I’m not walking away? Why doesn’t she trust me to keep my promise?
“I know you did. I’m sorry for doubting your word,” she says with lowered eyes. This might be the first time I have ever seen Ligaya truly contrite.
“Careful, Terror. I’m starting to like hearing you apologize for all the wrongs I’ve suffered.”
She grins. “Don’t get used to it, Turd.”
Hearing our old nicknames with this tone of affection is doing something to me. Taking me back and moving me forward. Making me want more than she’s willing to give.
In the room, I thought we might kiss. But the alarm on her face as she scurried out of the room was a direct hit. And a very clear message. That’s not happening. No chance of a kiss, no matter how much I’m dying for one. What I thought was desire was merely a full bladder.
“Are you willing to tell them now?” I prompt.
“No.”
“What the hell, Ligaya?”
This time, I don’t bother hiding my irritation.
Is she ashamed of me or something? Does she think I’ll be a shitty dad like my father is? She’d be dead wrong. There isn’t anything in the world I’m more determined to be thannotmy father.
“We’regoing to tell them,” she says reassuringly. “What are you doing for Christmas Eve?”
It takes me a second to recover from the whiplash. “Nothing.”
“You don’t have any Christmas plans?”
“Lance Jefferson’s invited anyone from the team who isn’t heading out of town for a Christmas dinner. But I’ve got no plans for Christmas Eve.”
That’s only the half-truth. Lancedidinvite me out of courtesy, but I had already refused the invitation.
“Noche Buenais big deal in our family. That’s staying up all of Christmas Eve eating and drinking. Or in my case, just eating. We can tell them at that time, if you’re up for it.”
“You know I am.”
“Pick me up at six?”
“What should I bring? I mean as a gift and stuff. I don’t want to show up empty-handed.”
She looks up at me tenderly. “We’re bringing the ultrasound pictures. They won’t want anything more than that.”
***
On Christmas Eve, I knock on Ligaya’s door. It swings open, and I’m hit by the scent of fried sugar in the air. Her home smells like a bakery.
“You’re early,” she says although she’s clearly ready to go.
“Gave myself plenty of time in case I got stuck in holiday traffic again. You look amazing.”
Ligaya is drop-dead gorgeous. She looks more rested than she did when we first talked about the pregnancy. She’s wearing a simple burgundy sweater that clings in all the right places and black pants that follow the roundness of her ass. Her hair is casually wavy, and her makeup is subtle. Except for her lipstick, which is the same hue as her sweater. It makes me want to do unspeakable things to her mouth. Things I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about on our way to a family gathering as theplatonic co-parent of our children.
She hands me two foil-covered trays. “You’re in charge of these. One isube halaya. Careful, it’s delicate. The other isturon.”
