Ugly Love

She says we need to work these things out now so we don’t run

into any parenting issues in the future.

“It would only bother me if he felt like he couldn’t talk to us

about it. I want him to know he can talk to us about anything.”

Rachel smiles at Clayton, but I know her smile is for me.

Because she loved my answer.

“What if he doesn’t believe in God?” she asks.

“He can believe whatever he wants. I just want his beliefs—or

lack thereof—to make him happy.”

She smiles again.

“What if he commits an awful, heinous, heartless crime and

gets sent to prison for life?”

“I would question where I went wrong as a father,” I tell her.

She looks up at me. “Well, based on this interrogation, I’m

convinced he’ll never commit a crime, because you’re already

the best dad I’ve ever known.”

Now she’s making me smile.

We both look at the door when it opens and a nurse walks in.

She flashes a regretful smile. “It’s time,” she says.

Rachel groans, but I have no idea what the nurse is referring

to. Rachel sees the confusion on my face.

“His circumcision.”

My stomach clenches. I know we discussed this during the

pregnancy, but I’m suddenly having second thoughts, knowing

what he’s about to go through.

“It’s not so bad,” the nurse says. “We numb him first.”

She walks over to Rachel and begins to lift him from Rachel’s

arms, but I lean forward.

“Wait,” I tell her. “Let me hold him first.”

The nurse backs up a step, and Rachel hands Clayton to me. I

pull him in front of me and look down on him.

“I’m so sorry, Clayton. I know it’ll hurt, and I know it’s

emasculating, but—”

“He’s a day old,” Rachel interjects with a laugh. “There’s hardly

anything that can emasculate him yet.”

I tell her to hush. I tell her I’m having a father-son moment,

and she needs to pretend she’s not here.

“Don’t worry, your mom left the room,” I say to Clayton,

giving Rachel a wink. “I was saying, I know it’s emasculating,

but you’ll thank me later for it. Especially when you’re older

and you get involved with girls. Hopefully not until after

you’re eighteen, but it’ll more than likely be around the age of

sixteen. It was for me, anyway.”

Rachel leans forward and holds her arms out for him. “That’s

enough bonding,” she says, laughing. “I think we need to

review the boundaries of father-son conversation while he’s

being emasculated.”

I give him a quick kiss on his forehead and hand him back to

Rachel. She does the same and passes him on to the nurse.

We both watch as the nurse leaves the room with him.

I look back at Rachel and crawl toward her until I’m lying next

to her on the bed.

“We have the place to ourselves,” I whisper. “Let’s make out.”

She grimaces. “I don’t feel sexy right now,” she says. “My

stomach is flabby, and my boobs are engorged, and I need a

shower so bad, but it hurts too much to try to take one right

now.”

I look down at her chest and pull at the collar on her hospital

gown. I peer down her shirt and grin. “How long do they stay

like this?”

She laughs and pushes my hand away.

“Well, how does your mouth feel?” I ask her.

She looks at me like she doesn’t understand my question, so I

elaborate.

“I’m just wondering if your mouth hurts like the rest of you

hurts, because if it doesn’t, I want to kiss you.”

She grins. “My mouth feels great.”

I rise up on my elbow so she doesn’t have to roll toward me.

I look down on her, and seeing her beneath me feels different

now.

It feels real.

Until yesterday, it really did feel like we had been playing

house. Of course, our love is real, and our relationship is

real, but until I witnessed her give life to my son yesterday,

everything I felt before that moment was like child’s play

compared to what I feel for her now.

“I love you, Rachel. More than I loved you yesterday.”

Her eyes are looking up at me like she knows exactly what I’m

talking about. “If you love me more today than you loved me

yesterday, then I can’t wait for tomorrow,” she says.

My lips fall to hers, and I kiss her. Not because I should but

because I need to.

I’m standing outside Rachel’s hospital room. She and Clayton

are both in the room, napping.

The nurse said he hardly even cried. I’m sure she tells all the

parents that, but I believe her anyway.

I take out my phone to text Ian.

Me: He got snipped a few hours ago. Took it like a champ.

Ian: Ouch. I’m coming to meet him tonight. I’ll be there

after seven.

Me: See you then.

My father is walking toward me with two coffees in his hands,

so I slide my phone into my back pocket.

He hands me one of the coffees.

“He looks like you,” he says.

He’s trying to accept it.

“Well, I look just like you,” I say. “Cheers to strong genes.”

I hold my coffee up, and my dad bumps his against it, smiling.

He’s trying.

He leans against the wall for support and looks down at his

coffee. He wants to say something, but it’s hard for him.

“What is it?” I ask, giving him the opening he needs. He lifts

his eyes from their focus on the coffee, and he meets my gaze.

“I’m proud of you,” he says with sincerity.

It’s a simple statement.

Four words.

Four of the most impactful words I’ve ever heard.

“Of course, it’s not what I wanted for you. No one wants to see

his son become a dad at the age of eighteen, but … I’m proud

of you. For how you’ve handled it. For how you’ve treated

Rachel.” He smiles. “You made the best of a difficult situation,

and that’s honestly more than most adults would do.”

I smile. I tell him thank you.

I think the conversation is over, but it’s not.

“Miles,” he says, wanting to add more. “About Lisa … and

your mom?”

I hold my hand up to stop him. I don’t want to have this

conversation today. I don’t want this day to become his defense

for what he did to my mother.

“It’s fine, Dad. We’ll discuss it another time.”

He tells me no. He says he needs to discuss it with me now.

He tells me it’s important.

I want to tell him it’s not important.

I want to tell him Clayton is important.

I want to focus on Clayton and Rachel and forget all about the

fact that my father is human and makes awful choices like the

rest of us.

But I don’t say any of that.

I listen.

Because he’s my father.

Chapter twenty-nine

TATE

Miles: What are you doing?

Me: Homework.

Miles: Feel like taking a swim break?

Me: ??? It’s February.

Miles: The rooftop pool is heated. It doesn’t close for another hour.

I stare at the text, then immediately look up at Corbin. “There’s a rooftop pool here?”

Corbin nods his head but doesn’t look away from the TV. “Yep.”

I sit up straight. “Are you kidding me? I’ve lived here this long, and you fail to tell me there’s a heated rooftop pool?”

He faces me now and shrugs. “I hate pools.”

Ugh. I could slap him.

Me: Corbin never mentioned there was a pool. Let me change, and I’ll head over there.

Miles: ;)

I realize I forgot to knock as soon as I close the door to his apartment. I always knock. I guess my mentioning in a text that I was coming over after I changed seemed good enough to me, but the way Miles is staring at me from the doorway of his bedroom makes me think he doesn’t like the fact that I didn’t knock.

I pause in his living room and look at him, waiting to see what mood he’s in today.

“You’re in a bikini,” he says pointedly.

I look down at my attire. “And shorts,” I say defensively. I look back up at him. “What are people supposed to wear when they swim in February?”

He’s still standing frozen in his doorway, staring at my attire. I fold my towel across my arms and over my stomach. I suddenly feel extremely awkward and underdressed.

He shakes his head and finally begins moving toward me. “I just …” He’s still staring at my bikini. “I hope no one is up there, because if you’re wearing that bikini, these swim shorts are going to be really embarrassing.” He looks down at his shorts. At the obvious bulge in them.

I laugh. So he actually likes the bikini.

He takes another step forward and slides his hands around to the back of my shorts, then pulls me against him. “I changed my mind,” he says with a grin. “I want to stay here.”

I immediately shake my head. “I’m going swimming,” I say. “You can stay here if you want, but you’ll be alone.”

He kisses me, then backs me toward his apartment door. “Then I guess I’m going swimming,” he says.

Miles enters the passcode for rooftop access, then opens the door for me. I’m relieved to see that no one else is out here, and I am taken by how breathtakingly beautiful it is. It’s an infinity pool, overlooking the city, and it’s lined with patio chairs, all the way to the opposite end, where it’s capped off with an attached hot tub.

“I can’t believe neither of you thought to mention this before now,” I say. “All these months, and I’ve been missing out.”

Miles takes my towel and lays it on one of the tables surrounding the pool. He walks back over to me and drops his hands to the button on my shorts. “This is actually the first time I’ve ever been out here.” He unzips my shorts and pushes them over my hips. His lips are close to mine, and his expression is playful. “Come on,” he whispers. “Let’s get wet.”

I kick off the shorts at the same time as he takes off his shirt. The air is incredibly cold, but the steam rising from the water is promising. I walk to the shallow end to descend the steps, but Miles dives headfirst into the deep end of the pool. I step in, and my feet are swallowed up in the warmth of the water, so I quickly step in the rest of the way. I make my way toward the middle of the pool and walk to the edge, then rest my arms on the concrete ledge looking out over the city.

Miles swims up behind me and cages me in by pressing his chest against my back and placing his hands on either side of the ledge. He rests his head against mine as we both take in the view.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.

He’s quiet.

We watch the city in silence for what seems like forever. Every now and then, he’ll cup his hands and bring water up to my shoulders to warm my chills away.

“Have you always lived in San Francisco?” I ask him. I turn so that my back is against the ledge now and I’m facing him. He keeps his arms on either side of me and nods.

“Close to it,” he says, still looking at the city over my shoulder.

I want to ask him where, but I don’t. I can tell by his body language that he doesn’t want to talk about himself. He never wants to talk about himself.

“Are you an only child?” I ask, trying to see what I can get away with. “Any brothers or sisters?”

He looks me in the eyes now. His lips are pressed into a firm, agitated line. “What are you doing, Tate?” He doesn’t ask it in a rude way, but there’s no other way his question can come across.

“Just making conversation,” I say. My voice is soft and sounds offended.

“I can think of a lot more things I’d rather talk about than myself.”

But that’s all I want to know about, Miles.

I nod, understanding that although I’m technically not breaking his rules, I’m bending them. He doesn’t feel comfortable with that.

I turn around and face the ledge again. He’s still in the same position, pressed against me, but it’s different now. He’s stiff. Guarded. Defensive.

I don’t know anything about him. I don’t know a single thing about his family, and he’s already met mine. I don’t know a single thing about his past, but he’s slept in my childhood bed. I don’t know what subjects I bring up or what actions I take that will cause him to close off, but I’ve got nothing to hide from him.

He sees me for exactly who I am.

I don’t see him at all.

I quickly bring a hand up and wipe away a tear that somehow just escaped down my cheek. The absolute last thing I want is for him to see me cry. As much as I know I’m too far gone to continue treating this as casual sex, I’m also too far gone to stop it. I’m terrified to lose him for good, so I sell myself short and take what I can from him, even though I know I deserve better.

Miles places a hand on my shoulder and turns me around to face him. When I choose to stare down at the water instead, he hooks a finger under my chin and makes me look up at him. I allow him to tilt my face up to his, but I don’t make eye contact. I look up and to the right, attempting to blink back the tears.

“I’m sorry.”

I don’t even know what he’s apologizing for. I don’t even know if he knows what he’s apologizing for. But we both know my tears have everything to do with him, so he’s more than likely just apologizing for that simple reason alone. Because he knows he’s incapable of giving me what I want.

He stops making me look at him and instead pulls me to his chest. I rest my ear against his heart, and he rests his chin on top of my head.

“Do you think we should stop?” he asks quietly. His voice is fearful, like he’s hoping my answer is no, yet he feels compelled to ask me anyway.

“No,” I whisper.

He sighs heavily. It sounds like it could be a sigh of relief, but I’m not sure. “If I ask you something, will you be honest with me?”

I shrug, because there’s no way I’m answering that with a yes until I hear his question first.

“Are you still doing this with me because you think I’ll change my mind? Because you think there’s a chance I’ll fall in love with you?”