Page 20 of Griffin
This same conversation has occurred numerous times. Only last time did it end in her slapping me across the face. That was the final straw. That was when I knew I had to leave. For my safety and for the safety of my baby.
“Pastor Greg said that—”
“I don’t care what Pastor Greg says. It doesn’t have anything to do with him,” I snap, frustrated and hurt that she can’t let me be. I’m not part of the family. I brought shame to them. I understand. Their faith is all-encompassing and always has been. I'm a disappointment. I get what I’ve done is less than ideal and not what they or anyone else wanted. But it happened. It’s my responsibility and I’m owning it. I’ve moved away. I’m not in their face. I’m not flashing my pregnant belly in front of my sister or in front of the congregation.
“You’ll regret it. Mark my words. God already told me this child isn’t yours. I heard His small voice whispering in the quiet, and I submitted. You will too.”
My stomach sinks even lower. “Thanks for the pep talk, Mom. I’m hanging up now.”
“Don’t you dare…”
“Goodbye, Mom.”
I end the call, my hands shaking, my heart racing. I’ve never feared my family. I grew up doing everything they asked of me. I kept quiet, didn’t talk back. Now, though, I know I was never really loved by them. I may technically not be a mother yet, but I already know a child is something that should be cherished, loved, surrounded by positivity and opportunity. And so for the first time in my life, I’m finding my voice as well as my own two feet and a new name. Doing my life on my terms, not only for me but for my child.
Getting away from them and their toxic brand of Christianity was the smartest decision I’ve ever made.
Bringing me out of my thoughts, I hear a loud knock on the door downstairs. Griffin is here. I look to the ceiling and blow out a breath before I take one last look in the mirror. Flowy dress on, hiding my bump as much as possible, because some habits are hard to break. Hair out, lips glossed, yet the tension still simmers across my shoulders.
But today, I’m meeting new friends. Today, I’m building new connections. Ones I hope won’t judge me for being a single mom. Ones I hope will support me with my new business. And I’m doing it with a man who seems angry twenty-four seven but is fast becoming a friend.
A man who sleeps on my floor and eats horrible baked goods and tells me they’re nice. Who still feels more genuine and honest than anyone else I’ve had in my life.
10
Griffin
We drive out to Billionaire Boulevard with what looks to be the Mount Everest of baked goods in the back.
“You baked all morning?”
I keep my eyes on the road. One look at her, and I’ll forget I’m even driving. Her hair is down. First time I’ve seen it like that, and it’s shiny, like a waterfall running over her back in soft waves. It’s enticing. I want to run my fingers through it to feel the softness against my dry, hardened hands. She has on another flowing dress, and I realize she’s hiding her bump. Not sure why. We all know she’s pregnant. But I’m also not complaining, because these long, flowing dresses she wears have her breasts lifted like a feast for my eyes. The dress also sways when she moves, her body flirting as she walks. But even though she’s beautiful, she seems different. Her usual sparkle is a little dull.
“Yeah. I enjoy it. I find it therapeutic. Plus, I didn't want to turn up empty-handed.”
“You’ve left no doubt with what's on my back seat,” I grumble, taking the turn to where me and the other guys live.
“Did I go too far? I want to make a good impression. And after Tanner ate one of my terrible batches of buns, I feel like I need to redeem myself.” Her words rush out. It means a lot to her to ensure her bakery is a success. If I didn’t see it before, I see it now.
“You did fine.” We pull up and park, and I jump out quickly, going straight to her door, helping her slide out of my truck, which is too high for her, especially in her current condition. “Easy,” I warn her as she turns to slide down off the passenger seat.
She huffs. “I’m pregnant, not totally inept.”
I tame my grin at her feistiness as I help her out, my hands holding hers. The feeling of her soft hands in mine is foreign, yet I like it. I’ve noticed she’s increasingly coming out of her shell around me. Around the bakery, she works quietly, and after our initial meeting, she was somewhat reserved. Now she’s found a little confidence. And it looks good on her.
“Let me get the goods,” I tell her once she's on safe ground, not wanting her to lift a thing. Our eyes connect, and she doesn’t give me any pushback.
“You’re here. Welcome!” Hudson walks out to meet us, and a slew of kids follow him, chasing each other, throwing balls, and squealing. I cringe.
“Fucking kids,” I mumble, and Savannah huffs a laugh.
“What did you expect at a kids’ party?” Her lips quirk as she grabs one of the containers from my hands, as Hudson reaches out to grab another, and we follow him inside.
“Don’t mind him. He’s always the grumpy one,” Hudson jests, and Savannah's smile almost has me stumbling over the entry steps as we walk inside.
As predicted, everyone’s here, and it’s a fucking circus. Kids screaming and running around. Parents mingling in different groups. There’re a few faces I don't even know. Probably from school or sports or some shit. I pass the containers to Lacy, who has her toddler on her hip, her mom helping her in the kitchen. Meanwhile, Savannah is swooped up by the women; Victoria, Daisy, and Charlotte circle her like sharks who smell fresh blood in the water, all of them talking fast like a gaggle of geese, and I quickly move to the left out of their path before I get a headache.
“You turned up, huh?” Tanner comes to my side, passing me a drink. He’s got his little girl on his hip. If I thought Victoria would make Tanner buckle, his little daughter has him completely on his knees. Amber, who I have no doubt is named after his liquor, is a toddler, with cute pigtails and big blue eyes like her mother, who also has her mom’s unrelenting passion for the color pink.
