Page 18 of Frosty Felicity
“I have a son. Well, technically, a stepson. He’s not biologically mine, but I’ve been around for most of his life.”
“So, you have no biological children?”
“Nope.”
“Do you want any?”
He tossed up his hands and sighed.
“You know, sometimes it just depends on when I’m asked. Right now, I’m fine with how things are, but when I was younger, yeah, I wanted my ex-wife to have another baby. She wasn’t ready, so we agreed to wait. Don’t get me wrong, I was satisfied with my stepson. Andrew doesn’t live with me now though, so it feels a little awkward.” He picked at a chipped thumb nail, resisting the urge to bite the offending jagged piece, and continued. “I wouldn’t mind having children. It wasn’t something I lament over hour after hour, day after day, year after year, but ya know, these things come up. Especially when dating.”
“Yeah… People think I don’t like children.” She began to fidget, then sat on her hands. It was kind of cute. Kind of unnerving, too.
“Are they right or wrong?”
“They’re wrong. I pretend to not like children so people won’t thrust babies in my face, ask me to babysit, or have expectations of me as it pertains to their hump dumpling. I actually like kids a lot. I just don’t want to be a parent. I wouldn’t be a good mother.”
“Hmmm, interesting. Why do you think you wouldn’t be a good mother?”
“Because I don’t want to be pregnant, give birth, and raise a child. And if you don’t want to give birth and raise a child, and you know it, then you should do that future child a favor and not bring them into an environment where they’re unwanted. Now, knowing me, if I were to have a baby by accident, I would still love that child—but the fact that I didn’t want them would still be there. You can’t change a fact because it no longer fits your narrative or outcome… and it’s not fair, you know?”
A slight sheen washed over her eyes. “It’s not fair to have people in your life you don’t actually want, and it’s not right to pretend to want someone you actually don’t.”
She abruptly looked away, down at her menu. Brett crossed his arms and stared at the interesting woman before him. He imagined some men would be intimidated by someone like her. He felt as if her words had more meaning to them than he could garner. Perhaps they were no longer talking about children after all?
Soon, the waiter approached and took their order. She ordered the Beef Wellington. He went for the Colorado Lamb Double Chop.
She flopped back in her seat and crossed her arms, quite relaxed now. He couldn’t help staring at her. Felicity had these dark, slanted eyes with long, thick lashes—like a cat’s. Her face was angular, her bone structure model-esque. He liked how she smelled, her style, her jewelry, too—the dainty silver chain around her neck, and the ring on her thumb. Her thick, black hair was brushed away from her face, secured in a poofy bun, and she was so damn smart, she made him think. Even her jokes were at times witty. One had to know a bit of pop culture and current events to get them.
“So, why are you single, Felicity? Craziness aside.” He picked up his glass of wine and tasted it. Bitter.
“Because my standards are too high for men, and my standards for myself, as far as what is acceptable, are too low. Because I’m demanding. Because I can be difficult.” She sighed, crossed her legs, and rocked her foot back and forth as if exhausted by her own shit. He knew the feeling. “I don’t like people in general, unless they prove me wrong, and yet I can be at times clingy and strange when feelings get involved.”
She rolled her eyes then laughed—clearly at herself—while he mimicked her posture, listening to one of the strangest, yet most elegant and intriguing women he’d ever encountered.
“I’m sharing too much. I do that from time to time when I’ve had too much to drink.”
“But you’ve only had a half glass of wine,” he said.
“I may have started drinking before you picked me up.” She winked at him, and he couldn’t resist smiling at her. “I hadn’t been drinking, actually, I’m just teasing, but I do in fact talk too much after a glass of wine or two. So, why’d you get divorced?”
“Kinda complicated, but in a nutshell, we weren’t compatible. Our jobs can be demanding at times, and then trust was lost, too.”
“So, basically, work-life balance was out of whack, and she did something foul, or maybe you did, but I’m betting on her, and then you couldn’t tolerate being in the same house, let alone room, with her anymore. On top of that, I imagine you were sad about your stepson moving out after you decided you’d had enough. Maybe you even asked if he could stay with you.”
She took another sip of her wine, then placed the glass down. “She said no, but she might be still pining over you right now, as we speak. Maybe even waved the kid around like a prize on a string should you decide to give her a second, third, or fourth chance. You love her, but you’re not in love with her anymore. It’s a done deal. You try to keep in contact with the kid, but you feel him slipping away a little, and then you regret not having a child earlier in your life. Is that about right?”
“You’re good. Scary good.”
“I would take a bow but I fear I may topple over due to my big, gigantic brain and all. Sleuth superiority at work.”
They stared at one another, then laughed obnoxiously loud. Soon, the food arrived, looking perfect in every way. Fragrant aromas wafted from the plates, and it wasn’t long before they were each sharing little tidbits about one another as they ate.
“That’s crazy. It’s nice though, that you help him.”
“I mean, he’s my dad. China, his girlfriend, her actual name is Becky, but she makes everyone call her that,” she rolled her eyes, disgust dripping off her expression, “is really at the root of his issues. I told him I wasn’t giving him any more money. He was going to have to start saying no to Ms. Becky.”
“Yeah.” He relished a bite of his food. “Havin’ parents that are stuck in their ways and can’t see when someone is taking them for a ride, can be frustrating. My father recently got scammed by some telemarketer a few months back. I had to get involved, and luckily, helped him get his money back—but just think about what would’ve happened if he didn’t have a son who was a police officer?” She nodded in understanding. “Ever since my mother passed away, he’s been hurtin’, but he won’t admit it. He didn’t cry at Mom’s funeral. He kept a strong front. He loved her down to his bones, though. And now, my brother Tim is drivin’ him bonkers, asking about money all the damn time. It’s always something. It’s exhausting, I tell you that much.”
