Reaction
Sweet Jesus, Holly mother of… crap!
Did he really just said that? I'm pretty sure he did. I gape at my baby boy, still smiling at the man in front of us. The unexpected visitor, who, I might add, is also gaping at my son. Gaping, it seems, is everyone's reaction. Kate, my dad, everyone is gaping at what just happened. My baby boy, my three year old toddler, calling the man in front of him… Daddy. The identity of Ted's father has been a mystery to everyone lovingly surrounding him. Except for me, his mom, of course. Those people, my parents and friends, are all eager to know, no – to confirm, from me, if their suspicions are correct. Well, as it turns out, they are asking and nagging the wrong person. And on my case, I can't believe I trusted my secret to a toddler. My sweet three year old, excitedly unleashed the bomb. Not funny.
I groan internally at the word that my baby boy just said. It's supposed to be our little secret. Damn it! A toddler isn't supposed to have a good memory, let alone recognize a person whose face he's only seen in pictures. Right? I mean, come one! Pictures! Aw hell. Yea, I'm totally busted. My little teddy bear is out of the bag. And right now, I'm waiting for Ted's father to stop gaping and throw a thermonuclear meltdown. This'll be… tough. Interesting. Fifty shades tough. Again I swallow, clutching my baby closer, holding him like a talisman from the thermonuclear wrath of Christian Grey, my ex-boyfriend/dominant and yes, baby daddy.
"It's nice to finally meet you, Theodore," Christian finally says, cryptically, extending a hand, ignoring the child's earlier word. As usual, I can't read his thoughts as easy as him reading mine. Teddy simply giggles, burying his face on my neck while holding me close. My sweet little boy is now shy, after letting out the bomb. The nuclear bomb. Great. Way to throw mommy under the bus, kid.
"Aren't you going to say, hi, to err… uhm," I whisper to my baby boy, but my brain can't say it the word daddy, out loud.
"Daddy," Christian says, dryly, saying the word out loud for me. I look up to meet his icy glare and wish I didn't. Sure, I expected such reaction, not only from him, but from everyone, when I decided to keep my baby all to myself. However, seeing the reaction first hand is different than imagining it. I swallow my fear and guilt and nuzzle the unruly hair of my baby boy, whose face is still buried on my neck.
"Teddy, don't you want to say, hi?" again, I try. This time not bothering to try to say the name and like before, I'm rewarded with a glare that I studiously ignore. His excitement and curiosity must have got the better of him, for my baby boy suddenly removes his face from my now goo and sweat filled neck, to face his daddy, take his father's hand, again with a giggle.
"Hi," he says, shyly but excitedly, then again, he covers his face, this time, with my hair. Silly boy.
"Hello, Theodore," Christian says, still holding his pudgy hand, and regarding my silly boy with interest. My boy simply giggles. At least that's what I hear as he basically pulled my hair to cover his rosy face.
"Mommy, pasta, pease?" Teddy suddenly murmurs, completely ignoring the man and the situation he just created. I almost forgot, we're in the middle of dinner when the unexpected visitor arrived. Teddy is in the middle of wrestling a bowl of pasta I cooked, beside his Aunt Katie when we heard someone knock on the door. Of course, the visitor is not just any kind of visitor. So now, our food has gone cold and so is everyone's appetite, except for the Teddy Bear. Ruled by his chubby tummy, this little one. And right now, his voice is a few seconds away from throwing a fit. Much like what our visitor is about to have. Like father, like son, I suppose.
"What did he say?" Christian asks, breaking me out of my inner monologue.
"Teddy was tackling a bowl of pasta, when you came," I explain. I don't wait for his answer, I search for the next available person and found my dad, regarding us, no doubt sensing the thermonuclear fifty in front of us.
"Dad, will you take Ted back to his pasta?" I ask and he willingly replies.
"Of course," he says, hurrying to my side, reach his arms and my baby boy willingly goes with him. "Would you like us to bring you some food, while you err… talk?" He asks, I shake my head, helplessly. Time to face the music, or in this case… the crap – I mean, the wrath of Christian Grey. I need a drink or five.
"No thank you, Ray," he says, politely. His discerning gaze not leaving mine.
"Okay, call me when you need something. We'll get back to the pasta," Ray says, more to the little one than me. I watch him, his blue eyes regarding this non-stranger with curiosity. He is, without a doubt, surprised to see him in person, other than the pictures I've shown him back in New York. Yes people, I may have left the father of my child, I may have hidden the pregnancy from him, I may have ignore the pleas from the ones close to me, the one who knows about my pregnancy, and It may look like I don't give a damn about my baby not having a father, but looks can be deceiving. Teddy knows he has a dad. He just hasn't seen him in person, nor been with him. Like I said, this was supposed to be our little secret. Apparently, he remembers the person behind the stories and all the pictures I've shown him and I certainly didn't see that coming.
"Were you ever going to tell me?" he asks, as soon as everyone's left Kate's living room. I sigh. And so it begins.
"No, err.. yes... I assumed something will happen and you'll start doing your stalkery. I just didn't expect it to be this soon," I say, matter-of-factly. It's true. He has the means to do whatever he wants, stalking is one of them, and I definitely know because I was subjected to one, the moment we met.
"So, it's true?" he says through gritted teeth. I'm forever thankful that there's a curious toddler on the other room, otherwise, I would not get this calm demeanor and hushed voice. Though I know that I definitely don't deserve it. Still.
"Which bit?" I ask, dryly. I don't mean to rile him up. I certainly know what he's talking about, I just want to hear him say it.
"What the child said, is it true? Is he mine?" He clarifies.
"Tell me, Christian, what do you think?" I ask. Of course the obvious answer is yes. Everyone can see it, why can't he? Or is he in denial? I can't blame him, but still. It's a stupid questions to ask, especially if the kid already called you dad, and the child looks like him. My baby looks like his dad, with a few exceptions.
"Don't answer my questions with another question, Anastasia," he replies, menacingly cold.
"He called you Daddy, What do you think?"
"I'd like to get a paternity test, just to be sure," he says, deliberately. I gape at his response. My shock quickly morphs into defensive range. I guess it's my turn to calm myself down. How could he?
"Well then, he is not yours. You can go home now. Go," I say, with my best icy glare, fighting the urge to scream bloody murder.
"I'm not going anywhere," he says instantaneously, squaring his shoulders.
"Then what the fu- do you want?" I say, in the lowest voice I can muster, morbidly aware that it's also my turn to grit my teeth. I mustn't cuss.
"I want answers. I'm not going anywhere until I get them from you," he says, resolutely. Of course he has questions! and he wants answers! Where to begin?
"You want answers? Okay… let's start with your stupid question. Yes, Theodore Raymond Steele is yours. There, I said it, out loud, for the first time since I found out. You don't need a paternity test because one look at him, you get your answers. I'm not sure how you can be so flipping blind to see it. Aside from the blue eyes and happy personality that I don't know where he got, he is one hundred percent yours. And if you insist of that flipping test, then you can go. There's no need to answer those stupid questions if you have doubts and you can forget this ever happened," I say, in my best hush/scream voice. Aware that a dam-full of tears is threatening to come out. Three and a half years of anxiety, about him finding out about the real reason why I left. Three and a half years of half waiting, half fearing, he'd show up on my door to tell me that he was stalking me, that he went back on his word about stopping all forms of communication, and that he knows. Three and a half years of practicing what I would say and do, word for word, are all for nothing. All because of the two words that came out of him mouth. Paternity Test. A fucking paternity test.
"How can you expect me to believe that he is mine, when you left me? You left," he says menacingly.
"Yes, I did. Do you know why? Do you know why I left and didn't bother to tell you?" I ask. He doesn't answer. I'm not sure if he's racking his brains about the proper answer to my question. I'm not sure if he remembers, either. He is just standing, towering me, glaring and taking deep breaths to calm himself.
"I have the right to know," he simply says, after a moment and in that instant, I have my answer. He doesn't seem to remember. He doesn't remember why I left and didn't tell him about my pregnancy.
"Do you remember that time when I forgot to take my pill?" I ask. There's your clue, Grey. Figure it out.
Again he is silent. He simply rooted in place, half glaring at me and, half thinking. He is, without a doubt racking his brains for that memory. When he doesn't answer, I decide to throw more clues.
"You told me that missing a fu-… you told me that missing my pill is got to be the most stupid and irresponsible thing to do, and I agree with you. Now, do you remember the accusations and the hurtful words that you said, after you made me promise never to forget to take them ever, at which, again, I wholeheartedly agreed with you."
"Ma-ma-ma-ma… mommy!" my baby boy interrupts us, barreling out of nowhere, his Aunt Kate right behind him. He goes straight to me, hugging my legs, tugging my jeans towards his favorite spot, the Persian rug where his toy train is currently parked, waiting to be played.
"He's finished his pasta," she says, apologetically. "Would you like something to drink?" she asks, I shake my head and so do he. As much as I want to chug a bottle of wine at the moment, I do have a lively three year old, still fully awake even though it's almost bedtime, at least for him. Kate nods, as she leaves the three of us, me with my thoughts, Christian with his glare and thoughts as he digest everything that was said and done and of course our baby boy, with his toy train.
I am a father. A fucking father. Those words are all I can think about as I stare at the child, sitting comfortably in the Persian rug, playing with his toy train. His face lighting up with interest and fascination and his eyes shining with delight, as he rolls the toy train around and around. I am seated at the couch while his mother is seated at the chair in front of me. Both of us stare at the child between us as he plays, mumbling jumbled words as he plays. It's just the three of us at the living room of Katherine Kavanagh's apartment, the people who've been here before I showed up are mostly gone. By mostly, I meant Jose, his girlfriend and his father. Only Ray Steele, Katherine and Ethan Kavanagh are the only ones left and the three of them are cooped up in the kitchen, saying hushed words and quietly listening at words or anything that has or hasn't said. So far, no words between us, at least, after the initial discussion that was interrupted by the child barreling from the kitchen to check on his mommy. Yes, I've got some answers to my questions. Some, but not all of them, and right now, I am once again, sitting on my ass, doing nothing but a starring contest. Who would last watching the fascinating little boy, sitting between us and playing with his toy? As the silence progress into waiting, I hear words the others are talking about from the kitchen. Words about, the truth finally coming out, it's all for the best, I can finally tell Mia and the rest of the Grey's and on Kate's case, it's all her fault for me finding out about Teddy. I morbidly agree with all of them.
"Choo-choo!" the voice of the kid, my child, breaks my reverie. His face turned against me, as he gazes at his mother with delight, while the mother simply smiles fondly. My child, my three year old child, who knows and recognizes his father, much to his mother's surprise. Neither of us have spoken after the kid reveals that he, apparently knows, who his daddy is and his mother, is too stunned to say anything. Frankly, I'm surprised she didn't pass-out or anything. I'm glad she didn't, I have questions. A lot of them. So far, she only ever answered some. Where were we? Oh yes, I still haven't found my voice for what she just told me, the bit about why she didn't tell me. But still…
"I have every right to know," is all I can say, unable to form a coherent thought. I hate repeating myself but right now, I'm too fucking floored to say or think of anything. I'm still reeling from this… revelation.
"Why? So you can tell me to get rid of it? Don't even try denying it," she says, directly, as usual straight to the fucking point with that smart mouth of hers.
Once again, I am floored. I consider her answer. What would I have done, had she told me I got her knocked up? Yes. I do remember what happened that night she told me, she forgot to take her pill. Yes, I remember getting angry, throwing a fit and demanded she see Dr. Greene the next day for a checkup and to ditch the pill for a shot. Do I remember the exact words I said? Oddly, no. I just remember being so damn frustrated and scared and not wanting to be a part of it, if she got pregnant.
"Tell me, if I came to tell you that I was pregnant, what would you have done? What would you have said, Christian?" she prods, head tilted, a delicate brow raised, daring me to answer.
"I wouldn't know, because –" I try to say but she cuts me off.
"Because I didn't give you a chance, yes, I know. I made that choice. I chose not to hear and see your reaction, you know why? Because I've seen it before. I've seen it even though I wasn't even pregnant at the time. I merely forgot to take my pill. One pill and you freaked out, you made accusations, and you told me... you told me that it won't just be my decision on whether or not I should keep it. So yes, I chose to leave. Yes, I know that you have every right to know about this, but I chose not to tell you. I chose to take away your 'right' on whether or not I get to keep my baby. I chose to keep him without you, because I don't want to hear those accusations anymore. I don't want to be labeled as a gold digger and other hurtful things. Frankly, I should've left when you accused me of such a thing, but I didn't and though I thought that by taking the shots on time, instead of the flipping pills, that I would avoid getting knocked up. Unfortunately, I didn't. even the flipping shot didn't help, It happened, so I made my choices and I am living with them every single day."
"Da – da – da – da, choo – choo!" Teddy exclaims, obliviously ignoring us, as he busily plays with the train rolling it, at the coffee table this time.
"You could've told me," I mumble. Considering her words. Considering how I would've reacted had she told me. And the truth is, yes, I would've done the things that she said. I would've accused her of taking advantage of me, of trying to get my money, I would've asked – no, demanded that she terminate it, immediately. Yes, I would've flipped out. Yes, I would've been angry. So fucking angry. But I wouldn't know, she took it away from me.
"Then answer my question, Christian, don't just sit there and glare at me and my son. You can glare at me, blame everything on me, but don't include my son. It's not his fault."
"Our son," I say automatically.
"He's not, when the first thing that comes out of your mouth is a flipping paternity test!" she retorts. Ah… yes, I almost forgot about that.
"What do you expect me to say? You took him away for three years never told me."
"Look at him and tell me why you need a paternity test. If you're still insisting to prove whether or not he's yours then, we have nothing to talk about, there's the door. Go," she says resolutely.
"I told you, I'm not going anywhere," I say with a glare.
"Then stop asking for a paternity test!" she says, almost shouting now.
"Mommy?" we both turn to look at the boy, our referee.
"Yes, baby boy," she says, affectionately, swallowing her tears as she attends to the curious boy. For a moment, I thought he's going to ask if there's something wrong. But the boy simply smiles, and continues with his toy, rolling it around as he crawls, crawling away from us and into the kitchen. I hear everyone coo at the sight of the boy.
"He's probably hungry again. He does that whenever he wants to eat or a drink. Run to the kitchen and look for milk or cookies and Grandpa Ray brought some cookies so…"
"I see," I say, noncommittally.
"I don't know what else you want me to say, Christian, I told you everything already, the whole story. I refuse to make my baby undergo the paternity test just to prove something to you. I don't need your money, I think the three years and my silence is proof enough that I don't need a cent from you, so… as you can see, he knows you, though that came unexpectedly, other than that, I don't know how else to move on after this," she says.
"How does he know?"
"I don't know. The only thing I can think of is that he is smart to recognize you from the pictures from business articles. Yes, contrary to everyone belief that I refuse to tell him about his father, I show him pictures of you at the society pages from time to time, you did a brief interview at Forbes TV, and we watched it together but he is only a few years old."
"Does anyone know about this? About the pregnancy? Is that why you left me? Left Seattle?"
"I left you for the same reason I told you, we can't provide each other's needs. I only omitted my pregnancy. Yes, the biggest reason why I moved to New York was you finding out about it and I didn't want any of the drama. Did I tell anyone? No. I'm too scared to tell my parents, I don't want Ray barging into your office to tell you that you knocked me up. So I waited, I was on my second trimester when I finally told them and I begged them not to ask about the father. I didn't want to tell my friends, but they found out anyway, on different circumstances. Kate found out when I was already in labor. Jose, found out when my boss hired him for a shoot, he barged into my office and met Ted, he was eight months old. And finally, Ethan, he only ever met Teddy last week."
Ray walks into the room, walking hand in hand with Teddy, his train replaced by a bottle of milk that he is busily drinking as his grandfather leads him back to his mother's waiting arms, but the kid has other plans. He struggles from his mother's arms and walks, with his bottle still latched on his mouth, towards me. Instinct starts to kick in, I reach for him and lay him beside me, initially, but instead of laying still where I put him, he crawls and settles into my lap. The kid is on my lap. My son is sitting on my lap, the bottle of milk still latch onto his mouth, his round, happy blue eyes dancing merrily. I smile at him, tentatively, his answering smile could melt even the coldest of heart. Just like his mother's smile. Yes, aside from his smile, the eyes and happy personality, this child is mine. Frankly, I don't know where that paternity test came from. I'd just be wasting money and time. He raises one hand to touch my face. I freeze, he blinks and then smiles.
"Daddy," he says, for the second time. I just stare, mesmerized. I feel… warm, on the inside. On my periphery, I see Ana, looking up and blinking away the tears.
"There's still so much to talk about," I finally say.
"I know," she murmurs.
"I'd like him to meet my family," I say. And just like me, they're going to have a ton of questions
"I know that. I have a lot of explaining to do," she says, contritely.
"Good. And I'd like you and Teddy to stay with me for the night."
The words are out before I can do anything. I look at Ana and see the same reaction she had when she saw me, shock and horror. Three swift knocks on the door interrupt our moment. Then followed by murmured voices – familiar voices, hounding Taylor to let them in. Right on cue, Ethan comes out from the kitchen, his phone on his ears. He stares at the three of us, his look tells me that he has already informed my sister about this. Somehow, I get the feeling that he's been wanting to tell me and the rest of the family since he found out. And based on the persistent knocks, it looks like the night isn't over just yet.