The name ‘Marco' flashed across the screen and my pulse quickened. I honestly didn't think I'd ever hear from him again.
I hesitated to answer, but finally did on the last ring, doing my best to sound upbeat and positive. Not hearing from him had left a bad taste in my mouth, but I didn't want to let that show through my tone. I was trying to be open minded.
"Hello?"
Loud music and constant buzzing in the background made it hard to hear when he responded with a casual, "Hey," through his accent. There was also a touch of an urban intonation to it that left me wondering where he'd grown up. Second Ward, maybe?
I turned up the volume on my phone and tried not to be nervous having him on the line.
"How uh … how're you feeling?" he asked, his voice coming through the phone deep, naturally raspy.
Normally, I'd lie and tell whoever asked the question that I was feeling fine, but not him. He needed to know none of this was easy. "Terrible, actually," I answered. "And you?"
He seemed to be moving further and further away from the commotion, making it easier to hear him. "Not too bad. Just working," he answered.
Working. Before now, I didn't even know for sure if he had a job. Now I found myself wondering what he did for a living.
"Cool," I said back, expending some of my nervous energy by twisting and untwisting the plastic baggie my orange had been in.
"So, I apologize ahead of time; I don't have long to talk right now, but I just didn't want to leave you hanging."
And he most certainly had done that, left me hanging, that is. So much could change in two weeks in these kinds of situations. I took several deep breaths as I tried not to get upset, tried not to jump to conclusions about where this conversation was going.
"I know it's been a couple weeks since we talked, but … I hope you understand that I just needed a minute to wrap my head around what's happening," he explained, and I listened intently. Of course I understood that, but I also knew I hadn't been afforded the same luxury. I didn't get to take a couple weeks and pretend like this wasn't happening. I kept that to myself, though, choosing to let him express himself without interruption.
"I'm gonna just be honest with you," he started, causing me to hold my breath when he spoke those words. "I don't have any idea how this is all supposed to go."
"Neither do I," I admitted, trying not to let the sadness bleed through my tone, but I probably wasn't doing a great job of that. Even though Marco hadn't said the words yet, I felt like I already knew where this was going-he was about to tell me he didn't want to be a part of this and probably that he didn't want to ever hear from me again.
I don't know why I did what I did next-maybe to distract myself from the conversation-but I began thumbing through the contract again. This time with boldness, wanting to just know once and for all where I stood. Stalling wouldn't change the outcome.
A heavy breath was released on the other end of the line and I barely noticed it as the words Morality Clause stared back at me in clearly printed letters.
"Okay … I think before we go any further with this, we need to make sure everything's on the up and up." Marco's words went in one ear and out the other as I stared at my signature on the sheet in my hands. My fear had been realized.
"I mean, I think it's only fair, don't you?" Marco went on when I missed my cue to speak.
"I'm sorry," I finally replied, shoving the contract inside my purse. "I'm a little lost." The room was spinning as the now familiar sensation of lightheadedness returned after what I read. Now I couldn't think clearly.
"I'm only saying I think it's fair to start off with a paternity test to make sure-"
"That's fine." My heart sank as soon as I realized what he was suggesting and I cut him off, not wanting to hear him go any further. I couldn't hear him go any further. Not today. Not with everything else.
It only added insult to injury that this was even necessary. How could I blame him for not knowing I'm not one to sleep around haphazardly, though? This response should've been expected, but I was still pissed. And at the moment, I didn't care a whole lot about whether or not that was fair or rational.
"As long as the procedure isn't dangerous, I'm fine with it," I countered, hearing the curtness in my tone. "I'll give my doctor a call as soon as we get off the phone and I'll have her arrange it."
Marco hesitated and I think he knew I was offended, but like I said, I couldn't blame him. "Brynn, I'm just-"
"You know what? Just … go ahead and get back to work like you said you needed to and I'll text you the info."
I didn't mean to be short with him, but today just wasn't going well. Not only that, but here he was calling an entire two weeks later and the first thing out his mouth was ‘let's get a DNA test'? To me, that just took a lot of nerve, but maybe I was being hormonal and now I was stressing about work, too. Basically, the combination of events just had me in my feelings. Who knows? Maybe this was the way men typically reacted to this sort of thing. I wasn't sure. But what I was sure of is that I hated that I put myself in this predicament.
"All right, cool," he eventually replied, but then felt the need to say more. "I seriously wasn't trying to hurt your feelings or anything. I was just-"
"I'll text you the info," I repeated, and then ended the call before he could say more.
The last thing I needed was for Marco, or anyone else, to think I needed coddling. He wanted this test and I agreed it was fair.
Case closed.
Marco
"All clear, Mr. Rios."
‘All clear', two words I waited five days to hear. I never had an STD screening come back positive for anything, but in light of recent events, I was a little nervous this time.
The nurse handed over my test results, a few informational pamphlets about having regular screenings, and then she left me in the exam room. I got up from the chair and breathed a sigh of relief, glad to have that behind me. Because I wanted to have the results in writing, I asked the office to give me a call when they came in so I could pick them up and get whatever news they had for me face-to-face. They didn't have a problem with that.
Mostly, I wanted to have the physical documents to ease Brynn's mind, so once I got back to my truck, I sent her a picture message of the paperwork. She didn't respond right away, but I didn't honestly expect her to.
Things were a bit tense when we spoke a few days ago. Apparently, suggesting a DNA test offended her. Now, while I imagine it wasn't easy hearing me ask that she prove her claim, she had to understand it was the reasonable thing to do. Because we don't know one another, her word simply wasn't enough. If she'd been in my shoes, she would've demanded the same thing.
I'd heard of too many men taking the woman's word as the truth and finding out later in life that they'd been had. That wouldn't be me. Brynn would just have to be pissed for now, because I deserved to know before I committed to anything. She'd get over it.
The thing is, I don't believe there's any such thing as a part-time father; you're either all the way in or you're all the way out, which is why I needed to be sure. This kid, if he or she did in fact turn out to be mine, would have all of me. So, call me crazy, but I needed to know beyond the shadow of a doubt, because investing my time, money, and love isn't something I take lightly. I don't hold back when it comes to giving the people I care about any of those things and I couldn't handle finding out later that it had all been for nothing.
Fifteen minutes later, Brynn finally sent back a dry text that read, "Cool," followed by a similar picture message of her own results. A second picture came through right after; a close up of the date-as if to cover her tracks in case I accused her of showing me old documents. I tossed the phone to the passenger seat.
"Whatever, man." If she wanted to be upset about nothing, that was on her. I didn't have time to tiptoe around her feelings.
We'd both gone for bloodwork and her doctor assured us she could expedite the process, presenting the paternity results by Brynn's three-month visit later this afternoon. As promised, Brynn sent me a text almost immediately after our last talk, the one where I pissed her off somehow. The doctor set us up with lab times-hers at noon the very next day, mine right after at one o'clock-and it was that simple. Now, in a few hours, we'd know for sure.
Relaxing as I sat at a red light, I had a few seconds to reflect on this situation. I hadn't slipped up and forgotten to use a condom since I was in my teens, but alcohol has a funny way of making you do things you normally wouldn't. All I had were a few random memories of kissing Brynn; of how sloppy we were as we fell over ourselves and each other on our way to the bathroom stall where it all went down. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't pull the pieces together, though. If it wasn't for the possibility of her carrying my child, it was almost as if it hadn't happened at all.