Page 25 of Babydaddy To Go
I laugh. “You ever find yourself in a room full of people trying to convince everyone else they donated the most money to a charity they don’t understand?”
“Can’t say that I have,” he says. He drives away from the Ritz to take me home, our conversation over. My driver is one of my favorite people. I don’t have time for a lot of friends. Aside from my financial advisor/best buddy David, my driver is all I’ve got.
“Have a good night,” I tell him when he drops me off. “Say hello to the wife and kids.”
“Will do. They’ll just ask when they can go back to the Fancy Place.”
My driver has three kids and they love eating at my restaurant. It’s not exactly a kid-friendly place, but they’re well behaved enough.
“Name the date. I happen to have an in with the owner.”
He laughs as he drives away. My three story, six-bedroom home is outside of the city. They don’t make buildings like this within city limits.
The clang of my keys hitting the table by my door echoes through the empty house. If I was where I thought I’d be at this age, I’d call out for my wife and two kids that I’m home. They’d greet me in the foyer and we’d settle into the kitchen for dessert. We’d talk about our days and the kids would tell me about their friends or the frog they found in the backyard pond.
Instead, I climb the stairs to my bedroom alone.
As I undress for bed, I imagine Alyssa was here with me. I wouldn’t be falling onto my mattress alone if she were. I’d be crawling up her sexy body, peppering her skin with kisses. She’d moan that little moan and we’d make love the way a couple should.
My room feels twice as lonely with that image in my mind. I consider sending Alyssa a text but that would feel too close to a booty call and that’s not what I’m looking for.
I’m looking for a woman worth marrying, and I think I might have found her.
If only I didn’t totally screw it up before it had a chance to start.
9
Alyssa
Tuesday
After a good night’s sleep, I’m ready to tackle the kitchen again. I prepare breakfast in my apartment as a warm up to class.
This morning’s early trip to the grocery store stocked my cabinets with everything necessary for a fancy breakfast. I whip up pancake batter, scramble eggs, toast bread, and fry sausage and bacon in a pan on the stove. It might seem simple, but it’s what I add to each dish that makes it an extravagant breakfast.
The pancakes are apple cinnamon, my favorite. As I slice apples for the batter I’m reminded of Nate’s body pressed up against my back when he showed me a better cutting technique. A cold breeze blows behind me, reminding me that Nate isn’t here.
That moment should have been enough for me to recognize him, but I’m glad I didn’t. I got to know him as a person before I knew he was a celebrity. I really liked the guy I met. Nathaniel, Nate’s celebrity alter ego, though? I could live without seeing him again.
My scrambled eggs are cooked with red and green peppers to add flavor. I sprinkle a tiny bit of cinnamon-sugar on my toast for an added level of sweetness. The sausage, bacon, and eggs are savory, so I need the pancakes and toast to balance that out. Everything works well together. This is what I love about cooking: finding combinations that might be unexpected, but that taste incredible when they’re eaten as a meal.
When my breakfast is finished, I settle down at the table with my open textbook and a mug of coffee. I was too depressed after seeing Nate with that bimbo last night to read the assigned chapter. Since I woke up at five this morning, I was able to get a lot done before now. I still have an hour before I need to get to the train station for my eight-fifteen subway. There’s no way I’ll be late today.
The apples in my pancakes are perfectly cooked. I love when I bite into them and they’re so tangy yet soft. Absolutely delicious. The homemade butter pecan syrup on top adds a necessary sugary sweetness. Breakfast is one of my favorite meals to cook, and it’s definitely my favorite to eat.
This textbook is so boring. Why can’t textbook writers make things more interesting? In fact, they should stop using textbooks altogether and start recording videos instead. I would learn so much better watching someone talk about pasta and sauce instead of reading about it.
Someone knocks on my apartment door. The neighbor across the street mentioned in passing that she wants to stop by this morning and see how I’m settling in. This is probably her now.
I welcome the distraction from homework. I don’t bother checking the hallway before opening the door. This proves to be a big mistake, because the person standing in front of me is decidedly not my old-lady next door neighbor.
It’s Nate.
“Hi,” I say, confused. “Do you want some breakfast?”
I’m not sure why I say it. He caught me so off-guard by showing up that I didn’t know what else to say.
Nate shakes his head and takes a step towards me, pushing me into the apartment far enough that he can close the door. As soon as he’s sure we’re completely alone, he pushes me against the wall and kisses me roughly.