Possessive Baby Daddy

When we’re done, we find the car and get back inside. The trunk is laden with bags but she’s smiling like she just accomplished some great task.

“Can I ask you something?”

She shrugs. “Why not? I’ve already been nostalgic and maudlin enough, might as well keep it going.”

I brush that off and move on. “Why don’t you have a more normal relationship with Shaun? I think he’d like it.”

She’s quiet for a long moment. “Shaun is smart,” she says. “He’s very, very smart. But he’s not motivated and he’s not ruthless. I’m afraid you need both of those qualities to run the family.”

“Is he going to run it?”

“Out here, he will. That’s the plan, at least. All West Coast business will be his. I need him to sharpen up, Klara. I wonder if you can help him do that.”

“I don’t know,” I admit.

“Try, dear.”

“I don’t think I need to. I’ve already seen what he’s capable of.”

“I’m sure. But maybe he needs just one more nudge in the right direction.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. He’s a good man, Sylvia.”

She smiles at me. “You’re absolutely right, dear.”

We don’t talk for the rest of the ride. I’m not sure what game she’s playing or what she means, but I get the sense that she just talked circles around me and I have no clue what she did.

When we arrive back at his house, she doesn’t get out of the car. “Tell him I said sorry,” she says. “But I won’t be seeing him again on this trip.”

“But why not? You’re having surgery. Shouldn’t he be involved?”

“Oh, no, dear. That would be unseemly.” She smiles at me. “Good luck.” She shuts the door and the car drives off.

I watch it go and feel at a loss.

But Shaun comes out of the house. “Hey,” he says. “You let her buy you something.”

I hold up the Balenciaga bag. “She made me.”

He laughs. “She loves doing that. Gives her a sense of power. But she would’ve liked it if you denied her too.”

“I’m weak.”

“No, you’re not.”

I put the bag down and walk to him. I get on my toes and kiss his lips before reaching up and running my fingers through his hair. His strong arms wrap around me and he kisses me back. Slowly, we break off, and he tilts his head.

“What’s that for?”

“Nothing,” I say. “Your mother is… interesting.”

“Yeah? Tell me all about it.”

“Maybe another time. I’m beat. Call me a car.”

He laughs. “Come on.”

“Nope.”

He grabs me by the hips and pulls me into the house. I laugh as he kisses me and pushes me up against a wall. His lips linger on mine and I feel so good, so happy, even if my strange afternoon keeps swirling through my mind.

“You can do whatever you want to me,” I whisper, “but I’ll never talk.”

“I don’t need you to talk,” he says, and kisses me hard, which is probably for the best.

I’m not in the mood to do anything but listen, anyway.18ShaunI get up early the next day, shower, and linger in the bathroom doorway, looking at Klara’s beautiful naked body sprawled on my bed. I walk over and kiss her neck then her breasts. She looks at me and groans. “Early,” she grumbles.

“Sorry. I have to go out. You can sleep as late as you want and stay as long as you want. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Okay,” she mumbles. “Have fun, bye.”

I laugh and get dressed. When I’m finished, I make some coffee, pour it into a travel mug, and get in my car.

I make a call on the way over. There’s no answer, but I didn’t expect one this early in the morning. I drive across town and head into a little neighborhood. It’s not super trendy or super nice, but each house is probably worth ten times what it was twenty or thirty years ago. I park out in front of a small light blue bungalow and get out.

I pound on the door and ring the bell. I have to knock and ring over and over until I hear something crash and someone curse inside. “Open up,” I call out. “I know you’re in there.”

“Fuck.” Aldo Funk pulls open the door. He squints at me, his hair a mess. He’s wearing a white tank top and a blue kimono open in the front. His boxers are ratty and were probably red at one point, but look pinker now. “The hell are you doing here?”

“Open up,” I say.

He shakes his head. “Fuck that. It’s like…”

“It’s nine in the morning. Open the door, Aldo, before I open it myself.”

“Fine, shit, Jesus, don’t be such a dick.” He opens it up and steps aside. I walk into his home and look around, surprised at how tastefully decorated it is. The style is mid-century, and most things look like they’re originals.