Wrecking Ball (Hard to Love 1)

“Well, you look good,” she states. And for some absurd reason, the way she checks him out bothers me.

Without thought, I lace my fingers through his and say, “We should find Sam.”

Calvin nods and smiles at me. Yes, smiles. No teeth, but it’s definitely a smile. It’s like a sighting of Bigfoot. I’m momentarily stunned. Did I really just witness it? Am I losing my mind? Probably a little of both. Recovering quickly, I say, “Nice to meet you, Kim. I’m sure we’ll have occasion to speak again,” and pull Calvin away.

The young man in question is busy playing a video game with four other children of various ages. After determining that the game isn’t too mature, I allow him to play a little longer. It’s so wonderful to see him smiling and laughing like all the other kids that I don’t want to do anything to diminish his joy.

Back in our room, I strip and hang the dress back up. I can’t imagine when I’ll ever have the opportunity to wear it again. Merely entertaining that thought for a moment sinks my mood further into the mud.

As soon as I’m tucked in, Cal enters dragging his feet and tugging on his tie. He’s quiet––what else is new. No thought to privacy whatsoever, he starts undressing in front of me as casually as if he’s done it a million times. God only knows how many women he’s gotten naked with. I don’t wait for him to notice the disapproving frown on my face because, more than likely, he won’t care anyway. Instead, I scramble out of bed as soon as he begins to unbuckle his belt. And there it is, my cue to go check on Sam. Like my hair is on fire, I throw on a hoodie head out the door.

Sam’s already tucked himself in and turned off the lights. It seems like he’s been taking care of himself for a while; he’s too self-sufficient for a boy his age. Not for the first time, I wonder if his parents know what an amazing kid they have, how unbelievably lucky they are. By the looks of it, I’d have to say no. Which, of course, pisses me off beyond measure.

After counting to ten, I enter our room again. Calvin’s sprawled out on top of the covers, no t-shirt, barely any underwear––no surprise. Oh brother, he’s staring at the ceiling. By the look on his face, I know this is not a good time to argue the merits of pajamas so I remove my hoody and climb into bed. Waves of angst are rolling off his big body. I could pretend I don’t feel them suffocating me…I could. I probably should…but I don’t.

“You want to talk about it?” I get absolutely nothing in response. “I’m a great listener…and let’s not forget I signed an NDA.” Still nothing. “I think it’ll help if you talk about it.” An eternity later, I give it one last try. “Are you still in love with her?”

“No.”

Why is it that one word can make me feel like I just won the lottery? Pathetic, I’m completely pathetic. I turn on my side and tuck a hand under my face. He’s still staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Does it bother you that she’s happy?”

“No.”

I believe him. Calvin is many things, a liar is not one of them. “What happened between you two?”

“She cheated. Then she left me for the person she cheated with.” I can only imagine what that did to a man as proud as Calvin.

“How did you find out?”

“She got pregnant.”

“They have a baby?” I confirm, my voice just above a whisper.

“Hmm.”

“Did she tell you? That it wasn’t yours.”

“She insisted on a paternity test…but I couldn’t have gotten her pregnant.”

I can’t stop the eye roll at his gullibility. “A lot of women lie about birth control, Cal. Not to mention a shit ton of reasons why it fails.”

His eyes catch mine in a sideways glance, measuring me, considering his words. The silence stretches on and on. I yawn. I’m about to give up and go to sleep.

“The first thing I did after the draft was get a vasectomy.”

Huh. Say what?

His dark head does a slow turn in my direction, his eyes searching for a reaction. Shock. That’s my reaction. Total. Frigging. Shock.

“Did you say va–sec–to–my?”

“Yup.”

“Why?” A teeny, tiny bit of outrage on behalf of womankind makes me sound a tad shrilly.

“Because I don’t want kids,” he spits out sharp and fast. Processing his words takes an inordinate amount of time. My mind goes down alley after alley of every conceivable reason and still hits dead ends.

“There has to be more to it than that.”

Resignation rings loudly in his deep exhale. “I’m the oldest of eight. I’ve changed more diapers and heated more bottles than any one person ever should. I don’t want any part of that ever again, as long as I live.” His twang is back with a vengeance. And now I have about a million more questions wanting to burst out of me.