Читать книгу Baby Business - Karen Templeton - Страница 11

At 8:00 a.m., the phone rang. Wedged in the corner of the sofa with twenty pounds of guzzling baby in her lap, Dana could only glower from across the room as some chick with this godawful Southern accent told whoever to leave a message.

“Hey, it’s C.J. I’m on my way over.”

Click.

She muttered something unseemly, realizing she wouldn’t be able to use the no-no words for long with a baby around. Not only did the apartment look worse than it had yesterday, but she was still unwashed and in her Mickey Mouse sleepshirt. And despite the Glade PlugIns rammed into every available outlet, she strongly suspected the place reeked of beet-infused baby doo.

Mercy said six-month-olds generally slept through the night. Unfortunately, no one had informed His Highness of that fact. The kid not only peed like a herd of goats, but was apparently one of those “sensitive” types who didn’t tolerate wet diapers very well, stay-dry linings be damned. Dana calculated she’d had roughly three hours sleep over an eight-hour period. Again. The last thing she needed was company. Especially sexy male company who would probably waltz in here looking ready for brunch at the country club. Whereas she, on the other hand, looked like week-old roadkill. Probably smelled like it, too.

She jiggled the bottle, determining Ethan had maybe five minutes yet to go. It occurred to her she had no idea where C.J. lived. With any luck, Taylor Ranch, clear on the other side of the—

Bzzzzzzzt went her doorbell.

—city.

Cell phones, she decided, were the instrument of the devil.

“Who is it?” she yelled, as if she didn’t know.

“Dana? Honey?”

Apparently, she didn’t.

“Dana?” Her mother’s voice came through the door, thin and anxious. “It’s just me, honey, I thought I’d drop by before I went on to church. You okay in there? Why aren’t you opening the door?”

There was only one person she’d rather see less than C. J. Turner at that moment, and that person was standing on the other side of her door.

“Just a sec, Mama!” Dana heaved and grunted her way out of the deep-cushioned sofa. Ethan never broke his rhythm. “I’m not, um, dressed.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, honey, I’ve seen you undressed before … oh …”

The last oh was the kind of oh people say when they think they’ve caught you at an awkward moment. Which was true, God knew, but, alas, not that kind of awkward moment.

“Hang on, almost there …” Swinging Ethan to one hip, she looked down into his fathomless blue eyes. “Okay, you’re about to meet your great-aunt Faye.” Formula dribbled out of the corner of the baby’s mouth, making tracks down his chin. Dana bunched up the hem of the already baptized sleepshirt and wiped away the trickle. “Now, she really loves babies, but don’t be surprised if she acts a little peculiar there for a bit. Just hang loose, and we’ll all get through this. Okay?”

And exactly who was she trying to reassure here?

“Dana? It’s gettin’ hot out here in the sun, honey….”

She plastered a smile to her face and swung open the door.

“Hey, Mama! What brings you here?”

Her mother’s eyes zinged straight to the baby, then drifted over Dana’s shoulder to inside the apartment. “I, uh, made coffee cake,” she said, sounding a little distracted, “and figured I’d better not leave it around or your father’d eat the whole … dang thing.” There was a small, anxious pause, then, “Honey?”

“Mmm?”

“Why are you holding a baby?”

“Because he can’t walk yet?”

In a flash of pale rose polyester, Mama pushed her way past Dana into the apartment. “Looks to me,” she said, her voice gaining altitude with each syllable, “you’ve got any number of places you could put him—it is a him, isn’t it?—”

Dana nodded.

“—down … oh, my word!” Her hand flew to her mouth. Dana somehow caught the foil-wrapped paper plate before it landed on the carpet and set it on the dining table. She cringed as realization bloomed in her mother’s eyes.

The hand fell, and words gushed forth. “Oh, sweet heaven, tell me that isn’t Trish’s baby! But it has to be, doesn’t it? He’s the spittin’ image of her when she was a baby! That’s why she suddenly left town, isn’t it? Because she was pregnant? Why she called, wanting to know all about what you were doing and all? Because she had a baby? Well, say something, Dana, for goodness sake!”

“As a matter of fa—”

“Oh, my stars, he looks exactly like her! That chick-fuzz hair, and those fat little cheeks … Except for those blue eyes. Where did those blue eyes come from?”

“Anybody home?”

Both women snapped their heads around to the man of the hour, standing in the doorway. He held up a McDonald’s bag, as if in explanation for his presence.

“Breakfast?”

Ethan let out a series of gleeful grunts, as if he recognized C.J., who wasn’t, Dana realized, dressed for brunch in any country club she’d ever heard tell of. A gray sleeveless sweatshirt, ratty jeans, well-worn running shoes. Far cry from dress shirts and business suits. And yet, he had the nerve to still look good. Probably smelled good, too, fresh from the shower, she guessed, judging from the way his damp hair curled around his ears.

Yeah, heckuva time for the hormones to kick in.

“And who might you be?” Dana’s mother shrieked, effectively smashing to paste all hormones foolish enough to venture forth this fine Sunday morning.

C.J. thrust out his free hand, laying on the charm thick enough to suffocate the entire Northeast Heights. “C. J. Turner, ma’am.” Dana saw her mother’s eyes pinch in concentration as she tried to place the name. “And you must be Dana’s mother,” he said, grinning. “There’s no mistaking the resemblance.”

Faye’s eyes popped wide open, arrowing first at C.J.—”The Realtor Trish worked for”—then to Dana—”the one who’s showing you places for the shop?”

Wouldn’t be long now. “The very same.”

“Well, what’s he doing here this early on a Sunday morning? And why is he bringing you breakfast?” Her eyes zipped up and down his body, settling on his eyes. His very blue eyes. With gold flecks around the pupil. Just like Ethan’s. “Dressed like tha—” The word ended in a gasp as Faye slumped against the edge of the table, clutching her chest.

The woman had truly missed her calling.

“You … and Trish … and … and …” Faye jiggled her index finger at C.J.’s face, her jaw bouncing up and down for several seconds before she got out, “Blue eyes … your blue eyes. The baby … you … and Trish … and … oh.”

And still, he managed to give her mother the perfect smile, a little abashed, a little nervous, appropriately contrite. “Yes, Mrs. Malone,” he said calmly, “there’s a strong chance I’m Ethan’s father.”

Shock gave way to blazing indignation, of the kind peculiar to Southern women whose kin have been wronged. “Lord have mercy, boy—you must be at least ten, twelve years older than Trish! What were you thinking? She was barely more than a child!”

“Oh, come on, Mama.” Bouncing Ethan on her hip, Dana grimaced at her mother. “You know as well as I do Trish hasn’t been a child since she hit puberty. Or it hit her. And C. J. already told me how it happened, so you can’t put all the blame on him—”

Sparking eyes shot to hers. “What do you mean, he already told you?” Dana’s face flamed. She was eight years old again, caught sneaking off to her girlfriend’s house before she’d cleaned her room. “Yesterday,” she said in a somewhat steady voice. “Which is when, uh, Trish left Ethan with me.”

“So you spoke with her?”

“Well, no, not exactly. You know all those old movies where somebody finds the baby in the basket on the doorstep? It was kind of like that.”

“Oh, for the love of …” Her mother shut her eyes, shaking her head, but only for a second. Presumably recovered, she said, “Wait a minute—she left him with you? Instead of with—” her eyes shot to C. J., then back to Dana “—him? And why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I couldn’t deal with having a baby dumped in my lap and your overreacting, too!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’ve never overreacted in my life!” Faye quit clutching herself long enough to press her fingers into shut eyelids. “But I’m so confused. Was this a secret or something? Did you know about this?” she lobbed at C.J., then to Dana, “Did you? I mean, what did Trish say when she dropped the baby off? And where is Trish, anyway?”

Not before a shower and breakfast, Dana decided, could she deal with this. And since C.J. looked as though he’d had the luxury of at least one of those things already—and probably more than three hours sleep, to boot—he was more than welcome to have first crack at her mother.

It was a rotten thing to do, but hey. In all likelihood, he was family now. The sooner he weathered his first Faye Malone interrogation, the better it would be for all concerned.

“Tell you what—” With a sweet smile, Dana handed the baby to a very startled C.J. “Why don’t you play with Ethan while I go jump in the shower before the city slaps me with a condemned notice? And you can get acquainted with my mother, while you’re at it.” She grabbed the McDonald’s bag out of C.J.’s hand, extracted coffee and an Egg McMuffin. “Good choice,” she noted, then got her fanny, as well as her unconfined 38 D’s, the hell out of there.

Holding an active six-month-old, C.J. immediately discovered, was like trying to hang on to a stack of greased phone books. Every part of the child—and there seemed to be an amazing number of those—was hell-bent on veering off in a different direction from all the other parts. After nearly dropping the kid three times in as many seconds, he settled for securing him to his hip under his left arm, his hand braced across the baby’s chest. That finally settled, he dared to look up at Dana’s mother, who was glowering at him with all the sympathy of a highway patrolman who’s clocked you at eighty in a fifty-five-mile-per-hour zone.

Talk about curveballs. Here he’d been all revved up to discuss possible options with Dana, only to be confronted with this fire-breathing she-dragon ready to chew him up and spit him back out in itty-bitty pieces. Her daughter’s quick vanishing act didn’t seem to faze her. Nor did the fact that two minutes ago, they’d never laid eyes on each other.

“One question,” Mrs. Malone said, crossing her arms. “Why are you doubting my niece’s assertion that you’re the father?”

After he explained, as obliquely and quickly as he could, she regarded him shrewdly for several seconds, then blew out a breath.

“I think I need to sit down,” she said, doing just that. “And you do, too, before you drop that baby. Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said, leaning over, “this isn’t nuclear physics….”

After several seconds of fussing and adjusting, the child was finally seated on his lap to her satisfaction. Then she leaned back, squinting. “So if there’s a good chance the baby isn’t yours,” she said, more calmly, “why are you here?”

“Because I don’t feel right about leaving Dana to shoulder the burden alone.”

“I see. And if it turns out he isn’t?”

At that moment, the baby grabbed one of C.J.’s hands, doubling over to gnaw on his knuckle. Without thinking, C.J. shifted to keep the little guy from falling on his noggin, then lifted his eyes to Mrs. Malone’s. “Guess I’ll deal with that moment when it comes.”

Faye gave him a strange, inscrutable look, then shook her head. “I cannot believe that girl just left the baby. Then again,” she said on a sigh, “knowing Trish, I can. Well …” She slapped her hands on her thighs. “I guess, for once, they’ll have to do without me at church.”

With that, she sprang from the couch, then began picking up and straightening out as if being timed, only to stop suddenly in front of the balcony door, hugging her elbows. “I owe you an apology, Mr. Turner,” she said, her voice tight with humiliation and frustration. “It’s not you I’m mad at. My niece has always been headstrong. Always determined to do whatever she wanted and damn the consequences. Even her own mama finally gave up on her, when she was fourteen, sent her to Dana’s daddy and me to see what we could do with her.”

She turned to him, her mouth set, her eyes hidden behind the window’s reflection in her glasses. “Obviously, it wasn’t enough. But it’s true. By this age, Trish is nobody’s responsibility but her own. Whatever the outcome, it’s a little late to be accusing anybody of leading my niece down the primrose path. Heaven knows, if she walked in here right now?” Her hair, darker than Dana’s, tangled in her collar as she shook her head. “I’d be tempted to throttle the living daylights out of her. Dumping her baby on Dana like that, not having the decency to even tell you about the child … nobody in this family has ever done anything like this.”

She snatched an empty baby bottle and a rolled-up diaper off the coffee table. “But this family sticks together, Mr. Turner,” she said, wagging the bottle for emphasis. “That child’s gonna know he belongs, that he has kin that care about him, no matter what his scatterbrained mama might have done.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” C.J. said. “Which is why, if Ethan really is mine, I want him to come live with me.”

Three feet from the living room, Dana froze in her tracks.

Her wet hair hanging in trickly little snakes down her back, soaking the fabric of her camp shirt, she cautiously peered out into the living room. Her mother’s back was to her, partially blocking her view of C.J. Not that she needed to see his face to picture his expression.

“You don’t exactly sound overjoyed about this,” Mama said.

“It’s hard to sound much of anything when you’re still in shock. But it’s a no-brainer, wouldn’t you say?”

Dana ducked back into the shadows to lean against the wall, too stunned to think clearly, let alone join the fray. Which would probably not be a wise thing until she figured out which side she was on. Shoot, at this point, she didn’t even know what the sides were. Her mother, however, didn’t miss a beat.

“Then why d’you suppose Trish left the baby with Dana and not you?”

It got so quiet, Dana peeked around the corner to make sure everyone was still there. She could see C.J. clearly now, cradling Ethan to his chest, one strong hand cupping the fuzzy little blond head in a protective, masculine pose that set her insides to bubbling.

No instinct for fathering, her foot. Only then his quiet, “Probably because I didn’t exactly give her the impression I wanted children,” made Dana wince.

“And now you do?”

“Now … I’ll do whatever I have to. If he’s mine.”

“Well, he is ours,” her mother said in that tone of voice that always raised the hair on the back of Dana’s neck. “So why not leave him where you know he’ll be loved? Without reservation?”

Showtime, Dana thought, lurching into the living room as if pushed. “Okay, Mama, this is really none of your business—”

“Nonsense,” her mother replied, completely unperturbed. “This is about family.”

“I realize that, but this is a bizarre enough situation without having to deal with outside interference.”

“Interference?”

“Yes, interference. As in butting in, an activity at which you excel.”

“Well, I never—”

“Yes, you do. Every opportunity you can get. C.J. and I haven’t had two minutes to discuss our options—”

“Do you want him to take the child?”

She knew what her mother was really asking. And it had nothing to do with C.J. “You mean, because here’s a shot at getting the grandbaby I can’t give you?”

Her mother flushed. “No, of course not—”

“For goodness’ sake, I didn’t even know about Ethan forty-eight hours ago! How dumb would it be to start thinking about him as my own this early in the game? Besides which, we already talked about this, how I can always adopt. You’ll have your grandchild, Mama,” she said, tears prickling behind her eyelids. “Someday. When the time’s right. But at the moment, I only want what’s best for Ethan.”

“And how is it best for the child to send him to live with a man who doesn’t even want children?”

“Mrs. Malone,” C.J. said quietly, getting to his feet, “I appreciate your concern, which is more than valid. But until I know for sure I’m Ethan’s father, there’s really nothing to discuss.”

“And anyway,” Dana said, “Trish is a completely unknown factor in all this. For all we know she might well come to her senses and want her baby back. Until then,” she said with a daggered, determined look in C.J.’s direction, the equally determined expression in his eyes making her own sting even harder, “this kid’s going nowhere.” She looked back at her mother. “But I wouldn’t dream of keeping Ethan from his daddy, whoever that turns out to be.”

A war raged in her mother’s eyes: anger at being dismissed—for that was what Dana was doing—tangling with an unwavering love, that primal maternal desire to see everything work out. To keep her own child from getting hurt. And that, when all was said and done, tamped down Dana’s own annoyance and frustration.

She walked over to the dining table, picked Faye’s handbag off the table and handed it to her. The older woman hesitated, looking like the last guest at a party who can’t decide how to make a graceful exit, then took the bag.

“If you hurry, you won’t even miss the first hymn,” Dana said quietly.

Defeated—though for how long, was anybody’s guess—Faye simply nodded and headed to the door. Then she turned, worry brimming in her eyes. Dana touched her arm. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“You’re sure?”

“Oddly enough, yeah. I am.”

Her mother smoothed away a strand of hair from her daughter’s face, squeezed her hand and left. Dana shut the door, leaning her head against it, staring at her bare feet for a moment. “Well,” she said to the doorknob, “that went well, don’t you think?”

“You can’t have children?” C.J. said softly behind her.

Her head jerked around, her insides constricting at the kindness in his eyes. “Nope. Stork took me off his delivery route more than a year ago.”

“God, Dana … I’m so sorry. Of all people for that to happen to.” He released a sigh. “Talk about not being fair.”

She nodded toward the now dozing infant slumped against C.J.’s chest. “You should know.”

He gave her the oddest smile, and something kicked in her stomach, a premonition that she wasn’t going to like what she was about to hear. She walked over to C. J. to remove the slumbering infant from his arms and lower him into the playpen. The man followed, close enough to feel his heat, for that soap-and-male scent to reach right in and yank her idiot libido to attention.

“I have no intention of taking Ethan away from you, Dana. Especially now.”

Hanging on to the side of the playpen, she pressed the heel of her hand to one temple, deciding the heat was making her fuzzy-brained. “Then why did you tell my mother you were?”

“No, what I said was, I wanted him to live with me.”

She twisted around. Moved over a bit. Frowned. “Is this where I point out that you’re not making any sense?”

His laugh sounded … strained. “No. This is where I ask you to move in, too.”

“Get out,” Mercy and Cass both said simultaneously when Dana got to that point in the story.

After reaching a deal with the owner of the new place, the partners returned to Cass’s (since the store was always closed on Mondays) to discuss the hows and whens of the relocation.

Only Dana’s insane weekend was proving a much more interesting topic than floor plans and moving company selection. Go figure.

“Yeah, kinda stopped me dead in my tracks, too,” Dana said, then frowned at the box of gooey, glistening, probably-still-warm glazed donuts Mercy had just plopped in the middle of the tempered glass table out on Cass’s patio. “And you’re blatantly setting temptation in my path why?”

Curls glistening, the tube-topped elf settled her tiny fanny on the cushioned faux wicker chair. “Not to worry, these have half the sugar of the regular ones.”

Dana’s frown deepened. “Oh, you’re talking serious crime against nature. Donuts with half the sugar is like sex without … you know.”

“And sex without ‘you know’,” Mercy said, delicately selecting a long john and taking a huge bite, “is better than no sex at all.” She wagged the mangled treat at Dana. “He’s actually making noises about you moving in before he even knows for sure Ethan’s his?”

On a heavy sigh, Dana snatched one of the donuts from the box and morosely bit into it, surprised to discover it wasn’t half-bad. As opposed to her life, which was rapidly going down the tubes. She took another bite before mumbling, “He even started talking schedules, believe it or not.”

“And like most men,” Cass said drily, “he’d no doubt decided that since he’d come up with a solution, it had to be the solution.”

“Yeah, that pretty much covers it.” Dana licked guilt-free glaze off her fingers, then popped the plastic top off her skinny latte. “Guy looked like he’d just bagged the mastodon single-handed.” If scared out of his wits, Dana silently amended. “Because, he said, it would be the best solution for Ethan. If … well, if things work out that way. Apparently his outrage over Trish’s little stunt trumps whatever issues he has about being a father. Oh, for heaven’s sake!” she said when she realized they were both giving her say-it-isn’t-so looks, “I didn’t agree to move in with him. Years of dealing with my mother’s unilateral decisions notwithstanding, I’m not about to blithely go along with one made by a man I barely even know. Especially when it involves sharing the kitchen at seven in the morning.”

Mercy winced in sympathy, while Cass muttered something about God saving them all from men’s honor complexes.

“Hah!” Mercy said. “I could name names….” She rolled her eyes.

“So can I,” Cass said. “Blake pulled the same number on me, remember? My second husband hadn’t even been dead a month and there my first husband was, asking me to remarry him. To save me.”

“Yeah, except you needed saving,” Dana said. “Alan had left you in debt up to your butt, you were pregnant, you had like a million people dependent on you—”

“Hardly a million, Dana.”

“Okay, so three. Four, counting the baby. Plus, you and Blake did still have a son together. A teenaged son at that. Oh, and another thing …” She selected a second donut, because she could. “Blake really, really wanted you back. I don’t think honor had a lot to do with it, frankly.”

“Chick’s got a point,” Mercy said.

“Still,” Cass said with a daggered looked toward Mercy, “why do they insist on equating ‘rescuing us’ with ‘doing something’?”

“Because they’re hardwired that way,” Mercy said. “The good ones, anyway. Protecting their womenfolk and children is what they do. And sometimes,” she went on before Cass, who Dana knew had suffered from her father’s obsessive overprotectiveness, could object, “we rescue them. Even if they don’t know it.” The brunette shrugged tawny shoulders. “Basically, I don’t see the harm in a little well-placed macho protectiveness, but that’s just me.”

“In any case,” Dana interjected, “that’s not what’s going on here. This isn’t about rescuing me, it’s about doing right by a six-month-old. And it’s not as if I’d be giving up my apartment or anything.” Wide-eyed, she looked from one to the other. “Oh, God … I really said that, didn’t I?”

“Hey,” Mercy said, taking a sip of her rudely unskinny latte with gobs of whipped cream, “if it were me, I’d be over there so fast it’d make his head spin.” When both Cass and Dana gawked at her, she shrugged. “The guy’s loaded, right? So we’re probably not talking some crumbling old adobe in the South Valley. And let’s face it, sweetie …” She leaned over and patted Dana’s hand. “You live in a shoebox. Besides, if the man wants to help take care of the kid, why not?”

“Because nothing’s settled yet?” Dana said.

“And the longer he has to mull things over before the paternity issue is settled, the more chances he has to change his mind. Trust me, honey. Giving a man time to think is never a good idea.”

Dana’s gaze swung to Cass, who lifted her shoulders. “I’m afraid I have to cede that point to her. And you do live in a shoebox. Of course,” she said, swirling the remains of her coffee around in her cup, “you could always move back in with your parents.”

“Like hell,” Dana said, and Cass smiled.

“So when will C.J. know for sure whether he’s the father?” she asked.

“In a few days, depending on the lab’s turnaround. He had an appointment for first thing this morning. He, uh, decided to go ahead and submit … samples for both tests now, rather than wait on the … you know, before initiating the paternity test. As a matter of fact, I have to take Ethan when we finish here to let them swab the inside of his cheek for the DNA sample. What?” she said at Mercy’s head shake.

“I think the word you’re looking for is semen?”

Cass choked on her coffee while Dana blushed. “We’re practically strangers,” she said in a whisper. “Talking about his …”

“Swimmers?” Mercy supplied.

“… just seems a little … personal at this point.”

“And yet, somehow, you’re not still a virgin. Amazing.”

“So still no word from Trish?” Cass asked. Bless her.

“Nope. But C.J.’s got her social security number from her employee records, he said he might have someone see if they can find her that way. He wants some answers. So do I.” Her eyes burned. “I never realized how much I hated being taken advantage of before this happened. And you know what’s most annoying about this whole thing? The unsettledness of it. So what happens if I take care of Ethan for a few months, or a year? Or more? And then Trish waltzes back and decides she’s changed her mind? Not only have I put my own life on hold during the interim, but how is this good for Ethan? It kills me to think that right when everybody starts thinking in terms of permanent, Trish’ll have a change of heart and we’ll all the get rug yanked out from under us.”

Dana caught herself, flushing with embarrassment. Because her outburst hadn’t been only about Ethan, although it was true—withholding part of herself from the child, in case she lost him, wasn’t even an option. She simply wasn’t made that way. Withholding part of herself from C.J., however, was another issue entirely. Yes, falling for him would be beyond stupid, but, like every other woman in the known universe, stupid was not as alien a concept as she might have wished.

And if she did end up moving in with him, maybe sharing living space would knock those stars right out of her eyes. With any luck, he put on all that charm and suaveness like one of his thousand-dollar suits, shucking them the minute he got back home, revealing the real throwback lurking underneath the public persona. Maybe C.J.’s living alone was actually a blessing to womankind the world over.

Okay, so it was a long shot. But you never knew, right?

Then Lucille, Cass’s former mother-in-law, tottered out onto the patio in platform sandals, clutching a squirmy, Onesie-clad Jason to her nonexistent bosom. “Somebody wants his mommy,” the blazing redhead said as Cass quickly took her infant son from his grandmother. “And yours,” she said to Dana, “is still sacked out in the middle of my bed like somebody slipped him a mickey. Hey, donuts! Don’t anybody tell Wanda,” she said, reaching over and snagging one, “or my tuchus is in a sling for sure.”

But Ethan wasn’t hers, Dana thought with a prick to her heart, only half listening as her partners finally got the business discussion back on track. Because for all Trish’s tenuous grasp on reality, she’d still clearly taken good care of her baby. Yeah, she’d freaked, as Trish was wont to do, but still, that it had taken her six months to reach her breaking point said a lot.

Namely, that in all likelihood she would change her mind. Maybe tomorrow, maybe months from now. But eventually she’d come back for her child, leaving Dana with nothing but memories … and an ever-widening hole in her heart. And then, to make matters ten times worse, there was C.J.’s offer to consider.

If he turned out to be Ethan’s father.

If Trish didn’t return.

If Dana decided there was no better way to handle the bizarre situation. For Ethan’s sake.

If, if, if … the tiny words pelted her like hyper BBs.

One day, she thought, it’ll be for real.

One day, she thought, scarfing down another donut, maybe I’ll finally get to live my own life, instead of being a placeholder in everybody else’s.

If. If.

If.