5+Us Makes Seven: A Nanny Single Dad Romance Read online

  “Why not?” Joshua said.

  “Because I didn’t want to make things harder on her than they already are. This decision for her wasn’t easy, and we have to respect it. If you guys want, we could try sending her a letter. We could draw her pictures and sign it with personal notes, and I’ll make sure it gets sent to the part of Africa she’s in,” I said.

  “So we can’t call?” Clara asked.

  “No, princess. We can’t call,” I said.

  I finished making dinner for the kids, but it was pretty silent. The hurt was evident on their faces and I had no idea how to take it away. I had no clue how to make this easier or better for them. I was heartbroken for my kids and heartbroken for myself, but I knew Natasha was following her dreams.

  And I couldn’t ever be upset with her for that.

  She was an incredible woman who would have a lot to give this world. Her selfless nature and her caring heart would take her lots of places, especially in the career she chose. I saw her doing great things. Big things. Massive things to help improve the area of Bria. She would change lives and impact children in ways they would’ve never been able to dream of, and part of me was proud of her.

  But part of me still hurt. Part of me was still angry that she left.

  The kids and I ate dinner in silence before I cleaned up their plates. I had them go upstairs and strip down so we could do bath time while I loaded the dishwasher. I looked out at our backyard as the dishwasher started up, the chugging water filling the kitchen with noise as I stood.

  If Natasha was still here, we would be enjoying a glass of wine.

  I dragged myself upstairs and helped my kids to get ready for bed. Our nighttime routine had doubled in length because it was three against one again. I got them all washed, dried, and in clean pajamas, then we all piled onto my bed, so I could read them a bedtime story.

  And when Clara handed me the book she wanted to read, I had to hold back a sigh. Because when I opened the first page, there was a written inscription from Natasha.

  To the kids who have it all,

  Never stop reading. It’ll take you on adventures even your father can’t buy.

  Love,

  Natasha

  “If she loved us, she wouldn’t have left,” Nathaniel said.

  “Stop. I won’t have you talking anymore about it,” I said. “I know you miss her. But Natasha is a wonderful woman who is following her dreams. I know you’re too young to understand that, but one day you will. And when you do, you’ll respect her for her decision instead of being angry at her for it.”

  “I’m not angry,” Nathaniel said. “I’m lonely.”

  “You’ve got me,” I said. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

  “Miss Nattie understood me,” Nathaniel said. “No offense, Dad. But she got me.”

  “I know how you feel,” I said. “She got me, too.”

  “Do we have to read?” Clara asked.

  “Don’t you want to do what Natasha asked?”

  “Tell us a story about her,” Joshua said.

  “Yeah, a story about Miss Nattie,” Nathaniel said.

  “Please?” Clara asked.

  I didn’t think it was possible for my heart to break any more until that moment.

  “Okay kids,” I said as I set the book aside. “I’ll tell you a story about Miss Nattie.”

  Nineteen

  Natasha

  “Natasha! Come get me!”

  “I’m coming, Imani! You better run!”

  “Natasha! Over here!”

  “Kali! Zoya! We have to split up!”

  “Natasha! They’ve got me!”

  “I’m coming, Imani! I’m coming!”

  I ran around with the kids through the mud streets of the village I was in. Bria was full of life and I hadn’t heard gunfire in days. It was refreshing, to see these kids laughing and smiling. Their mothers were outside talking up a storm with their neighbors while cooking dinner, and no one seemed to be looking over their shoulders.

  My first few days in Africa had been a whirlwind. Even though Clark was insistent on me taking one of the yurts they had set up for the team, I wanted to sleep in a mud hut within the community. If I was going to be helping them and reforming them in some way, I wanted to be a part of them. I wanted the kids to feel free to come to me when they wanted to work on something. Whether it was their speech, their occupational therapy, or their mathematics homework.

  I wanted them to feel as if I was a part of their community.

  “Catch me, Natasha! Catch me!”

  “You run too fast. I can’t keep up!” I said.

  I would be up before the sun, walking with the women to get water from the river. Then I would help them get back to their huts before making my way to my office. From sun-up to dinnertime I would see patients. Children who weren’t walking even though they were four years old and kids who couldn’t speak because of tongue ties. Children with autism whose mothers couldn’t understand why their children were possessed. Education was what I came armed with. All the families needed was a bit of education in order to help raise their special children.

  But whenever I laid my head down at night, I thought about Carter and the kids.

  I missed them terribly. Every time something amazing happened, I wanted to call them. I wanted to video chat with Carter and tell him about all of the things that had already improved in the country and all of the children who were beginning to trust me. I wanted to bring the kids I played with in to introduce them to Carter’s kids.

  Hell, part of me wanted them to fly out and come see what I was doing.

  But every time I thought about reaching out, that last encounter came flying back. How angry and upset the kids were with me and how destitute Carter had seemed. His kiss had been hot on my cheek, but the look in his eye had still been angry.

  He was angry at me for leaving.

  Which meant I didn’t have any right to reach out and disturb his life again.

  Life went on like that for two months. I would walk to the river, come back, help kids, then play with them in the community until I collapsed. Exhaustion was beginning to drag me under earlier and earlier, to a point where I was falling asleep at my desk sometimes. Headaches would set in and Clark would be there with Tylenol to help. He would keep telling me I was taking on too much. That my role here was to educate and that needed to be a priority over everything else I was doing.

  I closed my eyes every night and thought of them. How much they would enjoy the African sunsets and the campfires the community held for celebrations. I was decorated in things the women made me, and they taught me the dances of the tribes they had fled in order to seek refuge. But the turning and the twisting and the gyrating made me sick one night, and Clark had to intervene in order to make sure I got some rest.

  But the sickness didn’t go away and the headaches got worse. Chugging water didn’t work and keeping out the sun didn’t help. My skin was burning easier than usual and the sweating became astronomical.

  There was something wrong. So I booked an appointment with Clark to figure out what the hell was going on.

  “What have you been eating lately?” he asked.

  “The usual. Rice. A bit of jerky meat. Last week there were some vegetables that made it into the community from the market.”

  “What vegetables?” he asked.

  “Plantains and some common beans.”

  “You filtering the water?”

  “Through a sieve and over a fire if it comes from the river. But I’ve been sticking to bottled water ever since the nausea set in,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think I’ve picked up a virus somewhere. The headaches are getting worse and my nausea hasn’t really gone away since the campfire. I haven’t thrown up, but it’s been rolling my stomach.”

  “That’s enough for me to warrant some blood tests. Your blood pressure is a little low, but that might be because you’re constantly burning the
candle at both ends and you can’t do that shit here.”

  “Don’t get upset with me, Clark. You know how I am.”

  “Full speed ahead. But your body’s giving you signs that you need to slow down. Listen, or you can’t stay here to do your job.”

  And as much as I hated it, he had a point.

  He gave me a bottle of water and handed me a meal bar. I snacked on it as I sat in the tent, waiting for his basic blood testing to be over with. He wasn’t allowing me to go back to work until he knew exactly what was going on. Probably because he wanted to escort me wherever I went. I laid down on the medical cot and closed my eyes, allowing myself to slip back into a dream world.

  I could see Carter’s smiling face before my arm was jostled.

  “Natasha?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Wake up,” Clark said.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I have your blood tests back. We need to talk.”

  “I have a parasite, don’t I?” I asked.

  “If you want to call it that, sure. But I think you might feel better calling it a ‘fetus’.”

  I shot up off the cot before the room began to spin.

  “The nausea. The headaches. The fatigue. Your skin being more sensitive than usual. Natasha, you’re pregnant.”

  “What?” I asked flatly.

  “Judging by your hCG levels, you’re very pregnant. Two and a half to three months along,” Clark said.

  “I’m what?” I asked.

  He snickered and shook his head as he helped me up from the cot.

  “We have to get you started on prenatals, and you’re lucky I have some. We’ve made it a point to start handing them out to women who come and see us who are pregnant.”

  “I’m pregnant?” I asked.

  “Do you want to see the blood work yourself?”

  “No, no. I’m… okay?”

  “Was that a thought? Or a declaration?”

  “I don’t know?”

  Pregnant. I was pregnant. And the only man I’d been with in the past few months-- hell, the past few years-- was Carter.

  I was pregnant with Carter’s child.

  I looked past Clark’s shoulder and out into the distance. Children were running around with smiles on their faces as they tossed a ball around. There was a fire going where women were making more meat jerky from the animals a few of them went out to hunt and the community was alive. Thriving. Children were talking in full sentences and classes were starting up to educate the women of this new tribe of misfits on how to take care of those around them.

  I wanted to stay.

  But a part of me wanted to go as well.

  The school where I was working was the perfect job for me. I got to make a difference. Influence lives I wouldn’t otherwise touch. But I was also growing a child who needed my comfort. My care. Who needed me to be happy and stay healthy. I couldn't work a job like this the way I wanted to if I was going to succeed. I couldn't continue running the schedule I had set out for myself with my body constantly rebelling the way it was.

  This was my out.

  This was how I could approach Carter again.

  This was how I could build the life I saw in my dreams.

  “Clark?” I asked.

  “Yep?”

  “I quit,” I said.

  And the smile that crossed his face was so big it shut his eyes.

  “I’ll get you some prenatal vitamins and a basic internet hookup, so you can tell the board about your decision,” he said. “And Natasha?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s been an honor. I know they’ll never forget you.”

  I smiled and embraced the man as children continued to laugh outside. I would miss this place. The women. The people. The culture. I would come back to see them. To see how they were doing and how they were flourishing in life.

  But I had to go back.

  I left the tent and started back for my hut. The kids came running up to me and tugging on my hand, but I told them I had to go get some rest. That I wasn’t feeling very well. The women of the tribe kept bringing me things to help me feel better. Teas they had mixed up and drinks they had steeped to help with my nausea. Mud they blessed and smoothed over my skin to help with the burns and their form of acupuncture that was oddly relaxing.

  They were so giving, and so loving, and so beautiful.

  Holy hell, I would miss them.

  I slipped off into a slumber with my skin coated in mud and fragrant teas filling my hut. I opened my eyes to see Clark sitting at my side, a bottle of prenatal vitamins in his hand. I heard people bustling outside my tent and drums beating off in the distance.

  “I told the tribe, and they want to bless you and your child on your journey together,” he said.

  He helped me up from my cot and helped out of my hut. A woman threw some necklaces around my neck before someone else draped animal skins over my shoulders. They danced with me towards the fire and created a circle around me, then began chanting and singing in their native tongue. It brought tears to my eyes as they laid hands on me. Rejoicing in the life growing within my body. I allowed the tears to flow, taking the mud mask along with it as I rose my hands to the sky and danced alongside them.

  I knew I would never forget about them. The joy they brought me and the life they filled me with. The happiness on their faces even with the lives they had led was inspirational. Everyone in the village took time out of their evening to celebrate with me. To depart on me their words of motherly wisdom before embracing me in their arms.

  They had impacted me in a way I would carry for the rest of my life.

  All I hoped now was that Carter and the kids hadn’t forgotten about me.

  Because I really had no idea how they were going to react to any of this.

  Twenty

  Natasha

  It took a few days to get an internet signal powerful enough to send the email to the board, but once they received it a satellite call came through. The board was ecstatic over my pregnancy, but they did give me the option of sitting on the board since I was coming back stateside. I told them it was a generous offer and that I would consider it. But I had at least one other person who now had a say in what I did. Carter’s opinion mattered. Not that it hadn’t before, but I was carrying our child. What I did and the path I chose directly related to him now, which meant I needed to have a conversation with him about it first.

  I was thankful that the board understood, and they said they would be waiting for my email.

  I packed up my things and was on the first flight back into the States. I flew directly into San Francisco and headed straight for Carter’s house. I smelled like dirt and mud and smoke, and part of me considered stopping off and getting a hotel somewhere. Taking a shower and cleaning myself up a bit before I approached their house.

  But I was too anxious to waste another second.

  I needed to know if he was going to do this with me or if I was in this alone.

  If I was in this alone, I could do it in Africa. I would need special provisions that would most certainly come out of my paycheck, but that was what I would want. To work with those kids until my pregnancy forced me back into the States. I would sit on the board and raise my child until they were off to college.

  Then, I would go back.

  I had a plan, but it was second to the one I was hoping would pan out. I knew Carter was still going to be angry with me. I just hoped he allowed me to talk when I showed up. My hands were shaking in my lap as the cab made its way to Carter’s address, and I made myself so nervous I felt sick. Would he yell at me? Cast me aside? Tell me he didn’t want a child with me and make me do this on my own? Would the kids still hate me? Would they still be upset with me?

  My mind was racing with a thousand different scenarios, and all of them ending in disaster.

  The cab pulled up to the house and there were no cars in the driveway. All of the lights in the house were off, and I wasn’t sure what to do
. I wasn't in any condition to sit in a restaurant and wait until he got home. But I didn’t have an apartment to go back to in order to kill time.

  So I paid the cab driver, pulled my things out, and went to go sit on his porch.

  I rocked in the rocking chair and thought about our life together. About everything that had brought us to this point. I had met Carter over a year ago, and in that time so much had changed. We went from strangers to lovers to two people whose lives molded together perfectly. We fell into a rhythm that felt familial and my life was consumed by him and his three beautiful children. They regarded me as one of their own and, in some ways, I thought of them as my own family.

  Then Africa happened again and I got selfish.

  Maybe selfish wasn’t the right word. But I did misstep. I owed Carter at least a conversation about it with everything we had been through together. The navigating of platonic waters for the children while secretly wanting one another in the shadows. Educating Carter on how each of his individual kids thrived and how he could make sure to incorporate all of that into their schedules. Him providing me with a way of life I didn’t think was possible for myself. Providing me with support and good conversation and an overwhelming desire to start again.

  Maybe that was why I took the Africa job. I thought starting again meant going back there.

  I had never considered the fact that ‘starting again’ meant building a life with him.

  I closed my eyes and saw how my body would change. How it would grow and morph and how scarred up it would become. I saw myself in the hospital room, pushing and grunting and crying and sweating. Begging Carter to make it go away and yelling at him about how he would never touch me again.

  I felt him kissing my forehead as our baby cried out into the room, filling the hospital with its beautiful sound.

  I saw all of the kids running around in the backyard. I saw Carter cradling his newborn child in the middle of the night. I saw Clara wanting to snuggle and the boys wanting to doggie pile and dinners on the table right at six. There was homework and daily activities and weekend ball games and wine visits from other mothers. There were weekend getaways where Carter’s lips would never leave my body and moments where I could wake up moaning his name as he sank between my thighs.