Elley Arden - Baby by Design

Stuffed suit, side part, proper talker Stu—Tony nearly choked as the name flashed in his brain—that guy was right for Trish’s world. Tony was wrong. Oh sure, he was good enough to make her baby, but he wasn’t good enough to be her man. Not that he wanted the job.

“Why aren’t you going?” She stared back at him, arms folded across her chest, like she was trying to cover her heart or wished he would cover his.

“I need my shirt.”

“Then get it.”

He nodded and made his way through the house to the family room, littered with pieces of their evening. Pizza box. Beer bottles. DVD case. His shirt. Why did this suck like a breakup? They were never together to be pulled apart. He was acting like a girl. So what if he didn’t get laid? Big deal. There were more mermaids in the sea.

“I’ll call you.”

He grabbed his shirt off the floor, and then turned to see her standing in the kitchen. Soft light from a nearby pendant sparkled in her copper hair. She was wringing her hands and looking so lost, he wanted nothing more than to hold her until they forgot every unpleasant thing.

“I’ll call you about the table and Nonna’s concert,” she continued. “If…you still want to do those things.”

What was he supposed to say? He nodded, shrugged into his shirt and pushed past her despite the urge to draw her near. Holding her wouldn’t change anything. In fact, it would probably only make one thing clear.

Tony wanted more than a baby with Trish, but that was out of the question.

Tony glanced around Nonna’s dining table at the somber faces sucking pasta into less-than-talkative mouths. Sunday dinner didn’t feel like Sunday dinner anymore, what with Nonna wasting away at the end of the table and Angie barely talking to him.

Today was the day of the car presentation, and Angie didn’t even ask him to wipe down the leather. No biggie, he thought as he sucked a piece of spaghetti into his own quiet mouth. Nonna didn’t notice his workmanship. There was no way she could’ve seen a detail through all those bittersweet tears.

While Ma and Aunt Connie took Nonna to lie down, Tony helped his other aunts clear off the table. He was looking forward to their chatter about shopping and thick-headed men, but it never came. They talked about Nonna getting sicker, and Tony couldn’t wait to get away. The minute the last dirty plate hit the laminate counter, he set out in search of Vin.

It figured Vin was with Angie, standing alongside Nonna’s Cadillac.

“What’s going on in there?” Vin asked, while Angie turned her back to Tony and polished the fender with her sleeve.

Tony swallowed his ever-present discomfort. “The same.”

“Moping.”

Tony nodded.

“And that’s why we’re out here,” Vin said.

Angie lifted her head. “I’m going to check on Ma.” Like a typical woman, she left the men tossing in the wake of her moodiness.

“She’s upset. Emotional day,” Vin soothed.

Vin was six-feet, five-inches of former Marine. He didn’t soothe. At least he didn’t soothe well.

“She’s pissed at me,” Tony said. “Because of Trish, but now Trish is pissed at me too, so hey-ho…” he shrugged and slipped his hands into his jean pockets, “you know how it is.”

Tony tried, he really tried to pull off nonchalant, but something in the way Vin raised his brows told Tony he failed. Hard.

“Why don’t you tell me how it is?”

“Because I’m not your mom,” Tony scoffed. “I don’t go around crying about my business to anyone who will listen.”

“Ooh. Not fair. Not fair.” Vin sucked on his bottom lip. “You know the only reason a man rags on a defenseless woman, one who is right now nursing her ailing mother, is because he’s too chicken to face the truth.”

Tony’s forehead tightened. “I’m serious. Shut up, Vin.”

“Make me,” he said with a grin, repeating the childish phrase that had become a habit where Tony was concerned. There wasn’t a comeback.

Even if Tony could take the beast of a man, he wouldn’t dare. Family. Forever. “Can we just talk about the car or something?” he asked.

Vin nodded, and for a second Tony thought he was free and clear.

“You fucked things up with Trish, didn’t you?” Vin leaned against Angie’s precious car, but then thought better of it and straightened, bringing thick arms across his mammoth chest. “This is where I get to say I told you so.”

Tony lifted his face to the afternoon sun and cringed. Yeah, he fucked things up with Trish, but not in the way Vin insinuated.

Vin, Angie, everyone thought Tony wanted a slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am while Trish wanted a good old-fashioned relationship. Tony would die before he let them know the truth. Not just because it would make Trish a puttana, but because every last Corcarelli would read too much into what this meant for him. It didn’t mean anything. He wasn’t turning over some highly anticipated leaf. He didn’t want to change. He was happy with his life. He just wanted Trish in it, and for that reason—along with the Nonna reason—he hoped Trish was pregnant. Then, like it or not, Stu or no Stu, Tony would be a permanent part of her life.

“Fine. I screwed up,” he admitted with a steady gaze on Vin’s face. “Happy now?”

Vin slapped Tony’s shoulder. “Come on now. You know me better than that. I won’t be happy until you’re happy, man. Really happy, not this quasi bullshit you get by playing around.”

Tony flinched, rolling his shoulders forward like he’d been socked in the gut. “Why do you even care?”

Vin shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe I miss the camaraderie of the Marines, all that living and working as one. Maybe that’s how I look at us. A team.” He wrinkled his wide nose. “Or maybe it’s because you’re the screw-up brother I always wished I had, the one I could beat into shape and then take all the credit for his success.” He grinned. “Yeah, let’s go with that.”

He was trying to make Tony feel better, but by the rocks in Tony’s gut, it wasn’t working. Tony was such a tool. While he was out here moping about Trish, Nonna was in there fighting for her life, a thought that prompted a curse beneath his breath.

“What if you’re wrong, Vin? What if there’s no big success? What if this is it? What if Nonna dies, Angie hates me, and Trish ends up with Stu?” He choked—and not on the name.

“So there’s more to this story?” Vin relaxed his posture, dropping his arms to his side and bringing his hands together at the waist, where he rubbed them together. “Let me tell you something about women. They need stability. If they think we’re playing around on them or on life, they’re not going to like it one bit. And a good woman will only take so much of that before she finds a man who can give her what she needs.”

Stu. Tony clenched his hands into fists, but then he scoffed at Vin. What did he know about good women? “You’re so full of shit, man. Who are you to be giving me advice?”

Vin nodded. “Fair enough. Go on, laugh and point out all the things I did wrong where Carrie was concerned, but none of that changes the fact I’m right about this. I’ve lived and learned. Now it’s your turn, man. Your turn.” He poked a finger into the skin over Tony’s heart, emphasizing each word.

Damn. Now was one time Tony wished he could skip a turn.

Trish placed her elbows on her mother’s dining table and dropped her face into her hands.

“I mean, multiple, giant tattoos. Darling, you had to know. You had to see them when…before you…” Her mother’s sentence broke apart—thank God—amid sniffles.

Was she really crying over this? Yes, Tony walks around her house shirtless, and he has tattoos. Big deal. Trish looked at her distraught mother. Apparently it was a big deal to her…and Stu…and the entire Perrault family, who by now had certainly spread the news to every member of Three Rivers Country Club, which was Delores DeVign’s greatest fear.

Trish, fortunately, didn’t share the same societally conscious genes. “You can’t measure the merit of a man by the number of his tattoos.” Funny words, so funny she bit back a snicker. Tony would appreciate the wit, but her mother? Not so much.

Delores whimpered. “Oh no? Then tell me how you can measure his merit, because I thought I raised you better than that. He’s a smooth talker, a pretty face. Oh, Trisha Anne. You let him touch you.”

This time Trish laughed. She didn’t attempt to hold it in. Her mother was going to need to double her current anxiety and anti-depression meds if Trish turned up pregnant.

“What about Stuart?” Dolores dabbed a white cloth napkin across her brow.

“What about him?” Trish said, sounding more casual than she felt. Ever since the showdown between Stu and Tony, her insides had been tangled like cheap embroidery thread.

“What do you mean, what about him? Are you really going to throw away another chance at him for a chance at this…hoodlum?”

Trish shook her head. Part of her problem was the unbelievable revelation that no romantic feelings remained for Stu. He’d stood on her doorstep, eager to see her, and all she could think was he looked older. She didn’t want another chance at Stu. And as far as Tony being a hoodlum…

“Tony is a great guy, Mother. You know that. You thought he hung the moon the night of the wedding. In fact, you’re partially to blame for this. ‘Stay,’” Trish said, mocking her mother. “‘One more dance, kids.’” Trish threw up her hands. “Didn’t you see the way we were dancing? You had to know where that would lead.”

Yes, Trish was tired of shouldering the blame for this crazy situation. It may have been her plan in the first place, but other people pushed her over the edge, pushy people like her mother and Tony.