He Wanted To Play Dad So I Scheduled His Vasectomy
As a child, my cousin tried to snatch my favorite toy and declared, If I cant take this, Ill just die right here.
So, I handed him a butter knife and, ever the helpful one, even pointed out the location of his femoral artery and dialed 911.
My ex-boyfriend once whispered, "Without you, I cant breathe. Ill suffocate."
I promptly held his head under the swimming pool water for three minutes, purely to test the limits of human physiology.
That tendency is how I found myself facing my supposedly "good-guy" husband, Grant, as he brought our neighbor, Sierra, and her son home for dinner.
At the dining table, Sierra served the boy, then Grant, smiling with a saccharine sweetness that made my teeth hurt.
"Oh, look how much Leo and Grant resemble each other," she cooed. "Anyone would think we were the family unit. Oh, wait, Anya, dont mind me, its just silly talk from a tired mom."
I put down my fork, my expression blank, and reached for my car keys.
"I dont mind."
"Were going to the clinic now for a paternity test. If its true, Ill file for bigamy against Grant. If its false, Ill sue you for defamation."
"Also, Grant, to prevent any such future confusion, youll schedule a vasectomy tomorrow. We agreed to be childfree, and whoever breaks that oath is dead to me."
1
Grant Abbott brought Sierra Davis and her son back to Stonegate Estates while I was in the living room, reviewing the quarterly earnings report by the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"Anya, honey, look whos here!"
Grants voice held an unnaturally high pitch of forced excitement.
I looked up. There were three figures at the front door. Grant was struggling with two overflowing grocery bags. Sierra wore a faded, slightly stained floral sundress and clutched the hand of a five-year-old boy named Leo.
Leo was holding a grimy soccer ball and staring, wide-eyed, at the six-figure Murano crystal chandelier illuminating our entryway.
"Oh, Mrs. Wells, youre home?" Sierra offered a nervous, self-deprecating laugh, smoothing down her already slicked-back hair. "I just ran into Grant at the market. He said he was making Australian lobster and insisted Leo and I come over. I hope... I hope were not intruding?"
I closed my laptop, my gaze landing on Grant.
He kicked off his shoes and gave me a frantic, pleading look. "Her building has a water shut-off, honey. The management said its out until tomorrow. A single mom, cant even cook dinner. Were neighbors, Anya. We help each other out."
A typical wife might have forced a smile to save her husband's face.
I simply looked at my wristwatch.
"The HOA email notification stated the water shut-off for Section A was from nine a.m. to eleven a.m. today. Service has been restored for seven hours." I stated the facts calmly. "Also, Grant, I am severely allergic to shellfish. We haven't had lobster in this house since we moved in. If your purchase is for guests, please ensure it is cooked and consumed in the back kitchen. I will not have that allergen in the dining room."
The air seized up, the silence a weapon.
Sierras shaky smile disappeared. She immediately pivoted to a look of wounded, doe-eyed martyrdom, gazing down at Leo. "Oh dear. It seems I misremembered the time. Leo, sweetie, we should leave. We don't want to upset the lady of the house."
Leo, oblivious to the adult subtext, wailed at the thought of leaving. He threw himself onto the floor, rolling wildly on the antique Persian Tabriz rug. "No! I want the big lobster! Grant promised big lobster!"
That last word, "Grant," sounded strangely loud, echoing the name of a father figure.
Grants face flushed crimson, not from shame, but from sheer panic.
He grabbed Sierra's arm. "Don't you dare leave! You're here now! Anya is just stressed from work, she doesn't mean it. Im the man of this house. Don't I have the right to invite two neighbors over for dinner?"
He turned to me, a note of accusation creeping into his voice. "Anya, seriously? Sierra is a single mom, trying her best. Can't you just not eat the lobster? Why do you have to be so ridiculously difficult, especially in front of a child?"
I looked at the wailing, grubby child currently grinding dirt into our seven-thousand-dollar rug and at Grant's sudden, rare burst of entitled masculinity. I rose slowly from the sofa.
"If the man of the house has made a decision, I respect it. The rug cleaning fee is seven thousand, five hundred dollars. I will deduct it from your monthly allowance."
Grant clenched his jaw, swallowing his retort.
The dinner was bizarre.
Grant, apron tied around his waist, sweated in the kitchen, while Sierra made herself perfectly at home. She knew exactly which spot in the high-end disinfection cabinet held the formal silverware and, worse, accurately located Grants bespoke Italian espresso cup to pour Leo some juice.
"Anya, please, dont just sit there," Sierra chirped, placing a piece of Grants braised short rib onto my plate. "Grants cooking is amazing. Whoever married him is... oh, I mean, you're a very lucky woman, Mrs. Wells."
As if that wasn't enough, she fed another piece of the meat to Leo, then turned her full, misty-eyed attention to Grant, who had just emerged with the finished lobster.
In the soft glow of the dining room chandelier, her eyes became hazy, her mouth curved into a suggestive smile.
"Look at them," she murmured, gesturing from Leo to Grant. "The resemblance is uncanny, isn't it? Especially the nose. It's like they were cut from the same mold."
She covered her mouth, a small, silver-bell laugh escaping her lips, her eyes flicking between me and Grant.
"Anyone would think we were a family unit. Oh, darling, please dont mind me, its just a silly joke."
Grants hand, holding the lobster platter, visibly shook, and a few drops of butter sauce spattered the linen tablecloth. He shot me a desperate glance and attempted a weak chuckle. "Sierra, come on. It was just a casual comment. Anya, why are you looking so intense?"
I placed my chopsticks down and slowly pulled a moist towelette from the dispenser, using it to meticulously clean each finger.
The movement was painfully deliberate, drawing out the tension until Grants forced cheer evaporated, and Sierra began to fidget.
"I don't mind," I repeated, my voice even.
I tossed the used wipe into the small, built-in trash receptacle and looked up at them.
"Since Ms. Davis proposed a hypothesis, and Grant, you failed to immediately refute it, I have a logical basis to suspect this is a fact-based trial balloon."
I retrieved my keys from my handbag and stood.
"We are going to the hospital now. If Leo is your biological child, it raises critical issues regarding the preservation of my assets as your legal spouse and the succession risk to The Wells Group shares. Bigamy is not merely a moral issue; it is a felony."
"If it is false, Ms. Davis, your comments constitute defamation against both Grant and myself, as well as malicious interference with my marital contract. I will have my attorneys serve you with a formal notice to pursue legal damages."
2
Grant froze, and the lobster platter slipped from his grasp, crashing to the floor.
Leo was startled, letting out a piercing, terror-stricken cry.
"Anya Wells, have you lost your mind?" Grant shrieked, pointing a furious finger at me. "Over one innocent joke? Youd drag us to a hospital? How humiliating is that for Sierra? How am I supposed to hold my head up in this neighborhood again?"
Sierra was also panicking. She hugged Leo, tears springing to her eyes immediately. "Mrs. Wells, Im so sorry, I spoke too fast... Grant and I are completely innocent! How can you be so cruel? Leo is just a child!"
She sobbed into the boys hair, sending a frantic, helpless look Grant's way.
"Cruel?" I took out my phone and tapped an app, executing a few quick commands. "Verifying innocence is the single greatest protection of ones reputation. If you are innocent, the paternity report is your most powerful weapon. Why would you fear it?"
"Ive already ordered an emergency, in-home sampling service from Precision Diagnostics. Since you find the clinic humiliating, they will come here. The rush fee is double, which I will cover."
"I won't do it!" Grant roared, the veins bulging on his neck. "This is an insult to my character! Anya, you disappoint me. After three years of marriage, is this who you think I am?"
"Data doesn't lie, people do."
I walked over to the front door, engaged the deadbolt, and leaned against the frame, crossing my arms.
"No one is leaving until the sampling technicians arrive. Should you attempt to force your way out, I will take Ms. Daviss comment as a de facto statement of truth. In thirty minutes, The Wells Group legal team will formally intervene and freeze all joint accounts."
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