I waited for Dean at our spot in the woods. It seemed urgent, but I had no clue what this impromptu meeting was about, and the anger in his voice told me it wasn’t the usual random booty call. My stomach felt queasy, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the anxiety or the little nugget I was carrying. I didn’t care, I just wanted to get this rendezvous over with.
Suddenly, I heard the familiar purring of the engine of Dean’s precious Chevy Impala. Then, she’d stopped humming and I saw Dean exit from the car. He didn’t look happy; he looked almost like Ricky Ricardo whenever he said Lucy had some “‘splainin’ to do”.
“June 11th. Talk.”
I was baffled by the sudden interrogation, and why that date? I knew he couldn’t have been accusing me of cheating on him, since we agreed this wasn’t exclusive, so I responded, “What is this about, Dean?”
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know,” Dean said with his best “I’m-done-with-your-bullshit” tone. “On June 11th, our third victim went missing. Day after that, she was found with fang marks on her neck. If it wasn’t you, then it was someone in your little nest that took her out.”
“Well, it wasn’t me,” as hard as I tried to avoid it, my voice was quivering, nervous, not about the case, since I really was innocent on that front, but of the impending news he was about to get regarding his little nugget. I was planning on telling him when he gave me that call saying he wanted to meet ASAP, but now I wasn’t so sure, since he wasn’t in the best mood to receive that kind of announcement.
Dean rolled his eyes and replied, “And why don’t I believe you? You said you had a handle on this–“
“I do!” I felt myself getting mildly defensive about his lack of faith in me.
“Then prove it wasn’t you! June 11th at 4:15PM! Where the hell were you?”
I stomped on the brakes of this conversation. I cautiously continued, “Wait, 4:15 in the afternoon? On June 11th?”
Dean saw something clicked inside my head, so when his gut told him that I would finally go somewhere productive during my statement, he relaxed on me a little bit. He softly said, “Yeah, does that mean anything to you?”
I locked eyes with him, trying to get a read on if he was ready to hear this or not. I realized that he had to find out, regardless of how prepared he was; this was about clearing my name.
So I reached into my purse and took out my wallet. Tucked inside one of the pockets was the ultrasound of our little nugget. When I handed it to him, I said, “Look at the time stamp. I was at my obstetrician’s office…getting a first look at…our baby.”
Dean gave me that “deer-in-headlights” look. When he finally managed to conjure up a verbal response, he said, “Our?”
“You’re gonna be a daddy,” I said. “Look, I know your financial situation is…” How could I put this nicely? “…nonexistent.” I suppose that was the sugarcoated version? “Which is why you don’t owe me anything. You can be as involved as you want. I won’t hold it against you if you decide the domestic life just is not for you.” I noticed how quiet he was. “Please, say something, Dean.”
He wasn’t listening; the man was too preoccupied gazing at the product of our bimonthly hookups. Until now, we had tried to keep this as casual as possible, trying to make it all about the sex, but lately, the foreplay had incorporated a lot more making out; I guess we were both invested before this baby was even in the picture.
“So does my alibi check out, boss?” I didn’t know what his mood was, so I kept it light-hearted when I tried grabbing his attention. “That sonogram was taken on June 11th at exactly 4:15PM. I’m not your Fang, Dean.”
“Yeah, you are.”
I started sweating as soon as he said this. How was that not evidence enough that I wasn’t the killer?
“You’re my girl,” he clarified with a shrug. “And you just happen to be a Fang.”
I felt my cheeks get warm. Like a teenage girl, I said, “I’m your Fang? Whatever happened to not labeling…us?”
Dean said, “C’mon, that was complete horseshit and you know it.” We both laughed. “We’re gonna be parents.”
A warm happiness washed over me as I walked over to him and we shared our first kiss as soon-to-be mother and father. I whispered, “We’re gonna be parents.”
He then showed me the ultrasound, so we could both look at the beautiful baby we created as one. It was the perfect profile view, where we could see the baby’s head, nose, and mouth. We could even see its tiny fingers waving at us. Dean then asked, “Did they tell you if it’s a boy or a girl?”
“Too soon to tell, but I don’t care.”
He smiled at me and gave me another kiss.
Once our lips separated, I offered, “Let me help you out with the case. I’ll ask around my nest and see if any of them cheated on their diet.”
“Just be careful. There’s a lot more on the line now.”
“Right back at you.”
Rowena Whispers 