Naked. Megan Hart
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desk, and pushed it into the card reader plugged into the back of my Macbook. My photo program opened, showcasing the series of pictures I’d taken. Steven and Devon pulled up chairs on either side.
“Look at that one,” Steven said about the one showing the three of them. “Gorgeous, Liv. Just amazing.”
The heat of pride flushed my cheeks. “Thanks.”
“No, seriously. Look at that.” Devon pointed to one of Pippa, backlit in front of one of the studio’s long, high windows, her dress belled out around her knees as she spun. “How do you do it?”
“Practice. Talent.” I clicked on the shot to enlarge it, and toyed with some settings to bring out the contrast of light and dark. “Mostly practice.”
“Anyone can take a snapshot. But what you do is art. Really art.” Devon sounded awed. He turned from the monitor to look at me. “She draws, you know. Pippa does. The pediatrician says kids her age are just barely making stick figures, but she’s already drawing full bodies.”
“I don’t draw,” I told him gently, and kept my focus on the screen.
“I’m just saying,” he answered softly.
We worked together for a little while on the photos they liked best, until I’d cleaned them up and added them to a disc for them to take home. I added the raw shots, too, in case they wanted them for any reason. I lingered on the one of Pippa in front of the window.
“Can I use this in my portfolio?”
“Of course. Absolutely.” Devon had taken the disc and put it in his bag, while Steven went to check on their daughter.
“Thanks.” I’d get a print made later. For now I looked again, only for a moment, before clicking it closed and removing the memory card to place back in my camera.
“You know, Liv…” Devon hesitated until I glanced at him, and then he looked across the room. “You know you’re welcome, anytime, to see her. Not just when we come over for pictures or when we invite you. That was our agreement, wasn’t it? That you’d always be welcome to be a part of her life.”
I followed his gaze with my own. Pippa had rearranged the furniture in the dollhouse, putting beds in the living room and an oven in the attic. She giggled as Steven took one of the dolls and made it speak to the one in her hand.
“I know. Thanks.”
Devon meant well, so how could I tell him that I didn’t want to invite myself into their home to watch them raise my child? That I appreciated being kept a part of Pippa’s life, but that I didn’t expect or even crave anything more than what I already had? She was my child, but I was not her mother.
“Thanks again for the pictures.” Steven settled a check on my desk.
I didn’t pick it up. He’d have written it for too much, again, and I didn’t want to be ungracious by arguing with him about the amount. I liked taking pictures, but I liked paying my bills, too. Besides, taking his money made this not a favor, but a job. I think we both preferred it that way.
“Livvy, are you coming to my birthday party? It’s a pretty princess party.” Pippa twirled. “And I’m going to have a piñata.”
I laughed and tugged one of her long, silky curls. “A pretty princess piñata for Pippa. Perfect.”
She tipped her face to look up at me, her eyes squinched shut with glee. “Yes! And all my friends are coming.”
“Then I guess I should come, too. Since I’m your friend.”
Pippa hugged my thighs just briefly before dancing off again. “Yes, yes, you’ll come to my paaarty. And bring a present.”
“Pippa!” Steven said, exasperated.
Devon chuckled and met my eyes. I think he understood me more than his partner did. Steven, hovering just a little too close, watched me. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. I could imagine how he felt. So I stepped back and watched Pippa, who twirled again, already chattering at her daddy about where she wanted to go for dinner and what she wanted to watch on television when they got home.
“I’m going to take Pippa out to the car. Get her strapped in the seat. Devon?” Steven lifted Pippa’s coat, an entirely impractical white, fur-collared jacket. “You coming?”
“Yep. I’ll be right along.”
Devon waited until the sound of Steven’s boots and Pippa’s patent leather shoes echoed away down the concrete stairs. He shrugged into his own coat, a soft brown leather that hit him at midthigh and belted at the waist. Something in the way he turned his head as he tied the belt caught my eye, and I lifted my camera to take a shot.
It blurred, but I took another as he glanced up at me with a self-conscious smile. I’d missed what I was looking for, something elusive I couldn’t have described in words. “Look back at your hands.”
The moment was lost, though, and I pressed the button to view the blurred shot, thinking how I could fix it. Devon peered over my shoulder. He laughed.
I looked up. “See? It takes practice.”
“And talent,” he told me.
Devon is a tall, broad man with skin the color of dark caramel. He shaves his head and wears a cropped goatee, and when he flexes I always expect to hear the purr of ripping fabric as he pops the seams on his shirt. He’s also one of the most gentle men I’ve ever met.
“You should come in and let me take your picture. Just you.”
Devon raised a brow. “Uh-huh.”
I punched his arm gently. “I like taking portraits when I’m not at Foto Folks. It would give me material for my portfolio, anyway.”
“We’ll see.” He smoothed the front of his coat. “I meant what I said, Liv.”
“About coming over? I know.” My camera made a nice barrier between us. I didn’t want to disappoint Devon, and I knew that’s what would happen. He wouldn’t understand my feelings about his daughter. Nobody seemed to.
“It’s just…we’re family, you know? All of us. I lost my parents years ago and my sister doesn’t speak to me.” Because he was gay, he didn’t have to say aloud. “Family’s important. I don’t want you to think you’re not welcome to be a part of her life.”
I nodded. “I know, Devon.”
“Merry Christmas, Liv.”
“Thanks. Same to you.”
He touched my shoulder gently and left, closing the door behind him. When he’d gone I sat back in my chair and opened the file with the photos I’d taken today.
Devon’s family had disowned him at age seventeen, when they’d found out he was gay, and he’d never reconciled with his parents before they passed away. He’d made his own family, gathered friends around him to love and be loved in return.
Pippa was my child, but not my daughter. Steven had requested we not call me Pippa’s mother, and that I sign all parental rights away upon her birth. I’d had no objections. I hadn’t counted on Devon’s love for family making this so complicated.
I took a last look at the photos of the little girl and her parents, her real and true parents. She looked like me and even acted like me a little, and I was blessed to know her. But I was not her mother, and never would be. I took one last look at the photos, and then I closed the folder.
Chapter Five
I didn’t take the photo of Pippa along to my father’s house to show him on Christmas Day. We never spoke of her, or mentioned my pregnancy, which had been unexpected and definitely not welcomed by most people in my life. Instead I took bags full of gifts for Cindy’s and Stacy’s children, four of them apiece, nieces and nephews I didn’t bother