Rugrats/All Grown Up! Beating Hearts: One Last Time

**Prologue:**

**Chapter theme song: 'Stay With Me' by: Sam Smith**

**Justin**

I pulled up in front of the address the social worker had written on the back of the file folder. I held my breath, looking up at the rather large, nice-sized family home in the suburb of Flint, Michigan. It was a nice home, looked rather spacious courtesy of a hefty front lawn and sheer size of the place, large double windows in the front with transparent, lace curtains draping against the crest of the window head, a clean, conservative off-white paintjob with little to no hints of personalization aside from the multi-colored LED lights that illuminated the walkway towards the front door, and the 'Welcome To Our Home' sign that was pedestaled in the core of the pristine conditioned yard. It looked like a typical upper-middle class home.

I parked my '93 Jetta out of sight of the homeowners and the neighbors alike- seeing as I don't fit in the least bit. The driveways and streets were filled to the brim with expensive parked cars- majority of them foreign- with owners that were either well-educated, white collar executives or highly skilled blue-collar workers that lived the 'American Dream' due to strenuous hours of labor and infinite bottles of store brand aspirin. I settled in on a spot cloaked in a darker shade of ominous night, my cherry red paint job not being as loud when there wasn't any source of light nearby. I cut the engine and sat in my seat silently for almost an hour.

What the hell was I doing here?

I kept thinking about all these questions I had racing through my head; transitioning back to the main question of what I was doing miles away from Detroit in a suburb I knew had no place for someone like me. I fumbled for my car keys in my front left pocket, finally deciding to embark on this journey another day when Emily's ultrasound picture fell out instead. I picked up the sepia-toned, three-dimensional portrait of her daughter…my daughter. She was only six months in but we recently found out we were expecting just a few weeks ago. Emily's menstrual cycles were never regular so when she found out she missed a period or two, we chopped it up to it being stress from school and working a full-time job at her mother's daycare; not to mention to stress of filling out college applications and dealing with the biggest headache of them all…me.

Emily was too sweet too be with an ass like me. I was on a road to being yet another deadbeat kid in Detroit. I wasn't going to be a Marshall Mather's success story, but a realistic one that made sense. I lived in a trailer park a few blocks west of my old high school and worked at the local grocer a block east. I been there for six years- since I was thirteen and started off as a bag boy bagging the groceries for old ladies and welfare recipients. They were the only ones that actually shopped at that hell hole of a grocery store. Since then, I been promoted to shift leader and will become supervisor in the next month or two if I pay my cards right. The pay is slightly above minimum wage but nothing too fancy- like the folks around here clearly.

But my life was not good enough for Emily, even though she loved me enough to lie to me and tell me it was. Emily was a good girl, a smart one at that. She grew up on the west side of Detroit to a single mom of three and worked her way through school like I did. However, Emily always took her studies seriously; it was the one thing I loved about her most aside from her sparkling personality. She would often times find a way to babysit her younger siblings, make them dinner, help them with their homework, work, and find time to take care of her shit. I admired and respected her for that. There was never enough time in the day for her but somehow, someway, she managed to get straight A's and score exceptionally well on state tests.

She even received early admission into University of California-Irvine and I was damn proud of her for it. I wanted her to leave this dead-end town, start fresh, meet new people…leave me; but then she found out she was pregnant and decided it was best she stay in state. I felt, and still feel honestly, horrible because I feel like I am holding her back. Since we first met, I been nothing but bad news to Emily. I met her when she was tutoring me for my GED at a community center I frequented that she volunteered at and immediately gravitated towards her. She was like a dream, everything I wanted in a woman that I always thought I could never attain.

Emily was a gorgeous African-American woman, petite but voluptuous, curly brown hair dyed honey blonde, full pink lips, and rare grey eyes that resembled a strong, lone wolf. Her appearance alone attracted me but her personality and sense of humor kept me. When we weren't studying- mainly she explaining everything down to a fifth grade level and me nodding dumbly- we were joking, laughing, talking about it all from current events to politics and didn't berate me if I didn't understand something like everyone else.

She took her time, was patient, kind, and allowed herself to truly get to know me all-the-same allowing me to do with her…and I loved it. Eventually I gathered enough courage to ask her on a date after several of our tutoring sessions and surprisingly she accepted. I didn't have much but I spent my entire paycheck on that girl that night and since then we been an item.

However, I haven't always been faithful. I stepped out on Emily seven times in the past three years we been together and got two out of the five women I been intimate with pregnant. I have a one year old son, Donald, and another baby boy on the way. Emily will be my third 'baby mother' but is carrying my first girl, my princess. Emily and I have always fought about my infidelity and I always seem to pull some bullshit out my ass to keep her from leaving my sorry behind. She stays up late crying herself to sleep because she can't trust me but she loves me unconditionally. That girl would part the red sea if I asked her to and she knows it. I'm not proud of how I do her, let alone women in general. I treat them like objects for my sexual gratification and then leave them when they serve no use to me.

Emily was different when I met her, still is and always will be. I bought an engagement ring last week from Wal-Mart to prove my commitment to her and our family to show for it. I want to change my ways and allow myself to be a better man not just for myself or Emily, but my daughter. I kept asking myself:

How would I feel if my unborn daughter fell in love with a man like me?

The sheer thought scares me and is enough in itself to make me want to stop my ways cold turkey, but I just can't. I still have a void. Just this evening, I bedded another one of the women I keep in a secret contact list in my phone for those moments Emily gets suspicious and had to rush out during mid-orgasm to meet with my case worker before she got off. I know what I do is wrong but it's almost like an addiction, a habit I just can't break that hopefully this closure will allow me to heal from in order to start life anew with a wife and child.

I smiled the picture of my daughter, placing it back inside my front pocket while zipping up my hooded sweatshirt. It had begun to drizzle and I immediately cursed myself for not bringing my umbrella. I walked down the three blocks back towards the address I originally sat outside of an hour ago. The lights on the first floor were on and there was a shadowy figure of a little girl dancing around peeking through the curtains. I felt my heart stop, that familiar anger coursing through my veins as I immediately felt an unwarranted tsunami wave of jealousy overcome me. I stood at the beginning of the walkway, allowing the light rain to dampen my clothing quietly. I began to have second thoughts.

"_Daddy, someone outside!"_ I heard the little girl cheerfully yell out towards the kitchen. He eyes never left mine. They were the same Emerald green.

_Shit_

I watched a man in his mid to late thirties come from the kitchen, allowing the aroma of fresh-baked lasagna to escape and prance into the mid-September wind. My stomach growled. I looked at him, he looking a lot of what I envisioned since I was nine- when I began to have these types of ludicrous thoughts. I watched as he kissed the little girl on her forehead before peeking through the lace of the front widow curtains to see me standing there. My mind kept telling me to make a move, not look so god-awful or strangely creepy. I'm sure a few of the neighbors had wondered the same thing seeing as how a few of the porch lights quickly lit up. Damn quiet ass neighborhoods.

The front door finally swung open, my mouth running dry.

"May I help you?" His voice was low, deep but a little high-pitched like mine. His grandfather glasses sat atop of his head as our trademark orange, curled locks nestled into a small, loose afro. He was dressed in a purple and orange striped button down with a pink tie, loosened around his neck and denim jeans. The only thing that caught me off-guard were the spaceship shaped house slippers that lit up the night with small red strobes. I stifled a small chuckle as I shoved my hands in my pockets, trying to find the words to say.

The moment I had been anticipating for the past two years was finally here and standing before me, was no one other than Dil, Dylan Pickles…my father.

"May I help you?" He repeated, a little irritated now. The little girl now stood behind her father's leg with her head poked out in curiosity. She was a mirror-image of him…of me.

"I-I-I…I'm looking for Dylan, Dil, Pickles and Lillian, Lil, DeVille?"

"Who is asking?" his voice grew softer, his eyes looking frightened as if he had his past come back to haunt him.

"My name is Justin DePickle and I am looking for my biological father, Dylan Pickles, and biological mother, Lillian DeVille." I pulled out the piece of paper with his address. "My case manager led me here; your address was on file."

He stood motionless for a moment, mouth agape as words escaped him. The little girl repeatedly kept asking him who I was but, still, he remained silent. He swallowed hard, almost losing his footing as he took a single step outside of his home to meet me. He walked painfully slow, almost as if he were walking on death row to his own execution; and in a way he was. I was the child the thought he would never see again…the one he threw away like week-old garbage.

"Look, if this is a bad time I can come another day or if you rather not do this at all its cool. Just let me know and I can go about my life."

"No!" he almost yelled, reeling himself back in. "It's just that…I thought I would…I mean…I just…"

"Mr. Pickles?" a female voice called out. Both he and l looked out to the house on the left to see a stalky, Asian woman in a fluffy pink bathrobe and hair curlers on her front porch looking quite concerned about her property value with me standing beside it. "Is…everything alright?"

"Yes, Margaret, everything is fine."

"Do you need police assistance?" she persisted. I flipped her the bird.

Dylan chuckled, looking amused. "No, I was just taking my guest inside for dinner." He spoke gently with a smile. I looked at him, a little confused as to if that served as an invitation. He nodded and I followed him into his home.

"Make sure to take off your boots by the door to not track mud into the house. We don't have carpet because of Anne's allergies and my wife prefers the 'natural' look of hardwood floors."

I nodded, doing as I was told before being guided to a loveseat in the living room. The home compared to the outside was much more livened. The color-scheme was a red, orange, and mustard with scented diffusers, candles, and aroma therapy oil lamps slain across expensive oak furniture. There were abstract paintings on the wall alongside numerous family and personal portraits. Porcelain figurines, old books, and vintage items graced the outer shell of the room that gave it a much more 'lived in' vibe as soft jazz kissed through the speakers of a 1950's juke box towards one of the walls.

"Can I get you something to drink? Dinner will be ready shortly if you are hungry."

"I'm okay." I spoke quickly, those nerves coming back again in full-force. The little girl from earlier stood in the middle of the living room, staring at me as if she were trying to read me. She came off a little odd but her confusion was understandable. Her curled pigtails and pink dress suited her as her doll slipped engulfed her little feet cutely. I began to think about seeing my daughter in something similar.

"Anne, can you go in the kitchen and get our guest some lemonade?"

"Yes, daddy." She replied sweetly, skipping off into the kitchen. I couldn't help but smile.

I reached into my jacket pocket, pulling out a damp, folded piece of paper. "I have my birth certificate and a few other legal documents if you want to see that I am not lying."

"No need." He raised his hands. "I believe you."

"How?"

"Your hair." He said with a small smile. "And you have her nose and eyes."

I didn't know how to respond so I just nodded, returning the paper back into its resting place.

"You have children?" Dylan asked smiling, taking adjacent from me in a dark brown recliner. "Anne, will be four Sunday."

"She is cute and I have three, a one year old boy name Donald and two on the way."

"Wow!" Dylan yelped in excitement. "So, that means I am a grandfather? Wow." He sank deeper into the recliner, smiling in disbelief.

Anne came back with a glass of lemonade, spilling some along the way. I smiled and thanked her. "I apologize for intruding. I know you must have gotten off work and didn't expect to come home to…this."

"No apology needed, Justin. I am just….trying to take all this in." he trailed off towards the end, becoming silent again. I sipped my lemonade, unsure of what to say. I finally had the divine opportunity to speak with my birth father and all the questions I had swirling around in my head since I was nine years old suddenly faded.

He cleared his throat, sitting up to place his chin on the back of his hands. "So…I am assuming you found the place alright?" I nodded. "Did you drive?"

I nodded again. "I own a'93 Jetta. Nothing fancy but it gets me where I need to go."

He chuckled again, this time with more bass. "That is something I tell you. My first car was a Jetta." He smiled widely, laughing to himself as he seemed in deep thought. His face grew sullen almost instantly. "Your mother loved that car."

My heart nearly sank. "Is….she here?"

"No." his voice almost inaudible. "Lillian passed away the night Anne was born. Your mother was troubled and I like to think she is in a better place."

"Oh." I finished my glass of lemonade just as fast as I received it. I felt highly uncomfortable, like I didn't belong there. "Look, I am sorry. I never should have come." I spoke, standing to leave.

"No, it's quite alright." Dylan rose just as quickly. "Please, stay. I apologize if I am not being quite the good host. My wife does all the hostess work whenever we have guests over and I normally am in my basement office doing research."

My interest was piqued. "What do you research?"

"Extraterrestrial life for government agency. It's a temporary grant-funded program providing I actually give results." He laughed. He seemed genuinely pleased that I decided to stay a bit longer.

I was impressed. "So…are there aliens out there?"

"I can't speak on that but I can tell you we aren't as intelligent as we think." He signed with a wink. It grew quiet again, we both uncomfortable. I went to break the ice again but he beat me to it. "So your three kids, same mother?"

I shook my head. "Unfortunately, no. I have three women who have my children."

"I see."

Silence.

"I came here to try and help them…to help me."

Dylan nodded, sitting back into his chair again. "I'm sure you have plenty of questions." His voice trailed off again. "And I promise to answer them as best I can."

"Why did you give me up for adoption?" I went right for the jugular, to get the large elephant out of the room so I could get it over with. This was always the hardest question for anyone to answer when in these situations. Hell, sometimes it's harder to hear the answer to it. I watched him sigh deeply, removing his glasses to set them atop of the side table residing next to him. He breathed into his large hands for quite some time, running them over his face shortly after.

"Anne, go wash up for dinner." He spoke softly. The little girl nodding before scurrying upstairs. He took in another breath. "I didn't know what had happened until it was too late. Like I said, your mother was troubled and gave you up for adoption before I even knew she was pregnant."

"How?" my voice strained, wanting to know everything. "How did you not know?"

"Lillian never showed during her pregnancy and all the symptoms she showed we all thought were from cases of food poisoning, stress, upset stomach, anything. We also thought maybe it was the drugs taking a toll on her body as well." He grew silent, biting his bottom lip in sweet memory. His eyes glossed over. "I didn't know she had given you away until after she had given birth; I never even knew your name so when I went to search for you, I ended up empty handed."

"You…searched…for me?" He nodded, smiling weakly. My voice croaked.

"Despite her issues your mother loved you very much. She just wasn't ready for a child, let alone to help herself."

"What happened to her? How did she pass away?" I found myself wanting, needing, to know more. I had to stop myself from getting to needy. I knew this couldn't have been easy for him and he was probably feeling just as nerved as I was- if not more. I had all the questions yet he had answers and lived everyday with guilt knowing he had a missing child out there somewhere. That's something so strong even a heavy dose of sleeping aid couldn't help with.

"Do you have time? If it gets too late you are more than welcome to sleep in the guest room upstairs if you feel comfortable."

I smiled, feeling a little bit more at ease with his growing hospitality. "Nothing but it."


End file.

Rugrats/All Grown Up!, Drama, Tragedy