Jalissa placed her lips on the top of her baby's soft downy curls. He had silky black hair more like Dante's than like her reddish brown tresses. He looked like Dante—as if a clone machine had created a little replica of the man.
Another tear dripped from her eyes and splashed the blanket, which swaddled her newborn.
Dante hadn't come.
She'd called him yet again, leaving the message that the baby had been born. It had been weeks since she'd talked to him. She'd left him a few messages but when it seemed that he had dismissed her she had stubbornly stopped phoning him. If he wanted to have cold feet and play games than she was going to be too far above it to let it bother her.
But deep down his lack of response had left her feeling deeply wounded. Despite her proclamations that having a boyfriend was jive, she'd connected to Dante and had opened up to him, had allowed him to fill in some missing parts that neither her mother nor Vanessa could ever reach.