I’m eighty percent sure that’s true.
Then again, this baby looks nothing like Sara.
And looks like she—or he, I’m not really sure, actually—thinks Sara is kind of a dumbass.
She’s not. Sara is great. I’m just saying that’s how the baby is looking at her.
Andrea takes the folded piece of paper, sighs, and hands it to me.
“What is this?” I don’t reach for it.
Something tells me I do not want that piece of paper.
“Well, I’m hoping it’s an explanation,” Andrea says.
“Evelyn left?”
Andrea shakes her head. “No. I’m guessing—hoping—it’s about Evelyn.“
“Where is this Evelyn?” I ask. I’m feeling very suspicious myself.
Andrea looks from me to Sara. Or rather, to the baby Sara is holding. “Grayson,” she says, addressing me by my first name since we’re not in front of employees. “Meet Evelyn.”
It takes me just a second to catch on. “Thebabyis Evelyn?” I ask.
“Yes.”
Okay, so it’s a girl. “This baby is who you thought I should meet?” I ask.
Andrea nods. Then she shakes the piece of paper at me.
“Why do you think I need to meet this baby?” I ask, a cold ball of tension forming in my gut as I still refuse to take the piece of paper.
“Because she’s yours.”
Fuck.
That’s what I was afraid she was going to say.
I shake my head. “There’s no way.”
Andrea gives me areally?look. “Read the letter Grayson.”
“No.”
Her eyes widen, and she shakes the paper again. “Read the letter, Grayson,” Andrea says firmly.
“No. It’s probably going to say that Evelyn is my child. But that’s not possible.”
“Have you had sex in the past—” Andrea looks over at Evelyn. “I’d say she’s about seven months, add in the forty weeks of pregnancy…” She looks back to me. “Have you had sex with anyone in the past seventeen to eighteen months?”
She, of course, knows the answer to that question.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I always use protection.”
Andrea is about five years younger than me, but the look she gives me is a very motherly look. As in adon’t fucking treat me like an idiot, young mantype motherly look. My mother has given me that look a lot over the years.
“Everyone over the age of twelve knows that condoms can fail. Read the letter Grayson.”
