“I mean, I’ve done a lot of therapy. Not recently,” I say. “But I thought I got to the acceptance stage, you know? And then you just keep casually demonstrating, like, ‘No, I actually am this amazing father.’ Thosecanexist.”
“I’m not that amazing. I mean, I’m glad you think so. Most of the time I feel like I’m hanging on by a thread. But I know I’d do anything for my kid. That’s the only thing I’ve ever felt one hundred percent confident in. That’s what I don’t understand about dads like yours. Once Kira was born it was like everything inside me got reoriented in that hospital room. I had no idea what I was doing, but I knew I’d give anything for this little wrinkly, red screaming thing. And the more she becomes a full person, the more I feel that.”
“Were you scared when you found out Kira was…coming?” I don’t know how to phrase my specific question. How do you politely ask someone if their child was planned?
“It was more than scared. It’s probably the most complicated mix of emotions a person can have. She was…a surprise. We didn’t have any kind of plan. And neither of us was completely convinced about having a kid. But it was almost like a sign? It felt really meaningful.”
We lie down and I let him wrap his arms around me. Random explosions of neighborhood fireworks go off in the near distance, occasionally lighting up Nick’s windows.
“I had that surprise,” I say. “I guess…six—no, seven—yearsago? And it felt like a sign that I definitelyshouldn’thave a baby.” I don’t talk about it much with anyone; there’s no great time to weave it naturally into a conversation. But right now, it feels important that Nick knows that I’ve faced that same decision—albeit under very different life circumstances—and that, unlike him, I made the completely opposite choice. “There was no part of me that was considering it,” I say. “So an abortion was an easy decision. I remember looking up how bad it would hurt—that’s what made me nervous. Once it was over, I didn’t have any regret or weird feelings about it. If I got pregnant tomorrow, I’d probably do the same thing. I don’t feel any more equipped to do that now than I did back then.”
“I understand that,” he says. I’m glad there’s not an extended moment of silence where I’m awaiting his reaction. “Having a child means accepting that your life is going to change. That you’re forever going to have a different priority. I just happened to be in a place in my life where…a different priority forced me to get my shit together. But it doesn’t work like that for everyone. And you made the right choice for you.”
“I don’t feel especially…motherly,” I say. “Whatever that instinct was tonight that transformed you into superhero dad? I don’t know if I have that. I mayneverhave that.” Maybe it’s saying that out loud, but the exhaustion finally hits me. “I mean, I should be the one comfortingyouright now.”
“I’ve had years of practice,” he says. “When I was in my twenties, I wasn’t the best guy, you know? There are a handful of women out there in the world who would have some awful things to say about me. And they’d be justified. Believe it or not, you’re getting the improved version of me,” he says. “Maybe not physically.”
“Bearded Bruce Wayne,” I mumble. My eyes feel heavy.
“Who? Isn’t that Batman?”
“That’s who you remind me of. Ten years ago, there was this storyline were Bruce Wayne had amnesia and grew a beard.” I can’t stifle a yawn. “He was kind of hot. Daddy energy.”
I hear Nick say something in response, but I don’t quite catch it. I’m already drifting off.
26
If there’s one thing I’mconfident in, it’s my ability to research. “Single parent dating” is the first phrase I type into the search bar the next day at Romily’s basement hideout.
Unbelievable that it didn’t occur to me before now. Plus, diving into articles on pop psychology websites will distract me from looking up something worse, like Nick’s ex-wife’s social media profiles.
I learn the following:
You aren’t his priority. If you are okay with that, he will respect you.
When have I ever been a man’s priority?
If he introduces you to his child, it’s abigdeal. Don’t take it lightly. If you’re not ready for a serious relationship, don’t meet his kids.
Okay, so we fucked up the order of operations from day one. Fantastic.
Every helpful tip makes me feel worse about the entire situation.
The next hit is a blog post titled “One Dad’s Dating Journey.” Again, immediate click. There’s no picture of the author, so naturally I conclude that Nick is the anonymous owner of this website. It’s another listicle, which doesn’t surprise me because I think that’s the way men prefer to consume any text. IfInfinite Jestcould be published in listicle format, men would achieve complete happiness.
The first line of the blog disturbs me: “I admit it. I was excited to have sex again.”
I shut the laptop.
“Are you done messing around? Because I prepared something.”
