“Since…the day she told me she was pregnant. A little over a week ago.”
“You haven’t talked to her in a week?” He looks mystified.
I shake my head and motion to the bartender to bring me another beer.
“Why not?”
“We didn’t…” I sigh, staring off at nothing. “The last phone call ended kind of abruptly.”
“What does that mean? Did you hang up on her?”
“Not exactly, but I just said we’d talk after we got the results of the blood test and then hung up.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I was freaking out, okay? I was careful so I don’t know how this happened and she won’t have an abortion so I don’t know which way is up!”
“You’re feeling pretty crappy right now, huh?”
“You think?” I give him a dirty look.
“So imagine how bad she feels.”
“What?” I stare at him in annoyance. I assumed he’d be on my side.
“She’s the one who’s pregnant. Her mom has Alzheimer’s. She lives paycheck to paycheck working in a diner in Bumfuck Nowhere, New York. Living in a house you said was falling apart. Does she even have health insurance?”
“No.” I stare into my beer bottle, a prickle of shame creeping through my subconscious.
“And what is she going through physically? Has she been sick? Morning sickness? Bleeding? A lot of shit can happen early in pregnancy. And you haven’t checked on her?”
Another prickle of shame.
Fuck.
I really am an asshole.
I’ve been so caught up in what this pregnancy means for me—and my life going forward—I haven’t stopped to think about her.
I should have.
This isn’t the man I want to be. It’s not the man I am. My father is a verbally abusive prick who never gave my mom’s needs a second thought. Despite my lifestyle, I never wanted to be that kind of man. Not to a woman I’m hooking up with, not to my future wife, not even to the woman who unexpectedly got pregnant with my baby.
“Tate, man, for real?” Even Angus sounds disappointed.
“I know,” I mutter. “I fucking know, okay? I feel like shit about it but I’m really freaking out.”
“I know it’s not ideal, but if she’s pregnant and going to keep it, then you have to think about coming up with a plan. Wishing that it didn’t happen isn’t productive.”
“What do I do?” I ask quietly, lifting my gaze to his. “I’m scared.”
“Of what? I mean, take out the obvious part about how you’re not in a relationship with her. What scares you the most?”
“That I’m going to be a shitty dad who prioritizes his career over his child. Because there’s no way I’m walking away from the band.”
“Of course not. But being in the band doesn’t mean you’re going to be a shitty dad. It just means you’re going to have to sacrifice. Less parties, more time on video calls. Less disposable income, more money for Summer and the baby.”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
