“Dr. Burch, good to see you,” one of the doctors says, skirting around us and greeting a patient, pulling the curtain around them with a metallic clinking.
“Holy shit,” I mutter.
Orie claps me on the back, “Dude, there are kids here.”
As though the universe has heard that sentiment, my phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out. A text from Calvin.
“What’s that?” Orie asks, and maybe he sees the text, or maybe he can figure it out from the look on my face. “Wow—you actually went through with the test?”
I nod, staring at my phone like it might combust in my hand if I’m not careful.
This is it—the moment I’ve been avoiding. The reason I ever considered letting Jules go in the first place. The results that might break me if I see them.
“I know you’re all in your head about this,” Orie says, clapping a hand on my shoulder, “But I want to remind you again thatIwas adopted. Nothing wrong with getting your girl and the kid, man. Gus already loves you. If she’s right about it—I mean, that would be really cool, and kind of insane, but it’s not the whole point, right?”
“Right,” I agree, taking a breath. The point is being willing to take the test. To face my past if it means having Jules—and Gus—in the present.
Orie is right. I already love Gus like he’s my son, have a connection with him, and I’ve only known him for a few months. I can be a father to him no matter what my sperm is like.
This isn’t Margot. Jules isn’t Margot.
She’s not going to leave or look at me like I’m defective. In fact, up until that day in the park, she had only ever looked at me like I was something wonderful.
“Alright,” I say, voice thick, as I tap into Cal’s message and his photo of the results from the lab fill the screen.
I stare, and stare, and stare at it.
“Holy shit,” Orie says, now the one swearing in front of the clinic kids.
“His play,” I say, already dropping the phone, realizing that in the rush of everything—talking to Cal, ordering the test, and coming down to the clinic—I managed to forget about the televised Christmas nativity thing Gus is doing with CBS.
“Go, man!” Orie says, practically shoving me to the side, a huge smile over his face. “You’d better not miss your chance.”
Chapter 38
Jules
With Ettie and Sienna’s prompting, I’m dressed in my favorite red velvet holiday dress, holding a sparkling mocktail in one hand and mingling with the other parents gathered in the audience before Gus’s play.
Ettie and Sienna are meeting me here soon, but for now, I’m forced to network.
Somehow, even though I’ve been taking him to the rehearsals and read through the information about the event, it still hadn’t fully processed in my head that Gus would be on TVagain.
We’re in Millennium Park, and though it’s cold, there are heaters scattered around the viewing area, and I’m wearing thermal tights, and a fur throw over my shoulders. Up on the stage, they’re preparing the props and backdrop, stagehands running around and talking into their headsets, reminding me of theToday, Tomorrowappearance.
“Hi, you must be Gus’s mom!”
I turn, surprised, to find a tall, slim woman smiling down at me. Her bob is cut sharp, and her cheekbones are model-quality, but her eyes are kind enough to soften the otherwise intense look.
“Hi, yeah, I’m Jules Harper—how did you know?”
“Oh,” she waves a hand at me, then takes a generous drink from her cup, “we fell inlovewith Gus after he went onToday, Tomorrow. I’m Yolanda Xavier. We’re proud followers of Gus’s Instagram. Our son is Antony—he’s back there, too, getting ready. I was just telling Nathan that we should get Antony some friends going through the same stuff as him.”
I raise my eyebrows, “What do you mean?”
“Oh, Antony started this channel where he builds his little Legos,” she clarifies. “We never expected it was going to take off like it did, but now it looks like the thing is going to pay his college tuition. Can’t say we’re mad about it, but we are a little concerned, you know. Trying to keep him safe. The stuff you hear about child stars nowadays, and all those family vloggers exploiting their poor kiddos…” Yolanda trails off, shuddering a bit, then takes another sip of her drink. “Anyway, I thought it might be good to find Antony a friend with the same kind of public exposure.”
“Huh.” It just slips out of my mouth, a verbal indicator of the idea generating in my head. “You know—I’ve already written out a whole PR plan for my son. I’m in the industry.”
