“You’re upset.”
“You think?” I hear the sarcasm in my voice and I know it’s not kind. I always try to be kind to Jess—I learned that from my parents—but damn it, I feel absolutely gutted.
“I handled this horribly.” Jess is shredding the damp paper towel. “I’m so, so sorry.”
I don’t know what to say, much less what to think or feel or do. That awful silence looms between us again.
“Look—you need some time to cool off,” she says.
She’s right; I like to have some space when I’m hot under the collar so I can avoid saying something I’ll later regret.
“I’ll just head to the airport early,” she says. “You stay here and calm down, and we’ll talk later.”
I nod, not because I agree—I’m not wanting to agree with her about anything right now—but because it’ll propel her out the door.
She gets a jacket from the closet, then picks up her purse and slings it over her shoulder. She walks to the entryway and pops up her suitcase handle. “Your dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”
I know I should thank her for fixing dinner and reassure her that we’ll work this out, but I can’t force myself to say the words. I’m angry and stunned and... betrayed. Yes, that’s the word for it. She went behind my back, violated my code of ethics, and then tried to keep me from finding out what she’d done. She wasn’t evenplanning to tell me a child was looking for me until she was pregnant herself?Christ.
“W-we’ll talk tomorrow.” She hesitates and looks up at me, as if she expects me to open the door or kiss her or something.
I can’t maintain eye contact. I want to storm away without saying another word, but hell—she’s flying halfway across the country. What’s the point of being a jerk? I step forward and open the door for her. “Say hello to your folks for me.”
She nods, wipes a tear, and gives me a peck on the cheek. I don’t respond. I hold the door as she wheels her suitcase into the hallway. Ordinarily I would walk her down to her car, but tonight I just don’t have it in me.
“Good night,” she calls.
“Yeah,” I say. “Have a good trip.”
I don’t even wait for her to make it to the elevator. I step back inside and close the door, glad to put something solid in the aching emptiness between us.
—
I PACE AROUNDthe condo, then change clothes and go for a run. When I come back an hour later, the place is filled with smoke. I’d forgotten to take the damned chicken and garlic bread out of the oven.
I mutter some ugly curses, then turn the oven off. I pull out the blackened mess and toss it in the trash, dish and all, along with the smoking foil packet of bread. I open the windows and turn on the overhead fan, then take a quick shower. I’m still all pent up inside. I start to call my sister in Ohio, then remember that Thursdays are her date night with her husband, so I text my old buddy, Ben. Ben is always up for a drink. In fact, he’s already at the long wooden bar at the District, a couple of drinks ahead of me, when I arrive.
“You look like hell, man,” he says. Ben still looks—and lives—pretty much just as he did right out of law school. His dark hair is thinner and shorter, but he still chases ambulances and women.
“Yeah, well, I feel that way.”
“What’s going on?”
I tell him as he orders whiskey shots with beer chasers.
“So you were a sperm donor? Damn!” As usual, Ben seizes upon the tawdriest element of the story. “Did they put you in a little room with girlie mags or what?”
“Actually, they had videos.”
“Was it embarrassing?”
I stare at the rough-hewn brick behind the bar. “A little, yeah.”
“Were the nurses hot?”
I down my first shot, annoyed at his excessive interest in the prurient details. “I don’t know. They were all older than me.”
“How much older?”
