I suppose that’s okay, since he thinks it’s not his kid. “He wanted to have breakfast today.”
“Are you going?” she looks at me from the driver seat.
“No. I’ve got the Remington wedding order to get through today.”
“You can take time to eat, for crying out loud, Mags.”
She’s not wrong. I’m just not ready for a meal with Nate. Hell, I’m not ready foranything. Because I really don’t want to know what he meant by “We need to talk.” Picking at my thumbnail so she can’t see the truth on my face, I tell her, “We’re going to meet up after he gets the results.” I look out my side of the car. “He just wants to talk about the baby stuff.” It’s definitely nothing romantic. Definitely not.
Crap. Why would I want something romantic with that jerk-face? Which makes me think… “He wasn’t that cranky today. He was actually sort of nice.”Iwas the one in the bad mood.
“Wow.” Robin’s voice sounds distant. “Maybe he’s a morning person.”
And that makes me laugh. Leave it to her to assume it’s just late nights that make the man a bitter ass. “Sure,” I say after I’m finished chuckling. “We’ll go with that.” Because if she knew how he acted the morning after we did what we did, she wouldn’t be calling him a morning person. Quite the opposite, actually.
10
Nate
I’m standingin my kitchen holding my phone. I’ve just received a text message from the lab with a link to my results. “This is it.” Pressing the hyperlink, I hold my breath as I’m led to the lab website. I was giving a code in the text message that I copied. Pasting that onto the page, I press another button. Less than a second later, I see it. A chart with three columns. One that says “mother,” the middle one says “child,” and the last one says “alleged father.” Something about that word, “alleged,” bothers me.
I start with the first column. It’s filled with a bunch of letter-number combinations that I have no idea of the meaning. The other columns are labeled “alleles.” I assume these are some type of DNA. I glance at those numbers, but my eyes are really searching for the answer. I spot it at the bottom of the page where there’s a big green rectangle that reads: Probability of Paternity. The number below that is 99.99999999%.
Why so many nines? Eight nines after the decimal point seems ridiculous to me. Couldn’t they have just rounded the damn thing up? Because obviously, the answer is 100 percent. I’m 100 percent the father of Maggy Fitzgerald’s baby.
Our baby.
Mybaby.
“Fuck.”
* * *
“Thanks for coming, Maggy.”
So, here we are. At lunch. Maggy agreed to meet me after the test results like she promised. Apparently, dinner was out of the question.
“Sure.”
I can tell she doesn’t want to be here. Hell,Idon’t want to be here. Well, that’s not altogether true. I’ve wanted to see her, to see how she’s doing. Not that her health is a real concern for me. None of this is going to matter to me. Not really.
“So what did you want to talk about?”
Wow, this woman doesn’t waste any time. “Let’s order first.” I hold up the menu at one of my favorite places in the city, known for their burgers. When I asked her what she’d like for lunch, all she said was she wanted something close to the shop. So I chose this place.
I watch as she picks up the menu, opens it up, and starts to read. “What’s good here?”
“They’re known for the burgers.”
“Mm-hm.” She says it like she just read the same information on the inside of the menu. She probably did.
“I heard the salads were good too.”
I watch as she lowers the menu just enough for me to see her eyes. Her angry eyes. I know in that instance what I did wrong. I’m not completely out of touch. I basically suggested sheneededto eat a salad. I attempt to rebound. “But I’d get a burger. Plus, the seasoned fries are especially delicious with a side of Ranch dressing.”Hell, get a pie. I don’t fucking care what you order, as long as you sit here long enough to eat something and hear me out.
When our waitress comes, I let her order first. When she chooses a cup of soup and half a club sandwich, I keep my mouth shut. I order the Bacon and Bleu burger with the seasoned fries and Ranch like I suggested. As soon as our server leaves, Maggy takes a sip of water. “We’ve ordered. Now tell me what you want to talk about.”
Damn. I was hoping to get food in her before we had this talk, because what I’m about to tell her isn’t going to sit well with her. I guarantee it. “Fine.” Setting my napkin on the table, I lean back in my chair. “I’m not willing to be a father.”
