???
The peonies felt absurdly inadequate in my hands. Two bunches of pale pink flowers, like that would somehow make up for the bomb I was about to drop on our relationship.
I’d been pacing next to my truck for five minutes, rehearsing what to say. Chloe, something happened during dinner last night. I got a message from someone I knew years ago. She says I have a son.
No, that was too blunt.
Chloe, I need to tell you something, and I should have told you last night, but I panicked.
That made it sound like I’d done something wrong. Which I had, but—
Chloe, I love you, and I need you to know that before I tell you this.
God, that sounded like a breakup.
The truth was simple: I’d made a massive mistake. The moment I’d gotten those photos and Jenna’s message, I should have shown them to Chloe right there at the restaurant. “Look at this. This woman says this is my son. I have no idea what’s happening, but we’ll figure it out together.” That’s what I should have done.
Instead, I’d lied. Then I’d compounded that lie by going to meet Jenna alone, by making decisions without consulting the woman I wanted to spend my life with.
Chloe dealt with life-and-death situations regularly. She was strong enough to handle difficult truths. What she couldn’t handle — what she shouldn’t have to handle — was being lied to.
I took a deep breath and headed for the front door, my heart hammering. I’d tell her everything. Show her the photos, explain about Jenna, admit that I’d panicked and handled everything wrong. We’d figure this out together, the way we should have from the beginning.
I pushed open the front door. “Chloe? I’m home.”
Silence.
I set the groceries on the kitchen counter and spotted a note stuck to the refrigerator in Chloe’s distinctive handwriting:
Sleepover at the Jenkins! Mrs. Jenkins called — several of the mamas are having trouble with delivery. Might be there all night. Will text updates. Love you!
P.S. - It’s ALPACA BABY TIME!!!!!
Despite everything, I smiled. Chloe loved alpacas with the kind of pure, uncomplicated joy that most people reservedfor puppies and kittens. She’d been thrilled when the Jenkins family had moved to the area last year with their small alpaca farm, and Mrs. Jenkins had started calling Chloe for all their veterinary needs.
“Sleepover” was Chloe’s funny way of saying she’d been called out for a late-night emergency and would probably be there until dawn. The Jenkins farm was at the end of a winding country road that was treacherous even in daylight — narrow, unpaved, with a tendency to wash out during rain. If Chloe was there past midnight, it was safer for her to crash in their guest room than risk the drive home in the dark.
I pulled out my phone and saw two text messages that arrived while I’d been driving home with flowers:
Just got here. Buttercup is doing great, but this is going to take a while. I’m snuggling with three babies!!!
Mrs. Jenkins is making me tea and cookies. I might never leave. Tell the clinic to find a new vet, I’m an alpaca farmer now.
I typed back: Be safe. Love you.
Then I stared at the phone, thumb hovering over the screen. Should I add “We need to talk when you get home”? But that would just worry her while she was trying to work. And I couldn’t drop this kind of news via text message.
I put the flowers in water and stored the groceries, moving through the familiar motions while my mind raced. Tomorrow, then. I’d tell her tomorrow when she gets home.
???
"I...haven't told her yet."
The silence that followed was deafening. Arthur’s expression went from professional concern to dismay. “You haven’t toldher,” he repeated slowly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard.
“I was going to tell her last night. I came home ready to tell her everything. I had it all planned out.” The words came out in a rush. “But she wasn’t there. She’d been called out to the Jenkins’ alpaca farm. She’s still there now, hasn’t come home yet.”
Arthur’s expression didn’t soften. “So you’re planning to tell her when she gets back?”
