Someone small.
Enzo has a toddler? That can’t be right.
Is Enzo… babysitting? But that doesn’t make sense. He’s twenty-eight, not a thirteen-year-old girl helping her next-door neighbors.
Is that his child?
He has Enzo’s olive skin and has the same uncertain look Enzo gets.
Something revolting curdles in my gut. I didn’t know Enzo was even dating anyone. But children generally come fromsomething more serious than dating. Like from sleeping with someone. That ugly sensation crawls over my chest.
I don’t want to think about my ex-best friend making babies with someone.
“You brought a child?” I sneer.
Enzo’s face falls, but he squares his shoulders. “Yes, I did.”
He marches into my hotel room, even though I don’t want him there. He scans the room, like he’s assessing it for danger.
“I didn’t invite you in,” I say.
“I didn’t ask for an invitation.”
How did I never notice before how strange Enzo is? Clearly, I had horrible taste in friends when I was in college.
“You can’t just barge inside,” I say.
“You can’t ignore your family.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Okay, that comment was seriously weird, even for Enzo. “I have a good relationship with my family.”
I don’t see my parents often. They live in a suburb of Pittsburgh, and my brother is stationed in Japan, but everything is fine. No drama.
“I rented a place for everyone at Christmas in Vermont. It was awesome.”
Enzo rolls his eyes. “Children count too.”
My gaze falls on the toddler staring at me. His eyes are blue-green.
An idea occurs to me.
An idea that has to be wrong.
But a chill moves through me anyway, as does a faint memory.
“How is your sister doing?” I ask.
Enzo turns a sickly pale shade. “You don’t know?”
“About what?”
The icky sensation in my belly is stronger. Because I can actually think of a reason why Enzo would be here with a toddler. But it’s not a reason I want to have happened.
“Gaby died ten days ago,” Enzo says, his voice flat. “I-I thought you knew. I e-mailed you. And texted you.”
“I, uh, might have blocked you…”
And though I didn’t physically slap him, though I know my fingers are on my side like they’ve always been, it feels like I’ve slapped him all the same.
