I clear my throat and pick at one of my fingernails. “We'renot.”
His eyes lock onto mine, his expression a mixture of surprise and horror. “The baby isn't Owen's? Are you seeing someonenew?”
He's trying, I think, to control his emotions, but the devastation is there, visible in the planes of his face. Knowing I put it there hurts me to thecore.
“I’m not seeing anybody, Dad.” I take a deep breath and look at my poor, mangled thumb nail. “This baby is the product of one night.”Onehour.
My dad stands and strides to the kitchen. I stay where I am, waiting. Listening as the refrigerator door opens, closes. He comes back a minute later with a beer in his hand. Half of it is missingalready.
He doesn't sit. He leans against the wall and tips his head back until it's propped up by the walltoo.
“One night,huh?”
“It's the only time I've done thatand—”
He holds up a hand. “I don't want anydetails.”
I make a face. “I wasn't planning on giving youany.”
He pushes off the wall and sits by me again. “Who's the father? What did he have to say when you toldhim?”
“Um, well, the thing is, we didn't really exchange a lot of information, so I don't know how to get a hold of him to tell him.”Thisis what I've been dreading telling him themost.
His open palm catches his drooping head, and he holds it there, his elbow propped on his knee. “Aubrey, I failedyou.”
I blink. I’ve spent a lot of time imagining what he would say, andI failed youdid not make the list. “What are you talkingabout?”
“I should have talked to you more about sex. How to besafe.”
We were safe. At least, we thought we were. And as far as Isaac goes, he still thinks the condom did its job.You had one job, Condom. Onejob.
“Dad, I'm old enough to know. And we were safe. The safety failed.” I blush again. This conversation is not getting anyeasier.
He sits back against the couch, but I stay upright. I haven't relaxed in two weeks, not since I realized my period waslate.
“How are you going to tell him? What's his lastname?”
“I don'tknow.”
My dad sighs. “What's hisnumber?”
“I don'tknow.”
He sighs louder. “Can you go back to the scene of the crime and find him there?” He winces as he saysit.
I do too when I realize what he's asking. “It happened at his apartment, Dad, not between pallets behind a grocerystore.”
He lifts his face to the ceiling and mouthsThankGod.
“Geez, Dad.” I rub my forehead. “I have his address, but it won't do any good. He was moving three days after we, um, spent time together.” How am I supposed to describe it? I can't use the words Britt did.Single serving, hit and run, one hit wonder.And then I made the mistake of telling her about our one-hour arrangement, and it became ourhour ofpower.
“And he wasn't lying, either.” I add when I see the skeptical look on my dad's face. “There were moving boxes everywhere.Packed.”
My dad drains the remainder of hisbeer.
“What now?” heasks.
“I need to find adoctor.”
