"We had a casual relationship. We were upfront about that, so there weren't supposed to be hurt feelings. I guess I should back up here and say that years ago my gynecologist told me I had too much scar tissue on my ovaries to ever be able to have kids. A result of endometriosis. I was told thatifI could get pregnant—and that's a bigif—it would require medication or surgery. Possibly both. I was careless with Dylan. And then I went for my annual checkup and my gynecologist walked in and told me I was pregnant."
So much for schooling my reaction. I'm shaking my head and blowing out a heavy exhale.
"Me, too," Mallory says. "And throw in crying and sayingIs this a joke?at least twenty-seven times. When I told Dylan, he was horrified. Said some things he hasn't asked forgiveness for, but I've chosen to forgive because I don't want to harbor bad feelings toward him."
I'm more than happy to harbor enough bad feelings for the both of us. I don't know exactly how this story will end, but I pretty much know how this story will end.
"Dylan asked if I'd consider terminating the pregnancy, but I said no." Mallory looks down at her midsection, pressing a hand to the fabric of her dress. Her small bump is on display now, and she palms it possessively. "This might be my only chance to have a baby, and I want it. Even if that means I have to be a single mother." Mallory sighs and looks out the windshield. My car loops along the switchbacks as we climb in elevation. Dustydesert mountains rise on all sides of us. "Dylan signed away his rights as a parent. Every single one of them."
The admission, though I knew it was coming, still blows me away. I've been casual too, with literally every woman I've dated. But had she come to me and said she was pregnant, I would have said,noweare pregnant. Because there isn't a chance in hell I'd let my son or daughter grow up without me. As long as I'm breathing on God's green earth, I'd be in their life.
"Can I speak frankly?" I ask. She might not want to hear what I have to say.
She motions out. "The floor is yours."
"Dylan is weak."
Mallory smiles wryly, patting each of her biceps. "He's jacked, actually."
I'm shaking my head before she has finished her sentence. "Weak in character. He lacks the moral fiber to make the right choice."
I feel her looking at me, the way her eyes run over the right side of my face. This is a tricky part of the drive, acute angle turns that require two hands on the wheel and two eyes locked forward. No harm will come to Mallory or her baby on my watch.
After a moment of quiet, Mallory says, "He wouldn't have made a good father. He's not a bad person, but he had a lot of personal issues he needed to get through. It would've prevented him from being the person my baby deserves."
I'm so in awe of Mallory right now I can barely settle on what to say to her. If I weren't driving, it would beeasier to focus my thoughts. It might actually be a good thing I'm driving right now, because I'm thinking things I shouldn't say out loud, thoughts that extend beyond the boundaries of a professional relationship.
That's what we're in, right? A professional relationship? Two people working toward a common goal. So I say, "Bravery is looking in the face of something scary, and doing it anyhow."
"The same could be said of stupidity."
I chuckle hard, and in my peripheral vision, I see Mallory give a pleased shrug.
"All jokes aside," she says, "I know what I'm doing is unconventional. And telling people I'm pregnant leads to questions I don't want to answer over and over. At some point, I won't be able to hide it anymore. But for now, the story is only mine. I guess I'd like to keep that going for a little longer."
"That makes sense." We climb our way out of the switchbacks, rising up in elevation until we even out. From here, it's pinion trees and desert for the next two hours. I pull a homemade pop tart from the box of pastries and devour it.
At some point, Mallory leans her head back and falls asleep. The road is mostly straight now, and I take the opportunity to steal glances at her. Her face is soft in slumber. Peaceful.
My friends were right to be stunned by the way I brought Mallory to the Olive Festival. She could have arrived by herself, could have walked around and met people on her own. But I wanted to be a part of it, and myfriends immediately recognized that it was unlike me. And then I held her hand, solidifying the consternation they felt.
Mallory, and her baby, are the first real threat to the way I've been living.
Maybe that's a good thing.
Chapter 17
Mallory
David Boylan livesin the small, alpine town of Sugar Creek, Arizona.
He has a social media profile that resembles a ghost town. That would've been a dead end, except one time, ten years ago, when he changed his relationship status. He married, and his wife is the kind of person who turns herself inside out online. Casserole recipes, crocheting patterns, illnesses, and the oddballIf you love me, pass this onposts. And also her husband's favorite pastime,rare coins.David holding a rare coin. The two of them at rare coin shows.
I'm proud (kind of) to say I now know a lot about the rare coin market. After locating various websites serving as rare coin marketplaces, I narrowed my search to those in Arizona.
David could've gone anywhere, but I was hoping he'd stay within the state. It's huge, after all. Maricopa County is bigger than some states. Hours of combing throughlistings, and then I spotted one for a coin from a Bolivian shipwreck, and the seller's name was DaBoy.
Hugo's fancy car smoothes off the highway, cruising past the town sign. "I've been here before," he says, turning the wheel with the heel of his palm. "Only a few months ago to pick up the custom wedding arch I had made by a local guy. Daisy and Penn were the first to get married under it."
