Denny adjusts his rear-view mirror for the hundredth time, and I know that every single time, it’s been to make sure that Donovan’s doing okay in the back seat. When I asked him if he’d be willing to take me to Tilly’s dad’s place again, I guess I neglected to tell him there’d be another passenger. I’m not sure why he’s stressing so much about it, though. I had Linmeet us in the parking lot so he could install the car seat base for us.
“How’s he doing?” Denny asks.
That has me looking back as well. He’s fine. Great. The doctor told us to make sure he doesn’t stay in his seat for too long at a time to help his circulation, so I’ve scheduled an entire day for this trip, and I’m crossing my fingers that it pays off.
And that Donovan doesn’t have another episode. At the doctor’s request, we’re keeping a journal of his flare-ups, jotting down everything we can think of that leads to them so we can start figuring out what to watch out for. If we have to document today, Tilly will know that the first time she left me alone with him so she could do her job, I took him on a road trip, and it’ll ruin the surprise.
Donovan’s sound asleep in his seat, so I lean mine back as far as I can to look for any swelling or discoloration in his limbs, the best indicator that everything’s about to get bad. He looks good, though. Great. A total ladies’ man. After that first awful incident, he’s been doing really well, just a couple bad nights.
“Yeah, he’s a strong little guy.”
“So maybe you won’t need to do a bone marrow transplant? I did some reading when you told me. It looks like that’s actually really rare.”
“It is, yeah.” I’ve been telling Denny everything. Hayes, too. It’s helped a lot. I talk circles with Tilly, and we end up bickering half the time. I get that this is what being in a real relationship with someone is, that it’s not a terrible thing for us to have to nitpick through things, but it’s nice having people who just listen and commiserate. There were some funny looks from Merrick and Shaunessy when I startedspending more time with Hayes, but I pointed out that Hayes doesn’t have a lot of friends anymore, so I’m just trying to make him feel included.
Evan hugged me and said I was a good man. He’s trying to schedule a Hayes party now. He’s so fucking weird.
“I just want to be prepared,” I tell him.
“But having another kid? Just to be a donor for Donovan? That’s . . .” He cringes. “That feels like some gross dystopian organ harvesting stuff.”
“That’s not why we’re going to have another kid.” I scratch my head. It’s not the first time that’s been danced around, but all I can say is, “I’ll love Donovan’s little brother or sister as much as I love him. They won’t be a spare. They’ll just have this one other thing we might need them to do, but other than that, they’ll just be another kid. We’ll have two kids. Lots of people have two kids.”
“Sure, but you wouldn’t have had a second kid otherwise, right?”
I drag my hand down to scratch my chin, feel the faint abrasion of stubble, listen to the sandpaper sound of it against my hand, even though it’s hardly anything. Tilly and I have had a couple big blowouts over this. We’re both on board with having another kid, or two or maybe three, but as soon as we get into specifics, it’s so goddamn messy.
But I would want more kids regardless, I know that.
“No, but only because of Tilly’s medical issues. And hey, because we’ll have to do it this other way, we’ll be able to get the full genetic panel and make sure the second one doesn’t get any of the bad stuff. No sickle cell, no Huntington’s, nothing.”
Denny cringes again, but it’s sadder this time. He looks back at Donovan again, and I hate the pity he has in his eyes, but I get it.
Donovan isn’t going to get Huntington’s, like his grandpa got — that’s why he’s in a nursing home — but he’s a carrier. Tilly’s a carrier, of course, but she refuses to get tested to see if she has both genes, which has been our biggest argument to date. She doesn’t want to know if she’s survived cancer just to be taken out in another decade by the same thing that’s gotten her dad. I argued that I need to plan for this. I need to know how many years we have left. I need to figure out how to tell our family. I need to work out how she wants me to take care of her.
Hayes and Denny have both agreed that it’s Tilly’s right to decide, not mine. I kind of hated Hayes for a day when he said that, but then I ranted to Denny and he agreed, so I guess I just have to accept this.
“Donovan’s fine,” I remind him. “Donovan is going to have the best life. And that’s why I’m doing every single thing I can, and I don’t need some fudging lecture about whether it’s right or not.”
Denny keeps his hands on the wheel but lifts his fingers up in surrender. “I’m not lecturing, I swear. But you and Tilly, I want the best for you guys, but this isbad. And you’re not even really dating, right? You’ve never gone on an actual date with her. And now you’re already planning on a second baby? That’s sh—stuffthat people don’t usually do until they’re married.”
“And this trip is step one.”
When we show up at the nursing home, the receptionist is all smiles, immediately taking Donovan and snuggling him before telling me that Mr. Washington is having a great day today. It doesn’t fully settle my nerves, but when I sit down onthe sofa next to the recliner he’s chilling on and he looks at me and says, “Well, I don’t think I recognize you, son, and I’m sorry if we’ve met before and I just don’t remember you, but that little boy looks an awful lot like my grandson,” I know I made the right decision.
Still hurts. I wish Tilly and I could swap, and it could be my parents, who never did a good thing for me except hand me off to Gammy, who this happened to. I wish he were in Wilmington and helping us with Donovan, getting to know his grandson and looking forward to the days ahead. The man’s in his fifties. This is awful.
“I’m Blaise,” I tell him. “I’m your grandson’s dad. This is . . . this is my son.”
Fuck. My words are getting all caught up in my throat.
“Looks like he’s lucky to have you,” Mr. Washington says with a big, proud smile. “Tilly says she’s lucky to have you, too.”
Well, fuck. I know she hasn’t visited him since that day I followed her out here, and they said it had been a bad day for him. I wonder if Tilly calls him and sends him pictures. Does she text him when he’s here? I’ll have to ask the receptionist so I can send him stuff, too.
“She’s been . . . it’s been good.” I’m not lying. It’s difficult. Nothing goes quite the way I want it to, and Tilly has this knack for making everything more challenging than it should be.
Some would say the same about me.
