But it’s been two years, and now, with us sharing a child, I don’t know what to expect. What to want. I’ve never been so confused in all my life. I don’t have relationships. I do one-night stands, and I play hockey. That’s what I know.
This shit is as clear as fucking mud.
SEVEN
ELI
I’m notsure what I’m supposed to be feeling, but I didn’t sleep even a wink last night, and now I’m up and heading to the coach’s meeting and weight training. It’s the last fucking thing I want to do, but at least I don’t have to get on the ice today. It’s a chill day because we played last night.
But before I head to the meeting, I make myself something to eat and call my stepdad. The phone rings twice before he answers. It isn’t surprising that he answers right away. He is always right by his phone. And right now, he’s probably eating some breakfast as well and getting ready to start his day.
“Eli, son,” he says, just the way he always greets me when he answers my call.
Clearing my throat, I use the spatula to move my scrambled eggs around in the pan, wondering how the fuck I’m going to tell him that he and my mom are grandparents. That my sister is an aunt.
Fuckity fuck.
"Eli?" he calls out when I don’t respond.
Letting out a grunt, I just say the words because I don’t know how else to do it other than to just blurt it out. “I have a kid.”
Silence.
“You have a…”
“A son. He’s around fourteen months. I just found out about him last night. I don’t know what to do.”
There is more silence.
And then he speaks.
“You’re a father?” he asks. “Of a real boy?”
“A real boy,” I confirm, trying not to laugh.
More silence.
And then even more before he speaks again. “What the fuck?” he asks in a whisper.
“A one-night stand two years ago—” I begin.
“Wait a fucking minute,” he calls out. “Two years ago?”
“Two years ago. Ryan Nicholas Foster is fourteen months old.”
More silence. I don’t think my stepdad has ever been this quiet in his entire life. He always has plenty to say. He always has tidbits of advice and anecdotes. This morning, he has nothing. Instead, he gives me complete silence for so fucking long that I almost ask him if he’s still there. I don’t, and thankfully, he begins to speak, which breaks up that silence.
“And it’s yours?” he asks.
“I’m ninety-nine percent sure. She’s offered to do any testing I want.”
He is silent again for a long moment. “Okay, I think I’m going to need the story before I offer any type of advice. Fuck me, your mother is going to lose her absolute shit.”
He’s right—she is.
She’s going to lose any shit at all that she has. It should not upset me. It should not worry me, but it does. I want my mom to like Wrenly because I am still holding on to the hope that we can be more—or at least have fun trying to be more.
“I know she is,” I murmur. “I just don’t know what to do. I feel confused.”
