He was the one who taught me to trust my gut in the first place. He asked questions. He waited for me to think for myself. He let me sit with uncertainty until I learned how to move through it on my own.
That’s why my mind goes to him now.
But the fact that it does unsettles me.
We’re supposed to be shifting into something else now. Equals. Partners. Co-parents. Not teacher and student.
What does it mean that he’s still my measure? That when something feels wrong, my instincts reach for him without asking?
I shake my head of the thought. Trust is good. It will be necessary for us as parents. I’m not going to let things get weird and stop building on the friendship we’ve always had.
It’s fine that I’m thinking of him now. Normal even, he was my mentor.
I don’t pull the thread any further.
But somehow, I know it won’t stay neatly wound forever.
9
Freya arrivingyesterday has already changed everything.
The house feels different with her in it. Lived in. Warm. Like a place meant for more than one person.
It reminds me of when I was younger, when I thought I was a so-called normal man headed for a house, a picket fence, and a life that made sense.
That dream came true.
And I woke up from it just as fast.
Now I’m here again, in a distinctly feminine house that smells like vanilla, full of candles and pillows, with a baby on the way—it’s like being offered the same future twice.
Everything about her herefeels so…me.
That’s the thought I shut down hard. I’ve been down that road before. I know what it costs when someone else gets to decide whether you keep your dream or lose it.
I won’t let my kid have a broken dad. And I don’t think I’d survive being lied to again.
No matter how damn hot she looks in that button-down, no matter how much I want to be the one pinning that badge over her heart, this is where the line stays.
We’re friends.
In time, that will be enough.
I take my mind off my excitement at her arrival by doing something that always calms me. I cook.
Chili might not sound fancy, but I tried and tested more than a dozen recipes over the years, and this one hits. It’s mild enough for pregnancy, won’t make her too hot, but it’s flavorful.
I glance around the kitchen and make sure it’s all where it needs to be. The cornbread is cooling. Ginger beer…
My kitchen screams of a man trying too hard.
Maybe Iam.
Feeding the mother of my child hits someplace deep. And it should. For as many times as Freya and I use the word friend, we’re parents together, and surely that’s something more?
Will she be mybestfriend?
I don’t do gray areas well. I prefer lines. Tasks. Things you can finish.
