Deep down, I knew this wasn’t just about Nicholas.
“Actually, this Saturday I can’t. My cousin’s thirtieth birthday party is at my aunt’s house on Saturday. Nicholas will be coming with me, since there’ll be kids his age there.”
That was a bummer, but I didn’t have much choice.
“How about the following weekend?” she asked.
“That works for me,” I said, trying not to let my anxiousness show. I’d have cleared my calendar if I’d had any commitments.
I had to remind myself I was invading a life she’d done a damn good job of building on her own. I wanted to be an asset, not a hindrance or an additional responsibility she had to deal with.
“Okay, weekend after next, then,” she said.
“Has Nicholas asked about me since the aquarium?” I braced myself.
“No.”
My shoulders slumped. “I need to tell him my name. But Tate would be stupid, right? Since he might mention me to Taylor?”
“We shouldn’t take the chance. Especially since Taylor knows my baby daddy’s name was Tate. Maybe we just give you a nickname for now.”
“Like?”
“I’ll think of something.”
I chuckled. “That should be interesting.”
“I’d better go. It’s late. Nicholas gets me up pretty early in the mornings.”
“Yeah. Of course. You go. If there’s anything I can do before we meet, please let me know.”
“We’ll be good. But thanks.”
Of course they would. Once again, I reminded myself that Blair had done just fine without me all these years. She didn’t need me to swoop in, trying to be some goddamn superhero who didn’t know his ass from his elbowwhen it came to kids. I needed to earn my place as a helper. That would take time.
Before I went to bed that night, I pulled up the old photos of Blair I had stashed away in a special album for easy access. But this time, I looked at them in a different light. Never before had I realized she was probably already pregnant with my baby in these images. My body buzzed.
I was deep into staring when my phone buzzed.
Blair: I’ve got it.
Tate: Got what?
Blair: The nickname Nicholas can call you.
Tate: What is it?
Blair: Mr. T.
I had to laugh.
Tate: That’s funny.
Blair: Why is that funny?
Tate: Mr. T?
Blair: I don’t get it.
