“Sit.”
Newman took the pie to a table and sat. He was an adult, he didn’t have to say anything if he chose not to.
“When’s your mom and dad back?”
“Next week. They’re in Seattle visiting Mom’s sister, because she’s just had surgery on her leg.” Newman spoke in the voice he always used. He was a good talker, and could discuss anything. No need to touch on the subject of him and Hope, or the baby.
Jesus, I’m going to be a father.The thought had the breath rushing in and out of his mouth. Newman needed to be in control. Needed to be on top of any situation. Help if he could, fixing it would be even better. This, he was struggling to come to grips with.
How was it that moments ago, with Hope, he’d felt calmer? They’d spoken rationally about taking small steps, so why was he now back in panic mode?
He’d just spent two days by himself, and come out the other side, he’d thought, with a better understanding of what needed to be done. He’d been fooling himself. He knew shit.
“You’re pale, bud. Need to put your head between your knees, or blow in a bag? I can help you with both.”
Buster put the coffee before him, and Newman grabbed it with both hands and inhaled. The aroma helped steady him.
“I’m good. Got a stomach upset or something.”
“You’re lying to me, Paul, and that makes me worried. You’re not a liar, nor do you get panicky. I’ve known you since our first day of school, and until this moment I didn’t believe you would hide anything from me.”
“Come on, really? Surely I’m allowed some secrets.”
“Sure, I don’t want to know about your love life, or even what color shorts you’re wearing under your Louis Vuittons. But big stuff, that we share.”
“Leave it, Buster. Please.”
His friend heaved a sigh, then settled in the seat across from Newman.
“Here’s the thing. You’ve always been there for me. Always helped, fixed, done what needed to be done for me and everyone else. And we’re grateful, man… truly. You’re a fucking saint. But right now, it’s you that needs help returned, and I’m offering, but you’re not taking.”
“I’m not a saint. You make me sound like some do-gooding superhero.”
“I never mentioned superhero, bud.” Buster smiled, more a slight stretch of his lips, but his eyes were smiling.
“It was implied.”
“Like hell.”
“I like the idea of a superpower,” Newman said, enjoying the silly conversation because it drew his mind away from Hope and the baby. “I could be Captain Fucking Awesome, or something.”
“More like Captain Pretty Boy. Now spill.”
“I never told you I was adopted, did I?” The words came out before he could stop them again, because he’d told Hope, and suddenly he didn’t want his birth to be a dirty secret anymore. To hell with what his father thought.
For so long those words had lain deep and heavy inside him. Words that had made him into the man he was today. A pleaser. Someone who needed to be accepted. Because his father never let him forget that he owed him for taking him on.
It was rare to see Buster shocked, but Newman had managed it.
“Say what?”
Newman sipped his coffee, and strangely felt more of the tightness inside him ease. Just some, not the huge lump of fear he had about the baby, but the other lump that had always been there.
“How the hell have you kept that quiet? Further to the point, why have you?”
“My father didn’t want anyone to know he and Mom couldn’t have children.”
“You’re shitting me?”
