“She has a kid, man. I can’t do that kind of baggage!” Randy’s voice has my feet turning to lead, grounding me mid-step. The color drains from my face, my knees feel weak and not in the good way they did just a moment ago. He didn’t just say what I think he did, did he?
“I don’t think you’re allowed to refer to kids as baggage,” Seth says over the clatter of pots.
“You know what I mean, man. It’s a huge responsibility to look after a child, especially one who’s not mine. I’m only twenty-one, I can’t handle that shit.”
That shit!
I brace my hand against the wall and take a deep breath, taking in everything I just heard and thinking about all the time I wasted on this man. With a hard tug, I place his jacket on the hook hanging in the small foyer, surprised it didn’t rip, as my eyes begin to blur. My son isn’t baggage! I can’t believe he justsaid that! What an asshole! I turn on my heel and head straight back out the door.
22
Randy
I stand in the kitchen leaning against the island while stretching my calf. It’s been giving me some discomfort all week and I really don’t want it to annoy me tonight.
Seth is watching me as he stands near the stove; he looks down briefly, cracking an egg into a bowl. “You like her, don’t you?”
“I like them all.” I wink.
“No, this one’s different. I can tell by that pathetic look on your face,” he remarks, and I can’t help but smile at his words.
He begins to beat the eggs. “Yep, that one. It screams ‘pussy whipped’,” he adds, pointing at me with the egg -covered fork. He stands shirtless after our run to the campus and back. Nothing strenuous, just a small warmup to get ready for today.
I wince when my stretch becomes uncomfortable and relax back into our conversation. “She is different than any other woman I have met. I like spending time with her and honestly, I could see long term with her and I keep thinking that I want to make it official.”
“But?”
“It’s only been a couple of weeks.”
“But?” he pushes.
I sigh. “She has a kid, man. I can’t do that kinda baggage!”
He frowns at me, pouring his egg mixture into the pan. “I don’t think you’re allowed to refer to kids as baggage.”
I try to correct myself but can’t think of the right words. “You know what I mean, it’s a huge responsibility to look after a kid…especially one who’s not mine. I’m only twenty-one. I can’t handle that shit.”
He nods his head in agreement. “True, sometimes I don’t know how you even keep yourself alive.”
That’s a little insulting, but also somewhat true. “Exactly.”
He pushes off the island and I watch his profile as he thinks. “But you like her?”
I sigh, thinking back to a time when I have ever felt this way before—the answer, never, zero, zilch, nada. “Yeah, I do.”
“Why does the kid have to be a negative? What if he is a little champ and just makes the relationship better?”
“Have you ever dated anyone who has a kid?” I ask, already knowing the answer to that.
“No, I haven’t,” he says, flipping his omelet. “But it’s not like you would be the first person to date a woman with a kid.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say, lightly kicking the kitchen island, annoyed with myself. Referring to her son as baggage, what a shitty thing to say.
“Just take it slow, man, figure out how much you actually like her, then maybe in time you will want to meet the kid. If you want my honest opinion?” he says, looking at me from behind the stove.
I nod.
“I think this has nothing to do with Rachel and her son. Sure, it’s a thing, but this time of year you’re under relentless pressure. The game today is huge. Man, it’s brutal always being under the microscope and analyzed for every little flaw. It’s beena tough season, and we are so close to the end game. Take it easy on yourself and stop overthinking.”
