I’m possibly going to be a dad.
My phone buzzes on the desk. I grab it so fast I almost knock over my coffee.
Natalie
Thanks for the groceries. Can we talk? Tonight?
The relief that hits is stupidly intense for such a short text. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath since I left her at her door yesterday.
Jake
Of course. I can come to you. What time?
The dots appear, vanish, reappear. I have never in my life been so desperate for someone to finish composing a text.
Natalie
Maybe around 7?
Jake
Perfect. I’ll bring dinner.
Natalie
You don’t have to do that.
Jake
I know. See you at 7.
I set my phone down and blow out a long breath. I’m so relieved she wants to talk. She could have ignored me. Could have told me she needed space, or that she’d decided to handle everything alone.
“Jake.”
I look up. Ryan is standing in my doorway, one hand on the frame, the other wrapped around a coffee mug. My stomach drops straight through the floor and keeps going.
Does he know? Did she tell him already? Is this the part where he fires me, sues me, or buries my body behind the building.
“Hey,” I say, aiming for casual and landing somewhere in the neighborhood of mildly constipated. “What’s up?”
He steps into the office and settles into the guest chair like he owns the place—which, to be fair, he kind of does.
“I just wanted to thank you again for yesterday,” he says. “For taking care of Natalie.”
Guilt punches me right in the solar plexus.
“I tried calling her last night,” he goes on, “but I think she crashed as soon as she got home.”
“Yeah,” I say. “She was pretty wiped out.”
Not technically a lie. Just not the whole screaming circus of the truth.
“What exactly did the doctor say?” He takes a sip of coffee, watching me over the rim of the mug.
I choose every word like it might be used as evidence later. “They said her blood sugar was a little low,” I say. “She needs to eat more regularly. Rest. She’ll be all right.”
Ryan exhales, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Good. She pushes herself too hard.”
