As I wait for him to approach me, he rushes around to the other side of the car and opens the rear door. Out climbs a tall and gangly teen boy, looking terrified.
Who’s the kid?
As they approach me, the boy doesn’t lift his eyes from my stone walkway and follows behind the man, dragging his feet. He clearly doesn’t want to be here.
I glance at my neighbor’s house, but Seth has finished picking up the chaos strewn across our yards and is nowhere to be seen.
“Can I help you?” I ask as soon as the man reaches me, carrying a briefcase.
He holds out his hand to shake mine. I wipe my hand on my shorts since I’m still sweating. “Sorry, I just got back from a run.”
“It’s fine. Apologies for popping up like this. We tried calling, but there wasn’t any answer.”
I’d turned off my phone because I wanted a couple of days of peace. I had planned a very relaxing weekend without narcissistic mothers.
“We?”
“Oh, sorry. Yes, I’m Melvin Williams, from the Law Office of Brody & Thompson. I’m the temporary guardian of this boy here.”
He stands next to the kid and ushers him forward. The boy’s dark brown hair is cropped short into an unfortunate haircut, with bangs that are too short. His eyes are the bluest I’ve ever seen, almost like the color came right out of the Caribbean. They’re bright on his pale skin. He’s very lanky and tall.
I have a sinking feeling in my gut. I know deep down the kid is there for me. Is he some son I was never told about? Did I get a woman pregnant? It’s not often I sleep with women, but I do sometimes.
My mind instantly analyzes the child’s age, and I go back in time to see who I slept with fourteen to fifteen years ago, but it’s a blank. Regardless, I’m pretty sure I was involved with Grant at the time. Everything hinges on the kid’s age.
“May we come inside to talk?” the lawyer asks.
“I don’t know you.”
He digs out his wallet and hands me his business card. I take it from his hand and look at it. “The boy is distressed. I’d rather talk to you inside. Please.
“Sure.”
I turn on my heels, and they follow me as I unlock my door and we go inside. I keep on walking until we reach the kitchen at the back of the house.
“Please have a seat. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“That would be great, actually. We spent all night driving here from Houston.”
My coffee is ready to make, so all I have to do is press start.
I glance back at the boy. “I have some orange juice, milk, or water.”
He doesn’t answer me. His red-rimmed eyes look at me for a second before looking away. I’ll take that as a no, then. He clearly doesn’t want to be here.
As the coffee brews, I sit at the kitchen table with them, unable to take my eyes off the kid. The longer they’re there, the more I know he’s here for me. Fuck, I amnotready for this. Not once did I prepare for the potential of being a father.
“This is Braeden Cox,” Mr. Williams says.
I freeze because I know that name. And now I instantly remember the boy. The last time I saw him was about ten years ago, when my friends sent me his first-day-of-school picture. I look at the lawyer, my eyes wide. “Marisa and Robert’s boy?” Braeden whimpers and tries to fold into himself. Oh, fuck… “Are they…”
“Yes, I’m afraid they’ve… passed.”
Grief and regret gut-punch me, leaving me breathless. When’s the last time I reached out to them? Two years now? I was friends with Marisa first, back in college. She’d met Robert at a local bar. They started dating and eventually got married. As they became parents and I moved to New Orleans, I saw and talked to them less and less, as friends who move away sometimes do. They were busy with a child and careers. I was busy starting my business and grieving over Grant and his cheating ass ways.
“Jesus…” I’d ask what happened to them, but it’s not wise in front of the kid, who’s clearly hurting.
When the coffee is done, I pour each of us a mug and set some cream and sugar on the table. Mine only has a splash of cream. I take a tentative sip of the hot brew, my mind getting lost in memories. They’d been best friends back in college. As horrible as it sounds, I’m relieved to know the kid isn’t biologically mine.
