“Very committed of him,” I say.
“One night only,” he agrees. “Standing ovation. Immediate exit.”
I move closer and sit down next to him, resting my hand briefly on his knee. Not heavy. Just there.
“Well,” I say. “I can see why your brain is short-circuiting.”
He glances at me. “You’re taking this remarkably well.”
“I’ve had worse days,” I say. “And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think your dick is broken. I think he’s overly dramatic.”
He huffs a laugh. “That tracks.”
We sit for a moment, the humour easing the edge of it. Then I feel the shift. The laughter draining away. The weight of what I said finally landing.
His hand stills on his thigh.
“Christa,” he says quietly.
“Yes.”
“A baby.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re sure.”
“Yes.”
“And it’s mine.”
“Yes.”
He nods once, slowly, like he’s filing it somewhere important.
“I don’t even know what to say,” he admits.
“You don’t have to say anything yet,” I reply. “You can sit. Breathe. Swear internally.”
He looks at me then, really looks, and the jokes are gone.
“A baby,” he says.
This time, it sounds different.
This time, it sounds like he means it.
I draw a breath, because this is the bit that matters.
“I’ve thought about it,” I say. “Thoroughly. I asked the questions. I got the… less than subtle commentary from the doctor about my age.” I roll my eyes. “Judgement duly noted.”
Inside, my chest feels tight, like I’ve stepped off something solid and I’m waiting to see if there’s ground beneath me.
“I’m keeping the baby,” I continue. “Because I want to. Because I can. And because, at forty-three, I’m not convinced the universe is going to offer me a repeat booking.”
He nods, slow and attentive, eyes never leaving mine.
“But,” I add, because this is the part that scares me, “this isn’t a trap. You can be involved or not. However that looks for you. I’d understand.”
