“You’re...” He stopped, swallowed, tried again. “We’re having a baby.”
“I’m having a baby. What we are remains to be determined.”
That landed. I watched him pull himself back from wherever he’d gone, the wonder fading behind the reality of where we stood.
“I’m not going back with you,” I said. “I’m not getting back together with you. The most I can offer right now is co-parenting. You can be in the baby’s life, but you and me, as a couple, that’s not on the table.”
He nodded. His jaw was tight but he nodded. “Whatever you want.”
“I want you to come back tomorrow, or the day after, when we’ve both slept. We can talk about how this is going to work.”
“Okay.”
“And Finneas?”
“Yeah?”
“Go get a hotel room. You look like you’re about to pass out and I’m not explaining to Grandma why there’s a man sleeping in a car on her street.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile but close. He stood up, his eyes moving from my face to my stomach thatwasn’t showing yet, and the expression on his face was so open, so completely without armor, that I had to look away.
“Thank you,” he said. “For telling me.”
“Go sleep, Finneas.”
He crossed the street to his car, got in, drove away. I sat on the porch bench with my hand on my stomach, watching his taillights disappear around the corner.
Inside, I sat on the edge of my bed with the quilt under my hands. I told him co-parenting only and I meant it.
I thought about his face when I said “I’m pregnant.” The shock, then the wonder. The way he whispered “a baby” like it was something precious he was afraid of breaking.
I meant it when I said co-parenting only.
I was almost sure I meant it.
32
— • —
Andrea
He showed up at six the next morning.
I was still in bed when I heard the knock, and by the time I got downstairs Grandma had already opened the door. He was standing on the porch holding a paper bag from the bakery on Main Street and a box of tea that I recognized immediately because it was Grandma’s brand, the specific chamomile blend she ordered from a shop two towns over that nobody else in the world drank.
Grandma looked at the tea. Looked at him. Looked at the tea again.
“How did you know what kind I drink?”
“Andrea mentioned it.”
I was standing at the bottom of the stairs in pajamas with my hair going in four directions and I absolutely did not mention Grandma’s tea to Finneas. I mentioned it to Fin. On the porch. Talking about what I was going to get her for Christmas.
Grandma took the tea. “Come in. But I’m watching you.”
He sat at the kitchen table. Grandma put a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him without asking if he wanted any, which was her way of establishing that this was her house and she fed people in it whether they liked it or not. He picked up his fork and started eating.
“So,” Grandma said, sitting down across from him with her coffee. “You live in Atlanta.”
