“He said he wants to meet again tonight,” I said.
“Like as a date?”
“No, come on. For, like, a baby DTR chat,” I said. “I think.”
“What is there to determine about that relationship? He’s literally the father,” Kate said. She pulled on Greg’s leash, tugging him away from a bit of dry brush sticking out from beneath a fence. The neighborhood we both lived in was mostly charming old houses and duplexes; there was a park not too far, which meant big shady trees in the summer and lots of crunchy leaves in the fall and winter. I inherited our grandma’s house after she died three years ago, which might have gone to Kate if she had any interest in fixing up a home and hadn’t already owned a townhouse a few blocks away.
That was another thing about my sister: she’d always been terrific at money management. So much so that she became ahomeowner before she turned twenty-four. I both admired and feared her for this.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I thought he’d be glad to be free of the responsibility, but I guess not. I think he’s freaked out.”
“I would be too if I just found out I’d sired a child,” Kate said, and we huffed twin laughs. “What if he says you should put the baby up for adoption?”
“I already told him I’m not going to.” I tucked my hands further into my jacket pockets, feeling the little hole in the lining in one pocket and the folded sticky note with Barry’s number in the other.
“What if he wants to be in her life?”
I sighed and kicked a rock from the sidewalk. He surely had the right to be in her life if he wanted to. I didn’t know all that much about paternity rights, but that sort of thing was in enough TV shows that it to be at least a little true. If he wanted to be in the baby’s life—and I meanreallywanted to, not just felt like hehadto—well then, I shouldn’t stop him. But if he felt like he was obligated to, would he start resenting her? Resenting me? Did healreadyresent me?
I didn’t want him to be around her if he didn’t actually want to be. My parents divorced when I was eight, but they both always really wanted to be our parents, I never doubted that.
“I guess I’d have to let him,” I said. “I don’t know him all that well, but I think he is a good person. Probably.”
“You should hear him out either way.”
“Yeah.” We were almost back to the house and Kate would want to get back to working soon. I’d probably do a couple hours of nothing before thinking about texting Barry back. “I’ll hear him out.”
CHAPTER 5
THE ROOMMATE ARRANGEMENT
I waited a healthy five hours to respond to Barry’s texts (which he sent at the top of the hour, each hour), and feigned a migraine. I’d never had a migraine, but Kate got them sometimes, so I thought I could claim them.
He texted back immediately asking what he could bring, if I’d had enough water, and if I’d taken medicine.
Talk later,I texted back, and then,Tomorrow?
I sort of felt bad for lying, so I sent a couple of the ultrasound pictures, one labeled FEET, the other her side profile with the little curve of her nose and lips. I didn’t know what this would do for him, but it was a sort of peace offering.
Tomorrow, I texted again, and he said okay.
When tomorrow came, though, I felt like I was going to throw up just thinking about talking to him. Not morning sickness, just an anxious sickness. I’ve always hated confrontation, and talking with Barry seemed an unavoidable discomfort. I wish he’d just email me a list of his thoughts on the baby matter; a conversation felt way too intimate.
Kate wouldn’t cover my shift, though she did offer to go with me so she could see Barry in person instead of just on his out-of-date Instagram. I told her no and decided to try to finish work early, hoping to miss him in case he was coming in before nine again. I wouldn’t sleep on the lounge couch, and I’d miss burger breakfast if I had to. I could talk to him later. A few more hours probably wouldn’t hurt him. I think.
When I got to the lounge, I couldn’t see the space the same. Itwas the exact room I’d left yesterday, but now it was alsohisroom. Barry would sit here with the other athletes and coaching staff; he would know what it is they do with the massive TVs and eat free food that’s prepared by the team’s chefs and nutritionist.
When I wheeled the cart into the locker room this morning, I had the genius idea to do some snooping. Couldn’t help myself. This was my right, I was carrying his baby. It wasn’t hard to find his locker stall. The team staff had already gotten his name printed on a plastic badge that said 33 WRIGHT above his cubby.
It was spare compared to some of the others, but there was various hockey gear and a printed photo of what I assumed was his family. I recognized his comedian brother Scotty, and what looked like a couple more too, and a sister. Two of the brothers had partners and next to one of them was a toddler with red hair kind of like mine and another little boy much the same. The thought of Barry as an uncle made me feel off-balance, I could hardly think about him holding a baby.
In the center of the photo stood two people who had to be Barry’s mom and dad, because Barry looked just like them. All the siblings looked similar, very clearly related, and most of them tall but none as tall as Barry. They had these sparkling white smiles, strong noses, soft-looking clothes. I bet his parents had never been divorced, and good for them! Good for all his siblings having role models of a stable relationship.
I returned the photo of his family where I found it and slowly opened his cabinet, peering inside. I first saw at least five bags of dark chocolate peanut M&M’s and grabbed one.
“Find anything good?” a voice asked from behind me. I yelped, dropping the bag I was tearing open, spilling candy across the rubber flooring at our feet.
My feet and Barry’s.
