My neck and cheeks went hot.
“Our baby,” I agreed.
Even if my heart was open to visitors and potential suitors, I couldn’t trust his feelings for me now that the baby was involved.Our baby.If he wanted to be with me, it wasn’t because of my dazzling personality; it was probably because he wanted to do whatever was best for her. This was nothing to build a relationship on, it was as unsteady a foundation as it got and would surely lead to a horrible end. Staying together out of duty was no reason to keep trying to make something work—my parents tried that for years before they finally split up, and their so-called sacrifice, trying to stay together for our sake, was not to our benefit.
“Fine. We should live together for co-parenting purposes.”
“The baby won’t be born for another few months,” I said.
“Then I’ll help you get the house ready. Please. I just feel—” Barry exhaled and stepped closer to me. Tentatively, he grabbed my hand from where it hung at my side and squeezed it in his warm, large grip. “I don’t want to miss it. Any of it. Let me show you how good a platonic co-parent and roommate I can be.”
I looked down at our hands, then back at his eyes, so earnest in their pleading. Maybe he was right, they were a bit hazel.
“We can have a trial run,” I said. “You can stay at my place for a week and then we reassess.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Barry said, sounding relieved, but nothing about any of this sounded reasonable.
“Alright,” I pulled my hand out of his then stuck it out for him to shake, and he did. This would be fine. Right?
CHAPTER 6
LA FAMILIA
When Kate and I got to lunch later that day, Dad had already ordered for us, and I still hadn’t changed out of my Harvey Janitorial polo. Dad wore the logo on his jacket and his hat, too, and even Kate was representing with her sweatshirt. We were practically walking billboards. He was proud to see us in uniform, said of all his employees, his children wore the polos best, and then kissed my forehead and the side of my stomach.
“How’s my little one?” he asked. This used to be a question about Jeremy, the original Little One, but was now intended for the baby.
“Good,” I said. “Hungry.”
I still hadn’t told him the baby was a girl because he would probably start weeping in the middle of the restaurant, and also he would be the worst offender of purchasing exclusively pink things for her. A woman at his church got a Cricut recently, and he was anxious to start having her print more things on baby clothes for me. He’d already designed one that said “Grandpa Loves Me,” and it was cute and heartwarming, even with the Comic Sans font. I’d wait until he got a “Harvey Janitorial Baby” onesie made in the color of his choice before telling him.
“Does he know about Barry?” Kate whispered as we sat. I gave her a look that readdon’t go there, but in the way that only she or Jeremy would get. The sibling language spoken through eye contact and gestures.
“How’s Mom?” I asked, because if anyone would know, it would be him. Though they were ultimately incompatible inmarriage, they’d become the best of friends since their divorce. Particularly since she’d remarried a nice, quiet guy named Ron. Dad liked Ron, too. They talked about smoking meats together.
“Oh.” Dad patted his chest pocket, then the ones on his coat before pulling out two bright beaded necklaces. He handed the orange one to Kate, the rainbow one to me. “She made these for you. Asked if you’d take pictures for her Etsy.”
The necklace was nice, less garish than the last one which said “BI & PROUD” between pink, purple, and blue beads. I couldn’t say she wasn’t supportive. Kate and I both had stacks of jewelry she’d made for us over the last year since taking a class at a local craft store. We were her primary models for her online business, Don’t Worry, Bead Happy. Jeremy and his friends, too. College students apparently adored her stuff, tacky chic, they called it. They helped her come up with things she might spell on the necklaces too, like “GIRL BOSS” or “GAY RIGHTS.”
We both clipped on the necklaces, and Dad snapped a picture after first accidentally taking three selfies.
“Beautiful.” He typed out a text to my mom with his index finger. “Pass the salsa,” he said once our food was delivered.
I handed him the bowl after scooping two spoonfuls onto my plate, mixing it with the pile of sour cream. It was tradition to eat with Dad at La Familia on Fridays. The flautas there are just enormous, the size of my whole forearm, and one plate comes with three of these, so Dad, Kate, and I always shared. Jeremy joined too sometimes, but there weren’t enough flautas for him to have one too, so he usually got a stuffed sopapilla.
This was not one of the days he so benevolently graced us with his presence, too busy with hisstuffanyway, whatever stuff it is that twenty-two-year-old art students are up to. I imagined poetry readings and Quentin Tarantino marathon nights, but Jeremy said he joined an intramural rugby team, so there was that too.
Speaking of that little shit, I was almost positive that Dad had given him the easy afternoon shifts at the Jefferson building, theone with all the conference rooms, even though I’d been asking for it since summer.
“I want to work more hours before the baby comes,” I said. “Maybe I can pick up a few more afternoon shifts?”
Dad hummed while he smoothed sour cream over his flautas before scooping beans, salsa, and lettuce atop.
“Maybe at the Jefferson building?”
He hesitated while reaching for the salt, glancing at me just long enough to confirm my suspicions.
“How could you?” I whispered. “I’m pregnant!”
