Out On a Limb(22)

“Yes. I-I did.”

He nods. Then, again. Then so many times it seems like his neck might be broken. “Okay. All right. Okay. And I, uh, I gather you’re telling me because…” He inhales a long, trembling breath, still nodding to himself.

“Yes. You are,” I answer.

“Wow.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. Then he rocks gently in his chair, his palm placed overtop his mouth with his fingers cradling his cheek. “Okay,” he says into his hand. “Okay,” he repeats, dropping it away.

“I know it’s a lot.” Wringing my hands in my lap, I look at the next table over and wonder how many times in my life I’ve sat next to life-altering conversations and remained blissfully unaware. “I’m sorry,” I offer again.

“No, uh, I—” His breath shakes some more as he reaches for his coffee and takes another long sip. “Wow,” he says, swallowing.

“Yeah,” I agree. I look over to the end of the counter and notice a pitcher of water and glassware. “Would you like some water maybe?” I offer. Mostly, I just want to leave the table, even if only for a few seconds.

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Sure. Thanks.”

I stand and pour two glasses, grateful for the momentary distance between myself and the bomb I just dropped. “Here,” I say, placing it in front of him and taking my seat.

He chugs the whole thing in one go. “Shit, sorry. Um, how are you feeling? How are you? How—how are you?”

“I’m okay,” I answer honestly. “I’ve been sick a lot. Nauseous. But I’m okay. We, er, we’re okay.” I place a hand on my belly under the table and out of view from him.

Meet your dad, kid.

“I really didn’t see this coming.” Bo’s eyes finally stop bouncing around the room, and he holds them on me, confusion overtaking him. His whole face droops in concentration. I can practically see his brain replaying our evening together and the exact moment he gets to the missing condoms.

“Neither did I.” I clear my throat. “I… I wasn’t lying when I said I was on the pill.”

“No, I didn’t think that.” His brows furrow as he quickly shakes his head.

“I wasn’t trying to… you know… get knocked up or anything.”

“Right.”

“These things just happen, sometimes.” I shrug, trying to act nonchalant where all I feel is chalant. Very chalant.

Bo rubs two palms down his face, dragging his skin in their path. “So… do we—do we get married?”

“What?” I jump back. “No! What? Why would we get married? We don’t even know each other!”

He sits straighter, blowing out a breath. “Sorry, I’m not sure what came over me just then.”

“The ghost of your great-grandfather, evidently,” I say.

“But then, what do I do? How do I help? What can I—”

“Bo, I’ve decided to keep the baby,” I interrupt. “I don’t expect anything from you, but I will work with you here. However involved you want to be is fine by me, but you should know that I will expect you to stick around if you agree to be in their life. This isn’t going to be a game of hide-and-go-seek father. You want the baby? You also have to be there for the kid, the teenager, and the adult too. Understand?”

That was the only part I rehearsed. It came out slightly different from how I planned, but I do feel a weight lifted having said what I came here to say. At least part of it. The rest, now, is up to him.

“Okay,” he says, his lips slightly parted and his eyes distant once again.

For whatever reason, that perplexing expression on his face slows me. He’s so forlorn—like something even heavier is weighing him down. Heavier than this, somehow. I want to inquire, but it might be none of my business. We’re practically strangers, after all.

Still, sympathy for him builds. He’s handling this relatively well, and from what I know so far, he seems like a good guy. Maybe I was a touch harsh. “You don’t have to decide right now, obviously,” I say gently, attempting to soften the blow.

He comes back from the far-off land, his stare focused and certain as he threads his fingers together in front of him on the table. “No, I-I am in. However much I can be. However I can support you most, I’m in. Definitely.”

“Oh,” I whisper involuntarily. “Right,” I concur.

“I’m sorry,” he says on an exhale.

“It’s no one’s fault.” I bite my lip, reconsidering. “Well, actually, it’s definitely our fault. Both of us. A collective fault. I suck at taking my birth control on time, neither of us had condoms, and you probably could have pulled out.”

“I didn’t think—” He stops to take a python bite of some sort of chocolate pastry from his plate—chewing and nodding to himself. Then another bite, in which he finishes the whole thing. After, he reaches for another pastry and does the same. “I thought I couldn’t,” he says, mouth full.

“Couldn’t what?” I ask. Have sex? He said it hadn’t happened since he’d lost his leg. But that certainly happened. I already know that’s why he wasn’t carrying around condoms, if that’s what he means.