Woke Up Like This(18)

“I—I suppose so,” he says, unsure of himself. “Alexandra and I are pregnant.” He says her name with an undeserved air of familiarity, as though she’s part of our family. As though I’ve met her and we’re besties or something.

“Pregnant?” I narrowly manage to avoid choking on my saliva. Dad’s having a baby? With a woman he’s only been dating a couple of months?

“She’s due in November. We’re really excited.”

I’m stunned as he rambles on about Alexandra’s cravings, how they’ll be staying at Alexandra’s family lake house in Fairfax, a quaint, Shakespearean-themed town half an hour from Maplewood, and how he’s going to slow things down at work, maybe even work from the lake house when the baby comes. That last statement catches me off guard. Work has always been Dad’s number-one priority. Never me. Now he’s slowing down? For his future child?

“I was also wondering . . . Well, Alexandra and I were wondering if you’d be interested in staying at the lake house for the summer. We have a spare bedroom and the beach is barely a minute away—”

Stay with them at their lake house? For the whole summer? This is completely out of left field. Out of this universe. I could understand if he invited me for a weekend—and even that would be out of character. But an entire summer? Where is this coming from?

Renner flashes me a brief look of concern from where he’s loading things into the trunk. I avoid his eyes, casting my stare at the gravel under my feet.



I think about all the years Dad and I have been estranged. All the times I wished my dad had shown up, when all my friends had theirs.

Tears threaten my lash line, but I manage to hold them at bay. I want to yell at him and tell him how I feel. How unfair it is to spring this on me. How angry I am at him for missing all this time with me when he’ll be with his new child every day, bearing witness to every milestone. But all that comes out is, “Dad, I don’t know. I’ll have to call you back.”

A pause. “I know it’s last minute. I wanted to reach out earlier, but we wanted to make sure the spare room would be ready.”

“I just—I don’t know if I can come.”

Another pause. “Well, give it some thought and let me know, okay, kiddo?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Dad starts rambling nervously about how busy I must be with the end of the school year, but I barely hear a word.

Renner clears his throat, reminding me again of his pesky presence. He has one leg propped behind him against the van. His brow is furrowed in an expression that vaguely resembles concern. This is just crap-tastic. He is the last person I want around when I’m having a personal crisis. It’s too much. I can’t deal. Impulsively, I hit “End” on the call.

Renner backs away slightly as I hobble toward the van on account of my blisters from yesterday. “Uh, you okay?”

“It was my dad. He’s having a baby. With his girlfriend of a couple months,” I say tersely. He already heard my conversation anyway.

Renner settles into the driver’s seat. “Um, I take it that’s not exactly good news?”

I fasten my seat belt, eyes glued on the windshield for a minute before I finally take a breath. “I don’t know,” I say, already feeling guilty for not being thrilled for him and Alexandra. Objectively I know a baby is happy news. But why does it make me feel so awful?



“Maybe it could be fun. To have a little sister or brother,” he offers. “Especially since you’re an only child—”

“My dad and I don’t speak. And I’ve never even met his girlfriend,” I cut in, hoping he’ll drop it.

And he does.



The gym is empty except for me and Renner, who is currently outside grabbing the decor from the van. School doesn’t start for another hour.

I’m brainstorming how I’ll assign the tasks when everyone else arrives when my phone vibrates again.

Dad: I forgot to add on the phone, Alexandra wants to know what your favorite color is. She wants to have the spare room painted this weekend.

As I read the text, my brain pummels me with images of children being hugged and adored by their dads. I fumble for the wall behind me.

Feeling faint, I starfish down on the mat and cover my face with my hands. My cheeks are wet and my fingers blacken with mascara. The sight of my hands ignites a full-body sob.

Through my tears, I vaguely make out Renner hauling an old, rickety ladder from the storage room. He comes to an abrupt stop when he sees me.

“I—uhm . . . I can go, if you want?”

I eye him warily, not bothering to sit up. With one hand, Renner gives me three awkward pats on the shoulder. He wouldn’t dare touch me unless I were in dire straits, which only makes the whole situation feel even more pathetic. The last thing I need is pity comfort from J. T. Renner. He’s seen far too much of my life today.

When my tears return, he leaves the gym. For a moment, I assume he’s left entirely. But he returns with a handful of one-ply toilet paper from the bathroom and drops it in my lap.



“Thanks,” I manage before blowing my nose.

He props the ladder and stands over me. “Can I help you up?”

“I guess so.”

His mouth curls disarmingly and he tugs me by the arm without an ounce of delicacy, pulling me into a reluctant standing position. We’re mere inches from each other, almost chest to chest. I don’t think I’ve ever been so close to Renner. Two hits of his lemony scent and I’m stable on my feet.