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.
He swallows the food down in a large gulp. “Win, there’s something I think I should tell you…” Bo picks up another pastry, clearing the plate at a record-breaking speed.
I decide that he’s a nervous eater once he throws the final pastry back whole and struggles with it until he swallows and takes a sip of coffee after to wash it down.
“Things in my life were not going according to plan a few years back, and I didn’t…” He glances from side to side, appearing as if he’d rather crawl out of his skin than say whatever’s next. It’s now that I notice he barely fits in the café’s chair, his frame overtaking it. For someone so physically large, he appears so small right now. He’s shrunken in on himself, his face younger than before. When he finally stops fighting it, he rolls his neck and sits up straighter, his chest rising on a considerably long breath.
“I had cancer,” he says abruptly. “Bone cancer. Stage three. I was diagnosed shortly after my twenty-eighth birthday and had my surgery last October. It was a—it has been a dark time for me. I didn’t freeze my sperm before treatment. I didn’t think I’d be around to use it, and I didn’t think I’d want to. I had just gotten out of a relationship, and it all felt pretty hopeless.”
“Oh,” I say, startled. “I’m so sorry, I…” My voice fades away to nothing. What is there to say? Nothing useful. Nothing that could possibly capture how much I wish he hadn’t had to go through that.
I attempt to slot cancer into the timeline I’ve begun crafting in my head, filled with mostly useless information from Caleb. I realise that this would be around the time of the sudden engagement and subsequent breakup with Cora.
I drag my eyes up from the corner of the table toward his face. “Bo, I am so—”
“I just… I didn’t think this was possible,” he interrupts, wiping a tear from the apex of his cheek. His smile-risen cheek. “Shit, sorry,” he says, coughing. “I just…”
This is a much bigger conversation than I planned for. My heart breaks for the man across from me and yet feels put back together at once. Relieved by the promising, wonder-struck expression in his features.
I reach across the table, placing my hand against his elbow. When he feels my touch, he removes his hand from his face and moves to hold my hand instead, bringing my wrist to his mouth and pressing his lips to my pulse point.
It’s not sexual at all. It’s for the purpose of giving and receiving comfort. It’s because neither of us knows what to say next.
“I’m going to be honest. I was not expecting happy tears,” I say, half joking, trying my best to give him a reassuring smile as he drops our hands to the table between us.
Bo’s laugh is bittersweet. “Neither was I.” He clears his throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make this about me.”
“I had my star-of-the-show moment at the doctor’s office. And every day since,” I say.
“You seem… calm?” he asks, sort of.
“Um, yeah. I think I am. I feel okay. When I’m not throwing up. I was really scared about telling you, actually, but other than that, I feel weirdly at peace about it all. I’ve always wanted a kid; I just didn’t think it would be this unplanned.”
He nods, studying me as if he’s memorising my words. It’s too much. Almost. Him staring as if I hold the answer to this predicament of ours. “Plus, as far as baby daddies go, mine has pretty good DNA,” I say, putting the attention back on him as I remove my hand from his and place it back onto my lap.
“Minus the cancer,” he says meekly, his eyes holding on me like an apology is being whispered between us.
Then it dawns on me. The reason for his far-off look earlier—his uncertainty about being able to commit to every future stage. “Are you still sick?” I ask cautiously, my heart in my throat.
“No. I’m not. I get tested every few months, and it’s been clear for over a year now. But—” He breathes in through his teeth, shuffling in his chair. “There’s always the chance it could come back somewhere else.”
Nausea rises again.
“I’m sorry,” he says with a tilted, uneasy frown. “I know that a guarantee would be nice.”
“No, Bo… Don’t.” I shake my head that’s hanging between us. “There’s no guarantee for any of us. We just have to do the best with the time we’ve got,” I say, tilting up to look at him.
His nose twitches, along with his lips, an unexpected grin appearing. “We’re speaking in clichés now, huh?” he teases.
I scoff, despite my own smile growing. “Shut up,” I whisper, laughing. “Sorry. There’s no finding-out-your-surprise-baby-daddy-had-cancer how-to guide. I don’t know what to do here. I thought I’d be the one with all the juicy news today.”
“No, I appreciate it,” he says with no sincerity, “try adding something like there’s a reason for everything.”
I roll my eyes.
“Ooh! Or you’re so brave—I always liked that one.”
“You know, actually, this was all an elaborate ruse. I’m not pregnant. I’ll be on my way.” I cross my arms, leaning back in my chair and smirking.
“No?” he asks. “Wow, you are full of surprises.”
“I was just bored, you know? Figured maybe I could get a free cup of coffee out of it. But it’s not worth it. You’re far too annoying.”
He licks his lips. The mischievous gleam in his eye tells me he’s thinking of his next quip. I wait impatiently, remembering how fun this rapport between us is. Then he blinks and shakes himself, wiping the expression from his face entirely.
“When did you find out?” he asks softly.
Oh, right. I suppose we’ve got more important things to discuss.
“Last week. The baby is due July twenty-fourth.” I look at the emptied plate between us, covered in sugar dust and crumbs. “And I have an ultrasound booked for next Friday.”