One and Only Boxed Set

by Melanie Harlow

  I have a daughter.

  She’s eight weeks old.

  Her name is Paisley.

  I swayed forward.

  Is Paisley even a name?

  I thought it was a tie pattern.

  I prefer stripes.

  Something was wrong with my legs.

  “Well?”

  I looked up from the letter to find Emme staring at me intently. “Is it true? Is the baby yours?”

  “Yes,” I said, my voice cracking, my world cracking. “I think she is.”

  And then I fucking fainted.

  Three

  Emme

  “Oh my God! Nate!”

  His eyes had rolled back in his head, his knees had buckled, and he’d dropped forward in a heap, his upper body slumped over the car seat. I hurried over to him and knelt by his side.

  “Nate. Hey, wake up.” Hitching the baby over to one arm, I slapped his face a few times, not too hard, but not too gently either.

  He moaned and his eyes fluttered open.

  “Nate, can you hear me?”

  “Yeah.” He blinked a few times and sat back on his heels. “What happened?”

  “You fainted.”

  He looked distressed. “No, I didn’t.”

  I bit my tongue—he had so fainted—and took his hand, helping him to his feet and then leading him over to the couch. “Here, sit down. Do you need some water?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.” He scratched his head, which left a few pieces sticking up in the back. His eyes were still dazed, and he was sitting in a way I had never seen him sit before, sort of slouched over, defeated. He looked like he’d been hit by a bus.

  “I’ll get you some water,” I said, heading for the kitchen. The baby was finally quiet in my arms, as if distracted by the show. I found a glass in a cupboard, threw a few ice cubes in it, and filled it from the water dispenser in the freezer door.

  Part of me simply couldn’t believe it. Nate didn’t seem like the kind of guy this could happen to—he was too clever, too together, too lucky. Another part of me wondered if, when you had as much casual sex as Nate did, your luck was bound to run out at some point.

  I looked down at the baby in my arms. Her expression seemed to mirror Nate’s—a mix of befuddlement, anger, and fear. I searched for a resemblance and thought I found one in the shape of her big gray-blue eyes. Holy shit, maybe she really was his daughter.

  Back in the living room, I handed him the water and watched as he downed the entire glass without taking a breath. Then he lowered it to his lap and stared at the baby, blinking repeatedly as if he thought maybe he’d imagined the whole thing and she simply wouldn’t be there when he opened his eyes.

  “Are you okay?” I perched at the other end of the couch, but as soon as I sat still the baby started to fuss, so I stood up again and started twisting at the waist from side to side—one of my old nanny tricks for calming a fussy baby.

  “I’m fine,” Nate said, but it came out as more of a whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m fine.”

  “Okay. But you should stay seated. Sometimes after you faint, you—”

  His brow furrowed. “I didn’t faint. I tripped, that’s all. On that thing.” He gestured toward the car seat.

  Again, I bit my tongue. “So what did the letter say?”

  But Nate didn’t answer. Instead he stared straight ahead, murmuring something that sounded like this can’t be happening to me. When it was obvious he wasn’t going to tell me anything, I went over to where the note had slipped from his hand when he’d “tripped” and scooped it up off the floor, which wasn’t easy while holding a baby in my arms. Planting my feet wide, I had to do sort of a grande plié, keeping my back upright and blindly reaching for it with my free hand. I made a mental note to thank Maren for dragging me with her to ballet class all those years.

  I read the letter a few times, and found my heart beating faster each time through. “Holy shit, Nate. You’ve got a daughter.”

  He finally looked at me. “I changed my mind. I’m not fine. I’m dying.”

  “You’re not dying.”

  “I am. My life is flashing before my eyes.”

  “You’re not dying.” I glanced at the letter once more. “You’re just…a dad.”

  He groaned and clutched his stomach. “Don’t say that word.”

  “Fine, I won’t. But I think it might be true.” I put the letter on a table near the door, right next to Nate’s keys. “Who’s Rachel?”

  Nate sighed, his eyes closing a moment. “She’s a woman I met at a tax law seminar last year.”

  “Met?”

  Nate pressed his lips together. “Slept with.”

  “At a tax law seminar?”

  “The seminar was boring. She had a hotel room.”

  I nodded, ignoring the quick dart of jealousy, the same one I sometimes felt when I saw women leaving his apartment in the morning. It made even less sense right now. “And was that”—I did some quick math—“roughly eleven months ago?”

  He nodded slowly without meeting my eyes.

  “And you weren’t careful?”

  “Of course I was careful,” he scoffed. “I’m always careful.”

  “Right. Well, you’ll forgive my confusion as I seem to be holding evidence to the contrary in my arms.”

  At that Nate jumped off the couch and began to pace back and forth in front of the window, grabbing onto fistfuls of his hair with both hands. “No. This can’t be. I protected myself.”

  “Everyone gets carried away sometimes, Nate.”

  “Maybe you do, but I don’t. Never. Not once. I’m always in control. Always.” He stopped pacing and looked at me, his eyes bloodshot and glassy, his hair a disaster. The muscles in his neck flexed as he swallowed hard. “I wore a condom every time. I know I did, because I always do. It’s a rule.”

  “No form of birth control is one hundred percent effective.”

  He opened his mouth like he was going to argue, but then closed it.

  “Unless you think she’s lying…” I challenged.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Did she seem like the kind of person who’d make this up? I mean, she’s a lawyer too, right? She’d know paternity could be legally proven or disproven with a test.”

  He exhaled, his shoulders slumping. “I know. You’re right. It’s… She’s…” He braved a glance at the baby in my arms. “She’s more than likely mine. I just…can’t believe this is happening.”

  I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. A lot of guys like Nate—especially lawyers—would probably be screaming get me a paternity test right the fuck now! He didn’t need someone to scold him or shame him or be judgmental—he needed a friend. He needed a voice of reason. He needed confidence.

  And frankly, I needed to see a man step up and be a man. It couldn’t all be a fantasy.

  “What am I going to do?” he moaned, dropping onto the couch again, holding his head in his hands.

  “You’re going to take care of her until her mother comes back,” I said firmly, taking a seat next to him.

  “When’s that going to be?”

  “I’m not sure, she didn’t say. But I can’t imagine more than a day or so.”

  “I know I’m an asshole for this, but I don’t want a baby, Emme. Not even for a day or so, even if she is mine.”

  I kept trying. “What you want doesn’t really matter. She’s here.”

  Nate looked at his daughter. “I am the least qualified person in the universe to parent a child.”

  “What makes you so unqualified? You’ve got money. A good job. A place to live.”

  “That’s economics, not parenting. I’ve never wanted kids. I know nothing about taking care of them, especially a girl. And a baby? Forget it.” He stood up suddenly, fisted his hands at his sides, and stared down at me. “You have to take her.”

  I shook my head and stood up too. “No way, Nate. I’m not taking her. She’s your daughter.
”

  “God, this is such a nightmare.” Nate yanked on his hair and started pacing again. “What the fuck was Rachel thinking? Why didn’t she tell me? I could’ve…could’ve…”

  “Could’ve what?” I asked. “What would you have told her to do?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  “Maybe she was scared of your reaction. Maybe she didn’t want to tell you because she thought you wouldn’t handle it well.”

  “I’d have handled it fine!” he yelled. “Because I’d have been prepared for this insanity, and not fucking blindsided!”

  “Okay, okay.” Paisley had started to fuss again. “Lower your voice. Look, let’s focus on moving forward. Do you have contact information for Rachel? A cell phone number, or an email address?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Do you know what firm she works for?”

  “No.”

  “She was staying at a hotel, so is she from out of state?”

  “I don’t think so. She might be from Kalamazoo. Or Battle Creek? Somewhere in the middle.”

  “How about a last name?” I was sort of kidding, so I was stunned when he shook his head again. “Jesus, Nate.” I switched Paisley to my other arm and forgot not to be judgy. “You might think I date assholes, and maybe I do, but I at least know their last names and how to find them.”

  “That’s because you’re a little girl living in a fantasy world,” he shot back. “You think every guy you have sex with is going to be your future husband. You think an orgasm is the equivalent of an engagement ring. Some of us exercise a little more restraint, because we are mature adults and understand that sometimes a fuck is just a fuck.”

  My nostrils flared. I no longer felt sorry for him. In fact, I kind of felt like punching him. “Wow,” I said, blinking. “I’m immature?”

  “Yes,” he snapped, although he looked a little less sure of himself.

  “I’m immature, and yet it’s you refusing to face the consequences of your mature adult actions.” I mocked his deep voice. “Well, guess what? Sometimes a fuck isn’t just a fuck, Nate. And if you were really the alpha male you pretend to be, you’d take responsibility for this like a grown-ass man and not fall apart like the ridiculous boy I see in front of me. But then again, maybe you’re just like the rest of them—all talk. Shame on me for thinking differently about you.” With that, I shoved the baby into his arms, made sure he was holding onto her, and headed for the door. “Good luck, pal,” I called over my shoulder. “You’re gonna need it.”

  I let myself into my apartment and allowed the door to slam noisily behind me. Then I stood there, arms crossed over my chest, wondering if leaving that baby alone with Nate was akin to child abuse, or at the very least, neglect. Was she all right with him? Would he know how to feed her tonight? Change her? Get her to sleep? Would he even try, or would he just take her to the fire station and hand her over because he saw that in a movie once? I bet he wouldn’t even show them the letter. He’d say he found her somewhere. What an asshole.

  Closing my eyes, I inhaled and exhaled slowly. I couldn’t help being disappointed in Nate. It would almost be laughable, if there weren’t a child involved. Nate was always scolding me for trusting too easily or believing a guy to be something more than he really was, leading me to believe he held himself to a higher standard, but here it was Nate letting me down. I didn’t even really understand why. He had never made a secret of the fact that he wasn’t husband/father material, but somehow he had seemed like he was made of better stuff. The kind of guy who would step the fuck up. The kind of guy you called in a crisis, because he would be there for you. A gentleman. A hero. A real man.

  Maybe I should be glad he’s just like the rest of them. It’s not like he was anything more than a friend to me, anyway.

  So why did this feel so shitty?

  A knock on my door. I walked toward it slowly. “Yes?” I called out warily. I could hear the baby fussing on the other side.

  “I’m sorry. Please open the door, Emme.”

  That was fast. “Sorry for what?”

  “For what I said.”

  “You just want my help with the baby.”

  “No! I mean, yes, I do want your help, but I’m really, really sorry. I was angry with myself and I took it out on you.”

  Huh. That was actually acceptable, if he meant it. I opened the door a crack.

  His expression was contrite. “I’m sorry. I was…in shock.” He stood up taller, thrust his chest out. “But I’m man enough to handle this, dammit. I’m all fucking man.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Yes.” His posture drooped slightly. “I just…need a little help getting started. Will you come back over?”

  I considered it. Part of me was still upset about what he’d said, and I’ve never been particularly quick to forgive (it’s something Maren says I need to work on), but I liked his apology, and considering how often he helped me out, I definitely owed him. “Okay,” I agreed.

  He exhaled with relief, his eyes closing. “Thank God.”

  Back in his apartment, I picked up the diaper bag from the floor and brought it over to the coffee table. “Look in there for a bottle and her formula.”

  “Her formula for what?”

  “Infant formula. It’s what you put in her bottle. What she eats. It will be a powder you mix with water.”

  He shook his head. “How do you know all this?”

  “I used to be a nanny during summers home from college. It was great money, and it was under the table. But it was a lot of work, and you’ve got a lot to learn, so let’s get started. Find the bottle.” I took the baby from his arms. “And she probably needs to be changed.”

  All the color—what was left of it, anyway—drained from Nate’s face. “You mean…her diaper needs to be changed?”

  “Yes. See if there’s a changing pad or blanket in the bag.”

  He gave me a deer-in-the-headlights look but sat on the couch and did as I asked, removing some diapers, a box of wipes, a pacifier new in the case (which he looked at as if he’d never seen such a thing before) and a large can of formula, before rooting around in the bottom of the bag. He pulled out a couple burp cloths, a few pairs of pajamas, and a stuffed bear before finally locating a pink and white striped flannel blanket. “This?”

  “Spread it out on the couch,” I said.

  “The couch?” His expression was shocked. “This is a really nice couch, Emme.”

  “Jesus, Nate. The couch is the last thing you should be concerned about.”

  He swallowed hard, all the muscles in his neck flexing. “Right.” He unfolded the blanket and laid it across the leather cushion, then stood up and moved out of the way, as if he expected me to sit down and do it.

  “Uh uh. You’re going to change her,” I told him. I maneuvered Paisley from the crook of my arm into my hands and held her out, facing him.

  “Me!” From his expression you’d have thought I asked him to breastfeed her. “I can’t do that.”

  “Yes, you can, all-fucking-man. Take her. Put her on the blanket.”

  Nate pressed his lips together, inhaled through his nose, and reached for her. His hands covered mine beneath her arms. They were warm and solid and when I knew he had her, I took my hands away. For a moment he held her away from his body and studied her, and she looked back at him without making a sound or moving a muscle. Then she started to kick her feet, and he quickly sat down and gently laid her on her back. “I did it.” He exhaled with relief.

  “Good job,” I told him, dropping down to my knees to make sure she didn’t roll right off the couch. “But you have to keep a hand on her unless she’s on the floor because she could squirm around and fall off.”

  He looked alarmed, and placed a palm over her belly, his fingers stretched wide. His hand looked gigantic on her little body. “Like this?”

  “Yes. Now get her legs out of her pajamas.”

  “How am I supposed to do that wit
h one hand on her stomach?”

  “You can use two hands, Nate. You just sort of have to keep contact with her at all times.” He looked nervous, so I touched him on the wrist. “Hey. You can do this.”

  We didn’t usually touch each other in reassuring ways—mostly it was just to prod at each other when we were joking around or arguing. Maybe that’s why Nate stared at my fingertips against his skin for a few heartbeats. “Okay.”

  With my coaching, he managed to get her legs out of her pajamas, unsnap her onesie, and remove the wet diaper. I took pity on him and rolled it up, showing him how to tape it shut in a little ball. Next, I instructed him to hold her ankles in one hand, lift up gently, and slide the new diaper beneath her. He bit his lip and concentrated hard. “Jesus, her legs are so small. Her ankles are about as big around as my fingers. Are you sure I’m not hurting her?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Because she doesn’t look like she likes this too much.”

  “No baby likes getting her diaper changed, but they like being wet even less, so keep going. You’re doing fine, except you have to open up the diaper before you get it beneath her. Also, you placed it upside down. You have to make sure the opening is at the top and the tabs are on the bottom.”

  His eyes met mine. “I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

  I smiled. “You’ll figure it out.”

  He exhaled in frustration but pulled the diaper out from beneath her, flipped it around, opened it up, checked the tabs, and pushed it underneath her little bottom all with one hand, still holding her by the ankles with the other. Then he looked at me. “Like this?”

  “Yes, good job. The rest is easy. Let go of her legs, fold the top part up, peel back the tabs, and secure the sticky parts to the front.”

  He did as I instructed, but the diaper was way too loose when he was done. I reached over and tightened up the tabs. “You want to make sure it’s snug enough, otherwise it will leak. Now get her legs back in her pajamas and snap them up.”

  It took him a while, mostly because he was so tentative with her and she was so squirmy, but he managed. By the time her jammies were done up again, he was sweating. “Damn. It’s hot in here, isn’t it?”