“I think we should talk.” Her face softens and she reaches for me, running a hand down my cheek. “You look tired.”
I turn my head and her hands drops. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere else right now? Portland, Dallas, Seattle?”
“Denver, actually.” She exhales slowly. “I canceled my meeting. This is important. We are important.”
“I thought you got everything off your chest yesterday.”
Jenna glances out into the dark street. “Can we discuss this inside?”
Nobody is there, not that I know of anyway, but she’s right. We don’t need a public scene.
She follows me in, saying “I didn’t want to use my key. Not after…yesterday. It didn’t feel right.”
I go straight for the kitchen and pull open the fridge. After pushing aside some stuff, I locate leftovers and begin to eat them cold.
“Do you want me to warm those up for you?” Jenna’s watching me from the entrance.
“No thanks.” I take another bite. Cold lasagna isn’t good, but I’m too starved to care.
“Isaac, please. Look at me.” She comes closer, stopping a few feet from me.
“Why are you here?” I set the plate on the counter and give her what she has asked for.
“To tell you that I want to try. I changed my mind.” She folds her hands in front of herself. “I was in shock yesterday and I reacted badly. I’m sorry about what I said. Really.”
She steps lightly until she’s next to me. Her hand goes to my shoulder. “Isaac?”
“I heard you,” I say.
“Then what do you think?”
Looking down at Jenna, I can’t help but think about the mistakes people make. Everyone’s allowed to have a bad reaction, right? I wasn’t expecting it to be pretty, anyway.
Well, here goes nothing. Trial by fire.
“I’m having dinner with Claire and Aubrey tomorrow night. Do you want to come?”
I’m really happy Britt stopped by my desk this afternoon. I needed this drink. I didn’t realize how wound up I was until I set my purse down and ordered my first fruity cocktail. With every sip of my pineapple mojito, it feels like my shoulders drop an inch from my ears. And it helps I don’t have to worry about Claire. My dad picked her up from school and is probably letting her eat and watch whatever she wants.
“How was your date?” I ask Britt, smashing mint leaves into the bottom of my glass with my straw.
She finishes eating the cherry from her Dirty Shirley and looks at me, perplexed. “Which one?”
Britt dates for the both of us. That’s our running joke anyway. She’s weeding through the candidates so I don’t have to. It’s very pseudo-altruistic of her.
I laugh at her confusion. “The one you went on last week.”
“Oh.” Her face sours. “Awful. Terrible. He wore socks.”
“And that’s bad because…?”
“He was also wearing sandals.”
My nose scrunches.
“Yep.” Britt says, her voice grave.
“Do you think he has sex with his socks on?” My shoulders shake as I sip my drink.
Britt pretends to vomit in her mouth. “What if he has sex with his socks and sandals on?”
I shut my eyes and shake my head, hoping maybe that will make the vivid images fly from my mind.
“Let’s stop talking about that guy.” She puts a finger in her mouth and sticks out her tongue. “Tell me more about you. Tell me more about Claire. You sent me a message when you were in the emergency room with her, and then I didn’t hear much else. How is she?”
“She’s good. Really good. She went through her surgery and then… she’s fine.” I stall, taking a sip of my drink.
Britt gives me the kind of look someone who’s being evasive should receive. “Feel free to tell me more than that. I’m her godmother. I sent her an obscenely huge cookie bouquet.”
My eyes narrow. “Thanks for that. She can’t do anything physical to release pent-up energy, and she’s nearly bouncing off the walls from sugar overload. Between you and my dad, who can’t seem to tell her no, I think she might combust.”
“You. Are. Welcome.” Britt tosses back the remainder of her drink. “I’m really sorry I couldn’t be there for you. I was in San Diego and—”
“Don’t be sorry. If you were in town I would’ve expected you, but you weren’t. I had my dad. And…” I take a deep, noisy breath. Britt is going to lose her shit in about two seconds. “I had Claire’s father.”
“What!” Britt smacks her hand on the table. I don’t need to look around to confirm that people are staring. I can feel their interested gazes.
“You had Claire’s father?” Her voice is opposite now. A shocked whisper.
“He was the surgeon who repaired her fracture.” I fall quiet, giving the words time to sink in.
“Wha…What?” She shakes her head.
Saying it out loud makes it sound even crazier. “Apparently he specializes in pediatric orthopedic surgery. I didn’t know it was a thing, but it is. Not all surgeons will work on children. But he does. So…yeah.”
“So he showed up and you guys were like, hey I know you? Does he know about Claire?” Her voice turns lower, like it’s a secret from the people around us.
“We recognized each other right away. He looks just like he did that night.” Maybe even better. “And, yes, he knows Claire is his. He figured it out on his own.” I recount the story of Isaac showing up at my house Saturday night, and his visit yesterday, all to the gasps and head-shakes of my best friend.
“Ho-ly shit.” Britt tips her head to the ceiling and takes a deep breath.
“I know.”
She levels her gaze back onto me. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Go along with it. I’m sure he wants custody. Shared, probably. He’s super into the idea of being a dad. He wants her.” It was clearly visible on his face the day before. The way his eyes softened when he looked at her, the words he spoke to me when he left. She’s the best person I’ve ever met. “Part of me feels bad, you know, because he missed out on the last four years. But I tried. I tried to find him. I just…it’s not like there was much to go on.”
“And how do you feel about all this?”
“Scared. Nervous.” I stir the straw in my drink. “She’s my everything. And I’ve never had to share her.”
“Do you want to know what I think?”
“Sure.”
Britt pushes aside her empty drink and levels her serious gaze on me. “You’re an incredible mom. Even better than my own. And she’s amazing. I know you’re going to figure this out.”
I give her a lopsided grin. “That’s sweet but do you have anything more impactful? Like a how-to book?”
“I don’t think there are instruction manuals on how to manage your baby daddy who didn’t know he was one.”
I groan. “Don’t say baby daddy. It sounds vulgar. And Isaac is the opposite of the image those words conjure.”
“Really?” Britt wiggles her eyebrows. “Do tell.”
Images of Isaac in scrubs comes first, closely followed by the white T-shirt he wore yesterday. “If it’s possible, he looks better. Aging five years agreed with him.”
“It’s hard to imagine Isaac looking better. He was delicious back then. Are you three going to become a happy little family?” She claps her hands together excitedly.
I shake my head. “He’s getting married next year. June.” The thought makes me sad, even though I have no right to be.
“That’s a long time from now.” She counts quickly on her fingers. “Fourteen months, to be exact. What did his fiancée have to say when she learned about you and Claire?”
“He didn’t say. I don’t know if he’s told her yet. It’s kind of a lot to tell a person.”
“True. Do you know when you’re going to see him again?”
“Tomorrow night. Claire asked to see him.” Just the thought of having dinner with Isaac s
ends my stomach into a tightly wound ball of nerves.
Britt taps her index finger on the center of her bottom lip. “Don’t lose sight of your dream just yet, Aubrey. You may get that happily ever after.”
“I don’t dream of happily ever after, Britt. You know that. It’s not in the cards for me. It never has been.” Yearning for something impossible is foolish.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m realistic.”
“Is this where I’m supposed to say something like ‘Open yourself up to love’s possibilities’?”
“Please don’t.”
Britt studies me. Her lips pull and twitch like she wants to say something.
“What?”
“Of all the hospitals in all the towns, you walk into his…”
I throw up my hands. “No more Casablanca for you. And no more romanticizing this. It’s coincidence. That’s all. Make it into a math problem.” I hold out my hands, gesturing with my left first. “In Phoenix there are x-number of orthopedic surgeons who do pediatrics and y-number of children who need surgery. Your answer is the likelihood each child has of ending up with each surgeon. Done.”
“Call it a math problem if it helps you make sense of everything.” She pats my shoulder. “Do what Aubrey needs to do to get through it.”
“I need a subject change, please. This development in my life has been stuck on a loop in my mind, and I need to talk about something else.”
We discuss Britt’s parents and their move to a new house better suited for being empty nesters, but I’m only partially listening. Britt’s words struck a nerve. Do what Aubrey needs to do to get through it.
Is there something else I’m supposed to be doing?
The butterflies in my stomach have increased throughout the day, growing and stretching, until I wonder if their wings are made of acid.
Work was hell. I sat at my desk and pictured all the disastrous endings this dinner will probably have.
I’m sure he’s bringing his fiancée. He didn’t mention it, but why wouldn’t he? It has to happen one day.
Stopped at a red light, I poke my fingers through my gold hoop earrings, fiddle with the shoe strap around my ankle, check my lipstick in the rearview mirror, look back at Claire. We’re almost to the restaurant.
Isaac called earlier this afternoon and offered to pick us up, but when I asked him if he had a car seat, he laughed.
“Right,” he’d said. “I’d better get one of those.”
Then he asked if Claire would like to go to an upscale arcade, a place with a bowling alley, billiards room, and restaurant.
When I asked him about her ability to play one-armed, he laughed again. Apparently, Isaac thinks this whole situation is great. He spends every moment of his life smiling or laughing. It baffles me.
I pull into a spot, get out, and unbuckle Claire. She hops out with a wide grin on her face.
“Is he here yet?” Her shiny eyes hold no reservation. She’s one hundred percent excited, one hundred percent happy, one hundred percent into Isaac.
“Let’s go find out.” I offer her my hand and she takes it.
We find Isaac waiting out front for us. And he’s alone.
“Hello, ladies.” Isaac bends down and slaps a high five with Claire. He straightens and looks at me. His lips form a line until a slow opening in the center makes them peel apart. His eye dance with unspoken words.
What is he holding back?
“Thanks for inviting me out,” he says, and I feel very certain that’s not what he was thinking just now.
My weight shifts to my other foot. “Claire really wanted to see you again.”
“Right.” He nods. “Well, Claire, are you ready to have some fun?”
“Yeah!” she yells, one fist in the air.
“Can I have fun too?”
My head snaps around to the voice. A woman’s voice. A tall, casually dressed but immaculately well-kept woman. Who has stopped at Isaac’s side and woven her arm through his.
Isaac glances at me. I hope I’ve rearranged my expression into something that passes as kind. Whatever emotion was on there, it wasn’t something I wanted him seeing.
“Aubrey and Claire, this is my friend Jenna.”
Jenna smiles at us and waves hello, but keeps her position beside Isaac. Her posture is stiff, but looking at her face you'd think she’s not at all nervous.
Isaac does his best to keep it from becoming more awkward than it already is. Thank god for Claire, who keeps us all from having to spend too much time faking conversation.
We follow her from game to game, watching. She squeals when she tries to smack the rodent that keeps popping up from different holes, and it’s quickly apparent that one-handed basketball shooting is not where her talents lie. She wastes a majority of the tokens Isaac has given her to get candy from the machine with the grabber.
“I can’t believe you’ve never brought her here,” Isaac says as he hands our menus to the server after we’ve placed an order for food. Jenna sits across from Claire, leaving Isaac to sit opposite me.
I grab a rogue crayon from beneath our table and hand it back to Claire. She’s wired from the four pieces of candy she gobbled before I took away the rest and hid it in my purse. Her coloring is more scribbling, as she uses the hand that sticks out from her cast to steady the paper and her good hand to draw a rainbow. Whenever her casted arm moves on the wooden table top, it makes a scratchy sound.
“Honestly, a place like this is full of germs.” I take my little travel bottle of hand sanitizer from my purse and spritz it on Claire’s hands, then rub it in for her.
“Safety first.” Isaac smirks. Beside him Jenna has a frozen smile on her face. She has no idea what he’s referencing.
I narrow my eyes. “Single mother, fewer sick days.”
Isaac stares at me, his mouth a straight line. After a few seconds, he says, “What about John? Hasn’t he been a big help?”
“My dad has been amazing. Without him, I can’t imagine how I would’ve done it. And I’m sure if I asked him to, he would call in sick to work and take care of her. But I’d rather avoid having to ask by eliminating the possibility.”
“When did you move in with him?” Isaac sits back, laying his arm across the top of the booth. Jenna sits back too, her posture relaxed for the first time all night.
“How do you know he doesn’t live with me?” Eyebrows raised, I fish a piece of ice from my drink and pop it in my mouth.
Isaac gives me his own raised eyebrows. “So you chose the bear rug mounted on your wall?”
Isaac’s right—the house is all Dad. “Is that what gave it away?”
“That and the sets of antlers on the shelf in the hallway.”
“Oh?”
Isaac leans forward, his face playful. “I put it together with the bumper sticker on the back of his big truck. ‘I’d rather be hunting.’”
“It was either that or ‘I like big bucks and I cannot lie.’” I bite the tip of my finger to keep from laughing.
Isaac’s eyebrows draw together. “A buck is a…?”
“Male deer.”
“Of course.” Isaac laughs when he says it, because he so clearly knows nothing about my dad’s number-one pastime. Jenna laughs politely.
“To answer your question, I moved in with him shortly after I found out I was expecting Claire. The lease on my apartment was almost up, and I needed help. I had a year left of college and my job at the campus juice bar didn’t quite leave me swimming in money.”
“And now?”
“Now what?”
“Now what do you do? For a job, I mean.”
My eyebrows pull together. Is this an interview? For what? Annoyance flares when I realize what he’s doing. He’s making sure Claire is well-cared for.
I tell myself it’s a good thing he cares that much. But still, I’m offended. Claire’s the gravity that keeps me in place, the only person capable of warming my cold heart. My body has been so
re more times than I can count as I played the role of sentinel, keeping watch beside a sleeping Claire’s crib, certain that at any moment she would stop breathing. I soldiered through my final semester, taking off only one week after delivering Claire, because I couldn’t get a job without a college degree, and if I wanted to provide for Claire, I needed to graduate.
I want to tell Isaac I know what he’s doing, and I intend to, but when I open my mouth, I remember the little girl beside me in the booth, listening to every word, her brain moving faster than ours. I can’t ruin this night for her. I want her to think of Isaac and see butterflies and rainbows and whatever else symbolizes her happiness. She deserves that much.
“I’m an underwriter. At Bridgewater Insurance. Do you remember—?” I cut myself off when he starts laughing. “Did I miss the joke?” I glance at Jenna, but she looks as clueless as me.
His laughter fades, but the smirk is still there. “Your job… It’s fitting. For you, I mean.”
My head drops on one side. “How so?”
“Isaac, can you let me out please? I need to visit the ladies room.” Jenna looks at him expectantly, her purse in her grip.
Isaac slides out and Jenna follows. He tries to say something to her but she sails away. He stares at her for a long moment before sitting back down.
“You evaluate risk for a living,” he says, like the conversation never skipped a beat. “That’s funny, considering your aversion to risk.” He’s even smiling while he’s talking, like his lips only know how to form smiles, and smiles upon words, and smiles upon smiles, and smile smile smile smile smile.
To busy my hands and give me a reason to look away, I join Claire in her coloring. Glancing at our daughter, I say, "Apparently I’m not that risk averse.”
“Do you check your weather app before you get dressed?” Isaac drums his fingertips on the tabletop.
My crayon stills as I watch the rhythm he creates. Those hands have been on me. Running through my hair, hastily unfastening my bra, digging into my hips. And those hands have performed surgery on my daughter. Pushed two pins into her arm, where they still are and will remain for the next eight weeks.
Our Finest Hour (The Time Series Book 1) Page 8