Only You
Page 11
So you had to be vigilant if you wanted to protect yourself. And I was. I did. I had hardened my heart to the point where nothing and nobody could get to me. I’d never fallen in love. I’d never been tempted to get married. And I’d certainly never planned on being a father. I know some guys who think spreading their seed is the ultimate act of manhood, but fuck that. As far as I was concerned, my seed could stay in the vault where it belonged. Maybe I’d get a vasectomy after this; that is, if having a baby didn’t ruin my sex life forever.
I looked over at Emme.
Her breathing was deep and slow. She’d rolled over and was facing the other direction, but her long hair was trailing over toward my pillow. It smelled so fucking good—like cake or something. Every now and again, she mumbled something that I couldn’t make out, but it almost made me smile. Ten bucks says she’s arguing with me, even in her sleep. Thank God she’d agreed to stay here tonight—I’d never wanted a woman to spend the night so badly, and there wasn’t even sex involved.
And it was fucking surreal to think that Rachel and I had created a life during our marathon, whiskey-fueled sexcapade last year. Part of me still couldn’t believe it. What were the odds? Weren’t condoms like ninety-nine percent effective when used properly? How had I fucked that up? Was the condom defective? Or did I have some sort of bionic sperm that was able to penetrate latex? For a moment, I felt kind of proud of my herculean swimmers, but the feeling quickly vanished when I remembered the end result.
Speaking of which, she hadn’t made any noise in a while.
My heart started to pound and I immediately checked to see that she was breathing. She was perfectly fine, but something in me couldn’t believe I hadn’t fucked up yet. How the hell did people do this? Were you supposed to just go to sleep and trust you’d wake up if your baby needed something? What if you were a sound sleeper? I wasn’t, not particularly, but what if I was? And how could she be comfortable in that thing, all strapped in that way? I’d have unbuckled her, except then I would’ve been scared about her falling out somehow. So far, parenting seemed to me like nothing but worry, panic, doubt, and guilt. Why the fuck would anyone choose this? I certainly hadn’t. And I didn’t want it.
But like Emme said, what I wanted no longer mattered.
“Everything okay?” Emme whispered behind me.
I turned to see her propped up on one elbow. “Yeah. Just checking on her.”
She put her head down again and lay facing me. “What a good dad.”
I rolled to face her too, bunching my pillow beneath my head. “I have no fucking idea how to be a good dad.”
“You don’t have to have all the answers tonight, Nate. Give yourself some time.”
“What if Rachel doesn’t come back?”
“Then you’ll find her. And in the meantime—” she reached out and took my hand—“you’re not alone. Okay?”
“Okay.” I squeezed her hand. “Thanks.”
She closed her eyes and fell back asleep, and I thought about how lucky I was to have her as my friend. How peaceful she looked in her sleep. How pretty she was. How she’d left her hand nestled in mine, and it fit there so perfectly. I’d slept with my fair share of women, but I couldn’t think of one time I’d held someone’s hand during the night. In fact, if one of them had reached for my hand, I’d most likely have pulled away.
Tonight, it was oddly comforting.
At some point I must have fallen asleep, because I was awakened a few hours later by my phone vibrating on the nightstand. I rolled over and looked at the screen.
It’s Rachel. How is she?
In a split second I was out of bed and halfway down the stairs, calling back the number she had texted from. It rang twice before she answered.
“Nate?”
“Yes,” I said, trying to keep my voice down, squinting at the early morning sunlight pouring through the windows.
“Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, which you would know if you hadn’t abandoned her at my doorstep.” I began pacing the living room floor. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that it’s your turn,” she said, starting to cry. “So don’t attack me. I’ve had to do it alone all this time. Do you think that was easy?”
“I don’t know how it was, because you never told me. I would have helped you.”
“Bullshit. You made it perfectly clear that all you wanted was no-strings sex. You would’ve thrown some money at me and then you would’ve been gone. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
“You don’t know what I would’ve done! You don’t know anything about me.” Which had been on purpose, of course. I was surprised I’d even given her my number.
“I know your type. Big spender, big talker, big dick. But beyond money and sex and a good time, nothing matters to you.”
“That’s not true,” I said, wondering if she was right and also if it was wrong to feel a little bit good that she’d said I have a big dick.
“Then prove it. Be a father to her for one week.”
My heart pounded harder. “A week? I can’t have her for a whole week.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve got work and plans and life.” I turned around to pace in the other direction and saw Emme coming down the stairs, her arms folded across her chest. She still wore my T-shirt, her legs and feet bare, her hair a long tangled mess. But the sunlight lit her beautifully, almost angelically. My body warmed, our eyes locked, and in my head I heard her words from last night. Maybe you’re just like the rest of them—all talk.
Fuck that. I wasn’t like those spineless douchebags she dated. I wasn’t.
“Well, guess what?” Rachel went on. “Your life now includes a baby. One week, Nate. That’s all I’m asking. If you want to walk away after that, fine. I’ll take full responsibility, since I was the one who made the choice not to tell you at the start. But if you can’t even handle that—”
“I can,” I declared out of nowhere, my eyes still on Emme, her voice still in my head. “So you can go take your rest or whatever, and come back for her in a week. You know what? Make it two weeks.”
At that, Emme’s eyes bugged out.
“Two weeks?” Rachel laughed cruelly. “You can’t handle two weeks. I bet you barely handled one night.”
“Actually, make it a month.”
Emme’s mouth fell open. She covered it with one hand.
“What?” Rachel squawked.
“You heard me. Make it a month.”
“You’re crazy.”
“No, I’m not. I’m a grown-ass man taking responsibility for my actions.”
Emme’s hand fell from her mouth, and she smiled.
“So you can call if you want to know how she’s doing, but other than that, I can handle this all on my own. Goodbye, Rachel.”
I ended the call, praying I wouldn’t faint. Just in case, I went into the kitchen and braced myself against the island with both hands. Took a few deep breaths.
Emme came into the kitchen.“So,” she said, arms still folded over her chest. “A month.”
I tried to appear calm and collected, turning toward her and propping one hand on my hip like I was leaning against the counter in a casual way and not for support. My body was tilted at a strange and uncomfortable forty-five degree angle. “I’ve been thinking of taking some time off work anyway.”
Her eyebrows went up. I was a total workaholic and she knew it. “Oh?”
“Yeah. And I think… I think it could be good for me. You know, not to be so selfish for a while.” A sweat had broken out on my forehead.
She nodded. “Of course.”
“And it’s only for a month. A month isn’t that long.” I said it, but already I was wondering if a month meant four weeks or 31 days. And was yesterday day one or was today?
Paisley began to cry, and both of us looked in the direction of the stairs.
“She’s probably hungry,” Emme said.
“Already?” It was barely seven, and we’d just fed her at three.
I looked over at Emme.
Her breathing was deep and slow. She’d rolled over and was facing the other direction, but her long hair was trailing over toward my pillow. It smelled so fucking good—like cake or something. Every now and again, she mumbled something that I couldn’t make out, but it almost made me smile. Ten bucks says she’s arguing with me, even in her sleep. Thank God she’d agreed to stay here tonight—I’d never wanted a woman to spend the night so badly, and there wasn’t even sex involved.
And it was fucking surreal to think that Rachel and I had created a life during our marathon, whiskey-fueled sexcapade last year. Part of me still couldn’t believe it. What were the odds? Weren’t condoms like ninety-nine percent effective when used properly? How had I fucked that up? Was the condom defective? Or did I have some sort of bionic sperm that was able to penetrate latex? For a moment, I felt kind of proud of my herculean swimmers, but the feeling quickly vanished when I remembered the end result.
Speaking of which, she hadn’t made any noise in a while.
My heart started to pound and I immediately checked to see that she was breathing. She was perfectly fine, but something in me couldn’t believe I hadn’t fucked up yet. How the hell did people do this? Were you supposed to just go to sleep and trust you’d wake up if your baby needed something? What if you were a sound sleeper? I wasn’t, not particularly, but what if I was? And how could she be comfortable in that thing, all strapped in that way? I’d have unbuckled her, except then I would’ve been scared about her falling out somehow. So far, parenting seemed to me like nothing but worry, panic, doubt, and guilt. Why the fuck would anyone choose this? I certainly hadn’t. And I didn’t want it.
But like Emme said, what I wanted no longer mattered.
“Everything okay?” Emme whispered behind me.
I turned to see her propped up on one elbow. “Yeah. Just checking on her.”
She put her head down again and lay facing me. “What a good dad.”
I rolled to face her too, bunching my pillow beneath my head. “I have no fucking idea how to be a good dad.”
“You don’t have to have all the answers tonight, Nate. Give yourself some time.”
“What if Rachel doesn’t come back?”
“Then you’ll find her. And in the meantime—” she reached out and took my hand—“you’re not alone. Okay?”
“Okay.” I squeezed her hand. “Thanks.”
She closed her eyes and fell back asleep, and I thought about how lucky I was to have her as my friend. How peaceful she looked in her sleep. How pretty she was. How she’d left her hand nestled in mine, and it fit there so perfectly. I’d slept with my fair share of women, but I couldn’t think of one time I’d held someone’s hand during the night. In fact, if one of them had reached for my hand, I’d most likely have pulled away.
Tonight, it was oddly comforting.
At some point I must have fallen asleep, because I was awakened a few hours later by my phone vibrating on the nightstand. I rolled over and looked at the screen.
It’s Rachel. How is she?
In a split second I was out of bed and halfway down the stairs, calling back the number she had texted from. It rang twice before she answered.
“Nate?”
“Yes,” I said, trying to keep my voice down, squinting at the early morning sunlight pouring through the windows.
“Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, which you would know if you hadn’t abandoned her at my doorstep.” I began pacing the living room floor. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that it’s your turn,” she said, starting to cry. “So don’t attack me. I’ve had to do it alone all this time. Do you think that was easy?”
“I don’t know how it was, because you never told me. I would have helped you.”
“Bullshit. You made it perfectly clear that all you wanted was no-strings sex. You would’ve thrown some money at me and then you would’ve been gone. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
“You don’t know what I would’ve done! You don’t know anything about me.” Which had been on purpose, of course. I was surprised I’d even given her my number.
“I know your type. Big spender, big talker, big dick. But beyond money and sex and a good time, nothing matters to you.”
“That’s not true,” I said, wondering if she was right and also if it was wrong to feel a little bit good that she’d said I have a big dick.
“Then prove it. Be a father to her for one week.”
My heart pounded harder. “A week? I can’t have her for a whole week.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve got work and plans and life.” I turned around to pace in the other direction and saw Emme coming down the stairs, her arms folded across her chest. She still wore my T-shirt, her legs and feet bare, her hair a long tangled mess. But the sunlight lit her beautifully, almost angelically. My body warmed, our eyes locked, and in my head I heard her words from last night. Maybe you’re just like the rest of them—all talk.
Fuck that. I wasn’t like those spineless douchebags she dated. I wasn’t.
“Well, guess what?” Rachel went on. “Your life now includes a baby. One week, Nate. That’s all I’m asking. If you want to walk away after that, fine. I’ll take full responsibility, since I was the one who made the choice not to tell you at the start. But if you can’t even handle that—”
“I can,” I declared out of nowhere, my eyes still on Emme, her voice still in my head. “So you can go take your rest or whatever, and come back for her in a week. You know what? Make it two weeks.”
At that, Emme’s eyes bugged out.
“Two weeks?” Rachel laughed cruelly. “You can’t handle two weeks. I bet you barely handled one night.”
“Actually, make it a month.”
Emme’s mouth fell open. She covered it with one hand.
“What?” Rachel squawked.
“You heard me. Make it a month.”
“You’re crazy.”
“No, I’m not. I’m a grown-ass man taking responsibility for my actions.”
Emme’s hand fell from her mouth, and she smiled.
“So you can call if you want to know how she’s doing, but other than that, I can handle this all on my own. Goodbye, Rachel.”
I ended the call, praying I wouldn’t faint. Just in case, I went into the kitchen and braced myself against the island with both hands. Took a few deep breaths.
Emme came into the kitchen.“So,” she said, arms still folded over her chest. “A month.”
I tried to appear calm and collected, turning toward her and propping one hand on my hip like I was leaning against the counter in a casual way and not for support. My body was tilted at a strange and uncomfortable forty-five degree angle. “I’ve been thinking of taking some time off work anyway.”
Her eyebrows went up. I was a total workaholic and she knew it. “Oh?”
“Yeah. And I think… I think it could be good for me. You know, not to be so selfish for a while.” A sweat had broken out on my forehead.
She nodded. “Of course.”
“And it’s only for a month. A month isn’t that long.” I said it, but already I was wondering if a month meant four weeks or 31 days. And was yesterday day one or was today?
Paisley began to cry, and both of us looked in the direction of the stairs.
“She’s probably hungry,” Emme said.
“Already?” It was barely seven, and we’d just fed her at three.
