Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lena slide down onto the corner of the couch. She’s basically as far away from me as possible, and that fact is both welcoming and unsettling. Welcoming because the farther away she is, the less likely I am to pull her into my arms, nuzzle my nose against her hair, and kiss her as long and hard as I can. It’s unsettling because I realize she’d rather sit over there than beside me.
I take a deep breath, the exhaustion of the last eighteen hours weighing heavily on me. I keep my eyes focused on my son, open my mouth, and speak. “His name is Oliver and he’s three weeks old. I didn’t know about him until yesterday when a social worker called me.”
Risking a glance her way, I see her eyes cast downward, but I can tell she’s listening. After a few seconds, she glances up, the uncertainty clear on her face as she asks, “Where’s his mom?”
This is the part that gets a little sticky. “She passed away,” I tell her, noticing how Oliver favors my darker skin tone but his mother’s slightly upturned nose and the roundness of her eyes.
“How?” she asks, as if she wants to know the answer, yet is afraid of it at the same time.
I exhale. “It’s all a big complicated mess, Lean,” I whisper, the weight of everything settling like an elephant on my chest. “I was told she had a stroke. His mom, Renee, was just…someone I knew. We weren’t dating or anything. I hadn’t even seen her in more than nine months. She worked for the league and was often at the racetrack. Apparently, she missed a few big events and was fired. I don’t know all the details because we never kept in touch after she left. This is just what I heard around the track. I mean, it’s not like we were friends or anything,” I tell her, feeling guilty for not staying in touch with Renee after she left, but it’s the truth. We weren’t friends, we just…fucked on occasion. That makes me sound like the biggest asshole alive, I know, but it’s the truth. Neither of us were expecting anything from the other out of it, and we damn sure weren’t the only ones doing it. It was consensual every damn time, yet I still feel this horrible guilt now that she’s gone, mixed with my anger.
Yes, anger.
Why the fuck didn’t she tell me about my son?
“So, you guys were…fuck buddies?” she asks, almost in a business-like voice.
“Yeah,” I answer, glancing her way once more, but she’s not looking at me. Lena’s staring at the floor again, as if it’s the most interesting hardwood floor known to man.
When her eyes meet mine, it’s a startling clash of pain and confusion. “But you didn’t know about Oliver?”
“No. I never heard from her after she left. Hell, I don’t even know where she went. All I know is she gave birth to Oliver three weeks ago in her hometown of Fresno, putting me down as the father on the birth certificate. I was told she mentioned me to her mom, but refused to go into details about our relationship. When she died, her mom reached out to the state and told them of the situation. That’s when they stepped in and called me yesterday morning.”
“So, now you’re just taking care of him?” she asks, her eyes locked on the bundle in my arms.
“Yeah,” I tell her, wishing I could run my hands through my hair again. Unfortunately, they’re both busy right now, feeding Oliver. “Mrs. Reynolds, the social worker, told me Renee’s mom is sick. Cancer, I guess, and she didn’t feel comfortable taking care of the baby if I’m able to do it. What was I supposed to say? No?” I ask, incredulously. I’ve only known about the boy for a day, but there was no way I could walk away and leave Renee’s mom with the burden of caring for him, or worse, someone in foster care.
Lena smiles softly at Oliver. “I think you did the right thing.”
“You do?” I ask.
Those green eyes meet mine once more as she nods. “I mean, what else were you supposed to do?”
“Right,” I say, noticing the bottle is about half empty already. I remove it from Oliver’s mouth, just the way Fish instructed me to, and carefully transfer him to my shoulder. I’m still a