must have been even more elusive than I thought. “So you don’t have any information about him?”
“Information? Not a chance. He never even saw fit to grant us the courtesy of an introduction, Ryden. We could see him every day—he could be our mailman, for crying out loud—and we wouldn’t know it.”
Another dead end.
“Okay, well, thanks anyway. And thanks for the money.”
I hang up the phone. A hundred dollars. I mean, it’s a hundred dollars I didn’t have yesterday. But that money will only pay for one day of day care.
What the fuck am I going to do?
Humans should be more like deer: a few minutes after they’re born, they start to walk; a week later, they start going to look for food with their mothers; and a year after that, they’re on their own. Simple.
I don’t want to go to Mom—not yet. If I let her take over the plans, soccer will be the first thing to go.
A thought creeps into the back of my brain: if it’s this hard to figure out what to do with Hope now, what’s it going to be like when I’m at UCLA? I highly doubt Mom will move to California with me, and I can’t leave Hope here with her. That’s just…not an option. Even if Mom were willing. And even though it would be easier. It’s the same reason I wouldn’t consider giving Hope up for adoption—Hope is Meg’s baby. There’s no way in hell I’m giving away anything—or anyone—that’s part of her. No matter that the alternative is pretty sucky. Plus, my mom didn’t give me up for adoption or leave me with her parents while she went off and did stuff. And I’m really glad about that, even though I know having me made her life really difficult.
Hope’s lying in her crib, babbling to herself, swatting at her mobile. At some point while I was on the phone, the crying stopped. I lean over the top of her crib and place my hand on her chubby belly. Her heartbeat pulses under my fingertips.
One of the all-time craziest moments of my unusually crazy life was when Meg and I heard that heartbeat for the first time. The doctor had a machine at the office. Before Hope had arms and legs and everything, she had that heartbeat. It was loud and it was strong. It was the first tangible proof I had that she was real and that she was here to stay.
I pull my hand away and sigh. If I’m going to keep soccer, which I am, I need to come up with a solution—for this summer, for the school year, for college, for all of it—and fast.
I stare at the photo of me and Meg on my computer desktop. It was taken at one of my games last season. She looks so happy. And healthy. And alive.
There is one other thing I could try…
It’s not going to work. But I’m kind of out of options.
I put Hope in her car seat—she starts crying immediately—and bring her into the bathroom with me. I shave, brush my teeth and rinse with Listerine, and pluck the two rogue hairs between my eyebrows. Then I get in the shower. The sound of the water slightly drowns out the sound of her crying, and I stand under the stream and try to focus on each individual drop pounding down on my head.
Today, I wash my hair.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing on Meg’s front porch. Being back here after all this time makes me want to throw up.
Her house is big, way nicer than mine, and has a fancy brass doorknocker in the shape of a horse’s head—but it’s all shiny and I don’t want to mess it up with my sweaty fingerprints, so I just knock on the door old-school style.
The two brand-new Lexuses (Lexi?) in the driveway stare me down. When did they get those? Meg’s parents already had nice cars, and they weren’t even that old. I bet they bought them for each other and put big red bows on the roofs like those rich people in the commercials. Meanwhile, I was getting a job and trying to figure out how the hell to take care of their granddaughter.
I knock on the door again and then try the doorbell, which is less like a bell and more like a freaking classical orchestra.
There’s no answer.
But I know someone’s home because the curtains behind the large foyer window move slightly. I glance down at