“Let me see your hands,” I ask, putting down my mug and reaching for them.
He puts his mug down next to mine and shows them to me, palms up, then down. They’re on the large side, but not so big that my daughter might end up with man hands. I nod and murmur, “Nice.”
“Thanks,” he says.
I clear my throat and say, “So…if you were ever to really do something like this…would you want to be involved?”
The question feels monumental, though I’m not sure what I want his answer to be. I remind myself that this is all completely theoretical. He’s not really offering his sperm up on the spot.
“You mean with the baby?”
I nod.
“You mean…like…paying child support?” he asks.
“No,” I say as adamantly as I can, thinking that with money comes strings, complications. “There would be no child support. You’d be the donor, not the father. You’d have no parental rights whatsoever. I’m talking emotionally.”
“I don’t know….It might be cool if I could take him—or her—to an occasional baseball game. Would you allow that?”
“Maybe,” I say. “That might be nice….But if I ever married, which I hope to one day, I’d want my husband to adopt my child. And then—”
“You might not want me coming around?”
“Maybe not,” I say. “Would that make you feel bad?”
“Maybe,” Pete says. “But it would be your child—and your decision. I would respect your wishes.” He starts to say something else, then stops.
“What?” I say. “Tell me.”
“Well…what if you wanted me to take your kid to a baseball game…and I didn’t want to. Would your feelings be hurt?”
“Maybe,” I say, as I marvel at how honest and candid we’re both being. So much more so than if we were actually interested in each other romantically. “But I really don’t think so. I think that would be the deal going in. You’d be the donor. Period.”
“Period,” he echoes.
We stare at each other, both of us on the verge of smiling. Yet we don’t.
“Would you really consider this?” I ask, part of me starting to believe he might be serious—or at the very least not just humoring me as a way of getting in my bed. “I mean…you barely know me.”
“I know you better than the vegan track star does,” Pete says.
“True,” I say.
Pete stares into my eyes. “I know. It’s crazy. But I think I might be a bit serious here.”
“Why?” I say, my heart pumping a little more quickly, essentially asking him to answer the essay question. “Why would you want to do this?”
He shakes his head and says, “I don’t know….To help you…to do something worthwhile with my life…in addition to saving lives at Buckhead restaurants, that is.”
I love this answer, and can’t help smiling.
He smiles back at me. “Any other questions?”
I think for a second, then say, “There are twelve hundred elephants in a herd. Some have pink and green stripes, some are all pink, and some are all blue. One third are pure pink. Is it true that four hundred elephants are definitely blue?”
“Wait,” Pete says. “Say that again?”
I repeat the question, but no more slowly.
“Well, no, it’s not definitely true,” Pete says. “But it could be true.”
“Correct,” I say, grinning.
“C’mon, that’s a layup. I’m a math-science guy, remember?”
“Yeah,” I say, thinking that I’m more verbal—a nice balance.
“So? What do you think?” he asks, leaning forward and staring into my eyes.
I gaze back at him, smile, and say, “I think…you have definite potential.”
chapter fourteen
MEREDITH
One steamy evening in late September, Ellen and I meet for a walk in Chastain Park. A few minutes in, she tells me that she heard from Andy, who heard from his sister, Margot, who heard from a girl on Margot’s tennis team, who heard from Will’s wife, Andrea, that some guy Josie is dating saved Will’s life last Saturday night at Bistro Niko.
I give her an incredulous look, stopping on the paved path so suddenly that a runner nearly collides with us. “What…in the world?” I say.
As the runner swerves past us and we begin to walk again, Ellen explains that, according to the report, Josie just happened to be randomly passing by Will and Andrea’s table at the very moment that Will began to choke on his steak. Josie’s date, who does something in the medical field, administered the Heimlich maneuver or some such procedure, dislodging the meat and saving Will from his untimely demise.
“Unbelievable,” I say. “And yet somehow…not.”
Ellen laughs and says, “Yeah. You’d practically think Josie planned it, but how could she?”
“If anyone could, she could,” I say. “And I bet it wasn’t a coincidence they were at the same restaurant….At the very least, she’ll use this as an excuse to talk to Will. Call to follow up on his airway.” I roll my eyes, disgusted. “Andrea better watch her back.”