He balanced the books with one hand and pocketed the ring.
“I’ll hold on to that for you,” he said, and he breezed into the library.
Chapter 34
MATT
“What did she say?”
“Buckle your seat belt.” I glared at Chrissy until she banded the belt across her body. Her unmistakably pregnant body. My eyes lingered on her belly.
“Relax,” she said. “Everything’s fine in there.”
“We’ll know that soon enough.” I pulled away from her parents’ house.
“How’d you get this appointment so fast, anyway?”
“Easy. You’re overdue. You were supposed to have a twenty-week check.”
“Okay, chill out, Frosty. Better late than never.”
Chrissy’s abbreviated nickname actually made me smile. She’d donned me Mr. Frostypants over a year ago, in happier times.
“So, what did she say after you took the ring? ’Cause I really don’t want this baby, like, messing things up with you and Han.”
“She said…” I cleared my throat. I remembered the argument well. It happened three nights ago, and Hannah hadn’t slept with me since. She took the air mattress if I got in our bed; if I joined her on the mattress, she darted to our bedroom. “She said something like, ‘You’re a selfish fucking jackass.’ I’m paraphrasing.”
“Great,” Chrissy muttered. “And you’re still ‘holding on to’ the ring?”
“Mm. She’ll come around. Either way, I’m adopt—”
“You’re adopting this child and it means everything to you,” she droned.
I glared and kept quiet the rest of the way to the clinic.
Excepting Hannah’s surly attitude, everything was falling into place. Shapiro had another lawyer working with an agency on the relinquishment form and kinship adoption lawsuits, and my home study and background checks started next month. I wasn’t worried. Thanks to Shapiro’s tireless work over the years, my record looked pearly.
Now, if only Hannah would conform to the idea, get the ring back on her finger …
*
Chrissy clutched my hand while the ultrasound technician slid the wand over her belly.
Would I be required to fill this hand-holding role during the actual birth?
I felt light-headed.
The technician seemed too quiet. The thing on the screen moved constantly. Chrissy and I watched, rapt. Seth, why did you do this? You should be here. I’m not ready.
But there it was, ready or not: a grainy child-shape, my atonement embodied.
“Everything’s looking good,” the technician said.
Chrissy and I exhaled simultaneously.
“You can see the spine”—she pointed—“and the head right here. And…”
And it was a boy, though it didn’t even look human to me. Ready or not, here I come. I slipped into autopilot, nodding and listening, asking questions of the technician and then the doctor, and all the while thinking about hide-and-seek. A children’s game. Here I come.
Children need games, diversions, and food.
Constant care.
I couldn’t do this alone.
“You okay over there?” Chrissy said. It was midafternoon. I had taken her for ice cream after the appointment—she ate two chocolate cones—and drove her home. My car idled outside the Catalano residence.
“Fine. Thinking. Lots to think about.” I unlocked her door.
“I’m glad it’s a boy, you know?”
I glanced at her, my jaw tight.
“Don’t look at me that way,” I said. “I’m not about to fucking cry in front of you and lose all my man points, got it?” I smirked and she laughed, her eyes shining.
“Got it. Me neither. I have badass-girl points to protect.”
She scrubbed her face and climbed out of the car.
I watched her until she stepped into the house, and then I drove through Denver and wondered where the hell people buy baby stuff. Online, I decided. Boyish things. Solid, dark, modern furniture. A mobile of some kind. An extravagant playhouse.
Buying things, I could handle. And when the kid was old enough to read and fish and ride, I might even enjoy his company. But what to do with an infant?