“I took out the trash that you got sick in.” He grabs a black garbage bag and shakes it out before putting it in the bin. “Figured you didn’t want it to be sitting there.”
“Um,” I’m unsure of what to say. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. It’s the least I can do.”
“What are you doing here?” I cross my arms over my chest. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“Yeah.” He goes back to the sink to wash his hands. “I knew you finished at 3:00 a.m., so I went to bed early and set my alarm.”
I blink once, twice, maybe a hundred times before I say, “You set your alarm to come to my house in the middle of the night?”
“Well, it was either come here”—he shakes the water from his hands—“or show up at your work.” I balk. “I figured it would be an easier conversation to have without your coworkers listening in.”
“Well, you’re right about that.” I walk to the microwave and open it. “Sorry, but I missed dinner, and all I had was a protein bar, so I’m starving.” He’s looking at the wooden table with six chairs. The table has seen better days, but a good sanding and a beautiful varnish would make it brand-new. It’s on my list of things to do, but the list is always getting longer and longer.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asks as if I’m the guest in his house and not the other way around.
“I was going to have water.” He looks at me. “There’s a pitcher in the fridge.”
He walks over to grab the pitcher as I sit and start to eat a piece of chicken. I’m hyperaware that he’s here, and I’m pretty sure he’s judging fucking everything. He opens one cupboard, probably looking for a glass. “They’re in that one.” I point with my fork to the cabinet beside the sink. He grabs a glass and comes back to the table, putting it down and filling it with water. “It’s a hundred degrees in here.” He pulls out a chair and sits down.
“Yeah, it’ll cool down soon. I should have passed by on my shift and opened the windows to get a good breeze going, but . . .” I take another bite of chicken. “Theo,” I ask when I swallow, “what are you doing here, for real?”
“Collins,” he says, putting one of his hands on the table while he drapes his other arm across the chair beside him, “I think we need to talk, don’t you?”
“I mean,” I take another bite, “I pretty much said what I needed to say today.”
“You would be wrong there. There is a lot to talk about.”
“Might as well get it over with,” I mumble. Suddenly, I’m not hungry, but I know I have to eat. I make myself take another bite of the chicken.
“When did you find out you were pregnant?”
“Three weeks ago. Woke up one day and got my period, or what I thought was my period, but it was just spotting for two days and then nothing.” I shrug. “I figured it was stress. But then”—I close my eyes—“God, this is embarrassing.” Instead of letting me off the hook, he waits for me to finish. “My nipples hurt, okay? Like so bad.”
“So you weren’t on birth control?”
“I never said I was.” My voice is tight. He holds up a hand.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. We used protection. I just was wondering if you were also on birth control.”
“I was not.” I push my food around in the container. “There was no reason for me to be.”
“Right.”
My back goes straight up. “I don’t know what you mean by that,” I snap at him. “But I’m not who everyone says I am.” I push away from the table, and his arm drops from the chair beside him. “And before you ask, I’m not getting rid of the baby.”
“I would never tell you what to do with your body, Collins,” he says, his voice soft. “Just like I would never assume anything about you. We had sex. Protected. But things happen.”
“They do,” I agree.
“Sit down and eat.” He motions with his chin. “You said you were starving, and you only took five bites of your food.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not hungry anymore.” I turn and put the top back on the container. “I’m tired. I’ve had a long day, and I have another two shifts before I get a day off.”
We have a staredown in the middle of my kitchen, basically back to the scene of the crime, really. “We have to discuss this.”
“What is there to discuss?” I put the container back in the fridge instead of throwing it out. “I’m having a baby.”
