“That’s the kind of story I like,” Emmylou said. “Man gets exactly what he had coming.”
I would rather get a bikini wax than have a hard conversation with a friend. But I took a deep breath and forced myself to speak. “Emmylou, I’m sorry I blew up at you,” I said. “You were right. My mom wouldn’t want me to give up on my dreams.”
“It’s okay, kiddo.”
“She’d be grateful to you for looking out for me,” I said, choking up at the realization it was true.
“I’m sorry if I came on too strong,” Emmylou said. “Instead of making you go shake it on a pole, I should’ve told you it was okay to be sad. I should have asked if you’d grieved enough.”
“I know you’re grieving too.” I suddenly understood it was true. And I also knew how to show Emmylou how incredibly grateful I was that she’d not only saved my life, but had also literally made the skeleton in my closet disappear forever. “Would you consider being the twins’ godmother?”
Emmylou beamed. “I’d love to, toots.”
Fifty-Two
There is nothing like walking into a bar at eleven at night and seeing a gorgeous man rise to his feet because he’s been watching the door, waiting for you to arrive. Nate wore jeans and a flannel, his smile warm, his dark hair a little messy. Even as I smiled at him, I could feel the paternity test in my purse, pulsing and glowing, radioactive. I still had no idea how he felt about the fact he might be my kids’ bio dad.
“You look so alive,” Nate said. “And great! I mean, I’m glad you’re alive. And you look great.”
It was good to know he was nervous too. And that he’d noticed I’d put on a date outfit—a cotton sweater and jean skirt with platform sneakers. It was so warm out my legs were bare. The bandage on my neck made me look like someone had recently tried to slit my throat, but there was nothing to be done about that. “It’s good to see you. And to be alive,” I said, realizing how true it was.
Once we’d jostled our way to the bar and were waiting to order, Nate swallowed hard and said, “I’m not supposed to say this, for liability reasons. But my team completely screwed the pooch today. Agent Lanagan let you...” He paused. “Welet you get kidnapped. Kidnapped! Classic interagency fuckup. So many cooks in the kitchen no one can even tell who’s actually an arms dealer in a chef’s hat.” He hung his head in a way that reminded me of Phoebe when she was stuck on a math problem.
I patted his back. “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m all right.”
“No! Keeping you safe was our number one priority.” His eyes filled with tears and his voice hitched as he said, “I wanted to be your securitydetail myself, but my superiors wouldn’t okay it. Said I was too ‘emotionally involved.’ But you could’ve been...” He shuddered.
I felt bad for him, so I said, “I mean, we already know in this country a couple white guys in suits can basically get away with anything. Add fake FBI badges and their authority is hard to question.”
“Thanks for being understanding,” Nate said. “Still, I’m mortified.”
Hopefully you’ll be as understanding if you ever find out all the illegal things I’ve done over the last two weeks, I thought. But what I said was: “Sure.”
“How’s your neck?”
“Aside from the fact that I look like an extra in a slasher movie, it’s gonna be fine,” I said, though it actually hurt like hell. “I was lucky.” Wanting to change the subject, I said, “But you saw my set? At least the part I got to do?”
His face lit up. “I didn’t think anything could beat your stand-up for the lower elementary crowd. But your adult material is even better.”
As I gave an awkward little curtsy, my phone dinged. I glanced down to see if it was Emmylou, who’d come over to my side of the duplex in case the twins woke up while I was gone. But it was only Layna. As a single mom, turning my phone off was a “never” event. But this one time I decided to take the risk.
Once we’d gotten our beers and settled in on bar stools, Nate and I clinked pint classes to celebrate the fact that Ralphie and Errol had been arrested and the ATF would be able to put the kibosh on Day of the Rope. We’d swiveled on our stools to face each other. Even though the denim of his jeans kept our skin from actually touching, I was again acutely aware of the place where our knees pressed against each other.
“You were so brave today,” Nate said. The adoration in his eyes felt so good, it was literally painful. There was no way he’d look at me like that if he knew about all the lies, all the things I hadn’t told him.
I shrugged.
“You know, I’m ready to take that test,” he said. He moved his hand and for a moment I thought he’d put it on top of mine, but then at the lastsecond he retracted it. He couldn’t even bring himself to touch me—or even say the word “paternity.”
“Maybe you’ll be off the hook.” I sounded salty, but I couldn’t help it. I’d been on my own for so long. I couldn’t let myself be an idiot, couldn’t yearn for a fairy-tale happy ending.
“I don’t know whatyouwant,” he said. “ButIdon’twantto be off the hook. I told my sister I’m afraid I want it too much—you know, to be the twins’ donor.”
My breath caught. It’d been years since I’d hoped to find a worthy guy. And I never once thought my kids would have a shot at a great dad. Still, it was hard to trust this wouldn’t all turn into a tangle of complications. Hard to believe I could start a real relationship on a foundation of lies. But I wanted to try. “My woo-woo friends don’t believe in coincidences.”
“What do they believe in?” he asked. We were so close now I could see his individual eyelashes. I couldn’t let myself kiss him until we knew for sure if he was the girls’ bio dad. Otherwise things felt too muddled.
“They think coincidences are actually signposts from the Universe that you’re on the right track,” I said. This might not be the right track at all. This could be a disaster in so many ways. But inside my chest, hope, that most dangerous of emotions, fluttered and preened and stretched its fragile wings. I pulled the paternity test from my purse and slid it to him across the bar. “I already swabbed Alice’s cheek so you just have to do your swab and drop it in the mail,” I said. He looked at me and nodded, eyes solemn. My heart—straining with guilt and yearning—felt ready to burst. I couldn’t stay. There was too much uncertainty, too much at stake (and also the cut on my neck really did hurt like a bitch). I stood up, leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, and hurried toward the door.
