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“I was only, what, twenty-four at the time?” I say defensively. “Of course I was immature.”
“What about now?”
I tear a hand through my hair. “I hope I’m not that much of an idiot anymore. But what am I supposed to do here, Melissa? Am I just supposed to take this news in stride? That I’m going to have full custody of a kid I never met and didn’t know I had until now? That’s insane. Especially when I’m staring down the barrel of my last shot at the Super Bowl.”
“Before you jump off a cliff, I’d like to provide a gentle reminder that you have the resources to hire help, Rhett. Lots of it.”
“Right,” I clip. Because she is right. Hell, if I wanted to, I could hire a handful of nannies to be with the kid day and night, seven days a week, 365 days a year for the next 18 years, no problem.
But that—it doesn’t sit right. Mama didn’t raise a coward, and she sure as hell didn’t dedicate her life to her family just so I could pay other people to raise my babies.
Just so I could pay other people to fix my mistakes.
“Listen, Rhett.” Melissa blows out a breath. “I know I just dropped a bomb on you, so how about you take today and tonight to absorb everything? Think it all through, maybe talk it out with your family. Then call me in the morning, and we’ll get you set up for a paternity test. Elle has agreed to comply. I don’t mean to rush you, but the sooner we can establish the facts, the sooner we can sort this whole mess out, all right?”
Without warning, a burn joins the tightness in my throat. I turn my head just in time to empty the contents of my stomach on the ground in a neat little pile of regurgitated oatmeal, eggs, and raspberries.
Tom gags. I reach behind me and, finding the trunk of the tree, lean my back against it.
“Rhett?” Melissa asks.
I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand. “Yes?”
“Did you just—?”
“Vomit? Yup. And no, I am not all right.”
“Of course you’re not. That was a stupid thing to say. Look, I don’t want you to panic until we know for certain that you’re the father. Until then, do your best to stay calm because chances are, this kid isn’t yours. Really, who does something like this to the father of her child? Why wouldn’t she want your support, whether it be money or time?”
I swallow hard. “Clearly Jennifer didn’t want my support at all.”
She didn’t want my support because she knew I’d suck at it. At parenting or consciously-uncoupled parenting or whatever the fuck people call it these days.
Did she really think Liam would be better off without me?
The idea makes my stomach hurt.
“We’ll talk about everything tomorrow,” Melissa says. “You have any other questions?”
I blink. I look up to see Tom standing a few yards away, still gagging.
“What happens if the test comes back positive?”
“Then we petition the court for a change of custody. Pretty simple.”
“Simple. Ha.”
“I’m here if you need me.”
“Thanks, Melissa. I appreciate that. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Bye, Rhett.”
“Bye.” I’ve already dropped the phone away from my ear when the question hits me out of nowhere. I press the phone back to my ear. “Wait, Melissa—where’s Liam now?”
I worry she’s already hung up when it takes a beat for her to reply. “Liam’s in Denver, where Jennifer lived.”
“No, I mean, who is he with? Is he with Elle or in foster care or something?”
I hear Melissa flipping through papers. “Liam is . . . yes, he’s currently with Elle. Again, Jennifer had no living relatives we’re aware of.”
“Is he okay?”
“I can’t answer that,” Melissa says.
“Screw waiting. Schedule the test,” I say. “Today too soon?”
“Most likely,” she replies with a laugh. “I’ll get the earliest appointment I can, but that probably won’t be for another day or two.”
I end my call with Melissa and leap to my feet, suddenly unable to stay still. My hands shake as I try to pull up my contacts on my phone. Who do I call? Who do I tell? What do I do? What the fuck do I do while I wait to take this test?
I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “Workout’s over. Time for whiskey.”
Tom gags again. “Thanks, but no thanks.” Licking his lips, he manages to stand upright. “Did I understand that correctly? You’re—”
“A dad.” Just saying the word makes me want to cry. “Yup.”
“But we don’t know for sure, right? That you’re the kid’s father?”
“Not yet.”
But deep down, I know Liam’s my son.
Chapter Five
Amelia
I hear the sirens approaching two heartbeats before Nuria, Woodward Montessori School’s director, pokes her head in my classroom door.
“Miss Amelia? Can I speak to you for a moment?”
