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***
“You must be Phoebe.”
Her face tightens, arms folded with an irritated stance as she blocks the doorway. Milana never described her. Quite ordinary with ginger-colored hair and bright green eyes. Much like Milana, there is an innocence about her. I bet the woman has never been laid. She has that prissy, uptight look about her. The pajamas she’s wearing have unicorns all over them, it’s a dead giveaway.
“Yes. And you must be the douche who knocked up my best friend.”
“Kinda harsh, considering it takes two to tango?” I smirk, not appreciating the label.
“Yeah, it also takes two to parent—”
Quick to intercept, I grit, “If you know you have a kid.”
“Oh… c’mon, Wesley,” she drags, raising her voice, with a matching cold stare. “You would have told her to abort the baby. She doesn’t fit into your lifestyle.” She uses air quotes around the word lifestyle.
My head shakes, unwillingly, a lack of respect for this nobody standing in front of me thinking she knows who I am and what I would have done. Yeah, all right, kids aren’t on my agenda. Big fucking deal.
Phoebe’s eyes divert to the carrier, narrowing her brows in confusion. “Why do you have her, anyway?”
“So, you’re not aware that your best friend dumped her baby with her brother and ran away?” I tell her, frustrated at this conversation.
Phoebe appears stumped by the revelation, pulling her hair into her mouth and chewing it, annoyingly.
“She said she would be away for a few days. She needed to get away and clear her head. She never mentioned leaving Katerina,” she says, faintly.
“Well, clearing her head means dumping our kid. Where is she?”
“I don’t k-know…” she stammers, nervous and upset. “I knew it.”
“You knew what?”
“That she wasn’t coping. Mom told me she was probably going through postpartum depression, given everything that’s happened.”
Phoebe extends her arm, prompting me to come inside, finally.
The house is small with brown furniture and pictures hung all over the walls. There’s a glass cabinet in the corner housing creepy porcelain dolls dressed in fancy dresses.
An older man, assuming it’s her dad, is sitting in his rocker and reading a book with a pipe and steaming coffee beside him. There’s a sweet smell in the air, and moments later, Phoebe’s mom comes out with a plate of breakfast, which she hands to her husband.
They all have matching ginger hair. Comical, to say the least.
“Oh, I didn’t know you were expecting a visitor, honey?”
“Neither was I. Mom, Dad, this is Wesley. Katerina’s…” she coughs, purposely, rolling her eyes, “… the father.”
I’d like to think it isn’t intentional, the shock of the news which explains their expression. Eyes wide, mouth gaping, and silence follows. Phoebe’s dad is quick to break the stance, placing the pipe back into his mouth.
“Mom, Milly’s gone missing. She left the baby with Flynn. We need to find her. Can you watch her for a few hours?”
Phoebe’s mom clutches her chest, worried. “Honey, should we call the police?”
“No, Mom, it’s not like that.” Phoebe shakes her head with a forced smile, turning to me for reassurance.
“Um… no,” I speak up, clearing my throat. “We will find her, won’t we, Phoebe?”
“Yes, of course. I’m sure she’s just visiting her mom. You know, after the news and all.”
What news? I wanted to ask Phoebe, but time is of the essence, and we need to get out of here.
