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“I really loved listening to you tonight,” I tell her. She cocks her head, and a ghost of a frown plays across her glossy lips.
She bumps her arm against mine. “You should really play again. We could play a duet at Jack’s.”
“Maybe. I’d have to re-learn everything.” It’s been a long time since high school.
“You can’t be all work. You’ve got to have some downtime.”
“Playing for others was never really my thing.” I glance sideways at her. She’d always been the one who treasured time on stage. She got a thrill out of it. She won the school talent show her senior year.
“You loved to play,” she insists, pushing up against me again. My hands remain firmly ensconced in my pants. Her guitar case bumps against the back of my legs.
My guitar interest stemmed entirely from spending time with Sunny. I’d been a young, horny teen stoked to spend time with the college girl with perfect tits. I only played for her.
“What about you?” She obviously loved the stage and the mic. “You could do more of this.”
“It’s fun. It’s not a career or anything.”
“So, it’s not something you’d move to Houston for?”
She laughs hard. Too hard. I pause, waiting for her so we can continue down the quiet Houston streets.
“Yeah. Like I’d move for the twenty bucks he paid me.” I flinch. Twenty dollars seems like resident pay, an hourly pay so low some liken it to indentured servitude. I’d have thought she’d make more. “No, this is fun, but–”
“Are you pregnant?”
Her gaze falls to the ground, and she kicks a loose rock. “No. Didn’t take.” She lifts those hopeful blue eyes, and the ends of her lips turn up into a forced smile. “It’s not guaranteed. At my age…”
Her mouth continues moving, but I absorb only bits and pieces. I shouldn’t be shocked. I did a little research after I saw her last. At her age, pregnancy isn’t guaranteed.
The kicker is Sunny would make a great mom. It hadn’t surprised me to learn she wanted kids. I guess when she was doing the foster care thing, I understood that. What surprises me is the unwanted reality time forces down on us. In my head, Sunny has all the time in the world. I still see her as that college girl I obsessed over, but her anatomy continues aging. But still…
“You’re sure you want to be a single mother?” It’s a question I’ve been mulling over since I saw her last. My colleagues seem to really struggle balancing parenthood, marriage, and careers.
“I mean, that’s where I am.” She raises her shoulders and holds out her hands like a ray of sunshine. Why would something as silly as not having a partner get in her way? That’s Sunny. She’ll make the best of what she has… always. “Lots of people do it.”
I nod, absorbing her expected words. She is right. I work with quite a few single parents, people with demanding jobs who make it all work. Modern families come in all flavors and varieties. Her child will be a lucky kid. And one way or another, she’s going to get that kid.
I remove one hand from my pants pocket and wrap an arm around Sunny’s shoulder, pulling her against me as we approach my apartment.
“It’s all going to work out,” I tell her, not that I need to. She’s an optimist.
Back at my apartment, she heads into the guest room and comes out wearing loose cotton pajama pants and an old, ratty UT sweatshirt. We sit on the sofa, and she picks up the remote, flipping through channels with it on mute. I reach for her socked feet and pull them up into my lap.
There’s one thought that’s been going back and forth in my mind. Her sperm donor is someone she doesn’t know, an absolute stranger. And, to some extent, that makes sense. But would there be advantages to it being someone she knows?
I see the unexpected happen all the time. Statistically, Sunny should exceed the mortality average. But accidents happen. Wrecks. Falls. The body fails. The only family she has is an elderly aunt in Washington State.
“Would you consider…maybe…letting me be your sperm donor?”
Those glossy pink lips form an open-mouthed gape. She thinks I’ve lost my mind. And the analytical portion of my psyche agrees with her. Parenthood isn’t something I desire. I do not envy my colleagues with children. No, I’ve always been grateful I didn’t have a neglected family sitting back at home. I’ve been grateful I don’t have to carry that guilt.
Her facial expression softens from bewilderment to warm appreciation. I half-expect the words “bless your heart” to fall from her lips. She has this way of not taking me seriously that used to hurt.
“Ian, you are such a sweetheart. But—”
“But nothing. It’s a consideration. Rather than jumping into this with a random sperm donor…Think about it, Sunny. I have. I’ve been thinking about it ever since your birthday. You know my family. Hell, you’re a part of my family. Your child would have grandparents who loved it like crazy.”
“Oh, my god. Now you’ve lost your mind. Can you imagine? I could never tell your parents.”
