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“You…you said you were going to tell him.” Her voice hitches. “I told Cormac—"
“Lily!”
“He’s my husband! Don’t ever make me choose between you two!”
Because I’ll lose.I huff at myself for being put out by that. He’s her husband—she’s right. I can’t ask that of her. We’re friends, but he’s her family. I get it, as much as I can without a husband of my own. “I’m not asking you to do that, Lily. Just…tell me what happened.”
“Like I said, you told me you were going to tell Everett, so I felt like it was okay to tell Cormac. He met up with Everett at a bar for drinks last night because Everett’s staying at their parents’ place and he thought he’d need to get away from them for this, and thinking he was consoling him about everything, he accidentally spilled the beans in the process.”
Rubbing the back of my head, I curse myself for telling anyone at all. There is no putting this genie back in the bottle. Whatever comes of the truth, I have to face it. Now. “It’s Monday.”
“Yeah—how hard did you hit your head?”
“You said he found out on Sunday. I don’t think Cormac is the type to sit on this bit of information for a day. How long have you known that he knew?”
She takes a beat. “Since last night, when Cormac texted me on his way home.”
“You’ve known for that long, and you’re only now calling?”
“I needed to figure out how to tell you. Isn’t that the problem all along? You didn’t know how to tell Everett? Cut me some slack here. I’m new to this.”
I huff again, trying to calm down. When my so-called friends ditched me after finding out I was pregnant, I was more hurt than mad about it. But I got it—I couldn’t go out drinking on a whim, and since that was kind of their thing, I was out. Before that, I’ve disagreed with friends, but it was never anything serious.
This, on the other hand, is something else. I’m pissed off at Lily, and it surges through me before I can watch my mouth. “Lily, I cannot fucking believe you sat on this. You, of all people, know how delicate this situation is, and you could have called me last night—"
“You didn’t even answer the phone when I called you this morning!”
I’m so angry that I crush the box of pancake mix and it sprays into a white cloud of powder that drifts slowly to the floor like the tiniest snow storm. “Talk later.” I hang up on her, unwilling to hear whatever other excuses come to her.
As pissed as I am at Lily, the truth is, I only have myself to blame. When I started to call Everett, I froze up. How do you tell someone something like that over the phone? You sure as hell can’t text it to them. And if I’d asked to meet up somewhere, I would have had to figure out a babysitter, and…I chickened out. Pure and simple.
A wet paper towel and my broom collect most of the mix. I would have used my mop, except it needs to be replaced. One more thing going wrong in my life. It feels like everywhere I turn, there’s evidence of what a shit parent I am. The floury wet paper towels in the trash. The notifications on my phone from Lily. A throbbing ache in the back of my head from hitting it on the shelf that’s now growing into a full headache from the stress of not telling my son’s father that he’s a father and my best friend’s husband telling him accidentally instead.
I’m not catastrophizing. I’m cataloging.
What would my therapist say? When I’m spinning out, I have to focus on the good. It’s a relief that Lily doesn’t call or text again, but now I’m on my own to figure out what to do next. This isn’t a disaster. It’s an opportunity. The opportunity to come clean and move forward instead of living with a secret. I can do this. I can talk to Everett and get this settled. No matter how huge this is, I will handle it. After going around in circles in my mind, every path leads to one thought.
I have to see Everett. Alone.
A text to my folks, and I have a babysitter for the day who will make chocolate chip pancakes for Owen. Now, to sell this to him.
I plaster on a smile and try to make it look more natural than it feels. When I come out to the living room, his expectant eyes kill me. Poor kid thinks he’s getting pancakes when he’s about to get shuffled off to Grandma. On second thought, he’s trading up.
“So—"
“What’s wrong?”
I laugh at him. “What makes you think anything is wrong?”
“That’s the same face you gave me when you told me about the rabbits in the herb garden.”
It was two years ago and that kid still remembers. I sigh. Can’t get away with anything. “Something has come up, and I’m taking you to Grandma’s so I can handle it.”
He processes this for a moment. “Can I bring my dinosaurs?”
“Of course.”
“Okay.” He sets to packing them into his backpack.
