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The Houston Astros hit a homerun, and the bartender shoves his fist in the air.
“You're not going to expand on what’s going on?”
Harrison’s mouth opens and I stop him with, “Do not say dude again.”
“Message received. But we’re best friends, right?”
I give a quick jerk of my head in response. Truth is, he’s closer to me than my brothers. Maybe partially because of age, but also because we went through med school and residency together. That’s a shit ton of bonding.
“And this,” he motions to my phone and raises his eyebrows, “seems discussion-worthy.”
I let out a sigh. As much as I hate to admit it, Harrison is probably right.
“It’s not a big deal. Sunny…you met her?”
“Your brother’s hot-as-fuck ex that you are completely and totally jonesing to fuck?”
The disapproving scowl I throw his way doesn’t register. He lifts his glass, taps the rim against mine, and drinks.
“Sunny is her name. And she wants to have a child. I volunteered to be the sperm donor.”
“Could be fun,” Harrison says. He waffles his head back and forth, lower lip jutting out, weighing the idea. “Do you want to be a dad?”
“She’s looking to be a single mom.”
“Do you want me to tell you what I think about this?”
“No.”
He stretches back, places one arm against the booth, and focuses on the game. “Thought so. If, on another day, you want someone to talk to, I’m always here.”
I return my attention to the phone. I need to respond to her. I know Sunny, and if I go too long without responding, she’ll read into it. She’ll second guess her decision. So, I tap out a response.
Me: Good.
I delete the word good and start over.
Me: Great.
I stare at that word. I don’t like it, so I hit the delete key until it’s gone.
Me: Excellent. Do you have a date for your next visit?
That response sounds like a professional, business response. I jam down the delete key.
Me: That’s good news.
Ugh. That’s even worse. Delete.
Me: You made my day yet again. What do we do next? When are you coming back here?
There. That feels real. I hit send.
I glance up and meet Harrison’s steady, judgmental gaze. “What?”
“Dude.”
I ball up a napkin and throw it at him. Three little dots appear on the screen. Applause sounds from the overhead speakers, and Harrison lets out a, “That’s the way you do it.”
