It took me a stupidly long moment to realize he didn’t understand what I was telling him. “No, Gabe. You’re the dad,” I broke in.
This time the silence was longer. I let him have it. After all, I had been throwing up for a solid week before I came to terms with the fact that I was pregnant.
“Chloe. Shit,” he muttered. I could hear the sound of muffled voices around him, a door being shut, and then more silence. “Are you sure?”
“Very sure,” I said. “You were the only one I had sex with. Assuming it’s not immaculate conception, the baby is yours.”
“Chloe, I—” He exhaled heavily. “Are you keeping it?”
I blinked down at my round stomach. “Well…yeah. I mean, you know I’m twenty-two weeks pregnant, right? The decision-making part is past.”
“Sorry, I’m just so surprised. I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s okay,” I assured him. “You don’t have to say anything right now. I’m okay. I mean, I don’tneedanything from you. You’re the father, and I want you to be involved for the baby’s sake, but I know this wasn’t the plan for either of us. I made my choice, and now you can make yours.”
Another pause. “I need to think about this.”
My stomach sank a little, but only a little. Did I want Radish to know his dad? Of course. But families came in all different sizes and shapes. We would be fine either way. “Sure. I understand.”
Gabe blew out a breath. “The thing is, Chloe, I met someone.”
“Oh.” I cleared my throat. “I don’t want to marry you, Gabe. In case I wasn’t clear on that. I’m actually…I met someone, too.”
“I mean, I met someone here. In Argentina. Cordoba, actually. I crashed my bike and ended up in a hospital here. She’s a nurse. You’d like her, actually. She’s really sarcastic, but—” He babbled on a bit before I could get a word in.
“Gabe. Are you saying you’re staying in Argentina?” I asked.
“Well…yeah. I’m staying.”
“Huh,” I said. That wasn’t something I’d considered at all in the hundreds of times I’d imagined this conversation.
“When are you…when are you due?” he asked hesitantly.
“In early May,” I told him.
“Oh. That’s really soon,” he said, sounding surprised.
“Well, it takes nine months to grow a baby, and it’s been five months since we had sex. That’s how math works,” I said.
He laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m still in shock.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
There was another silence while we both considered our next words.
He cleared his throat. “Is it all or nothing? I mean…could I send cards, come and visit when I can, do video calls?”
I thought it over. What would Radish want from his dad? What would heneedfrom his dad? I knew the stereotypes of kids who grew up with an absentee father, or worse, a father who bounced in and out and broke promises. But stereotypes were not guarantees. Wasn’t it better to try?
“It doesn’t have to be all or nothing,” I said finally. “Text me your address and email. I’ll send you the sonogram photos.”
“Thanks. I’d like that,” he said.
My phone dinged with his text. “Got it,” I said.
After a few more minutes of updates, we hung up. I stared into space for a long time, my hands wrapped protectively over my belly.
That wasn’t how I had wanted the conversation to go, but it was what it was. More than anything, I wanted Radish to be healthy, happy, and loved. And that was exactly what he was.
