Elle’s tense jaw releases as her chin starts trembling, the tip of her nose pinkening along with the rims of her eyes, and she lowers her face into her hands to cry.
“I know it is,” she says through quiet, shoulder-shaking sobs. “I’m so sorry, Colin. I don’t know what to do right now. I just found out today, and I just wanted to do the right thing by telling you. And I just… I just… I don’t want to end up like my parents.”
Oh. Fuck.
Her parents.
Which really means herfather. The one who left her alone on a bench in the middle of the night when she was onlysix. And I guess given that this baby was conceived under very similar circumstances, and that I haven’t always been the nicest person to her, that I’ve actually been a real piece of shit to her more often than not—exhibit A, two fucking minutes ago—she has good reason to make such a connection betweenhimandme.
She’s trying to protect this baby—ourbaby—from me.
And even though she couldn’t be more wrong about what kind of father IknowI could be, this is a clear display of her battered heart. It’s also proof that there is no better person in the world that I could hope for to be the mother of my child.
And again, it only makes me love her more.
All of that means I’m just going to have to back off. I’m going to have to let her do this. I’m going to have to just step aside, and wait, and hope.
That fucking hope again.
Hope.
It’s the drug I keep relapsing on.
“Okay,” I say simply as I stand up.
As I turn from the table, I see in my periphery that she’s peeking at me between her fingers. She probably thinks I’m leaving, but I’m not. I go to the counter and order a mini strawberry-topped classic cheesecake and a chamomile tea. I grab one fork and one napkin, and then return to the table, where I set them in front of her and sit down.
Elle wipes her eyes and then questioningly looks at both the items and then at me.
I sit back in my chair and gesture casually at the cake and tea. “I wanted to bring you here to celebrate. And it seems you have a lot to celebrate right now.”
She sniffles. “You’re not going to have any?”
I hitch one shoulder. “This isn’t about me.” I push the fork closer to her. “Go ahead. It’s really good.”
Elle hesitates before she picks up the fork, and then spears a small bite. Slipping it into her mouth, her seafoam green eyes widen in surprise.
“You were right,” she says after swallowing and cutting off another piece. “This does taste like two million dollars.”
I fake averyconvincing smile. “Yeah.”
We sit in silence as she eats the cheesecake and sips the tea, and I watch her, and nothing—not the bruises, or the broken bones, or the split lips, or the many, many times I held down Archer’s seizing body while I frantically dialed 911—has ever hurt this much.
The cheesecake “date” lasts a total of twenty minutes. Elle and I both step outside onto the sidewalk, and it feels like we’re different people than we were when we stepped in. We linger there a moment, standing in front of each other. She’s hugging her coat tightly around herself, and I notice that it’s the same coat she was holding in the coffee shop on the day we met. That was now just shy of nine months ago. In another nine months, she’ll be a completely different person yet again. She’ll be someone’s mom. And I don’t know what I will be. It’s entirely possible that I won’t be anyone at all other than a name on a birth certificate that I won’t even get to see. But I’ll probably still love her then. And I’ll definitely still love the person that birth certificate belongs to.
Before today, I didn’t think it was possible to love a person I hadn’t even met. I also didn’t think it was possible to feel like I’ve lost something that wasn’t even mine yet. This blustery October Saturday in New York is a day full of devastating, tragically beautiful firsts.
Elle’s looking at me expectantly; like there’s something she’s waiting for me to say. As though I’m going to offer a last second insistence upon inserting myself into her life while she goes through this miraculous experience. But I’m not going to do that either.
I step to the curb and bring my fingers to my mouth, unleashing a high-pitched whistle that summons a cab, and then open the door for her.
After she steps in and sits down, I offer her my hand, and she takes it.
“Thanks for doing such a great job with Archer,” I tell her, giving her hand a small shake before letting go; once againletting goin every meaning of the phrase. “Good luck with all this, too. I do appreciate you letting me know. I know you didn’t have to do that. And if there’s ever anything you need, you know how to reach me.”
Elle forces a tight-lipped smile, but her eyes are brimming again, and she offers a simple nod.
Then I close the door, and the cab pulls away from the curb, and I let her go.
