As a single mom in a small town, there's only one thing I want. Another baby. When all the roads to getting what I want lead to dead ends, I turn to one of my best friends for help.
In my mind, Trent Castillo is the perfect baby daddy. He has good g...
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The day passes the way snowed in days typically do, quick in some parts and slow in others. The slowest parts of the day were when I spent a couple of hours trying to cobble together a short term fix for the snowblower until the roads are clear to get to the hardware store.
I finally got it going, but I know at least part of my problem was that my brain was half caught up in thinking through Em's decision to go with a sperm donor.
Despite what I said to her, and even though I know it's a solution that makes sense for her, I don't like it. The idea of some unknown guy getting her pregnant, the idea of watching her expand with some other guy's baby—none of it sits right with me. And I know that's ridiculous.
We're friends. I've got zero say in what she does with her life and certainly not with her body. So, it bothers me that I'm bothered.
Get a fucking grip, Trent.
I should be happy that's she's pinpointed what she wants out of life. A few months ago, I vowed that I'd do whatever I could to get her out of this slump, and now that she's found what she wants, I can't seem to make myself get fully behind it. Like all those dates she was going on that didn't seem to satisfy her, this solution doesn't seem like quite the right fit either. At least to me.
I really hope my reluctance wasn't obvious when she was telling me about it all.
I want her to be happy—whatever that looks like. And all day I've had to remind myself that I want her to be happy, no matter what it looks like.
For lunch, we eat the leftover breakfast casserole while Emily combs through databases and adds to her spreadsheets. I find other odds and ends around the house to fill my time—changing light bulbs, tightening handles, fixing squeaky doors, anything to keep myself busy.
At dinner, we make food side-by-side, getting in each other's way, jostling shoulders and laughing while we make some stuffed chicken recipe that Em found online. It's messy as fuck but also funny as hell. The finished product looks like we dug it out of the garbage, but it tastes amazing once it's cooked. The cheese, tomatoes, and spinach compliment each other.
"That's a winner," Emily says, pointing to the chicken and potatoes on her plate. "Though I think we also could have submitted it as a Pinterest fail."
"Does not look like the picture online," I say. "I don't know how they got all this shit to stay together in the photo. I suspect a photoshop win, there."
"That would make sense," Emily says, pointing her fork at me. "Do you want some wine? There's probably enough for two more glasses."
"Sure," I say. "I'll get it."
I pour us both a glass and deliver it to Em at the table. We eat in silence for a few minutes before Emily's phone rings. When she sees it's Amir, she puts him on speakerphone, and the two of us tell him about the snowstorm, about me fixing the snowblower, and he tells us about swimming in his grandparents pool, about walking their tiny dog, about the new Lego sets they bought him.
Listening to him talk fills me up in a way I wouldn't have expected, as though some part of me has become deeply invested in his happiness too.
When my gaze connects with Em's across the table, just before the call comes to an end, I see the soft affection in her gaze.
"He's a really lucky kid," I say when Emily ends the call.
"Getting to spend the break in Arizona?"
"Having you for his mom," I say, sopping up more of the sauce with the chicken and potatoes.
She doesn't meet my gaze for a beat, and then when she does, there are tears in her eyes. "That means a lot, you know. I've been trying so hard to keep myself together since Omar died, and then after Dad died. And if you think I'm holding it together really well, then maybe Amir does too. Maybe he doesn't realize how broken his mom is."
"Fuck, Em," I say, and the legs in my chair screech on the floor as I get to my feet and circle the table, hauling her into a tight hug. "It's okay to be a little bit broken after everything that's happened to you. And I mean it when I say you never have to hold anything together around me. Never."
"I can't even get him tested because I'm worried the result will wreck me." She cries into my shirt. "But it feels irresponsible not to know, to be aware."
"It's not irresponsible. There's no cure. Knowing or not knowing doesn't change that right now." I take a deep breath, because part of this doesn't seem like any of my business, but I hate seeing her suffer. "Right now, it feels like he has it, doesn't it? Isn't that what the weight of not knowing is like? Can you imagine if he doesn't? How much relief would you feel?"
"But what if he does?"
"Do you think that weight would truly be heavier than the one you're carrying right now?"
Em steps back and rubs her eyes. "If I get him tested, will you..." She takes a shaky breath, her voice thick with tears. "Will you be with me when I get the results?"
"Whenever, if ever, you decide to do it, I'll be in lockstep with you, I promise. Whatever you need, you've got me. I promise."
She flings herself at me again, and I hug her tight, breathing in the smell of peaches and the scent that's all Em, just underneath.
###
After we clean up from dinner, Em asks if we can just watch a movie, so we go into the living room. She puts her head on my lap, and I run my fingers through her hair as we watch one of the Fast and Furious movies. Mindless entertainment.
When she falls asleep, I carefully scoop her into my arms, and I carry her to bed. As I'm laying her down, she wakes up, and she grips the back of my neck, clearly disoriented for a minute.
"There's just one thing that bothers me about the donor," she whispers, as though we've been having a silent conversation all day.
"What's that?"
"I'll have another kid who doesn't have a dad, and I was really hoping it would be different this time, you know? That I wouldn't have to do it alone."
I kiss her forehead and her temple. "You're not alone. You've got your family, and you've got me. I'm not going anywhere. Get some sleep."
I tuck her into bed, and she turns onto her side, her eyes closing.
At the door, I stand watching her for a beat, my heart aching for all the weights that seem to be dragging her down. I'd do anything to ease any of them if I could.
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