Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“So you know I had Lucia with an anonymous sperm donor, right?”
He nods, brows knitting.
“Actually, never mind.” I was going to ask him a “hypothetical” question about sperm donors and fatherhood and boundaries and all of that because I’m curious as to what a man in that position might deem fair or appropriate, but Dan’s not an idiot. He’ll easily piece it together. Not to mention, Lucia already suspiciously resembles Fabian.
“Were you thinking of having another baby?” he asks. “Are you looking for another donor?”
“Um …” I start to answer before realizing my only option here is to tell a little white lie—not that I’m proud of it, but at least it won’t hurt him. “Yeah, maybe. But the original sperm donor I used is no longer available. I was just thinking out loud, I guess. You know how random I can be sometimes …”
I try to pass it off with a chuckle, making a crazy face at him as I stick my tongue out.
“I mean … if you need someone …” He lifts his hands and lets them fall against his sides. “I don’t know how I’d feel about simply being a donor, per se. But I’d be open to figuring something out.”
Oh, god.
That’s not where I wanted to go with this.
“Appreciate the offer, Dan. I think I’m probably an only-child kind of mom,” I say. “Don’t want to bite off more than I can chew.”
We’re halfway down our street when Dan’s pace slows, as if he’s stalling the inevitable.
“Oh, hey.” He points to his house. “I just had some new living room furniture delivered yesterday, but I can’t quite nail down the best arrangement. If you have a couple minutes to spare, I’d love to pick your brain.”
I eye my house.
While I should be holed off in my office the rest of the afternoon trying to salvage the time I’ve lost today, I’m also far from the right headspace.
“Sure. I can spare a few minutes.”
I follow him up to his driveway, where he punches in a code that gets us in, and then we head through his kitchen, past his dining room, and into his formal living room.
“Why’d you get rid of the old stuff?” I ask. “Wasn’t it pretty new?”
“I got it in the divorce settlement. Wanted something that was all mine,” he says. “Anyway. I tried putting the sofa here, but I feel like it blocks the window. And when I put the armchairs along that wall, it sort of divides the room in half.”
“For a numbers guy, I’m shocked you didn’t measure all of this out ahead of time …”
He laughs. “You and me both. Guess it was an impulse buy. Got a hell of a deal on this set.”
Walking around the room, I visualize a handful of other configurations, but the L-shape of the space really limits us.
“I’d put your sofa there,” I point. “Then the two chairs to the left and the love seat to the right. Sort of like a U-shape right in front of the fireplace. If you get a rug, it’ll ground the space and tie it all together. And I’d get a different coffee table. The one you have is very mid-century modern, but your new stuff is very traditional.”
Pinching his upper lip between two fingers, he squints at the space, likely picturing the new layout.
“I can help you move these around really quick if you want?” I offer.
Five minutes later, we’re only slightly winded, but his living room looks five times bigger and ten times more functional.
“Maybe you can help me pick out a coffee table this weekend?” he asks, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with two bottled waters.
“Fabian’s coming back on Wednesday …”
“Ah.” He takes a swig. “I see.”
“I can look online later and see if I can’t find something you can just order,” I offer.
“Well, that takes half the fun out of it … was looking forward to strangers complimenting us on our cute baby at the mall,” he winks, though I know he’s serious. It never fails, we always get approached any time the three of us are together and Dan always gets a kick out of playing along. “We still on for Wednesday night?”
“Oh, um …” After last week’s dinner, I don’t think it’s wise to put Dan and Fabian in the same room again.
It’d be like putting two male betta fish in the same tank.
“I think we should put a hold on those for the next couple of weeks,” I say.
His lower lip juts forward into a makeshift pout as his eyes rest unfocused on the fireplace mantel. “I understand.”
“I should head back.” I point in the general direction of my house. “Good walk and talk though. Thanks for the company.”
Rising on my toes, I give him a hug—the way I always do when we part ways.