My body was begging my brain to shut down, but even with my eyes closed, my muscles relaxed, and the room dark and silent, my mind refused to quiet.

I had a daughter.

My life would never be the same.

As the shock wore off and reality set in, I felt more and more panicked. What if Rachel didn’t come back? What would I do? Alpha masculinity aside, how was I going to reconcile the person I had been, a person I liked and enjoyed being, with being a father to this child? Was it even possible? And what about work? The gym? My social life? Travel? I had plans, for fuck’s sake. Goals. A bucket list. I wanted to run with the bulls and climb Kilimanjaro and skydive over Dubai. I couldn’t do any of that with a baby strapped to my back.

And I had no idea how to be a dad.

I thought about my own father, who’d died three years ago of heart disease, but who had retreated from the family long before, so long ago that I’d barely registered the loss. But I had never blamed him for his distance, nor my mother for her nervous frailty. It was another loss, an earlier, unthinkable tragedy, that had done us all in. It was that loss that was responsible for who we became—an absent alcoholic, and agoraphobic hypochondriac, and a divorce lawyer with an iron cage around his heart. I had made up my mind long ago that love was something to be feared. Avoided. And if necessary, sabotaged.

Otherwise it would destroy you.

The problem wasn’t love itself. The problem was allowing yourself to care for someone so deeply that the loss of them cut you deep to the bone, so deep you lost a piece of yourself. And that piece was your trust in God, your faith in the universe, your belief that if you wished hard enough and prayed long enough and loved fiercely enough, it would save a life. It would save your family. It would save you.

So you had to be vigilant if you wanted to protect yourself. And I was. I did. I had hardened my heart to the point where nothing and nobody could get to me. I’d never fallen in love. I’d never been tempted to get married. And I’d certainly never planned on being a father. I know some guys who think spreading their seed is the ultimate act of manhood, but fuck that. As far as I was concerned, my seed could stay in the vault where it belonged. Maybe I’d get a vasectomy after this; that is, if having a baby didn’t ruin my sex life forever.

I looked over at Emme.

Her breathing was deep and slow. She’d rolled over and was facing the other direction, but her long hair was trailing over toward my pillow. It smelled so fucking good—like cake or something. Every now and again, she mumbled something that I couldn’t make out, but it almost made me smile. Ten bucks says she’s arguing with me, even in her sleep. Thank God she’d agreed to stay here tonight—I’d never wanted a woman to spend the night so badly, and there wasn’t even sex involved.

And it was fucking surreal to think that Rachel and I had created a life during our marathon, whiskey-fueled sexcapade last year. Part of me still couldn’t believe it. What were the odds? Weren’t condoms like ninety-nine percent effective when used properly? How had I fucked that up? Was the condom defective? Or did I have some sort of bionic sperm that was able to penetrate latex? For a moment, I felt kind of proud of my herculean swimmers, but the feeling quickly vanished when I remembered the end result. 

Speaking of which, she hadn’t made any noise in a while.

My heart started to pound and I immediately checked to see that she was breathing. She was perfectly fine, but something in me couldn’t believe I hadn’t fucked up yet. How the hell did people do this? Were you supposed to just go to sleep and trust you’d wake up if your baby needed something? What if you were a sound sleeper? I wasn’t, not particularly, but what if I was? And how could she be comfortable in that thing, all strapped in that way? I’d have unbuckled her, except then I would’ve been scared about her falling out somehow. So far, parenting seemed to me like nothing but worry, panic, doubt, and guilt. Why the fuck would anyone choose this? I certainly hadn’t. And I didn’t want it.

But like Emme said, what I wanted no longer mattered.

“Everything okay?” Emme whispered behind me.

I turned to see her propped up on one elbow. “Yeah. Just checking on her.”

She put her head down again and lay facing me. “What a good dad.”

I rolled to face her too, bunching my pillow beneath my head. “I have no fucking idea how to be a good dad.”

“You don’t have to have all the answers tonight, Nate. Give yourself some time.”

“What if Rachel doesn’t come back?”

“Then you’ll find her. And in the meantime—” she reached out and took my hand—“you’re not alone. Okay?”

“Okay.” I squeezed her hand. “Thanks.”

She closed her eyes and fell back asleep, and I thought about how lucky I was to have her as my friend. How peaceful she looked in her sleep. How pretty she was. How she’d left her hand nestled in mine, and it fit there so perfectly. I’d slept with my fair share of women, but I couldn’t think of one time I’d held someone’s hand during the night. In fact, if one of them had reached for my hand, I’d most likely have pulled away.

Tonight, it was oddly comforting.

At some point I must have fallen asleep, because I was awakened a few hours later by my phone vibrating on the nightstand. I rolled over and looked at the screen.

It’s Rachel. How is she?

In a split second I was out of bed and halfway down the stairs, calling back the number she had texted from. It rang twice before she answered.

“Nate?”

“Yes,” I said, trying to keep my voice down, squinting at the early morning sunlight pouring through the windows.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fine, which you would know if you hadn’t abandoned her at my doorstep.” I began pacing the living room floor. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that it’s your turn,” she said, starting to cry. “So don’t attack me. I’ve had to do it alone all this time. Do you think that was easy?”

“I don’t know how it was, because you never told me. I would have helped you.”

“Bullshit. You made it perfectly clear that all you wanted was no-strings sex. You would’ve thrown some money at me and then you would’ve been gone. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

“You don’t know what I would’ve done! You don’t know anything about me.” Which had been on purpose, of course. I was surprised I’d even given her my number.

“I know your type. Big spender, big talker, big dick. But beyond money and sex and a good time, nothing matters to you.”

“That’s not true,” I said, wondering if she was right and also if it was wrong to feel a little bit good that she’d said I have a big dick.

“Then prove it. Be a father to her for one week.”

My heart pounded harder. “A week? I can’t have her for a whole week.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve got work and plans and life.” I turned around to pace in the other direction and saw Emme coming down the stairs, her arms folded across her chest. She still wore my T-shirt, her legs and feet bare, her hair a long tangled mess. But the sunlight lit her beautifully, almost angelically. My body warmed, our eyes locked, and in my head I heard her words from last night. Maybe you’re just like the rest of them—all talk.

Fuck that. I wasn’t like those spineless douchebags she dated. I wasn’t.

“Well, guess what?” Rachel went on. “Your life now includes a baby. One week, Nate. That’s all I’m asking. If you want to walk away after that, fine. I’ll take full responsibility, since I was the one who made the choice not to tell you at the start. But if you can’t even handle that—”

“I can,” I declared out of nowhere, my eyes still on Emme, her voice still in my head. “So you can go take your rest or whatever, and come back for her in a week. You know what? Make it two weeks.”

At that, Emme’s eyes bugged out.

“Two weeks?” Rachel laughed cruelly. “You can’t handle two weeks. I bet you barely handled one night.”

“Actually, make it a month.”

Emme’s mouth fell open. She covered it with one hand.

“What?” Rachel squawked.

“You heard me. Make it a month.”             

“You’re crazy.”

“No, I’m not. I’m a grown-ass man taking responsibility for my actions.”

Emme’s hand fell from her mouth, and she smiled.

“So you can call if you want to know how she’s doing, but other than that, I can handle this all on my own. Goodbye, Rachel.”

I ended the call, praying I wouldn’t faint. Just in case, I went into the kitchen and braced myself against the island with both hands. Took a few deep breaths.

Emme came into the kitchen.“So,” she said, arms still folded over her chest. “A month.”

I tried to appear calm and collected, turning toward her and propping one hand on my hip like I was leaning against the counter in a casual way and not for support. My body was tilted at a strange and uncomfortable forty-five degree angle. “I’ve been thinking of taking some time off work anyway.”

Her eyebrows went up. I was a total workaholic and she knew it. “Oh?”

“Yeah. And I think… I think it could be good for me. You know, not to be so selfish for a while.” A sweat had broken out on my forehead.

She nodded. “Of course.”

“And it’s only for a month. A month isn’t that long.” I said it, but already I was wondering if a month meant four weeks or 31 days. And was yesterday day one or was today?

Paisley began to cry, and both of us looked in the direction of the stairs.

 “She’s probably hungry,” Emme said.

“Already?” It was barely seven, and we’d just fed her at three.

“Babies her age eat often. Every few hours.”

“Seriously?”

She grinned ruefully. “We need to get you a few baby books so you can learn all this stuff. And you probably need some baby items—a stroller, some kind of crib, maybe a swing, or at least a bouncy chair.”

Inwardly I groaned, picturing my awesome, manly loft with baby furniture in it. “Really? Even if it’s just for a month?”

Emme cocked her head. “It’s not just for a month, Nate. Even if Rachel came back for her today, you are still her father. For life.”

There was something fierce in her eyes, something that dared me to disagree with her. Or maybe something that suspected I would disagree with her, and prove that she had been right about me. That I was all talk, and not really man enough to handle being a father. I didn’t want her to think that, even if I was scared it was the truth.

Gathering my courage, I pushed myself off the counter and stood up straight. “I’ll go get her. I’m sure you have things to do today.” Feeling proud of myself, I left the kitchen and went upstairs.

“Good morning,” I said to the angry baby in the car seat next to my bed. Not that I blamed her. Who’d want to sleep like that? I picked it up by the handle and went back downstairs. “Don’t worry Paisley, I’m going to get you something better to sleep in today.” Except I had no idea where they even sold baby shit. Maybe Emme would know.

She was still in the kitchen when I got down there. “Want some help?” she asked as I set the car seat on the island and began washing my hands.

“Nope. I’ve got this.” I dried my hands on a towel and picked up one of the plastic bottles Emme had washed last night and left on a paper towel to dry. “You should feel very special, Paisley. Not only am I giving up my Saturday morning workout for you, but I am making your breakfast before I even make coffee.” I hoped I sounded relaxed and confident, which was the complete opposite of how I felt. “Okay now, what was it again? Two level scoops of this stinky powder?” I took the cap off the can of formula.

“Well, seems like you’re doing okay,” Emme said hesitantly. “I’ll go get dressed.”

“Okay,” I said breezily. She left the kitchen and I exhaled, my chest collapsing. Pretending to know what I was doing was tiring. I measured two level scoops of formula and dumped it into the bottle. “Next I add four ounces of water.”

But when I went to the sink, I realized that I probably should have added the water first since the formula took up some space in the bottle. In the interest of doing things exactly right, I dumped the powder back in the can and started over. “I made a mistake, Paisley. Sorry to say, it’s going to happen a lot.” I glanced at her, and it was kind of amusing how interested her expression was. She wasn’t even fussing while I spoke to her. “Don’t tell anyone.”

I got it right the second time, and I even used warm water, which seemed smart to me because it allowed me to skip a step (heating up the bottle). Congratulating myself on a job well done, I brought the bottle and the car seat into the living room, set them both on the coffee table, and unbuckled the car seat straps. As soon as I lifted her out, I could tell that she needed to be changed.

“You stink,” I told her. “Maybe not as bad as last night, but that is not a pleasant odor about you. I thought babies were supposed to smell good.” I was more confident in my bottle-making skills than my diaper-changing skills, but I figured I’d give it a shot. Keeping Paisley in place against my chest with one arm, I laid the blanket on the couch with the other. Before I set her down I grabbed a clean diaper from the bag. There were only two left, which meant shopping was first up on the agenda today. As I changed her, I started making a list of things I would need. Since she seemed to like my voice, I talked it out.

“We’ll need diapers for sure, and more formula, and probably a few more bottles. We’ll need a stroller and something for you to sleep in,” I said, swapping the old diaper for the new one, “and maybe some kind of lounge chair for you to sit in instead of that car seat. Speaking of which, I’m going to have to figure out how to buckle you into my car. Okay, let’s see how I did.”

I finished zipping up her sleeper and picked her up, holding her out in front of me and turning her this way and that. “Well, you’re still in one piece and still breathing, so that’s a good sign.” I placed her in the crook of my arm, grabbed the bottle from the coffee table, and fed her a couple ounces. She probably would have eaten more, but I remembered that Emme said it was good to burp her about halfway through. Setting the bottle aside, I sat her on my knee and propped her up over one hand like Emme had shown me last night. With the other hand I rubbed her back, and I only had to wait about thirty seconds for her to give me a decent-sized belch.

“Look at you.” Emme’s voice came from the direction of the stairs. I turned around and saw her coming down, dressed again in her jeans and sweater.

I settled Paisley into my arms once more and began feeding her the rest of the bottle, crossing my legs so one ankle rested on one knee. I was determined to look like I could handle this. “Not bad, right?”

“Not bad at all.” She came over and sat next to us, reaching over to brush Paisley’s hair off her forehead. “Is your daddy taking good care of you?”

My stomach heaved. Daddy. Jesus fucking Christ. I cleared my throat. “I need to shop for her. Can you point me in the right direction?”

“Probably Target, or maybe Babies“R”Us.”

“There’s a place called Babies“R”Us?” I asked incredulously.

She giggled. “Yes. Do you want me to go with you?”

Of course I did. In fact, what I really wanted was to give her my credit card and have her do it all. “Only if you have time.”

“I have a wedding tonight, so I do have to work eventually, but I could help you out later this morning.” She sighed and fell back against my couch. “Although I definitely need a nap.”

“A nap sounds fucking amazing.” I set the empty bottle aside and sat Paisley up to burp her again.

“Do it while she takes hers. I’m telling you, that’s the only time you will be able to sleep.” She got to her feet. “I guess I’ll go home for a bit. Anything you need before I go?”

I couldn’t think of anything, although I was tempted to make something up so she would stay a little longer. What was I going to do with this baby all by myself? What if she started crying and I couldn’t get her to stop? “Not that I can think of.”

She must have sensed my fear, because she patted me on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine, Nate. You’re doing awesome, all things considered.”

I took a deep breath and exhaled. “Thanks. I think I’m still running on adrenaline.”

Emme nodded. “Are you going to tell anybody? Your family? Your work?”

The thought of telling my mother terrified me. This was a woman who was scared to leave the house and buy groceries because she worried about having a panic attack at Kroger. She wore gloves if she went absolutely anywhere, because the thought of touching germs terrified her. She had her doctor on speed dial because she was always convinced she had picked up some awful, incurable disease if she’d been out in public.

Thankfully, she had a longtime neighbor that often checked in on her, a good Samaritan who made sure there was food in the house, drove her anywhere she needed to go, and made the occasional phone call to me when things got bad. I would talk to my mom, assess the situation, and depending on her mental state, I sometimes had to make the nearly three-hour drive to Grand Rapids and get her out of the house. Usually, it was just that she had stopped taking her medication due to some irrational fear that someone at the pharmacy was trying to poison her. Once I could convince her that wasn’t the case, she would take it again and improve within days. I tried to be patient with her, reminding myself that she hadn’t always been this way, that once upon a time, she’d been a happy, well-adjusted woman with a beautiful home, a solid marriage, plenty of money in the bank, and two healthy sons. She must have thought it would all last forever. Hadn’t we all?

Paisley still hadn’t burped yet, so I stood and put her up on one shoulder. “I haven’t really thought that far ahead yet. My brain is a bit overwhelmed. I guess I’ll have to tell them all eventually, but for now, it’s just you.” I frowned. “Although if we see anyone while we’re out shopping today, we better have a good explanation handy for why you and I suddenly have a baby.”

She laughed. “We’ll think of something. See you in a bit.”

As soon she was gone, I realized I should’ve gone to the bathroom while she was here. Now what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t just set Paisley down. My apartment was full of hard surfaces and sharp objects, a parental nightmare. But I couldn’t bring her in the bathroom with me either. That didn’t seem right. In the end, I ended up strapping her into the car seat and leaving it in my closet right outside the bathroom door. But I felt guilty about it because she cried the whole time, even though I was in there for less than a minute. I opened the door as soon as my hands were clean and picked her up again. “I’m still here,” I told her. “See? I’m still here.”

She stopped crying, and I marveled at how quickly a baby could become attached to someone. How easily they trusted. Yesterday at this time, she had never seen me, never heard my voice, never even knew I existed. Now I had the power to calm her just by holding her and talking to her. It was sort of sweet, but also scary as hell. I wasn’t sure I deserved that kind of trust, and I certainly didn’t feel like I had earned it. But maybe I could make that up to her. For the first time, an overwhelming urge to protect her struck me, and I found myself furious at Rachel, not just for lying to me or springing this on me, but for abandoning our child. I was more aware every passing minute of what she must’ve been going through trying to parent on her own, but she should have reached out. There was no excuse for leaving Paisley alone the way she had.

“Paisley,” I mused as I brought her downstairs. “Kind of a cute name, I guess. I wonder what your middle name is. And did she give you my last name or hers? It’s kind of fucked up that I don’t know my own kid’s full name, don’t you think? And maybe I should stop saying fuck.”

Downstairs, I spread a blanket out on a rug and put her on it with her stuffed bear, stretching out next to her on my side. She lay happily on her back and wiggled around, making little sounds and drooling up a storm while I yawned and tried to stay awake. My God, was every night going to be like last night? I wouldn’t survive. No one could.

Eventually, she started to cry again, and I picked her up, trying the bouncing thing Emme had done last night. She still wouldn’t quiet down, so I tried singing her a song. I wasn’t the best singer in the world but by the time I’d fudged my way through a few Christmas tunes, which were the only ones I knew all the words to, she had drifted off to sleep.

I looked longingly at the couch.

Maybe I could lie down for a few minutes. Close my eyes. That was all I needed, a few minutes with my eyes closed. But could I manage to do it without waking her up? Suddenly I thought of the thousands of times I had simply flopped onto the couch for a Saturday nap with zero appreciation for how easy it had been. Flopping was definitely not an option today. Instead, I eased myself into a sitting position so slowly that my leg muscles were shaking. Then I carefully pivoted, wincing at the sound my pajama pants made as they squeaked on the leather. Finally, I leaned back at the rate of about one inch every ten seconds, so that my abs were practically screaming when I was done. But I did it—I succeeded in lying down on the couch without waking the baby.

I carefully maneuvered Paisley so that she lay with her belly on mine, her head on my chest. I kept one hand on her back, one hand on her butt, and one foot on the floor just in case (in case of what I had no idea, but it seemed like a good idea), and closed my eyes.

Sweet Jesus, it was amazing.

 

“Nate.” A hand on my shoulder. “Nate.”

I opened my eyes, and saw Emme standing next to the couch. But I was confused, because she’d gone home wearing her jeans and sweater, and here she was wearing only my T-shirt again. The light was strange too. Some sort of golden glow seemed to shine from behind her, like it had on the stairway this morning, but that was impossible because there were no windows behind her. I tried to speak but couldn’t. She smiled and put a finger to her lips. “Shhhhhh.” Then with no warning whatsoever, she whipped the shirt over her head, and stood there naked from the waist up. My cock jumped. My mouth watered. My hands trembled with the need to touch her skin. But I couldn’t move—I was paralyzed. All I could do was look at her and groan with longing, like a teenage boy with a centerfold.

“Nate. Nate. Wake up.” The hand was on my shoulder again, this time shaking me insistently. I opened my eyes, for real this time, but it took a moment for the fog to clear. I propped myself up on my elbows and blinked at Emme, who stood there—alas, fully clothed—holding Paisley in her arms and looking at me curiously. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” My voice was scratchy, so I cleared my throat.

She smiled. “You must have been dreaming.”

“Really? What makes you say that?” I swung myself into a seated position so fast my head spun.

“You were moaning and groaning and squirming around.” She looked at Paisley and rubbed noses with her—an Eskimo kiss. “Wasn’t he, peanut?”

The whole shirtless scenario came back to me in a heartbeat, and my skin felt hot beneath my clothes. Well, my pajamas, since I hadn’t gotten dressed yet.

“What were you dreaming about?” she asked me.

I feigned ignorance. “I can’t remember. Did you just get here?”

“About ten minutes ago. Paisley was starting to fuss, but you were sound asleep, so I picked her up and changed her. I’ll get a bottle going while you shower, if you want. It’s been about four hours since she last ate.”

“Has it really?”

She laughed. “Yeah. You guys had, like, a three-hour nap. I’m jealous. Mine was only about an hour.”

Emme headed for the kitchen with Paisley in her arms, so I stood up and quickly headed for the stairs, hoping she wouldn’t notice my erection. I went up to my bedroom, undressed, and got in the shower, feeling increasingly bad about the dream I’d just had—especially since she’d been watching me have it. It felt like getting caught doing something inappropriate.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I stood under the spray, letting it pummel my face and chest for a solid five minutes as I relived that magical moment in my dream when Emme had removed her shirt. Had I ever wanted to touch someone so badly, even in real life? Had I ever been so frustrated that I couldn’t? Had I ever felt so guilty about wanting to know what someone’s curves felt like beneath my palms? My lips? My tongue?

I turned around and braced myself on the opposite wall, letting the water hit my back and rain down my body. I wasn’t used to feeling guilty about wanting anything. Not money, not status, not success, not women. Not even about fantasizing about Emme, which I had done plenty of times before without really thinking twice.

So why did I feel bad about it now? What was different? Was it because she was helping me? Was it because I was a father now and fathers weren’t supposed to act that way? Was it because I suddenly didn’t know who I was or how I was supposed to think or what to do with these strange feelings that were threatening to upset the careful balance of my life?

Stop it, I told myself. This kind of self-pity is beneath you. Yes, your world is different, but you are still you. Maybe this fatherhood thing wasn’t in the script you wrote for your life, but you still have control over your actions.

Control. That was the key. I wanted a measure of control.

I straightened up and took my rock hard dick in my hand, determined to feel like my fucking self, even if it was for five stolen minutes in the shower. I pictured Emme on purpose, reclaiming the dream, the way she’d looked last night sipping a martini on my couch, leaning back on the counter in my kitchen, sleeping next to me in my bed. Behind closed eyes I watched her come down the stairs this morning in my T-shirt, her legs bare, her hair messy.

But she doesn’t stop there. She comes over to where I am lying on the couch (I slept there because I’m such a gentleman, although there is no baby in this fantasy, so I’m not sure why she slept over at all but this is my fantasy dammit and I say what goes, and also I am naked) and this time, when she takes off her shirt, she stretches out above me straddling my hips with her thighs, taking me inside her, rocking her body over mine. She says my name softly, over and over again, her long hair grazing my chest, her eyes locked on mine, as she works us both into a frenzy, and gradually my name gets louder and louder and louder, her hips moving faster and faster and faster until —

“Fuck…” The orgasm hit me suddenly and ferociously, and I groaned all the way through it, my hand yanking furiously on my cock.

A few minutes later, I was toweling off and feeling much better about myself, even if I was still slightly out of breath. Clearly that was all I needed—to feel in command of my thoughts, my body, my life.

Everything was going to be fine.