“You getting sleepy, Will?” I say.

Will’s impossibly cute face stares up at me.

He’s been playing with his blocks for a solid 40 minutes, super high energy, saying “Momma” the entire time, as well as making a lot of other sounds, many of them real words, or almost real words.

It’s amazing how much he looks like Shane. To me at least. Only Jane knows that Shane is the father, and she says she doesn’t see it. Everyone else just says how much Will looks like me. They tell me he has his eyes, and then another person might tell me he has my nose, and my jaw.

To me, he does look like me, but I think he looks more like Shane.

These things are kind of subjective, though, in the end.

“I think you’re getting too sleepy, Will,” I say. “Do you want to take a nap?”

He nods at me, his eyes looking impossibly sleepy.

“All right, Will, here we go.”

I pick him up. My muscles are tired, and I have to struggle to carry him into his room where his crib sits against the wall. I wouldn’t be sore except for overworking myself at the restaurant, where it seems like I’m always the one doing the mopping, the scrubbing, all the manual labor, while my boss sits back and eats and drinks like he’s nothing more than a customer.

I set Will down in his crib, covering him with a light blanket. I’ve been paranoid since I had him about all kinds of problems that kids can get, like SIDS, and all sorts of other horrible things.

But I read that a light blanket is OK, and I even checked with the pediatrician, who assured me that at this age it’s quite fine to use a light blanket.

Will is already fast sleep, with his thumb near his mouth, looking, again, impossibly cute.

“Sweet dreams, Will,” I whisper to him, blowing him a kiss.

I stand for a moment and admire the room.

I work hard to afford this, and I’m proud of it. It’s a simple two bedroom apartment. It’s nothing glamorous, but it’s not yucky either, and everything works well. There’s hot water, a refrigerator, a stove, and none of it is disgusting.

We don’t live in the greatest area, but it’s safe, just a regular run of the mill neighborhood.

I had a one bedroom apartment for a long time, and it took me forever to decide to make the move. I figured that as Will grows, he’s going to need his own room, and now is a great time to start it. A lot of my salary and tips go to having this extra bedroom, but I don’t want Will to grow up with us constantly moving. I wanted to get a place that would last us a good long while, a place that I could transform into a home.

And that’s what I’m doing, slowly but surely, when I have a spare few hours here and there. When I still have the energy, I’m working on painting the whole place myself, using the best non-toxic paints of course, basically refitting it into what I envision a home to look like, which is comfortable and cozy and not in the least bit stressful. I have enough stress at work. When I come home, I want to be able to put my feet up and relax. Of course, actually having a moment to myself with a child Will’s age is a real rarity.

I head back into the living room and flop down on the couch, putting my legs up on the old wooden trunk that I use as a coffee table.

There’s a knock at the door.

There goes my relaxation time. I was thinking of just sitting here and staring at the wall, trying to catch a moment of rest in one of my few days off.

It’s Jane at the door.

“Why didn’t you call?” I say.

“I thought you liked the drop in.”

“Not really,” I say, but it’s not true. I don’t want to over encourage Jane to drop it at any moment, but I like the feeling of people coming by my house unannounced. It’s more convivial, and makes me feel less lonely, what with my parents thousands of miles away in Mexico and all.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” says Jane. “You’re happy to see me and you know it. How’s little Will?”

“Doing fine,” I say. “I Just put him to bed.”

“Damn, I was hoping to play with him.”

“Well stick around for an hour or so and I’m sure he’d love to show you his blocks.”

“Ooh, sounds fun.”

I laugh. “It is, but I do sometimes get tired of the blocks. But I never get tired of how crazy he is for those things. I wish I had that kind of enthusiasm still.”

Jane pours herself a glass of wine, knowing that I have a bottle in one of the upper cupboards.

I get myself a water, and Jane joins me on the couch in the living room.

“So he emailed you?”

“Is that why you came by? To get the gossip…”

“Basically,” says Jane.

“Typical Jane.”

“So… tell me what happened? Why’s he emailing you out of the blue. He’s still pining away for you? The super stud who has every girl just can’t get enough of that magic pussy of yours.”

“Jane!” I say.

“You know it’s true.”

“It’s not true,” I say. “It’s not like that. He forwarded me some email. He thinks that I sent this video of him, um, masturbating…”

Jane laughs. “You mean that video that’s been floating around?”

“You saw it?”

“Yeah, I uh…”

“Don’t tell me what you did when you were watching it.”

“OK, I won’t then. But, yeah… that was pretty hot stuff.”

“I can imagine,” I say sarcastically, as if I’ve never had the real thing in person. “I caught some girls on our hall watching it.”

“Really? Who?”

“Faleena and Shawna.”

“The inseparable roommates. I remember them.”

“How could you not? It’s only been two years.”

“Two long years. So what happened? He saw the video and sent you an email about it? I don’t get it.”

“Yeah, I guess he thinks that I took the video or something. I don’t know. The email address that sent him the video had my first name in it.”

“What was it? ?”

“Very funny,” I say.

“So did you reply yet? That’s really weird… the whole thing.”

“Uh,” I say, averting my eyes.”

“What?” says Jane. “You sent him some weird email?”

“Uh,” I say.

“You did!” she says, accusation in her voice.

“Maybe I did,” I say.

“Uh oh,” says Jane. “I know it’s bad since you sound so uncomfortable about it. But I guess it’s good. You’ve got to open up the channel of communication.”

“I thought I was done with him,” I say. “I mean, he didn’t seem interested in the voicemail I left telling him we had a son together. I mean, how crazy is that?”

Jane just nods. She’s heard this from me a thousand times before.

“But I guess I never really got over him…”

“Got over one date?”

“It was more than that,” I say. “But anyway, it’s not a romantic thing…”

“Sure,” says Jane sarcastically, interrupting me.

“I mean, it’s for Will. He’s got to know his father.”

“So you wrote him an email saying that he’s got a son named Will or something? I really don’t understand why you didn’t do that earlier. Maybe he didn’t get your voicemail or something. I mean having a kid is a big deal…”

“I know he got it,” I say, interrupting her.

“All right, all right,” says Jane, trying to calm me down. “You get so sensitive about all this.”

“It’s hard not to,” I say, taking a big gulp of water.

Jane takes a sip of wine.

“Hey,” says Jane. “If I were in your situation, I’d be acting just as crazy as you are.”

“Uh, thanks,” I say. “I guess that’s somewhat comforting.”

“No problem,” says Jane, pretending to miss my constant sarcasm. “So what did you say in the email? That it wasn’t you? Or what?”

“I didn’t say anything,” I say. “I said I want to meet him. He only lives 40 minutes away.”

“You said you want to meet him? And what? You’re going to tell him he’s a dad?”

“Uh, I don’t think I’ll head into that right yet,” I say. “I kind of led him on. I didn’t deny doing the email thing, so I figure he thinks it’s me. And I’ll just kind of… I don’t know… feel him out. I wanted an excuse to meet him and get to know him again a little bit before jumping into the, ‘You put a baby in me and never called me back,’ thing.”

Jane lets out a groan and holds her forehead dramatically in her hands. “Ugh,” she says. “This is so complicated. Why can’t anything ever be simple with you. None of this makes any sense at all.”

I don’t know what to say.

“You realize that, right?” she says. “None of this makes any sense. You’re going to go meet him in the hopes of getting to know him, even though he knows you have his kid and he doesn’t give a shit? And this is all on the pretense of you pretending that you sent out a porn video of him masturbating?”

“Uh, yeah,” I say. “I know it’s not a good idea, but…”

“You can say that again,” says Jane.

After a pause, she adds, “But I’ll watch Will if you need me to.”

“Thanks,” I say.