Two days later, I leave Will with Jane at my apartment. She’s great at looking after him, and not only do I trust her with Will, but he always seems to have a blast with her. I’m pretty sure she’s going to be Aunt Jane for Will, rather than just Jane, his mom’s friend.

I chose an out of the way coffee shop to meet Shane.

I’m here early, with my car parked nearby, in case I need to make a quick escape. My mind is in turmoil, and I don’t think this is going to go well.

My plan has changed a little. I’m going to finally confront him about Will, about our son. Why the hell didn’t he ever return my voicemail?

A little part of me seems to know that… well, that he just didn’t get the message. It’s been in the back of my mind for years and years, nagging at me, tugging at my thoughts, at my anger towards Shane.

I mean, what kind of man would get a voicemail saying he had a son and then not do anything about it? Or even say anything about it? It doesn’t sound like Shane. But then again I really don’t know him that well.

I’m sitting here sipping on my coffee when he comes in. He’s instantly recognizable. He’s spruced himself up a little since college.

He looks more grown up. He’s no longer wearing just an old college t-shirt. He’s got on a button down shirt that’s just the right cut. He looks good. Even better than in college, actually.

His face has matured a little. He has sharper lines on his face, making it more defined, if that’s possible.

He’s bigger than he was before. But not by a huge amount. But he looks like he’s been working out constantly since college, which is probably accurate.

There aren’t a lot of people in this out of the way café. But all heads turn to look at him.

After all, he’s on TV, and he’s famous for being the up and coming quarterback. Everyone always talks about him at my job, including my boss.

He looks at me, recognizing me instantly.

He doesn’t smile, though. In fact, he looks angry. I can see it on his face. His mouth is slightly downturned, and his eyebrows are scrunched together a little.

He looks impossibly powerful, the definition of masculine.

I hate to admit it, but despite my feelings, my body starts to respond to his presence.

I can feel him approaching. Like a visceral yearning. My body wants him to enter me and put more babies inside me. That’s crazy, and my mind rebels. But that’s biology for you. He’s the tallest and the strongest, the clear leader. The most physically fit man I’ve ever encountered. And my body knows that. My womb knows that. My pussy knows that, calling out for his cock to enter me, for him to take me right here and right now.

“How’s it going?” he says, sitting down across from me.

He seems huge sitting down. He seems to be about twice my size. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this close to him physically.

Here sits the father of my son.

That’s weird.

My mind for a moment seems completely overwhelmed, and I start forgetting my plan.

Did I ever even have a good plan?

Or was I like so many others? Did I just concoct some sort of half-assed plan based just on unfortunate emotions, anger and strife?

My mind seems completely blank.

“Hi,” I finally say. “Are you going to get something to drink?”

“I’m fine,” says Shane.

He seems like he’s on a mission. He seems pissed off.

This already isn’t going well, judging by his body posture and his tone of voice.

But then again he thinks that I sent out this erotic video of him. Doesn’t he have a right to be angry?

But don’t I have a right to be angry? After all, abandoning his son is far worse than anything I’ve done.

“So,” says Shane, breaking the awkward silence. “I’m here to find out if you sent that video of me.”

I look at him for a moment before responding.

“No,” I say. “I didn’t.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I didn’t have anything to do with that video.”

I tell him the story of seeing those two girls on my hall watching it. I was shocked then and I tell him that.

“So why didn’t you just tell me that by email?”

I don’t answer the question.

Instead, I start asking him about the voicemail I left him, the one where I told him I was pregnant.

The conversation is already horribly awkward, and I figure it can’t possibly get any worse.

“What message?” says Shane.

“I left you one…”

I go into the whole story of how I called him, how he didn’t pick up.

He completely denies it, and I see the look of honesty in his face.

It turns out he thinks that I never called him back. Or something like that. It’s hard to keep track of the exact story. Especially since I’m sweating with anxiety. Even my feet are sweating. Which is completely gross. And completely distracting. My heart feels like it’s pounding too fast, like it’s going to burst through my chest.

“Wait,” I say. “So you really didn’t get my voicemail?”

“No,” says Shane, looking annoyed but honest. “I didn’t. If it’s so important to you, what did it say anyway?”

“Oh, nothing,” I say.

Suddenly, I realize that he doesn’t know about Will.

How have I managed to screw this up so badly?

“You’re sure you’re not the one who sent me that email, or record that video?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I swear it wasn’t me. I mean, I’d never do something like that…”

“OK,” says Shane. “I believe you.”

He seems to have calmed down a little bit.

My own anger has calmed down.

But I’m incredibly nervous.

Now I have to tell him that I have his son? That he got me pregnant?

I open my mouth, but no words come out.

“It seems like you want to tell me something,” says Shane.

“Oh,” I finally manage to say. “No, it’s just that my mouth was a little dry there.”

I take a sip from my coffee, hoping to convince him of my stupid lie.

“Any idea who did the video?” says Shane.

I shrug.

“Not that it’s that important,” says Shane. “It’s just weird, that’s all. I mean, if it was someone I don’t know, I hardly really care. But honestly I was pretty angry when I thought it was you. You were the one, who…”

“The one who what?” I say, noticing that he didn’t complete his sentence.

“Nothing,” says Shane. “So what’s going on with you? Did you become a physical therapist?”

“I’m surprised you remembered that,” I say.

“I remember a lot about you,” says Shane, giving me a meaningful look. I don’t know exactly what it means. “So, who are you working for now? Are you doing sports stuff or general physical therapy?”

“Neither,” I have to admit. “Things didn’t go exactly as I’d wanted. I work at a restaurant now.”

I can’t tell him the truth. Not just yet. I can’t tell him that I couldn’t afford to go to school because of our son. He doesn’t even know we have a son.

I’ll tell him. Just not right now. Not like this.

“Oh,” says Shane. “That’s too bad. I thought you had a promising career ahead of you… but things don’t always work out. I’m sure you’ll figure out something for the future.”

Great, now I seem like some loser who just couldn’t get her shit together. That’s what he thinks of me, I guess.

But I notice that he’s eyeing me up and down. He can’t seem to take his eyes off me.

“I guess,” I say. “Things seem to be going really well for you. I hear about you at the restaurant I work at. And I see you on TV all the time.”

Shane shrugs. “Just doing what I love doing.”

“You weren’t ever really much good at anything else, right?” I say sarcastically.

Shane laughs.

His eyes seem to light up.

Now I remember it, that connection that we had. It was sexual, but it was so much more. It seemed to happen instantly back in college.

And now it’s happening again.

It’s an indescribable feeling, a spark between us that just lights me up completely.

My whole body feels light.

“Yup,” says Shane. “I’m just a dumb jock. I barely know how to read, except for all those books that I have stashed in my house, the ones that I never let my teammates know I read.”

“Sure,” I say. “I bet you have a big collection of Dr. Seuss or maybe the Chronicles of Narnia.”

“Hey, don’t knock my favorites,” says Shane, laughing. “Those are great books.”

“If you’re a little kid.”

“Well, I’m definitely not a little kid.”

“No, you’re definitely not.”

“Hey,” says Shane. “Do you want to go for a walk or something? It’s a great day outside, and it’d be nice to walk around.”

“Sure,” I say.

Maybe I’ll muster up the courage on the walk to tell him. Tell him that he has a son named Will. That I’ve been raising Will by myself for two years.

I throw out my coffee cup and follow Shane out the door into the sunlight afternoon.

I’ve got to tell him, I tell myself. If I don’t tell him now, I’ll never tell him.