Sunday morning, I woke up determined to do what I’d promised myself and stay away from Emme. I wouldn’t text her with updates. I wouldn’t call her for advice. I wouldn’t invite her over to help. I needed to do things on my own, even if I was going on less than five hours of sleep and craved nothing but caffeine and sugar.

During Paisley’s morning nap, I emailed my boss and told her I needed time off for a family emergency. She replied very quickly that she hoped things were all right and that it shouldn’t be a problem to cover my caseload for the week. But she requested I come in on Monday morning, if at all possible, to get things in place. I told her I would let her know by the end of the day if I couldn’t get there, then worried all afternoon about how I was going to make it happen. Did I take Paisley with me? I imagined myself walking through the lobby doors of the firm’s building wearing a suit, tie, and the baby sling and wanted to die. But as I had no one to watch her yet, I didn’t know if I’d have a choice. I figured I could ask Emme and that she’d probably say yes since Monday was her day off, but I didn’t want to.

After Paisley woke up and drank her bottle, I took her to the grocery store, which turned out to be a much bigger ordeal than I had anticipated, and I had anticipated a pretty fucking big ordeal. First, the carts at the grocery store didn’t have those built in seats for infants like the carts at Babies“R”Us, and I struggled to balance her car seat in the front compartment where little kids were supposed to sit. After a few minutes of grappling and sweating and muttering curse words under my breath, I was rescued by a merciful woman who took pity on me. “Here," she said. “Let me show you how to do it.”

When Paisley’s car seat was secure, I thanked her. “I’m new at this dad thing," I said apologetically. “Still learning how to do everything."

Things went okay for the next twenty minutes or so, but it was taking me forever to shop because I couldn’t leave the cart and run to grab something I’d forgotten two aisles back—and I kept forgetting everything (sleep deprivation is no joke). It’s not like I could say to Paisley, stay right here, I’ll be right back, and dash over to the produce section again. I had to bring her with me every time.

Then, of course, she decided to shit herself right in the middle of the canned vegetable aisle. Her face turned a shade of red that rivaled the crushed tomatoes, and she grunted like a four-hundred-pound deadweight lifter. Other shoppers, who previously had all stopped to tell me how cute she was, now seemed to avoid us. When she was finished, the stench surrounded us like a toxic cloud everywhere we went. It was so bad I ended up cutting the shopping trip short and running for the checkout without even hitting the dairy aisle, even though I was out of eggs and milk. Then, as we were waiting to be rung up, she decided to start screaming over absolutely nothing and wouldn’t stop.

“Sorry," I said to the cashier. And the customer ahead of me. And the customer behind me. And the woman one lane over. And anyone I passed on my way out to the parking lot.

I put her in the car first and then loaded the grocery bags into my trunk. It was on the way home that I wondered how I was supposed to get her and all of the grocery bags up to my apartment without the big cart. “How the hell do people do this?” I muttered out loud.

Her answer was a fresh round of wailing. I didn’t blame her.

In the end, I made the first trip up to my apartment carrying as many grocery bags as I could in one hand and her car seat in the other. Then I put her in the stroller, wheeled her down to the parking garage, and loaded up. Bags were hanging off my arms and bulging out the bottom of the stroller, but I managed to get everything in one trip.

The one good thing that day was that I managed to bathe her all by myself without doing harm to either one of us or making too big a mess in the kitchen. In fact, she actually seemed to enjoy getting her hair washed, and when she was dry and dressed in a clean sleeper, I sat her on my lap and brushed her hair for the first time. I couldn’t get it to lie completely flat, but it looked pretty fucking cute. She seemed to like that too, although she kept trying to grab the brush out of my hand. When I was done with her hair, I let her play with it, and she immediately tried to eat the thing. I watched her gnaw on the handle for a couple minutes, then I took out my phone and snapped a picture of her—my first.

The realization hit me that I was probably going to take thousands of photos of her in my lifetime, but this was the very first one. It choked me up a little, although I would never admit it to anyone.

Of course, the next thing I wanted to do was send the picture to someone, because what good was it to have a cute kid if you couldn’t show her off? Emme was my first thought, not just because she was the only one of my friends who knew about Paisley, but because I genuinely wanted her to see the photo. Was it breaking my vow to text it to her? It’s not like I was asking for help or anything.

Paternal pride overruled my stubbornness, and I decided to send it.

First bath on my own. We survived. I think she likes my mad hairstyling skills.

I sent the message and the photo, hoping for a quick and friendly reply. It took less than 30 seconds.

Emme: OMG! She is the cutest thing ever. Great job on the bath. Things going okay today?

I had to text with one hand, so it took me a couple minutes to write back.

Me: Yes. Grocery store was a bit hairy and smelly, but all is well. How are you?

Emme: Oh dear. Hairy and smelly? I’m fine. Cleaning my apartment and making spaghetti sauce and meatballs.

Homemade spaghetti sauce and meatballs. Jesus Christ, that sounded good. My stomach groaned with envy. Since Paisley had arrived, I was surviving on shit like chocolate-covered potato chips, dry cereal (since I’d run out of milk), raisins, lunchmeat, and cocktail olives. I hadn’t even had the time or energy to make a proper sandwich. But I didn’t want her to know that.

Me: Sounds good. Enjoy your dinner.

She didn’t text back. I set my phone aside and exhaled. It sucked not being able to be honest with her. She and I had never had to bullshit each other, and I didn’t like it. What I really wanted to say was, How about you bring that spaghetti over here and hold the baby while I pour you a drink?

But if she came over, I had a feeling I knew what would happen. I didn’t trust myself.

While Paisley took her afternoon nap in the swing, I made a few work phone calls and did laundry. I was folding some of Paisley’s things—they were so tiny in my big hands, it was ridiculous—when I wondered if I would have to move to a bigger place.

Fuck. I didn’t want to move. I loved this apartment. Everything about it said me. Except…I hardly even knew who that was at this point. Did the old me still exist? Did being a father supersede every other part of my identity? Did I have a right to live where I wanted to live without worrying if it was right for a kid? How often would she even visit? What was my life going to look like moving forward? Could I shift back and forth from old Nate to single dad Nate at will? Be one thing when she was with me and another when she wasn’t?

The walls started to close in on me, and I sank onto the couch, eyes closed. My stomach hurt. My brain hurt. How was I ever going to get used to the fact that nothing in my life would ever be the same? I didn’t want these problems. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to be a father.

Then I thought of Emme. What had she said to me Friday night?

If you were really the alpha male you pretend to be, you’d take responsibility for this like a grown-ass man and not fall apart like the ridiculous boy I see in front of me.

Frowning, I got to my feet again. I wasn’t fucking pretending. And I wouldn’t fall apart.

After I had stacked Paisley’s clothing beneath the changing table and put away my own laundry, I decided to make the call to my mother. Telling her would not be fun, but the longer I avoided it, the more cowardly I felt. I needed to do something that would make me feel strong. Show someone I was accepting responsibility like a man.

Then I could tell Emme about it.

I glanced at Paisley, who was sleeping peacefully in the swing, picked up my phone and made the call. My mother didn’t answer, so I left a message asking her to call me back, which, of course, she did after Paisley woke up and was just getting started on her nightly crying jag.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, shifting the screaming baby to my left arm so I could hold the phone to my ear with the right.

“Nate? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Hello? Hello?”

I rolled my eyes and spoke louder. “Hello, Mom. It’s me. Can you hear me?”

“Sort of. Where on earth are you?”

“I’m at home.”

“Well, what’s all that noise? Is your television on? Can you turn it off? I’m having trouble hearing you.”

“It’s not my television. It’s a baby, and I can’t turn it off. Sorry, I wish I could.”

She was silent a moment. “Did you say a baby? What’s a baby doing at your apartment? Whose baby?”

I took a deep breath. “It’s my baby, Mom.”

More silence on my mother’s end. I imagined her taking the phone away from her ear to stare at it.

“I’m sorry, what?”

I spoke loud and clear. “I said, it’s my baby.”

“You have a baby?”

“Yes. She’s eight weeks old, and her name is Paisley.”

“Eight weeks old? I don’t understand. You’ve had a baby for eight weeks and you’re only telling me about it now? Oh my God. Oh my God, I have to sit down. I feel faint.”

Stay calm. “No, Mom. She’s eight weeks old, but I just found out about her two days ago.” I waited for a reply, but didn’t hear anything for a minute, and then there was the telltale crackle of a brown paper bag as she breathed in and out of it. “Mom? Are you okay?” More crackling. “Look, I know this is a shock. It was for me, too. I promise, I had no idea she even existed.”

The crackling paused. “How is that possible? You didn’t know you…got someone pregnant?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I don’t understand. Was it your girlfriend or something? Why wouldn’t she tell you?”

“It wasn’t my girlfriend. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Who on earth was it?”

“Just someone I know.”

“Well, what’s her name, for God’s sake?”

“Rachel.”

“Rachel what?”

I winced. I really needed to find out her last name. “I don’t know.”

“Merciful Jesus, Nate! Is she a prostitute?” More crackling.

“No! Jesus, Mom. She was just a woman I knew, okay? Let’s leave it at that.”

“So where is this woman now?”

“I don’t know that, either. She left the baby with me and said she needed some time away.”

“So how do you know it’s even yours?”

Even though I knew the question was fair, and I’d had it too, it made me angry. “Because I do, all right? She’s mine, and I’m keeping her.”

She started up with the wheezing and the paper bag again, and I gave her a minute to calm down. My mother was the kind of person who could make a mountain out of a molehill, and I’d just put her at the foot of Everest.

“Mom? You there?” Paisley had accepted the pacifier and was finally quiet—for now, anyway—and the crackling noise had stopped.

“Yes. I’m here.”

“Would you like to meet Paisley? I could drive up this week. I took some time off from work.”

“Oh, dear. Oh, dear, I don’t know what to say.” Her voice was nervous and timid, like I’d asked her if she’d like to meet the Queen of England instead of her granddaughter.

“Say yes. She’s really cute, and I’ll bring her in the early part of the day, so she’s not so fussy. Evenings are when she’s at her worst.”

“You were, too,” she said, surprising me.

“I was?” We didn’t talk about the past in my family.

“Yes. You’d cry and cry, no matter what Daddy and I did to soothe you. And we tried everything—cereal in your bottle, gripe water, whiskey on your gums.”

“Whiskey? You tried to get me drunk so I’d pass out and stop crying?” I joked.

She laughed, a thing so rare I’d nearly forgotten what it sounded like. It made my throat tighten a little. “It was only a drop, I promise,” she said. “But that’s how things were back then.”

“No wonder I developed a taste for a good bottle of rye.” I looked down at Paisley and tried to imagine a parent thinking it was okay—and a great idea!—to rub booze on her gums. “But I think I’ll skip the whiskey for now. She seems to like the pacifier, and she loves to be rocked to sleep.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve held a baby,” she said quietly. “I always thought I’d have grandchildren, but things turned out so differently than I’d planned.”

“I know, Mom. Believe me. I know.”

By the time we hung up, there was a tentative plan in place for me to drive up to Grand Rapids with Paisley next Saturday morning, depending on how my mother was feeling. I would give her a call that morning, and if she was up for a visit, we’d go.

I was tempted to call Emme and let her know how the conversation with my mother had gone, but she was probably eating dinner by now. I didn’t want to bother her. But part of me couldn’t stop thinking about inviting her over to spend the evening hanging out with me, eating spaghetti and meatballs, maybe watching a movie after we got Paisley to bed. It was torture. After a while, I swore the aroma from the sauce was drifting from her kitchen across the hall into my apartment. Paisley was fussy and wouldn’t stop. I was hungry and lonely and wondering what the fuck had happened to my charmed life when there was a knock on the door.

As I walked over to answer it, I hoped it was her and prayed that it wasn’t. I knew I wouldn’t have the strength to send her away.

When I opened the door, there she stood, looking like an angel and holding two grocery bags in her hands. “Hi,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten yet, but I ended up making a lot of food and thought you might want some.”

“I could kiss you.” I meant it as a joke, but also, I was serious.

She grinned and wiggled a finger at me. “Ah, ah, ah. That’s against the rules. We’re friends, remember?” But there was a glint of mischief in her eye that hadn’t been there last night. It thrilled and terrified me at the same time.

“Come on in,” I said. “I haven’t eaten. I’m starving, but Paisley here doesn’t care.”

“Paisley, what’s wrong?” Emme stopped to kiss my daughter on her forehead. “Mmm, you smell nice. And you look so cute with your hair done. What is there to cry about?”

I followed Emme over to the kitchen, where she set the bags on the island and turned to me. “Do you want me to make you a plate now or put everything in the fridge for later?”

“Have you eaten already?” I asked, bouncing Paisley in my arms.

“No, but I don’t have to eat here. I can hold her while you eat and then go home for my dinner.”

“No, don’t do that. Stay. Eat with me. She’s been up for a while—maybe we can get her down and have a quiet dinner. Watch a movie or something.” It’s not really breaking the promise, I reasoned. She came here, I didn’t call her.

“You’re sure you’re not too tired?” She started taking things out of the bags—plastic containers full of pasta and sauce and meatballs and salad. “You look exhausted.”

“Thanks,” I said, my mouth watering at the sight of a bag of frozen garlic bread. “But I think that’s just how I look now. I’m fine.”

She laughed and turned on the oven to preheat. “Sorry this is frozen. I’m not much of a baker. More of a cook.”

“I’m in no position to complain, and it all looks amazing to me. My stomach has been growling all day.”

“Aww. Poor thing.” She patted my arm as she went by me to get to the cupboards where I kept bowls and plates. “I’ll make it better.”

“Can I make you a drink?” I asked. Actually at that moment, what I wanted to ask her was to move in with me, marry me, never leave me. But a drink was probably a better idea.

“Sure.”

“Glass of wine?”

“Perfect.”

I pulled a bottle of red from the beverage fridge and set it on the counter, but since I had Paisley in my arms it was Emme who opened it, took two glasses down from the cabinet, and poured. While she did that, I grabbed the little baby brush from the couch where I’d left it.

“I told my mother about her,” I said, taking a seat at one of the barstools at the counter separating the kitchen from the living room. I balanced Paisley on one leg and gave her the brush, which she stuck right into her mouth. At least it quieted her down.

“You did?” Emme glanced at me over one shoulder as she stuck the pasta in the microwave. “How did it go? Was she upset?”

“She was, but pretty much anything upsets my mother. I’m hoping once the shock wears off she’ll be glad to have a grandchild to fuss over. It would give her something good to focus on, I think.”

“And your dad is gone?”

“Yeah. He died a few years back. Right before I moved in here, actually.”

“I’m sorry.” She stopped moving around and met my eyes. “Were you close?”

“Not very, but your dad is your dad.” I was weirdly tempted to talk more about my family, which was never the case, but the words stuck in my throat. I’d burdened her enough with my shit lately, anyway.

“This is where having supportive sisters comes in handy, I guess. Too bad you don’t have one of those.”

“Yeah.” Or a brother, I thought, wishing for the millionth time Adam was still alive. He’d be thirty now, like Emme. And he’d probably have just as big a heart. Much better for her than I would be.

“Want to borrow one of mine?” She flashed a smile at me as she stuck the bread in the oven. “I’ve got two, and one of them annoyed the crap out of me this morning. I’d loan her out for cheap, maybe even free.”

I laughed a little. “Which one, the therapist or the yoga teacher?”

“The therapist. Which might do you some good, actually. Have you thought about that at all? To help you deal with everything?”

“I haven’t thought about anything but sleep and baby poop for two days, with the occasional break for a work-related panic attack.” And, of course, occasionally picturing you naked.

“I get it. Well, something to think about anyway. We all went when my parents divorced and my dad came out as gay.” She shrugged. “I think it helped.”

“That does sound like a lot to deal with as a kid.”

“Well, we were older. In our teens.”

“Still had to affect you.”

She waved a hand in the air dismissively. “I don’t know. Maybe. Anyway, my parents are both much happier now. Did your parents stay together?”

“Yes and no.” I shifted Paisley to my other leg. “They never formally divorced, but after…” I stopped, unwilling to open up that much. Some wounds had to stay closed.

“After what?” she prompted, placing salad into bowls.

“There was just a point at which my parents must have decided they couldn’t live together anymore. Or didn’t want to. Who knows?” I focused on Paisley’s little hands gripping the brush. “I was a teenager by then too. Neither of them talked to me.”

“And no siblings, right?”

I swallowed hard. “No siblings.”

While Emme finished getting dinner ready, I fed Paisley her nighttime bottle upstairs in my room where it was dark and quiet, then rocked her to sleep. It took me about twenty minutes, but she stayed down when I placed her in the sleeper. I kissed my fingertips, pressed them to her head, and silently made her a promise in the dark. I’ll be better than he was.

I’d loved my dad, but I’d loved him because he’d been my father, not because of the kind of father he had been. While I didn’t blame him, because the circumstances had been so far out of his control, the grief too unfathomable, I never wanted Paisley to suffer because I didn’t put her first—above myself, and above anyone else.

And I never wanted Emme to suffer, either, which would surely be the case if she pinned her romantic hopes on me.

But when dinner was done, and the wine was gone, and the movie credits for Casino Royale (my thanks for her bringing dinner) were rolling, I didn’t get up and turn on the lights like I should have. I stayed right where I was, lying on my back at one end of the couch with my legs stretched out toward Emme, who was on the other end, her legs stretched toward me. My feet were tucked between her and the back of the couch, but hers barely came to my stomach.

She yawned. “It’s late.”

I turned off the television, leaving us in darkness. “After midnight.”

“What time will she wake up again?”

Closing my eyes, I brought my hands behind my head. “Who knows? Probably soon.”

“Why don’t you stay down here and sleep? I’ll go upstairs, and when she wakes up, I’ll take care of her. I don’t have to get up early or anything, but tonight is probably the last night I can help you out for a while because of work.”

God, she was too good to be true. Affection for her flooded through me, and I opened my eyes. It was dark, but I could see her perfectly. And I wanted her desperately.

It made me weak.

“You think I could sleep down here knowing you were in my bed?”

Stillness. Silence. “You couldn’t?”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“I thought we said last night—”

“I know what we said. And we were right.”

“So you…you still think it would be a mistake.”

“Yep. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to do it.”

“Nate—”

“Doesn’t mean I’ve stopped thinking about it all night.”

“Oh, God.”

“Doesn’t mean I could keep my hands off you if you stayed the night. In fact, I know I couldn’t.”

“So…so I should go?” She was confused, and I didn’t blame her.

“Hell yes, you should go.”

She nodded slowly, swinging her feet to the floor.

“But I want you to stay.”

“Nate,” she whispered. “Tell me what to do.”

I reached for her. “Come here.”

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