Caleb

I walk with Roxie to the coffee shop, my head still whirling with thoughts and emotions. Roxie, too, seems in a daze, as if she can’t quite believe I haven’t yelled at her and stormed off in a fit of pique.

Roxie never lied to me—she didn’t deny having a child, and I knew she was hiding something. The truth, though, is that she has shocked me, and I don’t quite know what to do with the information.

I’m too much of a gentleman to say that I would never be interested in a woman who has a child, but I admit I’m nervous about it. I haven’t had many dealings with kids. My sister and brother both have children, but I’m not close to them, and I’ve never been hands-on. I barely see them, so when I do, they don’t come running to me with cries of “Uncle Caleb!”

I’ve not given too much thought to having kids of my own. It’s something I thought might happen one day, once I’d found Mrs. Right and married her, but that day has always seemed way off in the future. And anyway, that isn’t what we’re talking about here. It’s not as if I’ve gotten Roxie pregnant. She has a child by another man.

I put my arm around her as we walk, but we’re quiet, and I think we both know why. If James’s father isn’t in the picture, and I were to carry on seeing Roxie, I would be saying to her that I’m willing to take on the role of James’s dad. Because anything else wouldn’t be fair to her. They come as a package, even though the kid currently lives with her parents, and it would be cruel to say to her that I want to continue dating her, but that I don’t want anything to do with her child.

Is that what I want? To take up the role of father to a kid that isn’t even mine? I can hear Seb now, saying What the fuck? Just how crazy are you? I’ve only known Roxie a week. Why am I even thinking about getting involved? I should be sprinting back to my car and driving back to my apartment at a million miles an hour!

And then, just as quickly as the panic came, it recedes. I look at Roxie’s bowed head as she studies the ground while we traverse the short distance to the coffee shop. She was obviously pleased that I didn’t just walk off when I realized who the child was and that I’ve asked to meet him, but equally she must also be aware of what’s going through my mind.

She looks different without her bright makeup. Whereas on Saturday she was trying to make herself look too false with her blow-dried hair, today she just looks… lovely. This girl has been working two jobs—three, if you count the band—and studying at night, to earn money for her child. I have nothing but admiration for her.

I don’t have to ask her to marry me. All I have to do is decide whether there’s any chance of us making it to a third date.

We enter the coffee shop. Barbara is sitting at a table with James, who is eating a breakfast muffin, apparently putting more crumbs across the table than he is in his mouth.

Roxie slides onto the bench opposite her mother, and I join her. James looks up at me, eyes wide. Roxie scoops up the crumbs scattered around him and puts them back on his plate. She looks flustered.

Barbara smiles at me. “Would you like a coffee?”

“I’d love one.” I catch the eye of the waitress, and Roxie and I order a latte. “Would you or James like anything else?” I ask Roxie’s mum. She shakes her head. “We’re fine, thanks.”

The four of us sit in silence for an awkward few moments. Roxie’s cheeks have flushed, and I have the feeling she’s dying a little inside.

I have to do something. I have to make a decision now whether I want to try to make this work, or I might as well collect my latte and leave. I look at Roxie, studying her profile, remembering how we spent all evening playing the guitar and making love, and warmth filters through me as if I’ve already drunk the coffee.

I glance at Barbara, who smiles, then at James. He’s picked up a toy from beside him, and he’s trying to give it a piece of muffin.

And suddenly, I know everything is going to be all right.

“Makuta, huh?” I say to James. Have you got his red mask, too?”

They all stare at me. James looks at the toy, and for a moment I think I’ve misjudged, and he’s not one of those boys who knows every single detail about the Lego Bionicle legends—he’s very young, after all.

Then he says, “No. I lost it at the play center.”

“Ah, that’s a shame,” I reply. “The red mask is so cool. What about the golden one?”

“I’ve got that,” the boy states. “And Grandma bought me Umarak the Destroyer last week.” He can’t quite pronounce his ‘r’s and says them as ‘w’s. Uma-wak.

“Wow!” I’m genuinely impressed. I’m still a child at heart. “I had all the Bionicles when I was a kid.”

“Did you have the Bohrok?” He pronounces it Bo-wok.

“I did, all six of them.” I try to ignore Roxie’s incredulous stare.

“Gali is blue,” James says, giving his Bionicle another bit of muffin.

“She is. She’s the toa of water. Have you seen the movie?”

“Only every day since about the age of two,” Barbara says with a smile.

“Me too,” I tell James. “Every day before breakfast.”

That makes the girls laugh. James looks up at me, his shyness turning to curiosity. “What’s your name?” he asks.

“I’m Caleb.”

“Are you in Mummy’s band?”

“No, although I do play the guitar. I design tablets. You know what a tablet is?”

“Grandma has a red one. Sometimes I play games on it.”

“I make those. And mobile phones.” I pull mine out of my pocket, switch it on and enter the code, search for a simple game, and hand it to him. He takes it as if I’ve handed him a gold bar. “Thank you,” he says, and I warm even more to him.

“Are you sure?” Roxie says doubtfully. “His hands are sticky.”

“Nothing a good serviette won’t deal with,” I tell her.

She watches her son pressing buttons. “What if he accidentally dials one of your investors or something?”

“If we’re lucky, he might get us some new business.”

She laughs and meets my gaze. Her eyes are filled with wonder. “Are you for real?”

I smile. “He’s a lovely kid. He does you credit. Both of you.” I flick a glance at Barbara, who’s trying not to look as if she’s watching us.

“You’re not running away,” Roxie whispers.

“No,” I tell her. “I’m not.”