I scan the rest of the birth certificate and gasp when I see the birthdate. I gaze at Josie in utter fascination. “Look,” I say to Quinn, pointing to her date of birth.
“April twenty-fifth,” he says. He sees my look of shock, disbelief, amazement. “What’s so special about April twenty-fifth?”
“Quinn, that’s my birthdate.”
“Damn, really? That’s a coincidence.”
I stare at her. She’s so peaceful as she eats. She has no idea her mother left her. No idea she might be alone in this world. And I wonder if somehow there aren’t any coincidences. Only fate.
Josie finishes half the bottle, and I show him how to burp her. While he does, I go through everything Michelle left. The top of the stroller is also a car seat that snaps off. There’s a bag full of clothes and another full of blankets and a pack of diapers. In the storage bin under the stroller, there’s a baby carrier, a book about babies, a bottle warmer, and the base for the car seat. She brought almost everything one would need to care for an infant. Which makes me think she’s serious about this. I glance at the petition to terminate her parental rights on the coffee table. I wonder what’s going through Michelle’s head right now. Is she somewhere in her car, regretting this and wanting to come back? Or is she breathing a huge sigh of relief?
Josie spits up all over Quinn’s shirt. “Ah, shit,” he says.
“Oops. Forgot a burp cloth.” I get one from the bag, wipe him up, and drape it on his shoulder. “Finish her bottle, and then I’ll take her while you change.” He cradles her in his arm and gives her the rest of the bottle. “You’re a natural.”
He scoffs. “Just because I’ve been around babies doesn’t mean I want one of my own.”
“Sometimes we don’t always get what we want, cowboy. Now tell me something. When you say you’re rich, do you mean relative to Michelle, or rich like you can afford first class plane tickets that you lied to me about?”
“Yeah. Sorry about that. Listen, everyone around here knows who I am and what I come from. It was kind of refreshing to meet someone who didn’t. And the money isn’t anything I ever wanted or even deserved. It was a trust fund set up by my grandfather. It’s something I rarely dip into.”
“Maybe you have a reason to now.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Say she’s yours. Is this trust fund enough to support her? Enough to hire a nanny?”
He nods. “It’s enough.”
The look on his face tells me it might be way more than enough. “Like are we talking a hundred thousand or a million?”
“We’re talking fifteen.”
My eyes bug out. “Million?”
“Like I said, it’s not money I ever wanted.”
“Want and need are two different things, Quinn. And right now, you need a lawyer. So I’d get the checkbook out if I were you. And try not to feel guilty about it.”
“It’s blood money, Amber.”
“You had no problem using it to buy me a plane ticket.”
“Your father was dying.”
I swipe a hand across Josie’s soft brown hair. “What could be more noble than spending your money on a baby who has no one?”
She finishes the bottle, and I put the burp cloth on my shoulder. “I’ll take her. You go change.” I walk around Quinn’s small living room, patting her on the back. I take a whiff of her head, her baby smell permeating me to my core. “You’re going to be just fine.”
Chapter Nineteen
Quinn
Maddox, Andie, Aaron, and Devyn all stare at a sleeping Josie.
“She just left her?” Andie says. “And she’s not coming back?”
Aaron looks at the papers on the table. “Seems like she’s pretty serious about it.”
“Check your phone,” Maddox says. “I sent you our lawyer’s info. He’s not a family lawyer, he’s a corporate attorney, but Jason knows a lot of people. Text him and see if he can hook you up with someone.”
I immediately fire off a text. The sooner I can deal with this, the better.
“She’s adorable,” Devyn says, holding four-month-old Casey on her lap. “It’s amazing how quickly they grow up. How old is she?”
“Almost six weeks,” Amber says.
“What are you going to do until you get the test results?” Aaron asks.
I shrug. “Amber wants to keep her here. She said she’d help.”
“Here? In this tiny apartment?” Maddox says. “The three of you?”
Andie shakes her head. “That won’t do. You should use the guest house. There are three bedrooms. It’ll be a lot easier for all of you.”
I go to the kitchen for a bottle of water. Maddox follows. “I know this is overwhelming,” he says, “but this will end in one of two ways. She’s either your daughter and you man up and take responsibility, or she’s not and this will all be over in a matter of days. Either way, having a kid even for a few days is no easy task. Use the guest house. We’ll bring over some of Viv’s baby things—a bassinet, her swing. We’ve got it all and won’t need it ourselves for another six months or so.”
“I appreciate the crib and shit, but we don’t need the guest house. Like I said, this will be over soon.” I lean against the counter. “How is this even happening?”
He grips my shoulder. “You dip your stick in enough women and things like this are bound to occur.”
Twenty minutes later, there’s more baby crap in my living room, and everyone is gone. Josie wakes and cries. I’m relieved when Amber gets her, but my relief is short-lived when Amber plops her in my lap. “You deal with this. I need to get a few things from my apartment.”
“How do I know what she wants?”
“Process of elimination. Is her diaper dirty? Is she hungry? Is she hot or cold? Does she need stimulation?”
“How in the hell do I know if she’s hot or cold? And what the hell do you mean stimulation?”
“Playtime. You know, communicate with her.”
“She’s an infant, Amber.”
“She’s a human, Quinn. All humans need interaction. Talk to her. Make silly faces. Let her grab your fingers. Show her some of the colorful toys Andie brought over.”
“What am I supposed to say to her?”
“It’s not so much what you say, it’s how you say it. You could read her the Wall Street Journal for all she cares. Do it in a soft, soothing voice, and maybe use different fluctuations.”
I pick up an issue of Sports Illustrated. “Will this do?”
“Perfect. Read it to her. Show her the pictures. I’ll be back in a few.”
Amber leaves and I’m alone with Josie. “I’m totally going to fuck this up.” I look at the fussy baby. “I suppose I shouldn’t say that in front of you. Okay, you can’t be hungry. You ate not too long ago. Let’s check your diaper.” I reluctantly put my nose near her butt and sniff, not believing what I’m doing. Then I squeeze it to check for wetness. “I think you’re good.” I reach for some toys on the coffee table—a squishy giraffe and a bright-pink hippo. “Look here, these are cool.” I make the giraffe dance around, and Josie follows it with her eyes. She stops crying. “Listen, I’m sorry you got a bum deal for a mom, but don’t like it here too much. As soon as we figure this shit, uh… stuff out, we’ll take you back home and make her find your real dad. I mean really, you do not want to be a Thompson. Believe me. Around here, people will hate you for it when they find out you’re related to Joel or Jon. You’re definitely better off being from some unknown family.”