“Oh,” he’d said, and tried to focus. “It’d have to be a pretty big house.”
She’d hesitated, and he’d said, “Go on and say it. Whatever it is.”
“It doesn’t sound like you’re all that close with your other sisters. Just from what I’ve picked up. What do you think about getting them hotel rooms? Otherwise, you’re going to be in a sort of family reunion situation at the most stressful possible time. With kids, too, maybe. I think you and Annabelle will need more quiet than that, and probably your sisters as well. You can have them over for meals if you want. The house could still be a gathering place. Just not so … enforced.”
“You’re right. That sounds good. Do that. Though I don’t know about meals.”
“Well, that’s what I’m here for, right?” she’d said cheerfully. “To handle the day-to-day stuff that gets hard to cope with when you’re overwhelmed. I’m not a gourmet cook, but I’m an expert at putting family dinner on the table. I’ve been doing it for almost twenty years now.” And he’d thought again how lucky he was that she was here.
He also wondered how it was that finding out your one-night stand was pregnant, not to mention getting DNA-tested to see if you were the father, could feel like the most normal part of your day. Jennifer had been absolutely matter-of-fact about it when they’d gone into the clinic. To which she’d driven, because, she’d said, “I have to return this car to the airport anyway.” She hadn’t said, “And you’re not fit to drive,” even though it was probably true. He kept thinking he was normal, and then realizing he’d blanked out.
He said, now, “Who knows about the pregnancy?”
She jumped like the question was a bolt from the blue, which he guessed it was. He’d kind of blurted that out. “My grandpa. Not Dyma, not yet. I didn’t want her to worry.”
“About college,” he guessed.
“About any of it. This is her chance. This is her time.”
He thought, When is it your chance? But he thought he knew. Her chance had been once Dyma went to college. Before she’d realized she’d be pregnant then.
She said, “I need to tell you something. Before we get the results back. I don’t know if now’s a good time, though. I mean, obviously it’s not a good time. It’s a terrible time. But I don’t know when will be a better time.”
“Go ahead.” He tried to smile. “I could use some distraction.”
“It’s a confession,” she said, and he thought, What? She’d stopped taking her pills on purpose, or something?
No, that couldn’t be it. How would she have known the condom would break?
She put him out of his suspense. “I didn’t tell Mark yet. My ex-boyfriend. Partly because the dates are better for it to be you, and partly because …” She trailed off.
“Yeah?” he asked. “Why?” He should be half-crazy about the thing with her. The thing with the baby. But he didn’t seem to have space for it. Too much to think about, and he had to let some of it go.
“Because I’d rather it was you,” she said. “And I feel like I need to let you know that. Otherwise, it feels like a guilty secret. I’m wishing it’s you. And I know you’re thinking it’s because you’re richer, but I don’t think so. There’s a maximum amount of child support I’d get anyway. It’s not like I could live on it. Although you’d probably be more likely to pay it, so there’s that. I wouldn’t expect you to be involved with the baby much, either. It’s not like you wanted it.”
He thought, That’s good, because I’d be a lousy father.
She went on, “It’s not even because you’re better-looking. Mark is good-looking, too. You’re one of those beautiful people, though, the ones other people stare at just because they enjoy looking at you. So is Dyma. And I’m not sure that’s always so helpful.”
He didn’t say that he didn’t know what she was talking about. He said, “It opens some doors. You can probably skate on it some, to be honest.”
“It can make you lazy,” she said. “Entitled. Things come too easily, and they always have, so you don’t know the difference. People smile at you more. They pay more attention to you. They give you the benefit of the doubt. It’s good that you played football. I’m guessing you don’t get handed much in football.”
“Nope. You don’t.” This was a weird conversation to have on the day your whole life story had been upended, but it was distracting, he guessed.
“It can make you less kind, too,” she said, “because you don’t struggle enough, and you don’t understand how much other people do.”
“Probably,” he said. “Not sure I see that in Dyma.”
“I hope not. I tried, and so did my mom. Dyma’s beautiful and brilliant, though, and I don’t think I’m just saying that because I’m her mom.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t think you are.”
“She has so many gifts. She’s mostly a hard worker in school, but that’s because she’s so passionate about her interests and she wants to learn more, not because she’s got that … drudge factor. Which I have, so I know the difference. Being willing to slog through, whether you want to or not. She does skate some, in English and History, things like that. It comes too easily. And I wonder if she realizes how lucky she is. Why was her date to the prom an NFL player?”
“Fair point,” he said. “And by the way? I think the kindness comes from you. Also the relentless honesty. Probably the brilliance, too.”
“I’m not brilliant.”
“No? I wonder. What would you have done if you hadn’t gotten pregnant? But you don’t want me for my money or my good looks. So why?”
“Because you’re kind. That’s what I kept coming back to. Which is silly. Dyma would probably tell me it’s not an inherited trait. But I don’t think … I’m trying not to have it be …” She stopped.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m not going to take advantage of it,” she said, “or I’m going to try not to. I just think it’s a good quality. An important quality. It makes everyone else’s life a little bit better, and that matters. The older I get, the more I think that kindness is what matters most. It doesn’t pay, and there’s nothing flashy about it. But it matters. You’re kind, and I want that for this baby.” She smiled at him, so sweetly that he got a head rush. Of emotion, which was weird. “I’m sure there’s a quote in the Tao about it, but I don’t care.”
He took her hand across the table. He shouldn’t. It was an extremely bad idea, whether he was the dad or he wasn’t. He needed to keep his distance. Any lawyer would tell him so. His lawyer would tell him so, the minute he clued her in.
He did it anyway. He squeezed her hand and said, “Hey. Who’s flying with me to North Dakota again, helping me face the hardest thing I’ll ever do? Who jumped right in as soon as she heard and started making me a sandwich? You’re right that kindness makes everybody else’s life better, but you don’t have to worry about it. If it’s an inherited trait, or even if it’s not, the baby will have it. No matter who the father is. Because it’ll be coming from you.”