“I need some time,” he said, and the last thing I heard was TV Chet announcing, “As well as being an excellent manager, Stan is an amazing dancer!” And he winked!
Sixteen
Chet
“I need some time.” What a fucking stupid thing to say. I watched as Stan’s face fell then instantly schooled itself. I was a fucking idiot. Here he was growing a human inside him...a human I helped create, and I was acting like I had one foot out the door.
“My feet are both here,” I vowed.
“I have no idea what you mean by that,” he snapped, his voice cracking slightly. Shit. Was he about to cry?
“I mean I’m not about to run. I would never do that. Never.” I took in a deep breath. “Don’t hate me, but I’m worried about your medicine.” And now I sounded like a bigger asshat. “I mean, is it okay for the baby—our baby?”
“Oh.” He fell back against the couch. “Yeah...no, it's fine. The doctor said I could take it the entire pregnancy if my therapist said I needed to, but they were already weaning me off of it. They think my anxiety is more situational.” He snapped his mouth shut. I knew things had not been easy for him and he let a little bit out, but he kept a whole lot more locked away inside him, which was fine. I didn’t need to know all of his secrets. He was telling someone and not trying to hold it all inside of him. It was fine for that person not to be me as long as there was someone.
“I didn’t mean to sound like an ass.”
“No. No, it’s good. It means you care. When you asked me if you were the dad I thought maybe—I thought you were trying to find a reason not to be in their life. And you don’t—I’m trying not to pressure you…” he trailed off.
I was going to be a father. A tiny human was going to rely on me to protect him, love him, and provide for him. And I wanted—no, needed to be that person for him. Stan didn’t need to do the job for both of us. We both made this child, and it was my responsibility—fuck it, it was my longing to be there for him.
“I want this baby,” I spit out. “I mean, not to take him from you, but I want to be a father. I want to be his father.” It was how that could or would work that had me in such a spiral. I was getting half the things I wanted to say wrong, I kept eating my shoe, and worst of all, I was setting Stan on edge just as his hormones were on a freaking joy ride.
“I want this baby too.” He spoke almost too softly for me to hear. “I really didn’t know about the meds.”
“And even if you did...how would that have changed things? Because from where I stand, we would have slapped the same condom on and not thought twice about it.” Maybe we’d have paid more attention to it after the fact and possibly noticed it had broken or leaked or whatever it did, but what would that have changed? Nothing.
“I’d have figured out I was pregnant sooner.” He shook his head. “But you’re right. I wanted you too badly, and condoms are supposed to work.”
“We’ll figure this out,” I assured him. We had to. Another human was depending on me—depending on us. I was going to be the father mine never was. Our baby deserved it. The little one deserved everything.
“I don’t want to burden you.”
“Having a child is not a burden, it is a blessing. We’ll figure this out. I promise. I’m not sure how it will look, but we’ll do it and kick ass doing so.” That earned me a little smile. “Look...this part’s you.” I brought his attention back to the show.
It was where he talked about the town and how wonderful it was. He was right. It was. If only I could make my homebase there and be close to him and our baby. Which gave me an idea. It wasn’t a solution, but it was the spark of an idea that might lead to one.
We watched the rest of the show in almost silence and at the end we said our good-byes with the promise of talking soon. I wasn’t joyed with how we said our good-byes, but I had plans to make.
Which was why at 1 a.m. I was calling Glenn. Fuck it. He’d be awake. The man never slept, and I wasn’t going to be able to either without at least setting some of my plan into place.
“Who’s dead.” Glenn answered the phone all grumbly.
“Like you weren’t watching some Indian Soap Opera.”
“For your information I was not.” I didn’t respond. He’d give himself up. He always did. “Tonight I was watching a telenovela.”
“You and your soaps,” I teased. “But I’m calling for work.”
“The show was fine—better than,” he reassured me, assuming I’d been calling about the premiere.
“It was exactly what our viewers want,” I agreed. And it was true. My viewership loved small towns with big hearts, and Café Om was centered smack dab in the middle of one. “But that wasn’t why I was calling.”
“I’m not going to like this, am I?” Probably not.
“It’s nothing horrid. I just wanted to tell you I need some solid downtime, so I’m not going to be booking any appearances or cookbook signings or pretty much anything until we go back to filming.”
“But you’ll do the big stuff, right?” I had no idea what big stuff he had been working on, but I had a feeling he was going to hate my answer. Glenn was more than just my producer...he’d been in this industry far longer than I had, and he was almost like a manager/producer/big brother combo and I appreciated it more than he could ever know. It just wasn't my focus now. Not that I could tell him the entire story.
I wanted to shout it from the rooftops, but until Stan gave me the go-ahead, I was going to be tight-lipped.
“No. I’m working to contract. Done.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry Glenn. I need this.” My baby needs this.
“I don’t like it.”
“I know.” But his likes, or mine for that matter, weren’t what was important anymore.
I needed to make things easier for Stan and get things in place for when our child entered into this world. I was not going to be my father.
No kid deserved that.
Seventeen
Stan
The phone beeped in my pocket as I was talking to Sandy, the head of the local historical society about her charity fundraiser the following week. It was scheduled for mid-morning, and she and I were calculating the amount and what types of cakes and pastries to provide.
After apologizing, I muted the device. It was Chet. We’d gone from hardly speaking, to him messaging me every hour. I loved being in contact and chatting about the baby, but he was on a filming break, whereas I worked a regular job. He was probably in his PJs watching TV or listening to a podcast. Lucky him!
Once Sandy had left it was almost closing time. I was giving the staff more responsibility and they’d be closing the café. While I hadn’t told them about the baby, this was good practice for when I was on paternity leave. And that was another thing I had to add to my to-do list. We’d need a temp manager to take my place.
As I walked into my apartment, the phone buzzed. Not a message but a video call. “I need to pee,” I gasped as I tossed off my shoes and headed for the bathroom.