Chương 6
“What did he ask?”
“How tall you are.”
Ethan almost smiled.
“You saw me yesterday.”
“He didn’t trust his estimate.”
“I’m six one.”
“I know.”
“What else?”
She considered whether to tell him.
“He asked whether you like dogs.”
“I do.”
“What kind?”
“All kinds.”
“That’s not an answer an eight-year-old accepts.”
“Golden retrievers, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“I had one growing up.”
“I remember.”
He glanced at her.
She ignored it.
“He asked if you have kids.”
The question hurt in a different way.
“What did you say?”
“That I didn’t know.”
“I don’t.”
“He asked whether you were married.”
“I’m not.”
“I know that now too.”
There was a faint edge to the words.
Ethan deserved some of it.
Not all.
He was beginning to understand that both could be true.
“What does Noah know about his father?” he asked.
Mara’s shoulders rose slightly.
“I told him I knew his father when I was younger and that we lost contact before I knew I was pregnant.”
“That’s true.”
“Mostly.”
“Did he ask why you didn’t find me?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
“That adults sometimes make decisions they think children won’t understand until they realize children understand more than they wanted them to.”
“That is definitely a Mara answer.”
This time she let him see the smallest smile.
It vanished quickly.
“He’s angry with me.”
“I would be.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m not enjoying it.”
“You sounded a little like you were.”
“Maybe five percent.”
“Still annoying.”
“I remember.”
Her face closed again.
Ethan looked at the river.
“I’ll do this your way.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
“Because there isn’t a way.”
He turned toward her.
“There are boundaries.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll follow them.”
“Good.”
“But I don’t want to be treated like a threat because other people made decisions for me.”
Mara’s eyes hardened.
“And I don’t want eight years of parenting reduced to an obstacle between you and your son.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You will feel it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you lost time.”
The words were not cruel.
That made them worse.
“You’re going to want it back,” she said. “You can’t have it. And at some point you’ll get angry at whoever is closest.”
Ethan thought of his mother.
Then of Mara.
Then, uncomfortably, of Noah.
“I don’t want him paying for any of this.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then we agree on something.”
“We agree on him.”
It was the first sentence that gave Ethan any ground to stand on.
The DNA appointment took fifteen minutes.
The waiting took four days.
Ethan worked badly during all four.
His business partner, Caleb, watched him move the same wall six inches back and forth on a restaurant renovation plan before finally taking the mouse away.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ve moved that wall seven times.”
“I’m exploring.”
“You’re having a breakdown in AutoCAD.”
Ethan leaned back.
Caleb was forty-three, bald by choice after nature had begun the process, and one of the few people who had seen Ethan at his worst after his father died.
Ethan considered lying.
Then he said, “I might have an eight-year-old son.”
Caleb remained expressionless for several seconds.
Then he put the mouse down.
“That is not what I expected.”
“No.”
“Do you want coffee?”
“I have coffee.”
“You haven’t touched it.”
Ethan looked at the cup.
“I’m waiting on DNA results.”
Caleb pulled a chair over.
Ethan told him enough.
Not everything.
When he finished, Caleb stared at the floor.
“Your mom did that?”
“Apparently.”
“I like your mom.”
“So did I.”
Caleb looked up.
“You still do.”
Ethan hated him for saying it.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s different.”
Ethan rubbed his forehead.
“What if the test is positive?”
“You deal with it.”
“Excellent advice.”
“I’m an architect, not Oprah.”
Ethan laughed despite himself.
Caleb leaned forward.
“You’re asking the wrong question.”
“What’s the right one?”
“What if it’s negative?”
Ethan opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Caleb nodded.
“Yeah.”
That evening Ethan stood in his kitchen eating takeout noodles directly from the carton when his phone buzzed.
The clinic portal had updated.
He set the carton down.
For several seconds he did not open the notification.
Then he did.
Probability of paternity: 99.99%.
Ethan read it once.
He sat.
Read it again.
No thunderbolt came.
No sudden instinct transformed him into somebody’s father.
He felt sick.
Then relieved.
Then angry at the relief.
Then terrified by how much he had wanted the answer to be yes.
His phone rang.
Mara.
He answered.
“Hi.”
“You saw it?”
“Yes.”
Neither spoke.
Finally Ethan said, “Is he there?”
“He’s brushing his teeth.”
“Does he know the result came?”
“No.”
“When will you tell him?”
“When he’s done brushing his teeth.”
Ethan smiled involuntarily.
“Right.”
“Ethan.”
“Yeah?”
“He wants to meet you.”
His heart kicked once.
“When?”
“Saturday.”
“That’s three days.”
“Yes.”
“I’m free tomorrow.”
“I know.”
He almost asked how.
Then remembered websites, calendars, public work schedules. Modern life left pieces of everyone lying around.
“Saturday is fine.”
“One hour.”
“Okay.”
“At the science museum café.”
“A café?”
“He likes it there.”
“Okay.”
“No gifts.”
Ethan looked at the unopened shopping website on his laptop.
“I wasn’t going to buy anything.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I had considered a book.”
“No gifts.”
“Fine.”
“And don’t tell him everything at once.”
“I don’t know everything.”
“Good. Then that part should be easy.”
Saturday arrived slowly and then all at once.
Ethan got to the museum twenty minutes early.
He spent seven of those minutes in the gift shop before remembering Mara’s rule and leaving empty-handed.
At eleven exactly, Noah walked in beside her.
The resemblance was more obvious now that Ethan expected it.
That was dangerous.
He did not want to spend the hour collecting pieces of himself from the boy’s face.
Noah wore the same blue hoodie.
He stopped two feet from the table.
“Hi.”
Ethan stood.
“Hi.”
Noah looked up.
“You are tall.”
May you like
“So I’ve been told.”
“Mom said six one.”
