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“Absolutely. I have just the table. Right this way, please.”
I gesture for Collins to follow the maître d’ first.
“You must come here a lot?” she surmises once we’re seated at a table tucked in the back corner, partially obscured by some potted plants that serve as a green privacy screen.
“Not really. I’m just memorable. Generous tipper.”
“Right.” She flips her menu open, lips pursing as she surveys the options. Or the prices maybe.
Our waiter delivers two glasses of water and a bread basket. I decline when he asks about other drinks. Collins does the same. I open my mouth to urge her to get something, thinking she’s trying to save me money, then remember that shecan’tdrink.
It’s a sobering—pun intended—realization.
My gaze falls to her flat stomach as the waiter excuses himself, promising to return soon to take our food orders.
I can’t picture her with a bump. With a baby. I can’t picturemewith a baby. Until Friday, I hadn’t ever thought about having kids.
I take a deep breath. “I’m really sorry about Friday, Collins. I was—it was a shock.”
“Yeah. Took me by surprise too.” She reaches for a slice of sourdough following that dry statement, slathering the bread with honey butter and avoiding my gaze.
I clear my throat and lean forward, ignoring proper etiquette by resting my elbows on the table. “You’ve been to the doctor?”
“Yes.” She takes a bite.
“That was the appointment you asked about?”
She chews, swallows, then finally makes eye contact. “Yeah.”
“You could have told mewhyyou were going.”
“Kit …” She leans forward, too, mirroring my pose. “We don’t have to do this, okay? Ididtell you once I was sure because you had a right to know. But it can end there. I’m taking care of things.”
A tight band suddenly constricts my chest. I figured she was telling me because she’d decided to stay pregnant. I assumed she wasquittingbecause she’d decided to stay pregnant.
I feel like a fool. A presumptuous fool. A presumptuous,disappointedfool. I wasn’t sure if I wanted kids, but I got attached to the idea of this one.
I slam the door on my disappointment, forcing a neutral expression on my face. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed that you were … can I go with you to the, uh, procedure?”
Collins looks momentarily startled. Then she shakes her headrapidly. “Oh. No. That’s not what I—I’m keeping it. I meant, I have a plan. I’m going to move back to New Haven. I already applied to some admin jobs at Yale, and I’m touring apartments with my sister next weekend. My mom offered to watch the … baby over the summer and then a couple of days a week once the fall semester starts, and there’s a day care on campus. I’ll figure it out.”
At first, I’m relieved. So,sorelieved.
And then? I’m pissed.
“Your plan is tomove? Two hours away? When were you going to run that terrible idea past me, Collins?”
She glares. “Terrible idea? I’m doing you afavor.”
“What kind offavoris taking my kid away from me?”
“Come on, Kit. Your life is practically an endless party. You take weekend trips to Vegas. You go to fancy galas with champagne and caviar. You sleep with socialites and probably live in a penthouse and fly around in a private jet. I’m not criticizing; I’m stating facts. You’re young and hot and single and stupid rich. Whywouldn’tyou enjoy it? But you can’t take a break from changing diapers and then go get arrested in Monaco for stealing a yacht?—”
“That happenedonce, and I was sixteen.”
I’d rather tease her about thehotthat slipped out than defend my near criminal record, but that’s not going to earn me any points in theresponsible adultcolumn.
I lean closer and continue, “I have a good job. My own place, and thefactthat it’s a penthouse just means it has plenty of space. I’m ‘stupid rich,’ as you put it. And I was raised by two amazing parents. Having a few wild years doesn’t make you unqualified to have a kid.”