Page 61 of Headstrong Like Us

“Nah, it’s just me. I’m an only child.” He glances at me again, confused. I just want to cut to the chase. I know Donnelly’s family history, and I don’t need this doctor asking him a million questions.

“He has one uncle. So that’s most likely the father.” I look to Donnelly. “Knowing your family history, and how much DNA you share with the kid…you two are cousins.”

12

MAXIMOFF HALE

Dear World,what the fuck? Sincerely, a stupefied human.

We receive more information, and Donnelly’s world sounds more bizarre and fucked up than even mine. Just to be clear, I’m aware my problems aren’t that significant compared to most. I have a hefty trust fund, great parents, and I’m engaged to the guy I love.

I’m processing.

How Donnelly’s Uncle Scottie is only thirty. How Scottie got a twenty-five-year-old woman pregnant before he was sent to prison.

Tina Ripley was at the hospital tonight after an OD. Once she gained consciousness and answered a few questions—including giving the hospital staff Donnelly’s name and number—she snuck out the back door. Disappeared and left behind the four-month-old baby she was wheeled in with. Police have been searching but they can’t find Tina.

After delivering all the details, the doctor and social worker leave the office to let us discuss everything.

Legal documents line a mahogany desk, and I’ve already called my family’s lawyers to help. No one’s made any decisions, but there are only two living relatives able to care for the baby, Paul Donnelly and his dad Sean.

Since Sean was just released from prison and no one’s been able to get ahold of him, the social worker already ruled him out.

The way it’s been explained to us, both parents—Scottie and Tina—still have parental rights. Until the police find Tina or until Scottie gets released from his five-year sentence (for manufacturing meth), the baby needs a guardian to take over all legal rights.

That person will be responsible for all of the child’s needs. Shelter, food, education…every little thing.

The three of us sit in chairs: me, Farrow, Donnelly. We face a desk, an empty plush leather seat tucked against it. My stomach hasn’t stopped clenching since we got here.

“So maybe I take the kid?” Donnelly says, talking it out. “The mom could come around and want him back. It’d be like babysitting.”

Farrow gives him a serious look. “What if she doesn’t come back?”

Donnelly’s knees bounce and he clicks a pen open and closed. Open and closed. He slips the pen behind his ear. “You know after my parents got sent away, I spent a month in a group home.” His voice cracks on the last words.

I didn’t know.

Farrow puts a hand on his back.

Donnelly shakes his head. “How could I do that to him? When I have the money. When my grandmom took me in with less.”

Farrow’s eyes redden. “Could you give Maximoff and me a minute alone?” That question is like facing a head-on collision. I know what’s coming. I see the aftermath.

But I’m still holding my breath.

Donnelly rubs at his face, exhaustion behind blue eyes. “Yeah, I need somethin’ to eat anyway.” Farrow gives him directions to the nearest vending machine, and when he leaves, Farrow turns to me with grave, serious eyes. I know him well enough to see what’s ahead.

“You want guardianship,” I say aloud, letting the reality into the air.

He barely blinks. “I can’t ask you to do this with me.” He keeps an arm on the back of my chair, but he doesn’t touch me.

I feel myself packing on life vest after life vest. Abs tight, muscles flexed. I can barely slouch a fucking inch. And I’m just staring at the love of my life—the guy who’s as stubborn as me—and I’m falling in love with him. More and more.

Even if I’m scared.

“You’re ready to be a dad?” I ask. “Right now?”

Farrow tilts his head from side to side. “I don’t know.” Honest to God, he looks terrified.