Page 5 of Dr. Single Dad

I recoil in horror. “Are you serious?” I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the thought. “Maybeyoushould try therapy. There are so many questions I have about your relationship with Mum and Dad right now. And your ego. Just no.”

“Do you have something else in mind?” Vincent asks. “We had the name picked out months in advance.”

“I haven’t met—” I’m about to say “it” and realize Jacob and Vincent will probably give me a lecture, so I change tack. “I haven’t met her yet. I don’t want to pick a name and have it be…wrong.”

“How very unpractical of you,” Jacob says.

“This is just the beginning,” says Vincent. He beams like he’s got a secret. “I’ve got a feeling we’re going to see an entirely new Dax, now he’s a father.”

I resist the urge to groan. “There will be no new Dax. I’ve ordered a cot, some milk and some babygrow sleepsuits things, bottles and nappies. I’ve been very practical. I just don’t have a name.” Now that I think about it, I’ll have to pick a name in order to get a passport. Maybe I should come up with some options. How on earth do I go about naming another human being? It seems…bizarre.

“Wait until she shits all over you,” Vincent says and chuckles. “It will be an amazing journey. I can’t wait to share it with you.”

She won’t be shitting on me, I think to myself. The nanny will be dealing with all the shitting. I’m not saying I won’t ever touch the child, and when she’s older, of course we’ll have conversations and see each other. But my research has to come first. My life is full already, and I plan to maintain my priorities even after it—shecomes to live with me.

I’ll ensure her nanny is kind and capable. I’ll make sure she goes to the best schools and has every opportunity. But I won’t be the father cleaning up drool and dirty nappies. I won’t be cooing or singing lullabies.

“You’re going to be a great dad,” Vincent says. “Things will…rearrange when you see her. Take it from me.”

I’m not going to challenge his assertion because it will lead to far too much conversation. Nothing needs to change aside from the arrangement of my flat. It’s just a tiny human who will have a full-time caregiver. If the nanny does her job right, I’ll probably forget the child is even in the house.

THREE

Dax

I feel like I’m being interrogated by the FBI. Since they brought me the results of the blood test, confirming I’m the biological father of the child Kelly gave birth to, I’ve spent two hours talking to people from the hospital and the adoption agency. I’ve been trying to convince them that no, I don’t want to put the baby up for adoption, and no, I won’t change my mind.

“I’d like to see the child, please,” I say, standing. They’ve run out of questions and concerns and I’ve been as patient as I’m prepared to be. I’ve got things to do, a job to get back to. I can’t sit around until these people—who have no claim over my child—get over themselves.

“I’m going to give you my card,” the short blonde woman with the red nails from the adoption agency says. “I’m not sure how adoption works in the UK, but we could help you navigate the process of bringing your child back to the US and?—”

“Which way is out? Where is the baby?” I start testing the doors lining the small room we’re in.

“If you wait here, we can bring your daughter through to meet you,” the older woman says.

“I want to see her immediately,” I say. “Or I want to see whoever’s in charge.”

“We won’t be a moment,” the older woman says, shooting me a smile that says she gets it and will keep the other woman in check.

“You okay there?” Vincent asks, from where he’s been sitting on a sofa at the back of the room.

“Yeah, I just want to get on with it. I need to get a passport so we can get out of here.”

“There’s no rush, mate. Seriously, we’re here until whenever.”

It’s not like Vincent and Jacob don’t have better places to be. I’m sure they do. But I appreciate him acting like he’s some kind of jobless aristo who doesn’t have an inbox that’s blowing up or a wife at home who wants him back.

The door opens and the older lady from the hospital returns. “Mr. Cove, I have the pleasure of introducing your daughter.” The worddaughterechoes around my head like a handful of marbles thrown into a cave. I try to shake off the noise. The nurse wheels in a transparent tray on wheels, just like the one I saw when I went to visit Madison and Nathan in hospital.

I swallow. “Right,” I say. “Thanks.”

She wheels the cot beside me and when I glance down, there’s a bundle of blankets and a hat and a small section of human face.

My daughter.

My knees weaken—something I never experienced before today but now is becoming alarmingly familiar. I grasp the edge of the bassinet to make sure I don’t fall over. Maybe I’m dehydrated. Or perhaps I’m coming down with a virus.

“I’ll leave you two for a few minutes and then I’ll send one of the nurses through to discharge her.”

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