Page 3 of Dr. Single Dad

“Nice to hear from you, Dax. How are you? Keeping well? How’s work?” He’s mocking me. It’s nice to know some things never change, even when my world is being turned upside-down.

“Is it available?” I ask, ignoring him.

“You want the jetnow?” he asks. “It’s not even light out.”

“Yes. Is that possible?” Maybe I should have looked at getting a commercial flight first. I could have avoided any questions from Vincent.

As if on cue, he says. “What’s going on? What’s on fire?”

“Is the jet available?” I ask. “That’s all I need to know. If it’s not, let me hang up so I can find an alternative.” I’ve never hired a jet before, but it can’t be hard. I check the time. Five to six. Nothing is going to open for at least a couple of hours.

“I have no idea. I know I’m not using it, but in terms of a pilot…”

Vincent trails off, and I start to wonder how I’ll bring this baby back to the UK without a passport. And nappies. Fuck. What else haven’t I thought about? My plans haven’t gone beyond: one, bring baby back; two, hire a nanny; three, get on with my life.

I don’t know if it was my upbringing, something in my DNA, or just gut instinct that had me telling Kelly to cancel the adoption. Whatever it was, the decision is made. I can’t shirk my responsibility to the child. I participated in her conception, and now it’s my duty to participate in her…existence, I guess.

It's mydutyto go and collect this child and ensure she’s looked after.

“The plane is at City Airport. It will be ready in thirty minutes.” Vincent’s announcement brings me out of my thought spiral.

“It will?”

“Listen, I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I want to help. You need a lift?”

“I can get a cab.” I keep my passport in my desk drawer, so I don’t even have to go home first.

“What about a travel companion?”

“What?”

“I have a spare few hours. I can get to City in an hour. We can travel together.”

I nod before I speak. “Yeah, actually that would be good.” I find some strength in my legs and head back into the hospital lobby, where there’s a twenty-four-hour shop stocking a weird assortment of things, from dental floss to slippers. It’s just what I need, given I’m about to fly to the US to pick up my daughter.

“Anything else you need?” he asks.

I almost ask him if he has nappies and maybe some baby clothes, but that would create more questions than answers. I can pick up what I need when we get there. How much can a newborn need for a quick transatlantic trip within forty-eight hours of birth? “Not at the moment.”

“I’ll see you in an hour.”

He didn’t once ask me why I need a jet. I appreciate it more than he’ll ever know.

The stewardess offersus champagne as if it’s a perfectly reasonable thing to do before eight in the morning. Vincent and Jacob shake their heads without looking away from me. They’ve been steadily staring since we boarded the jet.

“No, thank you,” I say, trying to pull my mouth into a smile.

“Now I know something’s wrong,” Jacob says, jabbing his finger at me. “You just tried to fake a smile. It’s freaking me the fuck out. You rarely smile, but youneverfake a smile. Not for anyone. What the hell is going on?”

He’s right. I’m trying to act normally even though normal is the last thing I feel. My insides are churning, like I know my life’s about to change and I’m not ready for it. It’s not that I think I’ve made the wrong decision by resolving to keep the baby. Rather, I’m not quite sure what the consequences of my decision might be. If I’d had some notice, I could have hired a nanny and she could have come with us to pick up the baby and everything would have been just fine. But it’s likely that I’ll have to deal with this child personally, at least until I’m back in the UK. And I haven’t got a clue where to start.

I pull out my phone, ready to search “newborn care how??” Food, bed, nappies. There can’t be much else, surely?

“Dax, did you hear me?” Jacob asks. “What’s going on? Why are the three of us headed to the US, when I was expected to spend the day eating Weetabix in my pajamas because I have two days off in a row.” He sounds like he used to when Nathan beat him at table football—like a whiny teenager.

Vincent pats him on the arm, trying to calm him.

“I don’t know why you’re here,” I reply, sliding my finger up my phone screen, unclear what I need to focus on first. “I didn’t ask you to come.”

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