Page 107 of Salty Pickle

My stomach grows heavy as I click on search results and read entire articles. Fuck. Jason’s right. You can do a simple blood test. And Lucy had a blood draw the other day. We could have done it right then.

But we didn’t.

“Bro, you don’t look good.” Jason smacks my back. “You think she’s delaying the test on purpose?”

“We bought all the baby stuff.”

“Maybe that’s all she wanted? A cash cow?”

“I don’t care if she bilked me for that. But what would her end game be?”

“Maybe she’s hoping you’ll fall in love with her, no matter how the test comes out.”

Shit.

“Hey.” Jason’s voice turns serious. “I’m not saying that’s what’s happening. Obviously, you’re in the running based on the timeline. But maybe guard yourself. Use your head.”

That’s pretty much the opposite of what I’ve been doing.

“When are you headed back to Austin?”

Jason tosses his bottle in his bag. “I’m flying out tonight. Ping me if you need anything. You’ve got backup here. Dad. Grammy.”

“I know.”

He gives me a salute as he heads out of the gym.

A new set of players enters the court, and I’m half-tempted to jump into their pickup game, but I don’t. I gather my things and start walking.

It’s five miles to the apartment. Normally, I’d grab a taxi, but today, I want the time to think.

As far as I can see, I’ve got three problems.

One, why didn’t we do a blood test? That’s a big one. If she’s so sure, why didn’t she look it all up and be ready to prove her case?

Two, what do we do about the goat? I have a lease for six more months. But more than that, where could we even put the damn thing? Nowhere in Manhattan. I can’t imagine commuting from someplace like Warwick every day.

Three, what are we even going to be to each other? We seem to be making some sort of run at being a couple, but it’s not going well. Not now. It’s only been nine days since I rescued her from that farm. Nobody knows anything about anybody in nine days.

Except I do. I know she’s more beloved at my work than I am. That she’s an asset there.

She’s fierce about the living things in her care.

She’s independent. She found ways to make money under extreme circumstances.

She’s doing all the trying.

I need to try harder.

It starts raining by the time I’m halfway home, but I keep walking. It feels right.

I’m drenched when I make it up to the apartment. I enter with trepidation, not sure what I’ll find.

But Lucy is in the kitchen, stirring a creamy sauce on the stove.

Matilda is up on the dining table, glaring at her. She sees me and jumps down for pets.

I pat her head, not sure how to approach Lucy. “Hey.”

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