Page 30 of Baby for Dr. Damaged

I don’t actually think that’s it, but only because I’ve seen Amanda after too many late nights. She gathers herself up and keeps going. This is different.

There’s no way I can keep pressing Lawrence though, not without making him concerned. I thank him for his time, and we spend a few minutes chatting until, eventually, his wife pulls him off the phone, and I’m left in the quiet and dark of my bedroom.

One of Amanda’s shirts is sitting clean and folded on the top of my dresser. I haven’t seen her lately to give it back and it seems a little on the nose to bring it into work with me and give it to her there.

My tongue runs over the front of my teeth, and I turn and finish off my wine. It’s tempting to get another glass, but I have to be at work early tomorrow, and I hate being fuzzy-headed when Bonnie is home. If she has a bad dream or needs something, I want to make sure that I’m clear-minded.

Unfortunately, that leaves me with nothing to do but turn on the oversized TV that I have mounted on the wall across from the bed and try to find something interesting enough to watch. I prefer documentaries to actual movies, but I know that Amanda is a bit of a horror fan so when I see an old-school horror movie from the late eighties, I can’t help but put it on instead.

Maybe this will give me something more to talk to her about tomorrow. Has she seen older movies like this one? They were popular when I was her age, but I think that anything without CGI has pretty much become obsolete.

The movie is, if nothing else, a decent enough distraction from my worries. Tomorrow, I’ll go back to trying to figure out what I’ve done to cause Amanda to grow so distant. For now, I’m content to lose myself in the late hour and the schlock, fake-blood-heavy creature effects of Middleton Hounds.

Funny. It's hard not to notice that the lead actress looks so much like Amanda...

Chapter fourteen

Amanda

It’sgettingincreasinglyhardto avoid spending time with Jackson outside of work, so much so that I’m starting to look like an asshole. That means that it’s time I go get some outside advice.

Cara is out of the question. She can’t keep her mouth shut even when she’s trying. The words just ooze out of her. My only other options are Harris, who is so, so far out of the question that it’s not funny, or my parents—also incredibly out of question. Or Carter.

Carter it is.

We make plans to go out together and it turns out to be a lot of fun.

Roxy Anne Lanes still looks like it belongs in the mid-nineties. There are bright colors and ridiculous patterns all over the place. Even the bowling balls have all been made in various shades of neon. The only downside is the bowling shoes that I rented—they are ugly and uncomfortable.

Carter doesn’t have that problem. He comes here so often, he owns his own pair, polished and well taken care of. It’s his turn up at the top of the lane. He takes his time, eyeing up the pins at the end. The ball clunks loudly when it hits the ground. The rattle of it rushing over polished wood is only dimmed out by the crash that the ball makes when it slams into the pins.

Nine down, one left on the right. He comes back up and grabs the ball, then offers it to me. “You should try.”

“I’m going to ruin your streak,” I tell him.

Carter shrugs. “We’re just having fun today. Come on, you try and knock this pin down, and I’ll go get us some nachos.”

The nachos are incredibly tempting. “With soda?”

“With soda,” says Carter, with a nod.

So he vanishes off to the little dining hall on the far side of the bowling alley, and I step up to the plate. As it turns out, bowling is actually really difficult. I’ve got incredibly low scores and when I throw the ball, it veers off into the gully instead of taking down the pin, making me wince every single time.

When Carter comes back ten minutes later with the tray, he glances at the scoreboard and laughs. “It’s fine. Like I said, this is just about fun.” The tray is slid onto the table. It’s surrounded by a large crescent-shaped, curving seat, big enough for a full team or a family to sit down at it. That means we aren’t crowded when we sit. “You having fun?”

“More fun than I was expecting. I could do without the music though. It makes me feel old,” I tell him, with a laugh.

Carter grabs a tortilla chip and dips it into the thick nacho cheese that’s piled on top. There’s sour cream, too, and chunky cut salsa. “Yeah, I could do without them calling it vintage and old-school every time there’s a break. I think it’s cool though. I mean, when was the last time that you heard most of these songs?”

We talk music for a little bit, sitting and nibbling at the nachos. It’s only once we’ve finished our meal and Carter is getting ready to stand up that I decide to hit him with the news. “Carter, I need to tell you something, and you have to swear that you’re not going to tell anyone. Even Cara.” A pause. “Especially Cara.”

Carter sits back down. “Alright? What’s up?”

I take a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

He stares at me. “It’s not mine?”

The response is so ridiculous that I can’t help but crack up laughing. “No shit it’s not yours!”

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