Page 33 of The Bartender's Baby

NATE

Tabby glowered at me, her eyebrows in a slash, mouth turned down in evident outrage at the idea of living with me. “What did you just say to me,fool?”

Thefoolwas implied.

I took her hand to help her off the table, absently skimming my hand over her stomach. She wore leggings and an oversized button-down shirt. Likely an ex-boyfriend’s. I’d like to burn it.

Undeterred, I repeated myself. “Move in with me.”

She didn’t seem any more amenable the second time around as she gathered up her hair to tie it on the top of her head with a few twists of her hands, loose strands by her temples and ears. With her nose still pink from all the crying she’d done today, she looked like she needed a hug. But with her spine straight and chin proud, she might take me to the mats instead.

That was what I loved, her dichotomy. At once, both quiet and confident, strong yet wounded. I’d always understood these different facets of her, appreciated each part of her, but it hadn’t been until the day she’d told me she was pregnant that I really realized I couldn’t lose her.

I couldn’t ignore the strange fascination and odd possessiveness I’d always had with her.

I couldn’t stand the thought of her being with anyone else. Of having someone else’s baby.

And I didn’t even want a kid!

At least, I hadn’t until it was Tabby’s. As if now that I’d been shown a vision for a future I hated, I chose a different one.

And after seeing Frogger with my own eyes? Hearing the steadyba-dump,ba-dump,ba-dump? I was toast.

I had no goddamn idea how to be a dad, but I’d figure it out. I’d prove to her that she wasn’t alone. I’d show this kid they never had to fear anything. I was here now.

“I’m taking you out to eat.” I handed her the envelope with the index card revealing the sex of the baby, along with the printed photos from the scan. With her attention diverted to the picture of the baby’s face, she didn’t fight me.

Step one, hit her over the head and drag her back to my cave.

Step two, love her.

I opened the passenger side door of my reliable Honda that appeared to be able to fit a car seat, but I didn’t really know how big those things were. In my head, they were like a bucket. Babies were little, so I assumed the things you carried them in couldn’t be much bigger either. But after I closed the door and rounded the trunk, suddenly I considered space and safety and how truly excellent that minivan seemed now.

As I buckled in, I glanced over at Tabby to find her going through all the photos, her barely there smile so timid, as if she was afraid to be happy, and my heart attempted to karate kick out of my chest to get to her. I smoothed my hand up and down her thigh, and it only occurred to me at that very moment how touchy-feely Tabby and I had been these last few weeks. Sure, she’d push my shoulder when I annoyed her or finally give me a high five after I stood in front of her with my hand up for five minutes, but we’d never been likethis.

These natural embraces and fingers laced together and thigh rubs.

Almost like she didn’t mind.

Almost like shewantedit.

I hit the road with a smile on my face, cueing up my Spotify, and Tabby didn’t mention anything when Hall & Oates floated through the speakers. Didn’t even blink an eye when I used the steering wheel like a drum kit. I might’ve even caught her lips pursing, fighting a smile as I sang along to the chorus, about a girl making my dreams come true.

“Don’t quit your day job,” she muttered when the song ended and another one started. A favorite from my childhood, “Chasing Cars” had been perfect for me as an emo teenager, struggling with my parents’ divorce, desperate for the attention of Katie Pritchard.

I had thought I’d grown up from that kid, but maybe I never really had. Maybe I’d never been able to fully let go of all I’d been holding on to. Until now.

Until I stopped chasing women I’d hoped would heal that bruised part of me, leftover feelings of inadequacy from my father and being used as a weapon by my mother. I wanted something I couldn’t quite grasp.

Until I opened my eyes and recognized what had been in front of me all along.

I didn’t need Tabby to soothe me or fix whatever broken bits I had inside me. Hell, she was broken too. I couldn’t know how many bits and bobs had been rearranged in her over the years—and wouldn’t until she allowed me to know the full story—but what I did need was for her to say yes to me. So we could take all our broken and bruised fragments and build something new and lasting, all our own.

“We’re gonna sit down, have some lunch, and then negotiate,” I told her, making a right turn toward Tony’s, her favorite.

“Unless it’s for another raise, I’m not interested.”

I shot her my best grin, which she responded to with a bored expression.

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