Page 110 of Who's Your Daddy?

Grace comes over and pinches my cheeks in that annoying way grans do. “You’re absolutely precious.”

“They may be called milestones, but they’re not literally cast in stone,” Dr. Mason explains to me. “Babies develop at their own pace. He’s a happy, healthy little boy.”

Ambrose confirms this by gurgling.

“He’ll start turning soon,” Grace adds.

I’m still skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure.” She scoops him up off the examination bed. “Tell your dad not to worry so much.”

She hands him back to me, then walks over to her desk and scribbles something down on a Post-it note. “Here’s my number. If you have any other concerns...or if you just want to...call to ask...anything...” She exchanges a glance with Grace before her eyes return to me. “Just call.”

I take the note and stuff it into my back pocket. “Okay, thanks a lot.”

“You’re a very involved father,” Grace says. “Your wife is lucky to have you.”

“Uh...I’m not...I’m not married.”

“Your girlfriend,” she quickly corrects.

“Don’t have one of those, either.”

“Oh!” Her eyes light up, and she exchanges another glance with Dr. Mason. “Well, that’s surprising, because you seem like a real catch. It must be hard doing this all by yourself, but...Dr. Mason is available for whatever you need. You can call her anytime, day or night. She also makes an incredible chicken casserole, so if the little one is ever too crabby, and you don’t get a chance to...get dinner, just ask her to bring some over.”

Dr. Mason subtly nudges her as if the offer is a step beyond her call of duty. Grace nudges her back, but their smiles stay perfectly intact, so perfect it borders on fake.

“Uh...thank you. That’s great customer service.” I adjust Ambrose in my arms so he can look at them. “Alright, li’l Bro. Say bye to the nice ladies.”

“Bye,” they sing in unison as I walk out of the office.

“You know, you could’ve said something last night,” I scold Ambrose as I walk with him back to my car. “You saw me panicking while I was going down that internet rabbit hole, but you didn’t say one word.” I strap him into his car seat. “Then you let me embarrass myself in front of those ladies. She called in someone else to laugh at me. You could’ve at least faked, like, a leg spasm or something so that my concern seemed legit, but you just hung me out to dry.”

He babbles and coos the whole way home. I love that sound. I could listen to it all day, which is why I’m constantly talking to him...or rather arguing with him. And he gives as good as he gets. It gets heated sometimes. We’ve had discussions where I was a hundred percent certain that those goo-goo-gaa-gaas were his way of hurling insults at me. I can see it on his face because he’s so expressive now too.

If I had to be completely honest, this is my favorite phase. He’s finally sleeping through the night (at least eight hours on most nights). A few sixties tunes, and he’s out like a light. Generally, he doesn’t cry as much, so it doesn’t feel as draining or demanding anymore. We’ve settled into a comfortable routine of eating, playing, and sleeping. We’re doing great, and Dr. Mason was right. He’s a happy kid. Just full of smiles and giggles. It’s fricken adorable. The downside is he puts anything he can grab into his mouth and slobbers over everything. But that’s a handful of cons on a very long list of pros.

I park my car in the driveway, then retrieve him from the backseat. He grips onto my T-shirt and starts sucking on it as I walk into the house. I don’t even stop him because I’m so used to smelling like spit all the time.

I grab the small baby rocker and place it on the kitchen counter. After strapping him in, I walk to the fridge. “So, what are we having for lunch today? That chicken casserole sounded good, didn’t it? Maybe we should ask Dylan for a recipe—” I gasp when the realization hits. “Holy shit! She was flirting with me. She gave me her number. And her assistant asked if I was married and then she said Dr. Mason would bring dinner over. That’s wingwoman of the year right there. I can’t believe I just glossed over the entire interaction.”

Ambrose smiles when I face-palm myself.

“How rusty am I that I didn’t even notice a pretty blonde hitting on me? Now that I think about it, she was really cute.” I take her number out of my back pocket. “She even put a little smiley face on here.” I look over at Ambrose, who’s just staring at me. “What? You think I won’t call her? I mean...I will. Hot women are my thing...and I’mveryinterested. So, I’m definitely gonna call her.”

He lifts his feet in the air and babbles a hostile string of cynicism as he grips his toes.

“Well, that was uncalled for, don’t you think? Name-calling is unnecessary. Of course, I still have game. I can still charm the panties off any woman. I got the doctor’s number without even trying, so what do you have to say to that?”

He gives me an earful of ba-dat-dat-dat-dat-dat-da.

“I just told you I’m gonna call her. Not today...or even tomorrow...but I will call her...eventually.”

Again, he calls out my bullshit.

“I’m not making excuses. I hate to break it to you, but looking after you is a full-time gig. Running off with pretty doctors isn’t an option for me, so until your mom comes back...” I shrug because I don’t know what’s going to happen when she comes back. “Ifshe comes back. I gotta be honest with you, Bro. It’s looking less and less likely. She said one or two weeks. It’s the middle of July. That’s two and a half months, so it might just be the two of us for a long time. I think...” I pause to ensure I don’t get dragged into the rip tide sloshing around in the toxic cesspit of jealousy. “I think she went back to your dad. Her letter said she wanted to talk some sense into him, so I think her aim was to get him to...accept you. And when he didn’t, I think she had to make a choice between you and her own well-being. Now, that seems out of character and not something she would do, but what do I know? This chick lied to me about everything. I don’t know what she’s capable of.”

He squirms, flailing his hands wildly to grab hold of my T-shirt.

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