Page 2 of Passed Ball

Do I shake her hand? Hug her? What's the protocol here?

Kristy's chair makes the hair on the back of my neck stand as it scrapes over the outdated tile floor. She doesn't wait for me, grabbing the chair herself and plopping into it, scowling at me, arms crossed.

Still, I push her chair in and take my seat across from her. Giving her my best disarming smile, I hand over the green drink. Neither does anything to soothe her mood, so I clear my throat and go for it. "It's good to see you."

She lifts the cup, sniffing, little lines popping up on the bridge of her nose, then she pushes it away. "Cut the crap, Xavier. You can't be any happier to be here than I am."

Choosing violence today, I see.

Ignoring her comment I ask, "How are you doing? Feeling okay?"

There's a slightly crazed edge to her responding laugh, and panic wells inside me at the possibility that something could actually be wrong with her, or the baby.

"It's a little late to pretend you care."

My brows draw together, unsure what to make of that. The problem with Kristy and I was never that I didn't care, it was that we wanted different things, and I got sick of her trying to bully me into giving her things I wasn't ready for.

"I can tell you're upset, but I do care about your health, and the baby's."

That makes her nostrils flare. "Upset," she seethes, repeating the offensive word back at me.

Oh, yep. Poor word choice.. "I mean--"

"I'm seven-fucking-months pregnant withyourkid, my bra is too tight, and I can't have sushi but it's all I'm craving."

"Seven months!" I blurt out. Knowing she was due soon and hearing it said aloud are two different things. It makes me realize how much I've already missed: ultrasounds, the baby moving, months to prepare . . .

At least, I think that's all I've missed. I need to stop at a bookstore immediately, because Ishouldknow these things.

"No shit. Let's hope she gets my brains instead of yours," Kristy retorts, malice dripping from her tone.

The blow doesn't land--it can't touch me, not after what she just said. My hand rakes through my hair.

A fucking girl.

I'm going to be a dad in a few months . . . and it's a girl.

Kristy pushes a black-and-white photo across the table--our daughter's ultrasound. "At least she's got my lips," she says so offhandedly I can't tell if it's genuine. But I hang on to it because it's the only thing she's said since she walked in the door that makes me think parenting with her won't be a complete nightmare.

"A girl," is all I can manage, I stop counting toes, lifting my eyes from the picture to my ex. My gaze drops to her stomach. "How long have you known?"

"Since I got the ultrasound in the emergency room where I found out I was pregnant about a month ago."

"And you waited all this time to tell me?" I can't hold back the bite of accusation.

Her shoulders fold in, her air of confidence falling away. It's unnerving; I've never seen her like this before. Even when I ended things, she never let anything but anger show. I reach out to cover her hand with mine, an apology forming. She pulls her hand back, toying with her necklace.

"I'm not ready." Her fingers twist and untwist her necklace, stopping when she realizes what she's doing and dropping her hand. "This isn't how I saw my life playing out, and I wasn't sure what to do."

Her honesty has me pausing before I ask, "And do you know now?"

She rolls her eyes, all the attitude that I'm used to back, like it never left. "What I've wanted never mattered before, but I can see you've gone all mushy over a grainy picture. This baby already means more to you than I ever did."

I won't lie to protect her feelings. "I'm ecstatic about this baby. It wasn't my plan either, but I want a chance to give our little girl the childhood I never had. I know this isn't only my decision, though. It's one we need to make together."

She perks up, leaning closer, her hand drifting back to the table, resting between us. The urge to take it and soothe her is gone. "You would raise this baby with me?"

Alarm bells go off in my head. Taking a drink from my cold brew, I weigh my words.

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