Page 52 of Books and Hookups

“Not really. My family is, though, so the church has always been a part of my life.” When he circled to my side of the car, he held out his hand.

I didn’t take it. “Are they going to have a problem when our child isn’t baptized?”

“Maybe?” But his expression saiddefinitely.“But I’ll deal with that.”

No way was I going to raise a child Catholic. Not after that story I’d done on how a local church—thankfully, not this one—had covered up decades of molestation by its priest. I’d learned the regional leadership protected all kinds of bad people in the name of religion. But a bubble of guilt about denying Danny something that mattered to him lodged in my belly, right next to our banana-sized fetus. “Areyougoing to have a problem with it?”

Pressing a hand to my back, Danny guided me through the parking lot toward the fellowship hall. He didn’t answer until we stepped onto the sidewalk next to the sign that read, “CONNIE AND RANGI’S SILVER ANNIVERSARY PARTY THIS WAY.” Tied to it were a bunch of balloons that danced in the breeze. He grabbed the strings to keep them from blowing in my face.

Finally, he said, “You still believe in birthdays, right?”

I chuckled. “I’m an atheist, not a monster.”

“So, my family could host a big bash for our kid’s birthday?” he asked. “Or we could take her to one of those awful pizza joints with the creepy animatronics?”

I grimaced. “I think there could be some negotiation around the animatronics.”

“Then I don’t care about the religion shit. But will it be okay if I tell her I believe in God, even if you don’t? And would it be okay if we all went to my mom’s place for Easter and Christmas?”

We allmade it sound like he wanted to be something more than co-parents. I might be meeting his family, but I wasn’t ready for more. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I sidestepped that sinkhole by saying, “We can engage in dialogue around religion when the kid’s an appropriate age. And I don’t have any dispute with holidays, especially if it’s a mostly secular celebration.”

He grinned. “You’ve always gotta use those big, smart words. But I get it.” He opened the door to the hall. “I think we’ll be good.”

I should’ve told him what weighed on my mind. That coming here was a step I wasn’t sure I was ready to make. That he might read more into it than I intended for this concession I was making out of remorse for cutting him out of the pregnancy. But it was too late to turn back. Squaring my shoulders, I walked through the door.

“Danny!” A small child ran at Danny, and he swung her up onto his hip. My breath caught in my chest. God, it was sexy seeing him holding that little girl. One of my ovaries might have exploded. Good thing I was already pregnant.

Then I shook my head. A man showing care for a child shouldn’t be anything special. Women did it all the time.Stupid internalized patriarchy.

The girl smacked a kiss on his cheek. “Nonna gave me almonds. Want one?” She held out a netting bag of pastel Jordan almonds. The candy coating had melted on her palm in colorful smears.

“Sure, put it here.” He opened his mouth, and she dropped one in.

No, that wasn’t adorable. It was disgusting.

“Really?” I said.

He shrugged. “Candy’s candy. Want one?”

“I’ll pass.”

“That’s cool,” he said. “There’s going to be a lot of great food. You’ll need to pace yourself. Isn’t that right, Emma?”

“’Cept the anise cookies.” She shuddered. “They taste like black licorice. Yuck.”

“More for me,” he said.

“There you are.” A dark-haired woman with Danny’s olive skin clacked up to us in a pair of platform sandals. She stretched up to kiss his cheek, then wiped away her red lipstick print with her thumb. “She’s got a special radar for her favorite cousin.”

Acid reflux was burning in my gut, not jealousy that made me want to put my own lipstick print on Danny’s cheek—if I were wearing lipstick.

“How’s it going?” he asked her.

“Nuts, as usual. The boys have baseball games this afternoon, so we’ve got to hustle out of here in a minute. But first I want to meet your date.” She cut her gaze to me.

Date?

“So, you didn’t come over here to talk to me?” he said. “Lucie, meet my cousin Tina and her daughter, Emma. Tina, this is my upstairs neighbor, Lucie Knox. Lucie’s a journalist for the city paper.”

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