Page 56 of Wildest Dreams

“Say what now?” I laughed.

“Yup. He knew she loved classic, gender-appropriate names like Ambrose. She named Row without consulting him, because he wanted to call Row ‘Slater.’ Filled in the paperwork before he could have a say. So he chose the most vindictive name he could think of for a girl.” Her eyebrows shot to her hairline. “Dylan is hardly a classic for a girl. My whole existence is a fuck-you to my mom when you think about it.”

“That is an impressive level of pettiness.” I took a right turn toward the leafy Carnegie Hill neighborhood of the daycare. “My mother once forgot to pick me up from the hospital.”

She gasped. “No!”

“Yup.” I popped the p. “I was undergoing surgery for my leg. Got a direct blow to the knee during soccer from Kieran. When she finally showed up—after I had to borrow a nurse’s phone to call her—she forgot my date of birth when she tried to discharge me and had zero paperwork to prove she was my mom. Police got involved. The staff was distraught on my behalf. It was the first time I realized there was something inherently fucked-up about my family. Child Protective Services got into the picture. It was a mess.”

“Okay, fine. You win.”

I bowed my head with flourish. “Thank you.”

“Is that why you don’t want children?” She cocked an eyebrow. “Because you saw firsthand that not everyone is equipped to become a parent.”

“Among other things.” I was opening up to her more than I intended to, but it didn’t feel weird or forced. Of course, there was always a chance I’d mess it all up like I did with my ex-therapist. “I also know I’m probably as selfish as they are, and I don’t want to ruin anyone else’s life. I had a vasectomy when I was eighteen.”

She clutched her heart. “You’re kidding me.”

I shrugged. “Condoms break. My resolve doesn’t. I don’t want children.”

“That you don’t want them I understand, but why are you so repulsed by them?” she insisted. “Grav is an objectively cute kid. Say otherwise, and I’ll put you back at the hospital. And this time, your mom won’t help.”

Offering her a lenient smirk, I explained, “There’s no reason to long for things you’ll never have. It’s better if I stay away from kids altogether.” I was pretty at peace with that. Kids seemed like a lot of work without much return on investment.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, but in the spirit of full transparency, I tend to lie,” I admitted.

“You literally told me lies are your hard limit.” Dylan looked floored.

“Hey, I never claimed not to be a hypocrite,” I said unapologetically. “Lying is a knee-jerk reaction from working in customer service with highly sensitive clients.”

I was too used to telling not-pretty women they were pretty, untalented heiresses they were talented, and unlovable brats that love was just around the corner.

“Did you really never have a thing for me?” She cleared her throat. “Because I had a thing for you. Like, hard.”

“I didn’t,” I told her.

But I do now, I thought. And while manageable, it is extremely inconvenient.

Even that wasn’t the whole truth. She’d always been my biggest temptation. Sometimes I wondered if God created her just to make the only healthy relationship in my life—my friendship with Row—complicated, just to fucking spite me.

I found a parking spot right in front of the daycare and slid into it. The Broadway building boasted white columns, large arched windows, and two sets of bulletproof glass doors.

Grav was still asleep, so I unbuckled her and flung her over my chest, holding her as we stepped inside.

Dylan reddened. “I can do it.”

“And block the view to your rack?” I sneered. “Yeah, I don’t think so. It’s the only thing keeping me going at this point.”

We walked inside, where we were greeted by the bubbliest woman on earth—a redheaded fiftysomething in a pastel cardigan who introduced herself as Cherrie. “With an I-E, not Y!” She laughed at her own specificity.

Don’t worry. I don’t plan on writing you any letters.

She was the manager and good friends with Bruce’s wife back in college, so I had to play nice. “It’s an absolute pleasure to be here.” I squeezed her hand warmly. “Thank you for giving us this tour. We’ve heard such great things about this school.”

“Aww, thank you. And look at Daddy here, holding his sleepy girl.” Cherrie clapped her hands, resting her cheek over them dreamily.

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