Page 52 of The Final Faceoff
Dad leans forward. “I didn’t know you guys were together.”
I scoff. “We’re not. We weren’t.”
Dad opens his mouth in surprise, and I can see that everything is sinking in. My questions, my anxiety . . . Papa is the one who asks, “So this baby is not yours?”
Silence. Deafening silence because I hate that the baby isn’t mine. They told me. Everyone warned me that keeping her in the friendzone was going to come back and fuck me in the ass—and not in a good way. And here we are with a pregnant best friend and me not knowing where we stand.
Papa sips his coffee. “So Hailey is pregnant, and it’s not yours, but you’re asking us about parenthood?”
I shift. “Yes.”
Dad tilts his head. “And you’re here asking when it felt real because . . .?”
I rub my jaw, sighing. “Because it feels real already and maybe I’m having some weird hallucination.”
They both go quiet.
My stomach twists. “I know it’s not mine, okay? I know I don’t have to do anything. But I can’t just—” I shake my head, frustrated with my own lack of words.
Dad watches me carefully. “You can’t just walk away.”
Papa speaks softly, “You already love them because that baby is hers. That’s how much you love her.”
There it is, I love her so much that this doesn’t hurt. It really doesn’t at all. And, fuck, if I don’t love her more every day. More when she’s puking her guts up and tries to kick me out of her life because she’s afraid I’ll leave.
I sit back, staring at the table, annoyed that they figured it out before I did.
Dad exhales, shaking his head like I’ve exhausted him. “Leif, you’re an idiot.”
I frown. “Excuse me?”
He gestures vaguely. “You think this is about whether or not the baby is biologically yours? That’s not what makes a parent. A parent is the one who shows up.”
Papa nods. “And knowing you, you’re already doing that. This is Hailey we’re talking about. The girl you’ve been in love with since you met her, but you refuse to acknowledge it.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I didn’t ask for a therapy session.”
Dad smirks. “Then you should have gone to literally anyone else.”
I scrub a hand over my face, annoyed and relieved all at once. “So you’re saying it doesn’t matter when it feels real. It is real.”
Papa smiles. “Now you’re getting it.”
I exhale slowly, letting the truth settle around me like an overdue realization I’ve been avoiding for far too long.
Maybe there’s no defining moment. No dramatic revelation. Maybe it’s not something I have to name, not something I have to chase or categorize or even fully understand.
Maybe it’s just happening, whether I’m ready for it or not.
And maybe—just maybe—I’m okay with that.
“So, tell us about our grandchild. How far along is she?” Papa asks, his voice bursting with excitement, because apparently I’ve just told them they’re about to be grandparents.
Which I absolutely did not.
“It’s not?—”
“There he goes, back to the stage of denial,” Dad interjects, shaking his head like I’m some helpless case he’s given up on.
