Page 27 of Upshot

“Well, that could have gone better,” I mumble. With a sigh, I let myself into the house. How did we go from little heart eye ovaries to zombie invasion so fast? There’s nothing I can do about it now. I’m supposed to be at work in half an hour.

* * *

RAND

Fuck, fuck, fuck! I race from Brontë’s house back to my fixer-upper. Slamming the car into park behind the construction dumpster, I manage to stagger to the only working bathroom before losing what I assume is everything I’ve eaten for the last week.

This is not how I thought meeting my baby for the first time would go. Jesus, Brontë must think I’m a complete asshole.

“I thought this was something you’d leave to your baby mama.” Great. Pete has shown up early to find me leaning against the wall next to the toilet.

“Eww, gross.” And he brought Geneva. Perfect.

“Come on, buddy. Let’s get you off the floor.” Peter grabs my hand and yanks me up. With one hand on my arm, he marches me downstairs.

I’m unceremoniously dumped on the couch that mysteriously showed up with the guys a couple of days ago. He pulls two beers out of the fridge that sits in the living room. I’m still trying to retile the floor in the kitchen.

“I’ll leave you two to bro it out. I’m going to see what this town has in the way of shopping,” Geneva announces. “I’m sure that will occupy all of fifteen minutes.” She disappears out the door.

“So what’s up?” Peter asks, handing me a beer. He sits down on the far side of the couch.

“I’m fine.”

“Based on finding you looking like someone just walked over your grave in the middle of a demolition zone, I’d say you’re far from fine.” Yeah, I didn’t buy the I’m fine thing either. Honestly, I don’t know what I am.

“I saw the baby today,” I say.

“No shit? That’s awesome.” Pete shakes his head. “Man, I can’t believe you’re going to be a dad.” I feel the blood drain from my face. “Easy.” Before I know what’s happening, Pete has taken my beer and forced my head between my knees. “This has you freaked out, huh?”

“What would I know about being a dad?” I think what I’m saying makes sense, but Pete still has me bent in half. “It’s not like I had a great role model.” He finally turns loose my head, and I can breathe again.

“Do you know how badly I could fuck this kid up? What if he becomes an axe murderer, and it’s my fault? Because it would be my fault. My face would be splashed across the TV with a caption that says it was my fault.”

“I think you’re being a little dramatic. I mean, who murders people with axes anymore?”

“Oh fuck off, Pete,” I shout.

We sit in silence for a minute.

“Have you talked about this with Brontë?” he asks.

“Yeah, because I need to confront her with my self-absorbed problems to solve,” I sneer. “Hey, I know you’re lugging around my baby, but here’s all my shit too.”

“Okay, okay. Maybe we’re thinking about this all wrong. How about you don’t tell me everything you don’t know about raising a kid? Instead, tell me what you do know. What you’ll never do.”

I stare at Pete like he’s crazy for a minute. But then it starts to make sense. My father is a tyrant. He taught me a lot about how not to treat a child.

“I’ll never hit my child. I don’t care how badly they act or how disappointed I am,” I begin.

“See, that’s something.”

“He or she will not be sent to boarding school just because I don’t want to have to deal with them. They won’t be forced into anything to ‘toughen them up.’ Who needs to play lacrosse anyway?

“I won’t sneer at their date because she isn’t from the ‘right’ family. There will be no threat to have them blackballed from any college except for the one I want them to go to. I’ll never threaten to rip success out from under their feet just because I can. And I’ll never make their mother turn a blind eye to all of it.”

“Jesus,” Pete whispers. “That’s a lot.”

We sit in silence again. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest from my tirade. I don’t worry about Pete passing judgment on my fucked up life. He was there for most of it.

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