Page 70 of Sebastian

Everything is happening too fast. She turns her back to me, leans into my body, and snaps a picture, holding the image in front of her chest. I see her typing out a caption that says, Baby Agnelli, posting it on her social, and I want to pass out.

She’s calling her mamma, shrieking into the phone, and grabbing the keys from my hand to exit through the doorwithout me. I’m shocked into submission, numbly moving to follow when a staff member calls my name.I move toward the smiling lady, who’s shaking a bottle of something and holding more fuzzy pictures.

“These are her prenatal vitamins and the rest of the pictures. Congratulations, Mr. Agnelli.”

Her voice is high with excitement, like a cartoon, while I’m still shell-shocked at the truth running my ass over. I take everything she hands me, looking at the lines of gray and white going across the page.

“What am I looking at?” I ask, completely dumbfounded as my hand trembles, holding the pictures.

She smiles, pats my arm, and explains they often get this question. She points to this tiny oval in the center—my child. Chills run into my hair when she says it. She explains the little numbers at the top of the picture and her targeted due date. August. A late summer baby.

“August?” I don’t know any of this stuff. “That seems so far away.”

She pats my arm again, and I’m beginning to hate it. Is that what everyone will start doing to me when they find out I’m going to be a papa? If yes, that blows.

“When you’re four weeks along, it does seem far away. But trust me, you’ll want to get started on the nursery because time flies by, and before you know it, you’ll be a father.”

Father.

My brain zeros in on that word as I stare down at an oval in the void of swirling darkness that represents my child. I stumble out the door, their well wishes a chorus behind me, and I should’ve thanked Agatha and Gio’s papa before I left, but I can’t. My brain is mush as I hold the first picture ever taken of my child—the next generation of Agnelli. I hope it’s not a fuck-up like me.

I don’t know how I make it to the car. Drive her home and unpack her crap. I don’t remember anything other than stumbling through my front door with a wrinkled picture in my pocket. Jiles looks at me and calls for Ms. Martha to make me my favorite meal when I really need a stiff drink. I don’t make it beyond the living room, tossing my phone and the picture on the coffee table and collapsing on the couch.

My brain is fried. My life is over. The last thing I care about is the banging on my front door. I’m not expecting anyone—I must have left the front gates open. As my world crumbles around me, all I want is to be left alone.

I’m too occupied staring at the ceiling to care that Gio is screaming my name when Jiles answers the door. His sneakers squeak on the marble entryway when he takes off up the stairs looking for me. I hear Jiles’s calm voice beckon him and the stampede of footsteps on the staircase until he runs into the room.

I exhale, completely exhausted and mentally drained from this day. Entertaining Gio and his stupid married crush is the last thing I have the energy for.

“Gio, why are you here?” He sits on the coffee table, leaning so close to me that I can smell the sweat on his skin. “Dude, you stink. You know the rule. You gotta shower before you leave the gym.”

Gio brushes off my insult and leans in closer. His proximity is overwhelming, especially with my current state of mind. I turn my head away, trying to maintain personal space, but he doesn’t get the hint.

“You took Veronica to my dad for a pregnancy check?”

His eyebrows raise with his voice when I look back at him, ignoring his odor.

“It’s a long ass story. Now, if you don’t mind, can you leave? I want to be alone.”

I wish I had poured that drink so I could chug it.

“Dude. I’ve been trying to call you all day.”

I turned my phone off at lunch to stop the persistent Gio from bugging me, and I could not bear getting a call or text from Chloe. He grabs my phone, shakes it, and notices it’s powered off.

“You turned off your phone? You never do that.”

He holds the button down, turning it back on. As soon as it boots up, a flurry of pings floods the quiet room. His face scrunches in concern as he looks at my phone.

“Seb, what’s going on? You have all these missed calls and messages from me, Chloe, Paolo, and even Veronica. What’s happening?”

His voice takes on an edge of irritation, likely stemming from genuine worry and frustration. I remain silent, torn between explaining how I’m going to be a fucking papa or how karma finally kicked my ass by giving me exactly what I deserve. I decide to share a small fraction of the truth.

“Veronica is pregnant. I didn’t want to believe her, so I took her to see your papa.”

I word vomit my mess to him and turn back to look at the ceiling. The weight of the day and the lack of sleep last night are starting to get to me.

“But right now, I need some space to think. So, get out.”

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