Chapter 49 Evan
EVAN
My leg shakes as I wait in the little café near Mum’s office. I check my watch for the fifth time. She’s always late.
“Can I get you anything, sir?” A waitress smiles, with her notepad and pencil at the ready, long blonde hair tied neatly into a plait that drapes over the front of her shoulder. The sort of woman I might’ve flirted with about six months ago.
“Coffee, please.”
She nods, shoving the pencil and paper into her apron, then walks towards the counter.
I’m not that person anymore. Looking back, it’s clear I only dated to keep up appearances and prove to myself, more than anyone else, that I wasn’t into men or one man in particular. I lift my phone from the table and doomscroll Instagram while I wait for my coffee and my mum.
A picture of Glen and Cara appear on my feed with their newborn baby and one of those printed cards that says “one day old.” I smile at the photo, thinking about the day we can post about our own news, then my chest caves.
Something that should be a happy announcement fills me with so much dread.
Our news doesn’t just come with a pregnancy announcement.
It comes with questions. So many questions I’m not ready to answer.
“Sorry I’m late, sweetie.” Mum waltzes into the café like a tornado, her coat in her hand, a diary half hanging out of her bag like she’s just left the office. “I had a couple in this morning and it went over.”
So, she has just come from the office. I should’ve known. “It’s fine, Mum. I haven’t been waiting long.”
The waitress comes over to the table with my coffee. “Can I get you anything to drink, Lynn?”
“I’ll have a salted caramel latte, please, my lovely.” Mum drops into the seat opposite me and unwinds her flimsy scarf from her neck. “Have you ordered food?”
“No, I was waiting for you.”
“Oh, okay. Well, I’ll have…” She scans the menu briefly, as if she knows it all already. “I’ll have the salmon fillet, please.”
I smile at the waitress. “I’ll have the roast beef, please.”
She nods and walks back to the kitchen.
“So you are alive.” Mum takes hold of my face and pats my cheeks across the small table. “I’ve been worried, Evan. You haven’t been taking my calls.”
“I’m sorry, Mum, work’s been crazy.”
She drapes her scarf over her coat on the back of her chair. “I even called at your house a few times and nobody was home. Your neighbour said he hadn’t seen you for a while and you haven’t been staying there.”
“What are you now, a detective?” I huff as I bring my coffee to my lips.
“I don’t know, Evan. Is there something I need to investigate, because this isn’t like you.” She waves a hand towards me. “You look pale. Are you eating properly? You’re not on drugs, are you?”
“Mum, I’m fine.” If only she knew I’m eating better now than I’ve ever eaten in my life with Nora cooking for us most nights. And maybe I am on drugs because Nate and Nora are addictive.
“So, who’s the lucky girl?”
“What girl?” My muscles tense. I’m a terrible liar, and Mum has a way of extracting the truth out of me. It’s why I’ve been avoiding her for so long.
Mum smiles at the waitress as she places her caramel latte on the table. “Thank you, lovely.” She blows on her drink, and I get a hint of the caramel aroma. “I’m assuming you’re seeing someone. It’s where you’ve been staying, right?”
“No, not exactly.” I push my fingers through my hair, wishing I could crawl back into bed with Nora right now. “I’ve been staying at Nate’s place.”
Mum raises her eyebrows behind her tall glass. “Nate’s?” she repeats as if she’s testing the word before deciding what it means. “And Nora’s?” She sips her drink. “I bet Nora loves that. You two aren’t teenagers anymore. You can’t stay over at theirs playing Call of Duty all night.”
A small laugh escapes me. If only it were that simple. “She doesn’t mind.”
Mum hums, sipping her latte, watching the foam swirl rather than looking at me directly, which somehow is worse.
Mum never pushes straight away. She circles things until you walk right into the truth yourself.
It’s what she does for a living, and she’s a master at it with her forty-plus years of marriage counselling.
The clatter of cups and low chatter from other tables fills the void of silence between us. I focus on the steam rising from my coffee, how it evaporates into nothing, wishing I could disappear right now.
“You look happy,” she says, nodding her head.
I huff. “A few minutes ago, you said I looked pale.”
“You do, and also happy. There’s a sparkle in your eyes.”
“I am.” I lift my cup and take a sip before I spill anything else.
Her smile widens. “Good. I like hearing that. What’s making you happy?”
I shrug. “Life. Work. Friends.” A certain woman who’s carrying my baby. A certain man I’ve crushed on since school.
The waitress arrives with our food, plates clinking onto the table, giving me a brief reprieve.
Mum thanks her, then waits until she disappears before picking up her fork. “So, tell me what’s really going on.”
I stare down at my roast beef, not hungry at all. Nausea rises in my throat. Is this how Nora feels when she smells coffee? “It’s… complicated.”
She smiles, cutting into her salmon. “The best things usually are.”
I scrub a hand over the back of my neck. My pulse thuds in my ears. I didn’t come here planning to say any of this, but the words are already on my tongue with nowhere else to go. “They’ve been trying for a baby.”
“Who?” she says with her fork to her lips.
“Nate and Nora.”
She chews and swallows with a silent laugh. “With you in the spare room? How does Nora feel about that?”
“Well, they kind of need me there. I’m their donor. Nate, he…”
Mum’s mouth falls open, a piece of salmon on her tongue.
“Nate has some condition. He can’t get her pregnant. So I…”
She closes her mouth and swallows, then takes a big gulp of her drink as if it’s a gin and tonic.
I lift my knife and fork, needing something to do with my hands. “They’re my best friends, Mum. It’s the least I could do.”
Mum nods and sets her almost empty glass down on the table.
“Evan…” She closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths.
“Please tell me you’ve thought this through.
This is huge. What happens if she gets pregnant?
Is Nate going to resent you for it in time?
Is Nora going to be happy with just one baby?
What if she wants another? How are you going to feel seeing their child grow up and have it call someone else Dad? ”
“It’s fine, Mum. We’ve talked about this. They want to be open. They want me to be involved.”
She cuts into a roasted pepper a little too aggressively.
“That’s all good and well, son. But when the baby’s here, things might be different.
Are you going to be there through the night to change nappies, bottle feeds, teething, not to mention the terrible twos and toddler tantrums. You might have different views on parenting.
How are you going to feel if they spank your child? ”
My head’s whirring and about to explode. So many questions and so much to think about.
“I think you need to reconsider this. It will be the end of your friendship. I’m sure there are donor clinics they can go to.”
“Mum, stop.”
“And why do you need to be there? Surely this is all done in a—” Her hands fly to her mouth. “Ohmygawd.”
My head is like a browser with fifty tabs open and music playing somewhere, but I can’t find which one. I can’t think.
“Nora’s pregnant.” The words whoosh out of my mouth before my brain can catch up. But I needed to make her stop talking.
Mum drops her hands, her face saddening as if I just told her someones’s died. “Oh, Evan.” She reaches her hand over the table and takes hold of mine, her blue eyes whirling like a pool or a storm. I can’t tell through my blurry vision.
I curl my shoulders as if I’m ten, waiting for a lecture, but the lecture doesn’t come.
Mum stays silent, picks up her cutlery, and continues to eat dinner.
She exhales slowly. “That’s wonderful news.”
I push the potatoes around with my fork. “It is. It’s been tough on them.”
Mum nods, a slight tremble in her hand, but she hides it well. “And how do you feel about that?”
“I’m not one of your therapy patients, Mum. You’re not analysing me.”
She leans back in her chair, giving me space instead of pressure. “Evan, sweetheart, I’m not here to judge you. You know that.”
“I care about them.” I wipe the moisture from my top lip. “Both of them.”
She nods, chewing the last of her food. “And they care about you?”
“Yeah.” My voice is hoarse.
“More than just friends?” she asks, but it sounds more like a statement.
I don’t answer and just move the food around my plate.
“Ah,” she says as if I just gave her the answer.
I let out a shaky laugh, staring down into my plate. “That obvious, huh?”
“To your mother? Yes.” She reaches across the table, resting her hand over mine. “And I’m not shocked, Evan. I’ve wondered for years whether you were trying very hard to be someone you weren’t.”
Heat creeps up my neck. I came here intending to keep everything contained, and now I’ve basically confessed everything to my mother in ten minutes.
“So, is this public knowledge?” She leans over the table, lowering her voice. “Am I the last to find out my son is in a relationship with not one, but two people?”
Clenching the knife and fork, my knuckles turn white. “No. Nobody knows. And you can’t tell anyone.”
“Okay.” She leans back in the chair, studying me for a beat too long.
I look down at my dinner, acid burning my throat, but I scoop up more food and swallow it down, trying my best to stay calm and act normal.
She seems okay with it, but I knew she would be. She’s seen it all when it comes to relationships. The cheating, swingers, same-sex couples, throuples, co-parenting.
I leave the rest of my dinner, place my knife and fork together, and meet her eyes. “I’m happy, Mum. Happier than I’ve ever been.”
She nods, her eyes sad, and I hate it. It’s as if she’s agreeing with me, but deep down she knows something I don’t. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”
I let out a long breath, my shoulders loosening a little. But then she tilts her head slightly, her counsellor voice slipping in. “You can only be happy in the darkness for so long, Evan.”
I crack my fingers under the table.
“What’s the long-term plan here?” Her aged hand waves towards me. “You can’t keep this a secret forever.”
“We’re not.” I clear my throat. “Nora has a scan in a few weeks. We want to make sure everything’s okay before we tell anyone she’s pregnant.”
“I see.” Mum nods along. “And you’ll tell people it’s yours?”
“Yeah, we want to be open and we want the baby to know the truth.” I push my glasses up, but I can’t look Mum in the eye.
“Was everything to your liking?” the waitress asks as she clears our plates.
“Lovely, thank you.” Mum lifts the dessert menu as if this is just another day at the office. “Can I order your millionaire’s chocolate brownie fudge cake, please, with pouring cream.”
“Yes, certainly.” The waitress balances the plates on one arm as she lifts the empty mugs.
“Evan, darling, are you having dessert?”
“No, thank you.” If I eat another thing, I will throw up.
“So, when the baby arrives,” she says, “where do you see yourself?”
“I…” The question catches me off guard. “I’ll be there. I’m part of this.”
“I don’t doubt that,” she says. “But emotionally, Evan… where do you fit? Are you building a life together, or are you stepping into someone else’s?”
I wipe my clammy palms on my jeans under the table. I don’t actually know the answer. They have their own life, and I’ve just sort of stumbled into it over the past few months.
“While a baby seems lovely, it puts a lot of strain on the most solid couples.” Her eyes are kind but she’s now in counselling mode. “I’ve seen so many marriages break down after they’ve had children because it’s not all cuddles and rainbows. And what you’re doing is already strained.”
“What do you mean?” I lift my gaze, locking onto hers.
“I mean the success rate for triads is statistically lower. Even if you love each other, three relationships have to stay healthy at the same time instead of one.” She straightens her round glasses.
“Triads are one of the hardest relationship dynamics to sustain because someone often ends up feeling like the extra piece. And I never want that someone to be you.”
The noise of the café rushes back in around us, louder than before.
I was that extra piece in the beginning, but not anymore.
Since Nora became pregnant, I’ve found my place in the relationship.
Nate might be married to her, but it’s my baby she carries.
We all have a special bond. But there’s a niggle at the back of my mind where Mum’s words linger, feeding that small seed of doubt.
Does Nate resent me for it? Does he feel like the extra piece?
I say nothing, not wanting to give Mum any more ammunition to analyse me and our relationship.
“You have always been very good at making space for other people,” she says. “I just want to be sure someone is making space for you too.”
“They do,” I say confidently, but that seed of doubt has already begun to grow.
Strangers pass by the window, living ordinary lives that don’t come with explanations or whispers, or questions.
“Good.” Mum’s dessert arrives, and she lifts a spoon and digs in.
“Nora would love to invite you over for dinner sometime. She’s an amazing cook.”
Mum smiles. “I’d like that.”
“So…” I clear the lump from my throat. “You’re okay with this?”
Mum pauses with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “It’s not up to me to be okay with this. This is your life, sweetheart. I love you no matter what. I just want you to be sure you’re okay with this.”
She reaches across the table again, squeezing my hand the way she always has. “You have to be okay with this, and you have to think about not just you, but you have a baby on the way now. How is this going to impact the child?”
Through the window, a kid skips between two adults on the pavement, holding both their hands while they swing him forward, laughing. My throat closes up. It’s a two-person job. There’s no room for a third.
Until now I’ve only been thinking about the three of us—stolen mornings in bed, shared dinners, quiet happiness behind closed doors. About protecting what we have from gossip and judgement. I hadn’t thought about school events, Father’s Day cards, playground bullies.
Outside, the little boy shrieks with laughter as the adults swing him higher. Two people, no complications. Nate and Nora fit together easily in the world. I’m the part that requires explaining.
I crack my fingers under the table, my heart sinking to my stomach.
Maybe loving them isn’t the same thing as being what’s best for them.