20. Charlie #2
She nods against my shoulder. "I should see my doctor soon. Confirm everything, make sure the baby's okay. And we'll need to tell people eventually, but not until I’m further along."
"Jane," I say, suddenly remembering. "She knows."
"She was with me when I took the test," Tess confirms. "But she won't tell anyone except for Trey.”
"Let's keep it between us for now," I agree, relieved at the thought of postponing telling others. "Give ourselves time to get used to the idea."
Tess yawns suddenly, her body sagging against mine. "I'm exhausted."
"It's been a big day," I say. "Let's get some sleep."
We both undress and Tess slides under the covers, her body curving naturally toward the center of the bed, toward me. I slip in beside her, careful to keep some distance, unsure of what she needs.
She reaches for me, closing the gap. "Hold me?" she asks.
I gather her in my arms, her back against my chest, my hand resting tentatively on her hip She falls asleep surprisingly fast, her breathing deep and even, while I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of responsibility settling over me like a heavy blanket.
I'm going to be a father. The thought repeats over and over again.
I sign the wrong document once again, then swear under my breath as I toss it into the trash.
The week since the wedding has passed in a blur of sleepless nights and distracted days, my mind constantly circling back to one inescapable truth: in approximately eight months, I'm going to be responsible for another human life.
The thought makes my beloved coffee turn acidic in my stomach.
"Mr. Astor?" My assistant appears in the doorway. "Mr. Heath is waiting for you at Carmine's. Your lunch appointment was for noon."
I glance at my watch and curse again. 12:10. Shit.
"Thanks," I mutter, grabbing my jacket from the back of my chair. "Reschedule my two o'clock. And the three o'clock. Actually, just clear the rest of my day, please."
She nods. "Will do. Should I tell them you're feeling unwell?"
"Tell them whatever you want," I say, already heading for the door. "Just make it believable."
The walk to Carmine's takes ten minutes. I spend it rehearsing how to tell Stratton my news, discarding each approach as too casual or too dramatic. How do you casually mention that your life is about to change irrevocably? "Pass the salt, and by the way, Tess and I are having a baby"?
Stratton is seated at our usual corner table when I arrive. He stands as I approach, his handshake firm, his expression curious as he takes in the look on my face.
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
"Rough morning?" he asks as we both sit.
"Rough week," I correct. Stratton raises an eyebrow.
"Problems with the company?" He picks up his menu, though we both know what we'll order. We've been meeting at Carmine's monthly for years.
"No, business is fine." I take a deep breath. "It's personal."
Stratton sets down his menu, giving me his full attention. "Spill."
The waiter arrives right at that moment and we order—Caesar salad and the fish special for Stratton, steak for me.
"So," Stratton prompts, leaning back in his chair.
The words tumble out. "Tess is pregnant."
The words hang between us for a moment before Stratton lets out a low whistle. "Wow. That's...unexpected."
"You're telling me," I mutter.
"How far along?"
"Six weeks, give or take. We just found out at Michael and Lillian's wedding."
Stratton's expression shifts from surprise to something softer. "Well, congratulations. That's big news."
"I don't even know what I'm doing, Stratton. I'm not father material. I never planned for this."
"Neither did I," he says with a wry smile. "When Ariel told me she was pregnant with Chloe, I nearly had a heart attack. I’d done it before of course but it had been so many years. And I definitely didn’t think I’d ever be a father again.”
“But you’re such a natural with Chloe."
He laughs. "Now, sure. But the first time they handed her to me in the hospital?
I was terrified I'd drop her. I’d forgotten everything I learned with Trevor.
" He takes a sip of his water. "The first few months were the hardest. Sleep deprivation is real, man.
But you adapt. You figure it out as you go. "
"I don't know how I’m going to do it," I admit, the confession leaving me feeling raw and exposed.
"My father wasn't exactly a model parent.
You know how he is. All business, no emotion.
The only time he paid attention to me was when I screwed up or when he needed to parade me around at some business function. "
Stratton nods, understanding in his eyes. "You're not your father, Charlie."
"But what if I am? What if I'm cold or distant or too wrapped up in work to pay attention to my kid growing up?"
"The fact that you're worried about it tells me you won't be," Stratton says simply.
"Look, becoming a parent is terrifying. Anyone who says otherwise is either lying or delusional.
But it's also..." He pauses, searching for the right words.
"It changes you in ways you can't imagine. It happened when we had Trevor and again with Chloe.”
Our food arrives, but I've lost my appetite. I’m trying to imagine myself as the kind of father Stratton is describing.
"How did Ariel handle it?" I ask. "The pregnancy, I mean."
"She was scared too," Stratton admits. "Worried about her career, her body, whether she'd be a good mother. But she was also excited, in a way I wasn't at first. She could feel the connection to the baby already. It took me longer."
I think about Tess, about the way her hand kept drifting to her stomach during our flight home, the tentative wonder in her eyes when she thought I wasn't looking. "I think Tess feels that already. That connection."
"And you?" Stratton asks gently.
I set down my fork. "I'm still stuck on the terror part."
He laughs. "Fair enough. But give it time, Charlie. It'll come."
"What if it doesn't?" This is the fear that's been nagging at me. "What if I never feel that connection? What if I'm just going through the motions, pretending to be something I'm not?"
Stratton considers this. "Then you fake it until you feel it. You show up, you change diapers, you do midnight feedings. You act like the father you want to be, even when you don't feel like it. And one day, you realize you're not acting anymore."
His words settle over me, not exactly comforting but very helpful. "That simple, huh?"
"Nothing about it is simple," he corrects with a smile. "But it is worth it. And for what it's worth, I think you'll be better at this than you expect."
"Based on what?"
"Based on watching you with Hans," Stratton says, referring to my dachshund. "You spoil that dog and cater to his every need. You feed him fucking filet mignon. You care, Charlie. That's half the battle."
"A dog is not a child," I point out.
"No, but caring is caring. The stakes are higher with a kid, but the principle is the same."
We finish our meal, moving on to other topics—a property Stratton's considering developing, my plans for expanding Emerald City Coffee's online presence. But my mind keeps drifting back to our conversation about fatherhood.
As we stand to leave, Stratton places a hand on my shoulder. "Call me anytime when the panic sets in. And it will set in, many times. That's normal."
"Thanks," I say, genuinely grateful for his openness, for making me feel less alone in my fear. "I might take you up on that, bud. And please don’t say anything to anyone else right now. We’re keeping it quiet."
We part ways on the sidewalk, both of us heading back to our offices. The afternoon sun breaks through Seattle's typical cloud cover, casting everything in bright light.
As I walk back, I realize I feel marginally better than I did this morning. The panic hasn't subsided—not entirely—but it feels less like drowning and more like treading water. Still exhausting, still scary, but hopefully survivable.
Maybe Stratton's right. Maybe I can do this. One diaper and one midnight feeding at a time.