Epilogue
Jane
Meet me at the hospital?
A text from Stick. I was just getting out of class, checking my phone.
Are you okay? I texted back, while walking quicker, my heart starting to beat quicker. If something was really wrong with Stick he would have called an ambulance, right? Not waited for me to get out of class and then text.
Yes. Just want you to see the world’s cutest baby.
Oh, so Shelly had had her baby. I knew it would be any day now.
My pace slowed down; I was no longer in such a hurry.
I would love to get out of this, say I was busy and for him to go to the hospital without me.
But Stick knew my schedule. I couldn’t even claim to be heading to class.
And I had told him I’d be supportive of him having a baby.
It had been three weeks since the night the interview aired, the night I went after Stick and told him I was going to be there for him—whether he wanted it or not.
Three weeks of figuring out how to circumnavigate this new world of ours, which would include me going on the road for my father this summer and Stick dealing with fatherhood, and starting school in the fall.
And three weeks of being loved by Patrick Dooley. That alone was worth all the other crap.
He had taken the money Caro left him—from the sales of the cars—and put a deposit on a second apartment in the same building as he lived. Even the same floor. That was where Shelly and the baby would come home to, not his second bedroom.
I knew it was mainly for my benefit, and felt bad about the money spent, but was happy about the choice he made.
Lucas had even moved back into Stick’s apartment now that Lucas’s mother was doing well enough on her own.
It helped with the rent, gave Lucas some space (though he still helped out a lot with his little brother), gave Shelly some privacy, but would allow Stick easy access to be able to help out with feedings and such.
The rest of the money he would use to go to school, looking at getting in somewhere within driving distance. He wouldn’t let me use my negotiated chit with Grayson.
It just made me love him more.
I’d met Shelly Hopkins a few times over the past three weeks, and she seemed cool with me being with Stick. Even said another pair of hands for diaper duty would be great. Yeah, right. I mean, I loved Stick and everything, but there was no way I was going to do diapers.
Yes, it was all very civilized.
So why did I not want to go and see Stick’s baby?
Would they name him Dooley? God, I didn’t even ask if it was a boy or girl.
Hopefully I would fall in love with this kid right away and it would all work out.
“Hey, Jane. Got a minute?” Billy Montrose’s voice pulled me out of my baby-induced haze. He was standing in the hallway of the building of my last class, in front of what I knew from my Montrose-hunting days was his office.
“Sure,” I said, and made my way across the hall and into the office, him holding the door open for me.
It was a small room with just a desk, a bookshelf and an old leather couch, the kind that looked like you’d sink down when you sat in it, so that your knees would be at chin level.
There were books all over the place, even some stacked on the floor beside the desk and couch. Stacks of papers were on his desk.
“The ‘Who I am Right Now’ papers?” I asked, pointing to a stack. It was the paper we’d had to write for our final for his class. The paper that had prompted him to give me the “Find Her” talk.
“What? Oh, yeah. Not as entertaining as last semester’s batch, I’m afraid.
” He motioned to the couch, and I moved to sit down.
His leather jacket was on the arm, and I moved it out of the way.
Something dropped from underneath it and pooled at my feet.
I bent over and picked up a beautiful, brightly colored scarf.
A very unique scarf that I’d seen only one place before.
I held it to my nose. Yep, even smelled of her perfume. I handed it to Montrose, not saying a word, only raising a brow at him.
“It’s, um…”
“Complicated? I’m sure it is,” I said. He stood in front of me, looking down at the scarf in his hands like it held the secrets to the universe. Maybe, for him, it did.
Who was I to judge? I was on my way to meet my ex-car-thief boyfriend to see his baby with another woman. “Don’t worry about it,” I said to Montrose. “I won’t mention that I was here…to anyone.”
He nodded, still looking at the scarf. After a couple of seconds he gently placed the scarf on his desk, watching it, like it might slide off and away from him. Finally his attention turned back to me.
Funny, last semester I would have loved to have been given private attention in Montrose’s office. Now, I just wanted to hear what he had to say and get out of there. And get to Stick.
“I saw the interview you did with the Strattons,” he said. “And I was sorry I couldn’t make it to Caroline’s funeral.”
That’s right—he was college friends with Betsy. “It was a nice service,” I said.
“I’m sure it was.” He leaned against the front of his desk, crossing his ankles, and ran a hand through his wavy hair. Damn, but he was good looking in a tortured-artist kind of way.
And he did absolutely nothing for me. But I found myself happy that somebody was reaping the benefits of Billy Montrose.
“I just wanted to tell you…and I know this sounds kind of…trite coming from me. But seeing you in that interview? I was really…proud of you, Jane.”
“Thanks,” I said, meaning it. “Your words to me…they meant a lot. They really helped me out.” I meant that too.
“I’m glad,” he said.
I nodded at the scarf. “Now maybe it’s time to take your own advice? Make it less…complicated? ‘Let the rest of the bullshit go’?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
I stood up, and we did one of those things where I went to hug him while he went to shake my hand, and it just ended up being awkward, but in a sweet kind of way.
I left his office, quickly walked to Lot H and took my baby to go see Stick’s baby.
* * *
As we walked along the corridor to the maternity ward, my steps began to slow, nearly falter.
“Come on,” Stick said, walking ahead of me. “You’re going to love the little guy.”
“Oh, so it’s a boy?”
“Yep. Didn’t I mention that?”
“No,” I said. I didn’t think he did. Stick had met me down in the lobby, and on the ride up the elevator he chattered about the delivery going well, and that Shelly’s roommate had been in the room with her and came out to give Stick updates.
And my mind went numb. He very well could have mentioned it was a boy and I’d missed it.
I joined Stick in front of the window with about eight babies behind it. Just like you saw in the movies. “There he is,” Stick said, pointing to a bassinet just in front of us. The card in front of the bin read “Baby Boy Hopkins.”
“Isn’t he a cute little guy?” Stick said, watching me instead of the baby.
I took a good look at the baby, holding my breath in case he was the spitting image of his father. Which apparently he was.
“That baby is very Asian,” I said.
“Yep,” Stick said, still watching me, a broad grin creeping across his face.
“Does Shelly have an Asian background?” She was blonde and blue-eyed, but you never knew.
“Nope, not a drop.”
“Do you?” Again, you never knew.
“Nope,” he said, the grin growing wider.
“Are you even going to have blood tests done?”
He shook his head. “No need. A very bewildered, but mostly happy, Asian guy was here this morning. As soon as the baby was born, Shelly’s roommate called him.
He hadn’t known anything about Shelly being pregnant.
Apparently he’s pretty happy about the surprise.
I guess it was never his idea to break up.
He’s been with Shelly all morning. I think they might be working it out. ”
“So? You’re—”
“Not the father? Yeah, that’s pretty obvious now.”
“And you won’t—”
“Be involved? Probably not. I’ll still offer to help out financially with the apartment if she needs help. But it’s looking like the father is going to be involved, so it’s probably best if I just bow out.”
“And so we’re—”
“Dealing with one less major issue in trying to make this thing called love fly.”
I swatted his arm, my fingers brushing against the soft cotton of his white tee. “Would you let me finish a sentence?” He grabbed the swatting hand and raised it to his lips, kissing it, making my knuckles heat. Yeah, okay, making the rest of me heat, too.
I pulled it away from him and swatted again. “You couldn’t have told me on the phone that he wasn’t your kid? You made me get all prepared to see a Mini Stick and all those feelings to deal with?” Swat. “You can be such an asshat.” Swat.
He grabbed my hand again and yanked me to him, wrapping his arms around me.
“Yeah, but I’m your asshat.” He leaned down, resting his forehead against mine, gazing at me with those intense brown eyes.
I wove my hands behind his neck, entrenching my fingers in his rat’s-nest hair.
“And don’t you forget it,” I said. Then I kissed him.
* * *