Chapter 7
Overly Dramatic Dick
Christa
There’s a beat after I say it. Not silence exactly. More like the air has stopped circulating.
Geoff stares at me with these chocolate brown eyes, then smiles. A warm one. Earnest.
“Well,” he says. “Congratulations.”
I blink.
Once. Twice.
Right.
“Thank you,” I say carefully. “But that response suggests you think I’m sharing nice news.”
He nods. “You are.”
“Geoff.”
“Yes.”
“You’re congratulating yourself.”
The smile slips.
“Why would I be—”
“You’re the father.”
The sentence lands.
He freezes.
Like his brain has blue-screened.
Then he laughs.
Not a gentle laugh. A sharp, startled burst that tips straight into something a bit hysterical. He bends forward, hands on his knees, laughing like the universe has just pulled a chair out from under him.
I stare. “Are you okay?”
Geoff lets out a breath that sounds like a laugh but isn’t quite.
“This is the strangest week I’ve had in years,” he says. “First I find out I’ve got an issue with Downstairs Geoff, and then you tell me I’ve fathered a child.”
I frown. “With… who?”
He blinks. “Downstairs Geoff.”
“Yes,” I say patiently. “You’ve said that twice now. Is that a neighbour? Someone in your building? A man you’ve fallen out with over bins?”
His ears start to go red. Crimson red. Tips first, then spreading like a warning signal.
“No,” he says. “I mean… my dick. I was trying to be polite.”
“Oh.”
He nods, relieved that at least that bit has landed.
“Right,” I say slowly. “And what exactly is the problem with your cock… yes, I said cock. No need to beat around the bush. I’ve seen it, I can call it a cock.”
A mighty fine cock actually!
He opens his mouth. Closes it again. Rubs his hands together like they might produce words if encouraged.
“It’s just,” he says, gesturing vaguely. “Not doing what it usually does.”
“Which is...”
“Responding,” he says. “Reliably.”
“To what?”
He sighs. “Situations.”
I tilt my head. “This is thrillingly vague.”
“I’m trying not to say the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The phrase,” he says, grimacing. “The medical one.”
“Geoff.”
He exhales. “It’s like… you expect a reaction and there isn’t one. Or there is one and then it disappears. Or it simply refuses to show up at all.”
I stare at him for a beat.
“Oh,” I say. “Erectile dysfunction.”
He winces like I’ve sworn loudly in church. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you just say that?”
“Because it sounds permanent,” he says quickly. “And clinical. And like it comes with pamphlets.”
I nod. “Fair.”
“It’s temporary,” he adds at once. “At least I think it is. The doctor seemed to think so. Stress. Life. Midlife existential nonsense.”
He laughs then. A proper laugh this time: half disbelief, half hysteria.
“The irony! Downstairs Geoff goes on strike and the universe goes, ‘hang on, here is the result of his last spectacular appearance before retirement.’”
“Very committed of him,” I say.
“One night only,” he agrees. “Standing ovation. Immediate exit.”
I move closer and sit down next to him, resting my hand briefly on his knee. Not heavy. Just there.
“Well,” I say. “I can see why your brain is short-circuiting.”
He glances at me. “You’re taking this remarkably well.”
“I’ve had worse days,” I say. “And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think your dick is broken. I think he’s overly dramatic.”
He huffs a laugh. “That tracks.”
We sit for a moment, the humour easing the edge of it. Then I feel the shift. The laughter draining away. The weight of what I said finally landing.
His hand stills on his thigh.
“Christa,” he says quietly.
“Yes.”
“A baby.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re sure.”
“Yes.”
“And it’s mine.”
“Yes.”
He nods once, slowly, like he’s filing it somewhere important.
“I don’t even know what to say,” he admits.
“You don’t have to say anything yet,” I reply. “You can sit. Breathe. Swear internally.”
He looks at me then, really looks, and the jokes are gone.
“A baby,” he says.
This time, it sounds different.
This time, it sounds like he means it.
I draw a breath, because this is the bit that matters.
“I’ve thought about it,” I say. “Thoroughly. I asked the questions. I got the… less than subtle commentary from the doctor about my age.” I roll my eyes. “Judgement duly noted.”
Inside, my chest feels tight, like I’ve stepped off something solid and I’m waiting to see if there’s ground beneath me.
“I’m keeping the baby,” I continue. “Because I want to. Because I can. And because, at forty-three, I’m not convinced the universe is going to offer me a repeat booking.”
He nods, slow and attentive, eyes never leaving mine.
“But,” I add, because this is the part that scares me, “this isn’t a trap. You can be involved or not. However that looks for you. I’d understand.”
He goes very still.
Then something in his face shifts. Not bravado. Not pride. Something softer, almost startled, like the weight of it has landed somewhere deep.
“Christa,” he says quietly.
I brace myself.
“I don’t know how you think I’m the kind of man who could hear that and walk away.”
My breath catches before I can stop it.
“I mean that,” he adds, voice steady but low. “I’m not offended you offered the option. I get why you did. But it was never, in fact, a choice for me.”
I study him. “You’re sure.”
He nods, once. “I’m sure.”
“Because this is not a light commitment.”
“I know,” he says. “And I’m not pretending it isn’t terrifying.”
He shifts closer, not touching, but present in a way that feels deliberate.
“I want to be there,” he says. “For you. For the baby. From the beginning. Not just the highlights. The boring bits. The hard bits. The bits where we’re tired and get it wrong.”
Something in my chest loosens, just a fraction.
“I can do that,” he says again, like he’s reassuring both of us.
I swallow. “Okay.”
“And us?” he asks, careful now.
I tilt my head. “What about us.”
He smiles, a little self-conscious. “Do we… try? Romantically.”
I glance down at his lap, then back up. “With Downstairs Geoff currently on an extended sabbatical?”
He huffs a laugh. “Timing has never been my strength.”
“And,” I add gently, “I don’t want to force something because it sounds tidy.”
He nods immediately. “Me neither. I don’t want this to start with pressure. Or obligation. Or a story we think we’re supposed to tell.”
That settles something in me.
“So,” I say. “Friends.”
“Friends,” he agrees.
“Who raise a child together.”
He looks at me then, properly, warmth flooding his face in a way that makes my stomach flip.
“Who raise a child together,” he repeats. “And take it seriously.”
I nod. “That I believe.”
He exhales, a slow, grounding breath. “I’m really glad it’s you.”
The words land softly but firmly and, for a second, I have to look away.
“Me too,” I admit.
The future suddenly feels enormous and fragile and oddly hopeful.
“Well,” I say eventually. “This is unconventional.”
He smiles. “I think that might be my comfort zone now.”
“And Geoff,” I add, quieter, “thank you.”
He meets my eyes, expression gentle and certain.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “I promise.”
It’s not grand. It’s not dramatic.
But it’s exactly what I need to hear.
“Why are we here?”
No hello, no how are you? Just suspicion. Ivy doesn’t miss much. She’s been dating a Corbin long enough to know when something’s off.
“Because caffeine,” I say.
“No,” she replies. “Because something is wrong. Why are we not in Theo’s coffee house like usual?”
Because if we were there, your boyfriend would hear me breathe and know something was up. Because I don’t want an audience. Because I need five minutes of your attention without the risk of steam wands and Corbin brothers.
“Because I wanted a latte with a lid,” I say instead. “And anonymity.”
Her eyes narrow. “You are hiding something.”
We order. Ivy glares at the barista like he’s personally involved in my apparent secret mission. Drinks in hand, we sit down. I wrap my fingers round my cup and immediately wish I’d gone for something colder. My mouth is dry. My heart is loud.
Just say it. You’ve done harder things than this.
“I’m pregnant.”
Ivy screams.
Not a gasp. Not a sharp inhale. A proper scream that slices through the café like a fire alarm. Somewhere nearby, a drink hits the floor.
Oh God. I should have warned her.
“Oh my God,” she shrieks, already on her feet, throwing herself across the table and crushing me in a hug. “You’re pregnant.”
“Yes,” I wheeze. “Still need ribs.”
She pulls back, eyes shining, hands gripping my arms like I might float away. “This is amazing.” She hugs me again. “I’m so happy for you.”
The sincerity of it hits harder than the scream. I hadn’t realised how braced I was until I let it slip.
“Ivy,” I start, because this matters, “I know this might be difficult to hear. And I didn’t want you finding out from anyone else. I know you always wanted a baby and can’t have one and—”
She pulls back instantly. “No. Stop. Don’t you dare.”
I blink.
“This is your news,” she says firmly. “Your baby. Your life. I can be sad about my own stuff and still be genuinely thrilled for you. Those things can exist at the same time.”
My throat tightens. I nod because speaking feels risky.
“I love you,” I manage.
“I know,” she says. “Now tell me why we’re not in Theo’s coffee shop.”
I wrap both hands round my cup, grounding myself in the warmth. “Because the father is… complicated.”
Her eyes light up in that way that tells me she’s already enjoying the mess. “Oh my God. You slept with someone chaotic.”
“I slept with someone familiar,” I correct.
She leans in. “Christa.”
I lower my voice. “Geoff.”
She freezes.
For half a second there’s silence. Real silence this time.
Then she screams again.
“Geoff,” she stage-whispers, at a volume that suggests whispering is more of a concept than a skill. “As in Geoff Corbin.”
“Yes.”
“As in my boyfriend’s brother.”
“Yes.”
Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
“When?” she demands.
“Miranda's birthday,” I say. “Jasper’s. Everyone asleep. Whisky made several executive decisions on my behalf.”
She stares at me. “You slept with Geoff Corbin at a family gathering. Wait… your room was opposite mine and Theo’s.”
“There were doors,” I say quickly. “And we were quiet… kind of. There was regret the next morning.”
“How did I not know this?”
“Because it was a one-time thing,” I say. “We both agreed it was a bad idea, filed it under never speak of this again, and carried on with our lives.”
Ivy squints. “You’re very good at secrets.”
“I hate secrets,” I reply. “This one was just… necessary.”
“And now,” she says slowly, “there is a baby.”
“Yes.”
“With Geoff.”
“Yes.”
She sits back, hands on the table, processing like a computer buffering under pressure.
Then her eyes light up.
“Oh my God,” she breathes. “Oh my God. We’re going to be sisters-in-law.”
I blink. “We are not.”
“Yes, we are,” she says, already halfway to a Pinterest board. “Christmases. Family holidays. I’ll be your baby’s aunt and your sister-in-law. Theo will lose his mind.”
“Ivy,” I say, gently but firmly.
She barrels on. “And the wedding. I mean, obviously not straight away, but—”
“Ivy.”
“—something small, maybe, but still lovely, and—”
“Ivy,” I repeat, louder now.
She stops mid-sentence and looks at me.
“We’re not doing that,” I say. “There is no wedding plan. There is no romantic arc.”
Her face falls slightly. “Oh.”
“We’re friends,” I continue. “Friends who are going to raise a child together.”
She blinks. “Friends with benefits.”
“No,” I say. “Friends with a baby.”
She stares at me like I’ve just rewritten the laws of physics.
“So,” she says slowly, “no falling in love, no dramatic gestures, no sweeping declarations.”
“Correct.”
She studies my face, searching for doubt. I can feel it in myself, that tiny flicker of am I doing this right, but it’s not enough to undo the certainty underneath.
“This isn’t me being cautious because I’m scared,” I add. “It’s me being honest about what this is. About what I want.”
“And Geoff’s okay with that,” she says.
“Yes.”
She exhales. “That’s… unexpectedly sensible.”
“We’re shocking everyone,” I say.
She laughs, then sobers. “You’re really okay with this.”
“I am,” I say. “Terrified, obviously. But okay.”
She nods slowly. “Right.”
Another pause. Then her mouth curves into a grin.
“This is wildly unconventional,” she says.
“Yes.”
“And it’s absolutely going to confuse the hell out of everyone.”
“Definitely.”
She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “I’m in.”
I smile. “I wasn’t worried.”
“Good,” she says. “Because, whether this ends in romance or not, that baby is getting a ridiculous amount of love.”
Something warm settles in my chest.
“And, just to be clear,” she adds, eyes glittering, “I am still emotionally prepared for chaos.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
She leans back, finally taking a sip of her coffee. “Right then.”
“Right.”
“Friends with baby,” she says, testing it.
I groan. “Please don’t make it a thing.”
She grins. “No promises.”