Chapter 2
CHAPTER
I STIFLED A YAWN as I left the conference room and walked back to my cubicle. The number of staff meetings we’d been having at work lately was maddening. It was typical, though, since we’d just taken on a new client. But this pregnancy meant I was having one hell of a time staying awake for them.
Remember, you’re lucky to have this job at all, after the mess you made.
I didn’t handle it so well, when I came home that day last year to find Jason and all of his things gone.
I’d called him in a panic, but when he answered, his voice was frighteningly calm. He said, surely I had to have seen it coming.
I couldn’t stay in what had been our apartment alone, so I ran to my mom’s. For weeks, I holed up in my childhood bedroom, emerging only to use the bathroom and pour myself refills of red wine, vodka—really, any form of alcohol. I wasn’t picky.
I abandoned the apartment we’d shared and ghosted my employer, effectively losing me my dream job at one of the city’s top marketing agencies.
Eventually, Mom got in touch with Ellie, who enlisted the help of other friends to pack up what remained in the apartment and move it into storage so I could stay with my mom until I felt stronger again.
It didn’t happen overnight.
After about seven or eight months of living with Mom, I did slowly start feeling like myself again.
I was extremely lucky when Meredith Blackwell took a chance on me and hired me as a marketing associate at her well-respected boutique agency in the city, even after the way I’d abandoned the last one.
Thankfully my portfolio spoke for itself.
The salary she offered, though lower than what I’d made before, helped me spread my wings again and afford my own small, one-bedroom apartment in an old Spanish-style fourplex in the Mission District, just six or seven walkable blocks from the office.
Fast-forward six months, and I was loving my job at the Blackwell Agency.
Though self-doubt still crept up on me from time to time, after the way I’d let my life fall apart before, I was starting to feel more confident in my ability to navigate life on my own.
I had Mom and Ellie on my side—my unshakeable support system—and I was starting to believe that my deep dive into grief was behind me, and I was in control of my life again.
I was answering emails at my desk when my phone buzzed with a text. It was Max, wanting to know if I’d be home soon.
Yeah, pretty soon. What’s up? I replied.
Can I come by so we can talk for a bit? I can pick up dinner on the way. My treat.
I bit my lip. I was kind of glad to hear from him; it had been over a week since I’d dropped the baby bomb on him. Had he told his girlfriend? I cringed, imagining how that must have gone. Was he having second thoughts?
Sure, I finally texted back.
6:30?
Great, see you then.
A little after six-thirty, my intercom buzzed. I pressed the button to let Max into the building. I opened my apartment door to see him coming up the stairs, carrying a bag from the corner burger joint. The food smelled good; my stomach rumbled.
“Mm, thanks for bringing food. I’m starving.”
I willed the situation to feel natural. Max and I hadn’t been alone in my apartment since our last night together, in February—for all I knew, the night we’d made a baby.
We’re friends. Just friends. Friends having a baby.
Friends having a baby have dinner together sometimes, right? It’s no big deal.
“Yeah, my pleasure,” he said.
I glanced toward the small dining table in my kitchen, but it was a mess, covered with takeout containers I’d been meaning to take to recycling and a bunch of opened mail.
I directed him to the coffee table instead.
We could sit on the living room floor while we ate, the way I usually did when Ellie was over and Netflix was on.
As we took our first bites, Max seemed tense. He finally spoke. “So … I told Madison. About you. And the baby.”
I swallowed. “Okay.” I wasn’t quite sure what to say. “I’m sure that wasn’t easy. How did it go?”
“Well, she was upset at first. Just like I thought. She knew I’d dated other people while we were broken up—she said she went out with someone once or twice too—but of course, it was still a huge shock.
” He paused and looked down at his plate.
“Anyway, we’ve talked about it a lot over the last few days.
I told her you and I just want to be friends, and good co-parents.
It’s the best thing for the baby. And then …
the more we talked about it, well …” He gave me a sheepish glance.
“She actually seemed … excited. She said she’d always thought I would be a good dad, and she was proud of me for doing the right thing, even though this was unexpected.
” Max paused and grinned, then added, “She said she wants to help.”
I froze, my burger halfway to my mouth. “She wants to help?”
“Yeah. She wants you to know she’s here to support both of us.” He searched my eyes for a reaction, but I felt … what? I had no idea.
“Wow. That’s … really cool of her, I guess.” How was I supposed to take this news?
Help? What does that even mean?
I laughed nervously. “I’m not sure how she can … help. There’s not much to do at this point. The baby’s still several months away.”
“I know. But … actually, if it’s cool with you, she’d like to meet you.”
I nearly choked as I tried to swallow a bite. “What?”
He chuckled, as though he knew how crazy the idea sounded. “Yeah. She wants the three of us to be friends … you know, be on good terms with each other. Might as well get all the weirdness out of the way from the start, right?”
How do you get rid of this kind of weirdness? Another nervous laugh slipped out. It all sounded so bizarre. Crazy. Awkward. But I could tell it meant a lot to Max. I swallowed, clearing my throat. “Um, alright … I guess.”
Max exhaled and gave me a big smile. “Thanks, Savannah. See? I told you—everything’s going to be great.”
An ear-piercing shriek woke me with a start, sending my heart thumping at lightning speed. I sat straight up in bed, my wide eyes frantically darting around the bedroom. Another shriek followed, and my head snapped in the direction of the sound—my bedroom window.
I growled. Stupid cats fighting in the alley again! As I glared at the window, fighting the urge to throw a pillow at it, I caught a glimpse of my bedside clock: 8:23.
“What?” I tore the sheets from my body and scrambled out of bed. “Dammit!”
I must have forgotten to set my alarm as I lay awake for hours the night before, going over and over Max’s news in my head—his girlfriend wanted to meet me.
I guess it made sense … kind of? Through this baby, Max and I were going to be in each other’s lives for good, like it or not. Assuming he and Madison stayed together, we were bound to meet eventually. Like Max said, maybe it was best to just get all the weirdness out of the way now.
Still, I’d just barely started to wrap my head around the idea of co-parenting with Max, a near-stranger—now he wanted to add another stranger to the mix? A stranger who probably had all sorts of feelings about me, the woman who’d slept with her boyfriend. It all sounded very messy.
But there was no more time to dwell on the situation.
My morning meeting started promptly at nine—I was going to be late if I didn’t hustle.
I rushed into the kitchen and turned the kettle on for decaf tea with one hand while attempting to brush my teeth with the other, then dashed back to the bedroom.
Apparently, I’d also failed to do a load of laundry the night before.
I dug through a questionably clean pile of clothes on the floor, trying to find something decent to wear.
As I stepped into a black, one-piece jumper I’d worn just a few days before, I smelled a whiff of something foul—but it wasn’t my clothes.
I ran back into the kitchen to find my kettle hissing and burning.
How the hell had I forgotten to put water in it?
“Dammit!” As I pulled it off the burner, pain seared through my pinky finger.
I cried out and ran to the sink to run it under cold water.
Well, isn’t this just a fucking great morning.
In the bathroom, I sprayed dry shampoo in my light brown hair, ran my fingers through it a few times, then smoothed it back out to where it sat just above my shoulders. No time for makeup; I grabbed my coat and work bag, shoved my feet into some black ballet flats, and ran out the door.
Walking as fast as I could, I pulled my phone out and sent a quick text to my coworker Sam, letting him know I was running a little late but would be there for the nine AM meeting.
As I turned the corner onto Twentieth Street, a tall, thin boy wearing a backpack barreled toward me on a skateboard.
He was staring down at his phone, instead of looking where he was going.
Just as I was about to move out of the way, he slammed into me, jarring my right shoulder.
I stumbled and managed to catch myself as my phone went flying out of my hands.
“Ow!” I rubbed my sore shoulder, glaring at the boy. His beanie was low on his forehead and he wore reflective sunglasses, so I couldn’t see his face well, but he looked no more than sixteen or seventeen.
“Oh, dude—sorry, lady. My bad.”
I bent over to pick my phone up, but he grabbed my arm to stop me.
“No, let me get it for you. It was my fault.” He picked up the phone and placed it in my hands. A fresh crack ran across the screen. “Sorry again,” he said as he hopped back on his board and sped off down the street.
Could this morning get any worse?
A few minutes later, I walked through the glass doors of the office building where the Blackwell Agency lived on the fourth floor. As I approached the security turnstile, I reached into my coat pocket for my keys with my employee badge so I could swipe through—and felt nothing but fabric.