Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“Sure,” I said. “Anyplace is fine with me.”
We ended up at a Coney Island, and the hostess seated us in a big corner booth. I shrugged out of my jacket and fluffed my hair, which was damp from the rain. Nate set Paisley’s car seat in the booth, sat down next to her, and unbuckled the straps. “Can you make the bottle for me?” he asked, handing me the diaper bag. “I should change her.”
“Why don’t I take her to the ladies room and change her? They’ll probably have a changing table in there.”
“Won’t they have one in the men’s room?”
I shrugged. “Not usually.”
Nate’s expression was angry. “That doesn’t seem fair. They just assume a dad would never need to change a diaper?”
“I guess.”
“That’s bullshit.” He stood up. “Give me the diaper bag.”
I handed it to him, and he threw it over his shoulder and took off toward the bathrooms with Paisley crying in his arms.
Ten minutes later, he was back, his expression much more relaxed. “They had a family restroom with a table,” he said as he slid into the booth. “I didn’t even know there was such a thing.”
“You learn something new every day.” I turned my menu to face him. “Here. Take a look at that while I make the bottle.”
He glanced at it. “God, I need to get back in the gym. I have not been eating well.”
“I might be able to watch her for you a few times next week so you can go work out if you want. Although with Coco still out, my schedule is pretty full. Hand me the diaper bag?”
He passed it over the table. “Yeah, I probably have to hire an actual babysitter or nanny. I can’t be off work for much longer.”
“I can help you find someone,” I said as the server approached. “I think Coco mentioned an agency or website that she used to find a sitter one time. I’ll ask her what it is.”
We ordered burgers and fries and took turns eating and holding Paisley, since she continued to be fussy even after her bottle. At some point while I was holding her and trying to eat the last few bites of my burger, Nate pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet, put it on the table, and stood up. “I’ll take her so you can finish,” he said. “I’m done. If she comes back, will you ask for the check?” He took Paisley from my arms and walked up front with her.
I quickly finished eating, and when the server came by to check on us, I asked her for the bill.
“Of course,” she said. “Is your husband finished with his plate?” She gestured toward Nate’s unfinished fries.
For a few seconds, I couldn’t answer. I was too busy being pleased she had referred to Nate as my husband. “Yes. The baby was fussy so he took her up front, but he’s done.”
She smiled and picked up the plate, stacking it on top of mine. “Any man who takes a crying baby so his wife can finish her lunch is a keeper. I’ll be right back with the check.”
“Thanks, Sharon,” I said, referring to the name on her name tag. I loved Sharon. Sharon was awesome.
By the time Nate returned to the table to put Paisley in her car seat, Sharon was setting the change on the table. “Good job, dad. You got her to quiet down. I was just telling your wife how lucky she is to have a man who helps with the baby.”
Nate’s eyebrows rose, and he gave me a surprised look. I bit my lip. I was kind of afraid he was going to tell her the truth and spoil my little fantasy, but he didn’t. Actually, he looked more amused than anything. “Thanks,” he said to Sharon. He carefully transferred Paisley to her car seat and buckled her up while I put my coat on, then we left the restaurant, hurrying across the parking lot in the rain.
When we were on the highway again, he glanced over at me. “My wife? Did I miss the part where we got married?”
I laughed. “Relax, you’re still single.”
“Oh, good. Because I can only handle one identity crisis at a time. I just discovered I’m a father. I can’t discover I’m a husband all of a sudden, too.” He shuddered.
I shifted in my seat to face him and crossed my arms. “Would it be so horrible, to be married to me?”
“No, darling. The man who marries you will be the luckiest man in the world, and I promise to represent you in the divorce and make sure we rake his stupid ass over the coals for fucking up a good thing. It would, however, be horrible to be married to me. I wouldn’t put you through it.”
I rolled my eyes and faced forward again, and he turned on NPR again. But I couldn’t pay attention to the show. My mind kept drifting back to what he had said about getting married. It’s not like I hadn’t known his views on the subject before, but it hadn’t been personal then. Now he wasn’t only saying he had no interest in marriage, he was also saying he had no interest in marriage to me. Was I crazy to feel a little hurt by that?