Page 59 of Summer with the Single Dad

When they reached the main road, they started to jog.

“I’m sorry if you feel uncomfortable now,” he said, inhaling the dewy morning deep into his lungs. It’d rained overnight and the constant drip, drip in the trees was soothing. “I never intended for that to happen. I never intended for that to happen either.” He pointed into the woods for some stupid reason, like the exact tree they’d had sex against was right there. “But for what it’s worth, I’m glad that it did.”

Her lips flattened into a thin line.

“Justine, please …” Heat rushed into his chest and his fingers tingled. “Do … do you regret it?”

Her eyes snapped to his, but that caused her to veer right and they ran into each other.

Her exhale was laden with emotions he couldn’t comprehend, and they stopped.

Pain formed in the back of his throat as the guilt swamped him. “Look at me … please.”

Her brown gaze tipped to his, and she squinted so he removed his headlamp.

“I … I don’t regret it, but … I feel guilty.”

She felt guilty? About what?

Oh shit! He just assumed she was single because she was there by herself. But … oh fuck! Shoving his fingers into his hair, he spun away from her for a moment, then pivoted and stalked back. “Are you married? In a relationship?”

“No. I … I’m single.” Regret and pain flickered in her eyes, though it was tough to really see in the muted, foggy light of the early morning.

“Then why do you feel guilty? Help me understand. It’s torture not seeing you. Feeling like you’re avoiding me.”

Her eyes grew watery, and she swallowed. “A small, stupid part of me hopes that maybe I’m not as barren as all the doctors said, and one irresponsible moment—one amazing irresponsible moment—got me pregnant.” She huffed a humorless laugh. “How pathetic is that?”

He glanced away for a second to collect his thoughts and figure out how to soften the blow, but also not panic because a woman he just met wanted his baby. “I um … I had a vasectomy six months after Aya was born.”

Another humorless laugh burst from her chest. “Now I just feel like a fool. And you probably think I’m crazy.” She made to peel away, but he reached for her hand.

“You’re not a fool, and I don’t think you’re crazy.”

The glint in her gaze said she didn’t believe he believed either of those things, but she didn’t pull her hand away.

“You do know that a baby would have tied us together forever, right? I’m not some sperm donor. I’m a father. And I’d be a father to a child we created together.” He scratched his head. That sounded so weird to say out loud, let alone think.

Her breath escaped her thinly parted lips, but her chin wobbled. She was holding back big emotions, trying to be stoic. “My sister told me that she froze her eggs when she was in med school. That it was the sensible thing to do because she wanted a family, but she also wanted a career. She just wanted her best eggs to be her babies.” She rolled her eyes. “Everyone in my family is a doctor. Both parents and both my sisters. We’re practical people. And freezing my eggs seemed like a practical thing to do when I was in med school. Only they discovered that I have not only severely damaged fallopian tubes—for no apparent reason— also no viable eggs to harvest, and an insane amount of uterine fibroids. So even if we dealt with the fibroids—which we do—the chance of me conceiving is less than point-five percent.”

“I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head and sniffed, glancing away again. “I’ve come to terms with it. Took a while, but I have.” That humorless laugh was back. “Or maybe not. Seeing as I secretly hoped our tryst against the tree resulted in a medical miracle baby. But you’re snipped, so … I’m just an idiot.” She said the last bit mostly under her breath and hung her head.

He studied her, searching for words of comfort, but unable to come up with anything that wouldn’t sound corny.

“It pitched me into a pretty deep depression spiral at first. Made me wonder if this was the universe’s way of telling me I’m not meant to be a mother. That’d I’d be terrible at it.”

“Women who can’t conceive naturally and adopt, end up being fabulous mothers. Women who are step-mothers can be fabulous mothers. There are foster-mothers who are saints. That’s not what this means. At all. You can still be a mother if you want to. If you feel the need in your heart. And I’m sure you would be incredible at it.”

She still wouldn’t look at him.

“I threw myself into my studies instead. I was second in my class at Hopkins and did a cardio fellow at Mayo before I was poached by Seattle Memorial. I rose quickly through the ranks there, and people from all over the country came to me for second opinions and surgery. Because I’m not afraid to take a risk.”

It was like she was speaking to the trees now, not to him.

Gentle, warm drops of rain landed on his hands and nose, his ears and cheeks. The drips in the trees increased and the pungent, earthy smell of wet dirt hit his nostrils.

“I loved my job. I love to cut.” Finally, her gaze met his. “Do you know what it’s like to hold a human heart in your hands?”

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