Page 19 of Keeping the Score

I rub one eyebrow, confused. “Um. Okay. You want to come up?”

“Please.” She hurries back to the seating area, picks up the baby carrier and joins me at the elevators. “This is Matilda.”

I peer into the carrier. Another baby. She’s asleep so at least I won’t make her cry.

We ride up in silence and she follows me into my place.

“Would you like something to drink?” I offer. “Coke, water, Gatorade?”

She shakes her head. “I’m good, thanks. Is it okay if we sit?”

“Sure.”

She sets the baby on the floor near the couch and sits so she can watch her. I sit across from her. I’m feeling kind of warm. Like my skin is too tight. I’m not sure what’s going on here.

“You’re probably surprised to see me,” she says with a strained smile.

“Yep.” That sounded rude. I don’t want to be rude. I’m just baffled about why she’s here.

Or… I look at the baby again. I narrow my eyes. Is she going to tell me I’m the father? One night! We used protection. I always use protection. And that was over a year ago!

That can’t be it.

But… I swallow.

“This isn’t easy so I’m just going to come right out with it. Matilda is your daughter.”

I throw up my hands. “No way. Come on.”

She wrings her hands. “It’s true, Ford. I’m sorry.”

I move my head side to side, staring at her. “No.”

She holds my gaze steadily and fuck me, I think she believes it. “How can that be? How old is she?”

“She’s three months old. Almost four months.”

“Oh. But… but… how did it happen?” I swipe at beads of sweat that are popping out on my forehead.

She scrunches up her face. She’s pretty enough, with pale blonde hair and blue eyes. I don’t remember her being this thin, but truthfully, I don’t recall much about our brief time together. “It happened.” She shrugs. “Sometimes condoms fail.”

I let that sink in. “Shit.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure it’s me? I mean…”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

“But not 100 percent?”

She bites her lip. “Ninety-nine? We can get testing done. I knew you’d want that, and that’s fine. I actually brought a home test.”

“Whoa.” I blink. “Are you… looking for child support?” I’m not being critical; that would be reasonable. In fact, that would probably be the only reason someone would show up a year later with a baby.

Her eyebrows slope down and she closes her eyes briefly. “No,” she says quietly. “Not exactly. I have a bit of an emergency situation and I need your help.”

“Is she okay?” I glance at the baby, suddenly alarmed.

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