Page 10 of Goal Line
“I suspect it will be,” I say, relieved that everything seems normal between Charlie and me. “You ready, Evie?”
She laughs the same way she always does when I use that nickname—the one she proclaimed she hated once she hit middle school, and will allow no one but me to use.
“Sure am. Bye, Dad, have a good dinner with Mom,” she says as she grabs her purse and jean jacket off a deck chair.
“I have some peach rings for you in my car,” I tell her, chuckling when she bounds down the path. It’s hard to tell if she’s in a rush to leave or excited about her favorite candy.
“Take care of her,” Charlie says to me quietly as we watchher take the path toward the driveway. “I’m not sure she’s as okay as she’s pretending she is.”
I wait, hoping he’ll say more. When he doesn’t, I give him a nod. “I will.”
Then I turn and follow his daughter down the driveway—letting her lead, like I always do.
“Can I interest you in some wine or a cocktail?” the waitress asks Eva after taking our appetizer order.
“Water’s fine,” she says, her brow furrowing as she sets the drink menu on the table.
The waitress turns her head toward me. “And for you?”
“Uh...” I was going to get a beer, but given Eva’s pregnancy, I would feel bad drinking in front of her.
“He’d like whatever IPA you have on draft,” Eva chimes in. “Preferably something hoppy.”
The waitress runs through a few options, and I choose one. “You didn’t need to order for me,” I say once the waitress has left.
“Seemed like you weren’t sure if you should order a drink since I can’t drink, and I was shutting down that nonsense.”
My head tilts as I look at her curiously. “Why is thatnonsense?”
“Because it’s not like you have any responsibility for my condition?—”
“And if I had? Would you have wanted me to stop drinking through your pregnancy?” I’m relieved that we have a table in the corner of the overwater deck, so no one can overhear us. The ocean is calmer on this side of the peninsulathan on the other side, where Eva’s house is, so instead of crashing waves, we have water lapping at the rocks below the deck to muffle our conversation.
Eva rolls her eyes, and I’m not sure if it’s at the ridiculous notion that I could be responsible for her pregnancy—which, given our circumstances, is quite impossible—or at the idea that I wouldn’t drink during those nine months.
“Not drinking while his significant other is pregnant seems like the least a guy could do,” she says with a slight shrug.
Yes, it’s the absolute least. And more than anything, I hate that she’s conditioned to expect the least from guys.
“Yeah, well, since that guy’s not here?—”
Eva’s snort stops me. “Please”—she rolls her eyes—“let’s not do this. I’mnotgoing to try to find him. I don’t have anything to go on except that he’s German. I don’t even remember his name. Just becausethatwas a mistake, doesn’t meanthisis.”She glances down meaningfully at her belly, which is hidden under the table. Not that there’s anything to see.
She still has the toned body of a competitive athlete, and the singular sign that she’s pregnant—which you’d only notice if you were paying close attention—is that her breasts are bigger. I mean, not that I look at them enough to know what size they were before pregnancy, or now. No, I definitely don’t have that information burned into my brain.
“I wasnotimplying that your baby is a mistake, Evie.”
She sits back, crossing her arms, and suddenly her body language is borderline hostile. “You don’t have to. Everyone else will.”
I fold my arms on the table in front of me and leantoward her, wanting to make sure she understands my words. “Fuck everyone else. Their opinions don’t matter.”
“Do you honestly believe that?” she asks, and I hate the way everyone else’s opinions matter so much to her.
“Of course I do.”
“Even about yourself? Even about last night’s game?”
“That’s different.” I glance out at the water as the setting sun casts orange and purple rays over the rippling waves.
