Blue

   I stood leaning over the brass balcony railing, watching the koi swim in their fountain pond eight floors below. The party buzzed on behind me; star-struck girls and women fawned over the guest of honor, the tall, blonde, handsome Ilya, in the dim light. I was bored.
   Was he going to show up? When I gave him the invitation backstage after Champions on Ice two nights ago, he'd claimed to have practice earlier.
   "I don't finish until about half an hour into the party," he explained, glancing at the times written on the yellow slip of paper. I must have sighed, because he looked at me and added, "But I'll see what I can do." He folded the invitation with his elegant hands and slipped it inside the front pocket of his navy blue shorts. I sighed as he walked away, a pleased smile stretching my mouth as I nervously smoothed my ponytail.
   I hoped he'd show up. Otherwise, I forecasted a long, long night ahead of me. I sighed and slumped against the railing, excited giggles from the tipsy partygoers echoing in my ears. I had a headache. I almost wished I hadn’t agreed two months ago when Danielle asked me to come cross-country from Ohio to this fan club party in Los Angeles with her.
   A small group came through the hotel doors, crossing the lobby. Was that...could it possibly...it was! It was him, Ryan Parrish, the US figure skating national champion. I straightened, watching him and his small group cross to the ornate side elevators.
   He glanced up. I hesitantly waved; he waved back! Feeling bold, possibly from the party, possibly from the glass of white wine I'd had earlier, I blew him a kiss from my eighth-floor perch. He smiled, his blue eyes creasing at the corners, then disappeared into the elevator.
   Excitement coursed through me. He saw me! I saw him! I watched the elevators by the balcony, clutching the railing in both hands. Was he coming up? I felt lightheaded, dizzy, and queasy at the prospect of sharing air with Ryan, since I’d been following his career for the past three years on television and through the Internet.
   After half an hour of intense elevator watching, I gave up. He wasn't coming. I picked up a glass of ice water from the bar and sat by the large windows, looking out at the dark Pacific.
   Watching the waves crash on the sand was soothing; soon, I forgot my queasiness, and my hands stopped shaking. It was a good solitary activity. I could watch the ocean all night, the tides coming in, and the waves breaking against the shore, silent from this side of the glass, a never-ending cycle. The repetitiveness of it lulled me into a half-awake, almost hypnotic state. I sipped my water, intent on the waves.
   A small commotion broke through my trance. I turned to see what had caused the fluttering of activity. Ohmigod. It was him. Ryan. He was standing there, darkly handsome in black jeans and a casual dark blue polo shirt, his dark brown hair parted on the left and falling across his forehead. My water glass nearly fell from my hand; quickly, I tightened my grip before setting the glass on a nearby table, but not before a few drops splashed on the hem of my light blue sundress. Another streak of boldness raced through me as I threw my arms around him, hugging his slender form in my surprise.
   "You came!" I exclaimed, slightly startled to feel him squeeze me lightly in return.
   Ryan smiled at me, that beautiful, lopsided smile of his. "You asked so nicely backstage, and you looked so dejected when I said I might not be able to make it. I found half an hour so I could come up."
   Only half an hour! I smiled at him, not knowing whether to be thrilled he found the time, or dismayed at the small amount. "I'm glad you found the time."
   I was aware of the other partygoers on my periphery. Most had gravitated back to Ilya, behaving like satellites caught in a planet's orbit. A few remained around Ryan, asking questions about his plans for the next year or gushing about his performance two nights ago. I hung back, away from the fawners. I don't like fawning. I try not to fawn. But sometimes, especially around Ryan...I can't help it.
   I picked up my deserted water glass from the table, trying to look calm, to look nonchalant. I caught my reflection in the tall windows. My eyes were bright, almost glowing, and my face was flushed with more than the wine.
   The others, having exhausted their stock questions and patter, had deserted Ryan in favor of Ilya. I took their absence to wander back towards him. "I suppose parties like this aren't really your thing," I commented, leaning back against the brass rail, water glass cradled in my hands. "Especially when someone else is the center of attention."
   Ryan glanced over to where Ilya was circled by a throng of women. "Yeah, parties aren't usually my cup of tea." He leaned against the rail next to me, looking out at the lobby. "Now that's more my style." I looked to where he was pointing. A jazz trio had set up and just launched into a set of dance tunes. "You dance?"
   "Some." I glanced down at the musicians again, then back at the party. "Want to split?"
   I didn't know what had gotten into me. I wasn't usually this bold. Maybe someone had given me an extra spine while I wasn't looking, or maybe the water was actually laced with vodka.
   He looked at me, a question in his eyes, then looked back down at the jazz trio. Some people were already up and dancing; Ryan’s fingers tapped on the brass rail in time with the fast-paced music.
   "Let's go," he said, extending his hand. I took it gleefully, casting a glance over my shoulder. Danielle, who had given me a ride here, saw me and gave me a thumbs-up. I blushed as I followed Ryan into the elevator.
   I could feel the queasiness returning as the elevator plummeted to the lobby. Was this really me? Was I really in this elevator with him, going to dance with him? Dancing is one of the most intimate things two people can do, and I was going to be doing it with Ryan Parrish.
   The doors opened onto the lobby. Ryan led me to the makeshift dance floor, and we danced.
   Dancing with Ryan was…indescribable. He was light-years better than I was, but I’d expected that. After all, he was only the best male figure skater in the country. I was proud, though, that I never crunched his toes and managed to hold my own. As we danced, he smiled, talked and joked, and I smiled, talked and laughed. We never said anything too deep, anything too personal, but it was nice to just hear Ryan’s voice caressing my ears.
   As the first set neared its end, I checked my watch behind his head. Twenty-five minutes had passed. I rested my head against his blue-clad shoulder as the trio started playing a sad, romantic ballad. I felt a sense of loss wash over me. Soon, he’d be leaving, and I’d probably never see him again, get the chance to be this close to him again. I felt him check his watch behind me; he’d be leaving soon.
   Sure enough, as the song winded down, Ryan pulled away, brushing his fingers down my bare arms and taking my hands in his. "I have to leave now," he said. I knew it. "I have dinner plans."
   I must have looked upset, because he tilted my chin up so that I was looking into those beautiful blue eyes of his. "If you’re still here when I get back—that party’s going to last a while, isn’t it? —if you’re still here, I’ll come back up to the party." He then leaned over and brushed his lips against my cheek before disappearing with a group of people dressed for a casual dinner.
   I touched my fingertips to the place where his lips had touched, turning dazed eyes up to the eighth-floor balcony. Danielle was leaning against the place on the railing where I had been when I first spotted Ryan. She let out a low whistle, then called out, "Way to go!"
   I whirled around, my face burning, hoping he hadn’t heard.
   He was already gone.

   Two hours later, Ryan still wasn't back. I'm sure I looked awful, moping around the balcony, nursing a second glass of white wine, and casting longing glances toward the main doors every five minutes.
   When I told Danielle about his promise, she was thrilled.
   "He’s coming back to see you, Carrie! He must have thought you were hot," she said.
   I blushed. "Maybe. I don’t know."
   "I saw the way he was ogling you earlier. He’s got the hots for you. He’ll be back. Trust me." She reached into her purse and slipped something into my hand. "You just might need this."
   I looked down to see what she’d given me, and blushed even deeper.
   "You don’t know where he’s been, and even if you don’t need it, better safe than sorry, right?"
   I agreed and slipped the small foil-wrapped package into my purse. "What if I do need it? I mean, you know…"
   Danielle reached into her purse again and handed me something else. "Cab fare in the morning," she said, a wicked grin appearing. "I’m not hanging around all night. It’ll make me miss my hubby."
   I didn’t think I could blush any deeper that night.

   It was close to midnight. Most of the party had broken up; Ilya had long since gone back to his room. A few of us—Danielle and I included—were sitting around the lobby trading stories.
   The time changes were catching up with me. I struggled to stay conscious, to hear the latest story, but I could feel it was a losing battle. My eyelids drooped and I finally gave in.
   A hand rested on my bare shoulder, startling me awake. I looked up—and into those wonderful blue eyes. It was him. Ryan had come back.
   Danielle kicked my foot, then winked at me. "See you tomorrow?"
   I bid her goodbye, his hand still on my shoulder. The rest of the party stragglers had drifted out, leaving me alone with him. He sat next to me on the white wicker loveseat.
   "I didn’t think you’d still be here."
   "I didn’t think I’d still be here." I could feel a new blush creeping into my cheeks. Was it naïve to admit to him that I’d been waiting? At the moment, I didn’t care. Ryan had taken my hand into his own, and was tracing the lines of my palm… Palmist, do you see a handsome man in my future?
   "Let’s take a walk," he suggested, helping me to my feet.
   I eagerly agreed, hungry for the chance to take a moonlight walk with Ryan Parrish.
   The sand was cool against my sandaled feet, the air just warm enough to be pleasant. A full moon hung gravid above us, painting the crashing waves with silver light. It all felt like a beautiful dream, one I never wanted to wake from.
   He stopped by the pier, taking my hands in his. My heart was pounding so hard I thought I would pass out in his arms. When his lips finally touched mine, it was almost anticlimactic, until he increased the pressure, pulling me closer, crushing me with more strength than I thought someone so slender would have, lighting my senses with fire. I was only aware of his arms, steel bands around my waist, and his lips like a firebrand pressed against mine.
   Ryan’s kisses were hungry, demanding, not like I’d imagined them to be…worlds better. The firm, insistent pressure was like nothing I’d ever experienced. I could feel the raw desire surging between us; I must have moaned, because he pulled back slightly, touched my hair, my face, brushed his thumb against my bruised lips. "We can’t stay out here, Carrie," he said hoarsely, cupping his hand along the back of my neck, under my fall of hair. "Come back to my room?"
   It was an offer of…what? I knew what Danielle expected; I still had her "gift" in my purse. It would be so easy to say yes, to throw caution to the winds and follow him to his room. But…I bit my lip, thinking. Ryan tilted my head up so our eyes met again. The blue depths were unreadable, unfathomable, miniature Pacifics reflecting the moon and stars.
   "Yes," I breathed. He took my hands in his and led me back to the hotel. This was what I wanted.
   Wasn’t it?

   Blue. Why did it have to be blue? I stared at the small plastic strip, as if by willing it, it would fade away. Stubbornly, it remained, mocking me. Blue. It used to be my favorite color. Ryan had been wearing blue…
   "Carrie? Are you all right in there?" Danielle, checking on me. I hadn’t told her about the test. No one knew, except the cashier at the drugstore who had, it seemed, stared at my ringless left hand as I handed her the money.
   "Fine," I managed to say. I wrapped the test firmly in tissue, swaddling it, mummifying the evidence and burying it deep in the small tin wastebasket. Pasting a smile on my face, I opened the door. "I’m going out for a bit."
   I found myself at the mall. Odd that I would go there, among the crush of people, when all I wanted was to be utterly alone. Yet, I was alone…. Despite the milling mass of bodies, or perhaps because of them, I never felt more alone than at a mall.
   I wandered the main concourse, avoiding the greasy smells of pizza, hamburgers and Chinese in the food court, seeing and not seeing the unfamiliar shop windows filled with clothes only a coat rack would look good in, or the kiosks displaying incense, tie-dye, leather, jewelry, and phones.
   The noise of the crowd isolated me, insulated me. In this artificial edifice, chill as a late fall morning in contrast to the hot July outside, I shivered, whether from the cold air or from fear, I don’t know. I stopped and gazed into the window of a shop, not noticing what it was for a few moments.
   It was a store for expectant mothers…pregnant mannequins holding baby dolls clustered around a mahogany crib, displaying animals, clothing, all of it richly toned, and most likely more than I could ever hope to afford.
   Nervously, I entered the store, surreptitiously twisting the silver band from my right hand, sliding it onto my left, leaving it there, glinting, for all the world as if it had been placed there by a loving husband. I felt sick.
   I browsed the store idly, looking at price tags, feeling myself grow sicker and sicker as I mentally added costs. Even if I was to buy these necessary items somewhere else, somewhere not as upscale, I still could never afford them on my meager student salary. There was no other way. I would have to tell Ryan. It was the only way.
   I scrabbled in my purse for the small slip of paper he had given me, praying that it was right, that he hadn’t just scribbled ten generic numbers on a scrap of hotel stationary. I don’t know why Ryan gave this to me, but now, with this hanging over me like a dark, heavy cloud, I didn’t care why. Quickly, I found the barren offshoot where the payphone was located. Through some trick of acoustics, it was quieter here. I could still hear the crowd; they just weren’t as loud.
   I searched through the mass of cards in my wallet, looking for the phone card my grandmother had given me for Christmas. I’m sure she never thought I’d have to use it for this purpose. Slowly, I punched in the eleven digits of the card, cradling the receiver between neck and shoulder. Then, the eight-digit pass number, then…the ten numbers from the scrap of paper.
   A ring, then two. Then Ryan’s voice, beautifully delicious, answered. "Hello?" My queasy stomach fluttered from nerves and hormones, from memories of that one night when he whispered my name in that voice…. "Hello?" he asked again.
   "Hello," I said, gripping the receiver with white knuckles. "Remember me?"
   "Excuse me?" He was obviously confused. This must be as alien to him as it was to me.
   "Carrie Flynn? We met three weeks ago, in Los Angeles, the party at the hotel?" I prodded.
   "Oh. Hi." Ryan’s voice warmed as things clarified. I wondered what he was thinking about. "How are you?"
   "Pregnant." Oh no! I didn't mean to say it like that, so sudden, so…
   "Pregnant? But…" I imagined him running his hand, his beautiful hand, over his face, rubbing his jaw, his forehead. "There must be a mistake. Are you sure?"
   "I wish there was a mistake. I’m very sure." We were both silent, the sounds of the mall faint behind me, the buzzing of his phone ever present.
   "So what happens now?"
   "I don't know." I gripped the phone tighter, leaning against the cool concrete wall, squeezing my eyes shut to hold in the hot tears that threatened to spill over with every blink. "I don't know…I just felt…that you should know."

   "Where’d you go?" Danielle asked as I shut the door behind me.
   "The mall."
   "Thought you were broke?"
   "I am. I didn’t buy anything, I just wanted to be by myself for a while."
   "Oh." Danielle joined me in the living room, sitting on the couch across from me. "Ready to watch the Goodwill Games tonight? Your man’s skating live."
   "He’s not ‘my man,’" I snapped.
   "What’s eating you?"
   "Nothing."
   "Carrie…" She reached over and touched my knee. "Something’s up. I know you."
   I just looked at her. "I’m pregnant."
   "No shit." Danielle’s hand dropped away. "You’re shitting me."
   "I wish I was."
   "Want me to take you to a clinic later this week?"
   "No, I’m going home soon. I’ll see my own doctor there."
   "Car, I meant for an abortion."
   "An…." Suddenly I was cold all over.
   "If you get it quick, he’ll never even have to know you’re preggers."
   "He already knows."
   "How?"
   "I called him."
   "What’d you do that for?" Danielle was actually mad at me.
   "He has a right to know! It’s his baby, too!"
   "Carrie, to him you’re just a cheap trick, a one-night-stand! He couldn’t care less about whether or not you’ve got a bun in the oven!"
   "He does too care!"
   "Carrie, you’re living in a dream world. I’ll take you to the clinic this week."
   "I won’t go."
   "Carrie…"
   "I won’t."

   The December wind was cold as I stepped out of my car, whipping around me, teasing my hair in long reddish strands from its once-neat bun. I pulled my blue coat tighter around my body, trying to hold it closed around my stomach. The wind still found its way into the gaps. The only solution was to hurry inside.
   Neutral ground. That’s what the letter said. I clutched the thin manila folder closer to my chest and hurried across the snow-dusted parking lot. The hostess asked the name of my party as I scanned the restaurant, eyes adjusting to the dim interior.
   "I see him back there," I told her. It was true. I could see Ryan on the edge of a corner booth in the back of the restaurant.
   I approached warily, not sure what to expect. It had been some time since we last saw each other. I wasn’t sure if he’d even recognize me. After all, my appearance was certainly different now than it had been back in July.
   He slid out from the booth before I reached it, offering to take my coat. He looked as remarkable as he did that night, perfectly groomed, flawless in black. I handed my coat to him, and then, awkwardly, I lowered myself into the seat. I set the folder on the smooth wooden table and looked up.
   Across from me were two unfamiliar men in dark suits. I looked at Ryan, silently asking who they were. His eyes looked back, almost apologetically. "This is my agent, Jonathan Peters, and my," he swallowed, "my lawyer."
   If I could have, I would have leapt out of my seat in anger. "You never said anything about a lawyer."
   "Miss Flynn, we’re just protecting our client’s interests." The lawyer reached across the table. "You have the requested documents?"
   Silently, I slid the folder across the table and watched the three men pore over the doctor’s reports. I just sat there, clutching my elbows, my arms crossed protectively across my stomach.
   A lawyer. He brought a lawyer to what was supposed to be a private meeting. A cold chill passed through me and I clutched my elbows tighter. I suppose it was stupid of me to expect him to believe me about my pregnancy. Someone like him, traveling the world for competitions and shows, probably had women pretending to be pregnant with his child all the time. But this was different. I actually was.
   Ryan picked up one of the ultrasound pictures, holding it gingerly. His blue eyes seemed to soften as he made out the shape of the baby’s head and arms. "Do you know what sex it is?" he asked me.
   I shook my head. "I haven’t asked; I don’t want to be told."
   The lawyer neatly stacked the documents and closed the folder. "Miss Flynn, we’re requesting a prenatal paternity test."
   "No." I placed my hands flat on the table. "No."
   "It’s okay," Ryan told the lawyer. "I can wait until it’s born."
   "You need to know as soon as possible so we can make legal arrangements in either direction. If we have to, we can have a court order for amniocentesis."
   "The networks will be picking up on this soon. We need to work on an angle," Jonathan Peters chimed in.
   "The networks won’t hear about it."
   "What?" All three turned to me.
   "I won’t go to the media. I don’t want to endanger my child. I just want his help supporting my baby." I paused, taking a deep breath. "I don’t want to endanger my baby by having amniocentesis."
   The lawyer drummed his fingertips on the table. "Miss Flynn, you’re being uncoo..."
   "Sir, I will allow a paternity test. I know what the results will be. But I won’t endanger my baby."
   The lawyer turned to the agent. The two of them conversed in low tones. I took a chance and looked back at Ryan. He was still looking at the ultrasound pictures, tracing the shape of the baby with his forefinger. I tried not to smile; I had wanted to do the same thing when I first saw the grainy image on the monitor.
   I rested my hands on my stomach. It was still a novelty, being able to tell that I was pregnant. I looked back over at the lawyer and the agent, still conversing in low tones. What could they be talking about for so long?
   I absently stroked my stomach, feeling the baby stirring. I tried not to think about what the two suits were talking about. Instead, I just watched my belly. Little one, we’re going to get through this.

   Groaning, I levered myself off my couch to answer the door. I checked the peephole; Ryan was standing on my porch.
   I opened the door. "How did you…"
   "I got the address off your doctor’s reports."
   "Oh."
   "I was in the area, with the tour, and I just thought…." He shrugged.
   "Oh." Snow was starting to pile on his shoulders. "Oh! Come in." I stood out of the doorway so he could come in.
   "So this is your apartment," he commented, brushing snow out of his hair.
   "It’s small, but it’s warm and safe."
   "That’s good." He offered a tentative smile.
   "Would you like some tea?" I offered.
   "No coffee?"
   "No caffeine." I rested my arms on top of my stomach.
   "Oh. Yeah." He stood in the middle of the room, shifting back and forth.
   "You can sit down. The couch doesn’t bite." He sat down. I lowered myself back into the only chair I could get out of these days, a black wooden rocking chair that had been my grandmother’s. "So why’d you come out here?"
   "I wanted to see you."
   "Oh." I felt a little thrill, but it might have been heartburn. "Well, I’m here, larger than life." I patted my seven-month stomach; a responding kick answered me.
   Ryan’s eyes were glued to my belly. "Can I?" he asked, reaching towards my stomach.
   I felt like a Buddha. "Sure." His hand brushed against my abdomen near where the last kick had been visible. I felt the coolness of his cold-reddened hand as it touched my stomach, then felt the response of the baby inside me. Ryan’s eyes lit up like a six-year-old’s at a birthday party.
   "Amazing," he breathed.
   "Definitely."

   "Take it easy," Danielle warned, brushing a scraggly strand of hair off my sweat-soaked forehead. "Trust me; I’ve been there. You’ll need your energy." I looked up at her, gritting my teeth as I tried to ride out another wave of pain.
   "I. Want. Drugs," I managed to say around the pain. Another contraction hit and I squeezed her hand. I was barely aware of her gasp as she pulled her hand away and slipped a tennis ball in my hand instead. She shook her hand, gently massaging the fingers before gripping my shoulders as I tried to resist the urge to push.
   "She’s almost fully dilated." I heard Dr. Miller’s voice from somewhere between my upraised legs.
   "Y’hear that? You’re almost there." That wasn’t reassuring. It still hurt. I’d been here for countless hours already. I was tired, hungry, and hurting. I wanted to push, damn it, and they wouldn’t let me! Danielle held my shoulders, reassuring me that she’d lived through this before, and I’d make it through this time.
   "Give me a cell phone," I muttered. "I want Ryan to hear this. Hear every second of this agony he’s putting me through."
   "You’re there," the disembodied voice of the doctor told me. Dr. Miller’s head popped up behind the surgical blanket. "You can push soon."
   "Thank God." I felt like collapsing, my relief was so great. Soon! I thought. Soon, all of this will be worthwhile.
   I felt the urge come and this time, blissfully, I gave into it. I pushed with all I had left; hoping the doctor would tell me he saw something.
   "That was a good one. A few more like that, and he’ll come right out."
   "I’m having a girl."
   "I thought you didn’t ask the ultrasound assistant."
   "I…didn’t." I set my jaw and pushed again, tears collecting in the corners of my eyes. "I…just…know!" I screamed as I pushed, the sound making it easier.
   "The head is crowning."
   "You hear that? It’s almost over! You’re gonna be holding your daughter soon." She pushed my damp hair away from my face.
   "I don’t care!" I pushed again. "Just get this kid out of me!"
   "Almost…one more good push should do it."
   "Ayeyiii!" I screamed extra loud for good measure, then felt something pop free. I felt the doctor pulling as I fell back, panting.
   "It’s a boy," he said, placing the warm, wet, little body against my bare chest. I looked down at the tiny, red, wrinkled thing.
   "Isn’t he handsome," I whispered as the doctor clamped the cord.
   "I bet his daddy wishes he was here to see this," Danielle said. I closed my eyes.
   "But he isn’t." I touched the baby’s—my son’s—head, amazed. This came from me? This is what I’d been lugging around inside me for nine months? I pushed this out through—there? No wonder it felt like I was being torn in two.
   His mouth opened and closed and his tiny fist hit my chest. I reluctantly let him go so the doctor could clean him and wrap him. I was told to push one more time, and with a squelch, the afterbirth appeared. I turned my head, watching the doctor clean my son—my son. The words were unfamiliar, but somehow, they felt natural. My son. My baby. Mine.
   "We’ll have the test results done in a week. Do you want the results sent to both lawyers?"
   "What?"
   "Do you want the results sent to both lawyers?"
   Reality dawned on me. "Oh. Yes, please."
   They returned my son to me, and I held him, looking down at his tiny, squashed features. He probably thought the worst was over for him. It was just beginning for me.

   It was eleven-thirty. Nathaniel had finally fallen asleep after a three-hour fussy fit. I was exhausted. After checking on him one last time, I gratefully fell into my bed and pulled the covers up over me.
   I was just drifting off when I heard my doorbell ring. Groaning, I rolled over and squinted at the clock. Eleven-forty-five. "Whoever that is better have a damn good reason for being here," I muttered, tossing a robe over my old T-shirt.
   I bent to look through the fish-eye. Ryan was standing outside my door, looking way too polished for nearly-midnight. I closed my eyes and leaned against the door before sliding back the deadbolt and chain.
   "Why are you here, Ryan?"
   "I want to see my son." His face was shadowed; I couldn’t read anything in his eyes. Finally, I stepped out of the doorway.
   "He’s asleep." And if you wake him up again, I swear I’ll kill you.
   "I won’t wake him; I just want to see him." He stepped past me and into what I called the living-dining room. He followed me into my bedroom, pausing behind me right inside the door.
   I pointed to the wooden crib my aunt had loaned me. He shifted past me, lightly touching my shoulders. I leaned on the doorframe, watching him. He stood at the side of the crib for a while before reaching in to move the soft flannel blanket away from Nathaniel’s face. Ryan stood by the crib for nearly half an hour—I kept checking the clock. I couldn’t help it. Seeing Ryan here, in my bedroom, so close to my bed, was unsettling. I cleared my throat softly; Ryan started and pulled the blanket back up over Nathaniel before following me back out to the other room.
   "He’s beautiful," he said as I closed the bedroom door.
   "Yes, he is." I crossed arms across my chest, looking at the floor. I couldn’t meet his eyes. If I met his eyes, it would be all over. Coffee. "Would you like some coffee?" I asked, darting across the room towards the small kitchen. "It must have been a hard drive, and you have another one ahead of you tonight, don’t you?"
   "No."
   I stopped. "No coffee?" I could almost sense his next words. I heard the couch squeak as he sat down.
   "No drive."
   I turned around to look at him; he was gesturing for me to sit next to him. Automatically, I sat down, on the edge of the cushion, as far as I could from him without falling off.
   "I don’t have to be in Cleveland until tomorrow afternoon. I have reservations in town."
   "Oh." I caught myself playing with the edges of my robe, rubbing the scar on my left arm. This was unnerving, having Ryan in my apartment, my home. It was hitting too close.
   "I was hoping to spend the morning with Nathaniel."
   What? "You know his name?"
   "I asked."
   That set me back. Ryan had asked for Nathaniel’s name? Why? What did it matter to him? We were just an expense he had to worry about, a reminder of a thoughtless night. My hands worked faster, twisting the robe, rubbing so hard at my scar I thought I’d split it open again. As my mind whirled, a yawn built up. I clamped my jaw hard to hold it in.
   "It’s late," Ryan said. He must have noticed me holding the yawn in. "I’ve kept you up."
   I just nodded, standing. "Ryan, about tomorrow…"
   "Yes?" he asked, a touch of anticipation in his voice.
   "Nathaniel usually wakes up around six. If you want to see him, stop by around seven." That would give me enough time to make sure Nathaniel was up and fed. I did not want to have to excuse myself to breast-feed my son while Ryan was around!
   "Thank you." He stepped closer to me; I could smell the soap he used after the show. I tried not to look up. I tried not to look up. I tried not to…I looked up, and saw a familiar look in his eyes. He lowered his head. I turned mine; his lips grazed my cheek. He touched my arm.
   "I’ll see you around seven."
   I just stepped aside and opened the door. After a moment, he left.
   I closed the door behind him, then threw the deadbolt and slid the chain across. I chanced a look through the peephole.
   Ryan was smiling as he got into his car and left.

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