At seven that evening, Greg was sitting on the sofa twelve minutes before Emma was supposed to call.
He pretended this was accidental.
I did not dignify the claim with a response.
His laptop sat open on the coffee table. The camera was adjusted. The lamp behind us had been moved because Greg decided it created glare. He had changed shirts twice.
“You understand this is a family video call, not a hostage negotiation.”
“I’m sitting on my own sofa.”
“You ironed your shirt.”
“It was wrinkled.”
“You do not iron shirts for conversations with our children.”
“I respect them.”
“You wore a sweatshirt during Michael’s promotion call.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I don’t remember.”
At precisely seven, the screen chimed.
Greg sat straighter.
I clicked accept.
Emma appeared beside Daniel at their kitchen table.
The first thing I noticed was that Daniel looked as if he had been ordered not to smile and was failing badly.
Greg noticed too.
“What happened?”
Emma laughed.
“Hi to you too, Dad.”
“Hi. What happened?”
Daniel looked down.
Emma took a breath.
I reached for Greg’s hand.
He glanced at me.
Then Emma said, “We’re having a baby.”
Greg did not move.
For one strange second, the sentence seemed to pass through him without registering.
Then his mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Emma started crying.
Greg stood so abruptly his knee struck the coffee table.
The laptop shook.
“What?”
Emma laughed through her tears.
“I’m pregnant.”
Greg put both hands over his face.
I had expected tears.
I had not expected him to turn away from the screen.
His shoulders shook once.
Then again.
“Dad?” Emma said.
He pressed his palms against his eyes.
“Give me a second.”
I touched his back.
He lowered his hands.
There was no attempt to hide what he felt.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Emma covered her mouth.
Greg leaned toward the laptop as though physical distance were suddenly unbearable.
“How far?”
“Almost eleven weeks.”
“Eleven weeks?”
He looked briefly wounded.
Emma saw it.
“I wanted to wait until after the appointment.”
“Of course.”
The answer came immediately.
He corrected himself before the hurt became accusation.
“Of course you did.”
Daniel finally allowed himself to grin.
“Everything looked good yesterday.”
Greg closed his eyes.
“Good.”
Then he began asking questions.
Had Emma been feeling well?
Was she sleeping?
Was she taking prenatal vitamins?
Had they chosen a doctor?
Did their building have an elevator?
The elevator question stopped everyone.
Emma blinked.
“Yes.”
“Why do you need to know that?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
Daniel laughed.
Greg rubbed his forehead.
“Sorry.”
Emma looked at him with tenderness.
“It’s okay.”
“No, apparently I’m already inspecting infrastructure from nine hundred miles away.”
“That took approximately forty seconds,” I said.
“Thirty-five,” Daniel offered.
Greg pointed at the screen.
“You stay out of this.”
For several minutes, the joy carried us.
We talked about the appointment.
Emma held up a grainy ultrasound image that meant almost nothing to my eyes and everything to all of us.
Greg moved closer to the screen.
“Is that the head?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“The technician explained it better.”
“Send me the full-resolution image.”
“Dad.”
“For archival purposes.”
I looked at Emma.
She looked back.
We both knew the difficult part had arrived.
She inhaled.
“Dad, there’s something else.”
Greg’s smile disappeared immediately.
“What?”
“Nothing bad.”
He relaxed by a fraction.
“I just need you to hear me before you respond.”
Greg glanced at me.
I squeezed his hand.
“Okay,” he said.
Emma looked down at the table, then back into the camera.
“I want you involved.”
Greg’s forehead creased.
“Of course.”
“I mean really involved.”
He waited.
“I want you and Mom visiting. I want the baby to know you. I want you to give me advice when I ask for it.”
“When you ask.”
She gave him a look.
He nodded.
“Understood.”
“But I don’t want you making this your whole life.”
The room changed.
Greg did not move.
Emma continued before fear stopped her.
“You told us this morning that you miss being needed.”
“I shouldn’t have dumped that on you.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“Dad, listen.”
His mouth closed.
“I’m having a baby. That doesn’t mean you get your old job back.”
Pain crossed his face so quickly that Emma nearly lost her nerve.
I felt it beside me.
Greg’s fingers loosened from mine.
Emma leaned toward the camera.
“That came out harsher than I meant.”
“No.”
Greg’s voice was quiet.
“Finish.”
She swallowed.
“When I was little, you fixed everything.”
Greg looked down.
“My bike. My car. My college applications. Every stupid science project. Every apartment move.”
“The shelf in your first apartment would have collapsed.”
“It did collapse.”
“Because you ignored my anchors.”
“Dad.”
He stopped.
Emma smiled sadly.
“I love that about you.”
Greg said nothing.
“But I’m going to become somebody’s mother. Daniel and I need to learn how to do this ourselves.”
Daniel placed a hand over hers.
“We’re going to need help,” she continued. “A lot of help. I just don’t want you sitting around waiting for us to need you.”
Greg’s eyes glistened again.
“I wouldn’t.”
Emma’s silence answered him.
He looked at me.
I did not rescue him.
Finally he nodded.
“I might.”
Emma’s shoulders dropped.
“That’s all I’m saying.”
Greg rubbed his palms together.
“I don’t know how to do this part.”
“What part?”
“Stand nearby without grabbing the toolbox.”
Daniel smiled.
“We can probably find jobs for you.”
“That is exactly the problem,” Emma said.
For a second I worried Greg would retreat behind humor.
Instead he leaned back.
“All right.”
Emma looked wary.
“All right what?”
“I’ll try.”
“Try what?”
“To be your father without turning into your project manager.”
I almost laughed.
Emma did.
“That would be excellent.”
Greg looked at Daniel.
“And you tell me if I’m becoming unbearable.”
Daniel’s expression became cautious.
“Is this legally binding?”
“Yes.”
“Then I would like witnesses.”
We all laughed.
The tension eased, though it did not disappear.
Then Greg asked the question I had been waiting for.
“When are you due?”
“April twenty-third.”
His face changed again.
April.
Spring.
A date now existed where there had only been an idea.
“You’re going to have a baby,” he whispered.
Emma smiled.
“Yes.”
Greg looked at me.
“We’re going to be grandparents.”
“I’ve heard.”
His joy was almost boyish.
For the rest of the call, he behaved remarkably well.
He asked before offering advice.
Twice.
The third time he forgot.
Emma reminded him.
He apologized.
Nobody died.
After the call ended, Greg remained staring at the dark laptop screen.
I waited.
Finally he said, “She was scared to tell me.”
“She was careful about telling you.”
“That is a polite version.”
“It’s also true.”
He stood and walked toward the window.
Outside, the yard had disappeared into darkness.
The flower bed where we had found Susan and Steve was barely visible.
“I thought being the dependable father was a good thing.”
“It is.”
“Apparently there’s a statute of limitations.”
I joined him.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“The job changes.”
“I hate that sentence.”
“I know.”
“When they were five, nobody said the job would someday become waiting for permission.”
“Maybe because exhausted parents of five-year-olds would revolt.”
He smiled faintly.
Then he looked toward the guest room.
“What do I do with all of it?”
“All of what?”
He made a helpless motion with both hands.
“This.”
The need.
The love.
The instinct to solve.
I understood without further explanation.
“You already found somewhere.”
“The rescue.”
“Yes.”
“That feels pathetic when you say it like that.”
“It doesn’t to me.”
He watched me carefully.
“You mean that?”
“Yes.”
“Even after the lying?”
“The lying was the problem. The rescue wasn’t.”
Greg turned toward the hallway.
From the guest room came a sharp chorus of tiny cries.
Feeding time.
He smiled despite himself.
“I suppose my night shift is calling.”
“Our night shift.”
He looked at me.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
This time he understood the difference.
We fed the kittens together.
Later, while Greg cleaned the bottles, I picked up the rescue paperwork again.
Near the bottom was a handwritten note I had not noticed before.
Foster homes urgently needed.
I read it twice.
Then I looked toward my husband.
A thought came to me that I immediately disliked.
Not because it was wrong.
Because it might be exactly right.
“Greg.”
He turned.
“What?”
“How long can Susan and Steve stay here?”
He stared at me.
“You mean tonight?”
“I mean until they’re old enough to be adopted.”
His expression became very still.
“You’re asking whether we could foster them.”
“I’m asking what would happen if we did.”
Greg did not smile.
That surprised me.
Instead he put the bottle brush down carefully.
“Laura, before you offer, there’s something you should know about fostering.”
The seriousness in his voice made me wish I had asked sooner.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: I Thought Fostering the Kittens Might Give Greg a Healthy Place for His Care—Until He Explained Why He Had Refused Before
For Three Weeks Greg Left Our Bed After Midnight, and One Missing Family Keepsake Made His Explanation Impossible to Believe
Part 6 of 24
