Then just to make sure she knew how much her Aunt Olivia adored her, I pretended I didn’t see Eric motioning that we had to go and asked O2 all about her day at Manhattan Mercy’s daycare center.
Another mistake. I ended up having to apologize to Eric an hour later when we missed the cut-off time for our favorite spin class.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, as we took the stairs back down to the gym’s main floor where I’d just have to settle for a regular old workout, even though I’d come all the way to Eric’s Lower East Side gym to attend this spin class specifically.
It was no one’s fault but my own, and I had to admit, “Bernice might be right about me being baby crazy. I just can’t think straight when it comes to O2.”
“I can’t blame you,” Eric said, letting me off the hook with a grin. “I don’t even have ovaries, and she makes mine explode—oh, but that reminds me.”
Even though we were in the stairwell and at least six boroughs away from where Bernice lived in Harlem, he lowered his voice to tell me, “I’ve got possible tea. Get this, I had my car at work the other day, so I gave Bernice and O2 a ride home. This G-Latham song came on, and she was all like, ‘Turn it off’ even though it was the Pure Pop radio edit, so no curse words. Then O2 was like, ‘I love this song!’ And Bernice gets into this weird argument with her, asking her where she heard it, telling her she didn’t want her listening to ‘his’ music. Then she flat-out yells at me to turn it off—so do you think G-Latham is O2’s secret father?”
I squinted, and though I tried my best always to be polite, I had to tell him, “The only thing crazier than you insisting on hanging on to that car in this city is the idea that some country singer is the father of her daughter.”
“Okay, first of all, I am a Californian—that means I need a car. It’s in my blood. And second of all, he was a country trap artist—so hitting all the markets, including people who like hip-hop.”
“You’ve been living on the East Coast for eighteen years,” I answered. “And maybe Bernice just really hates country music, even if there’s a trap beat underneath it.”
“I will never give my car up,” Eric insisted, his voice righteous and resolute. “And she’s cousins with Colin Fairgood. How can she hate country music?”
“She’s his cousin-in-law,” I edited. “Just because her favorite cousin married a country superstar, doesn’t mean she—”
“Plus, O2 is obviously biracial,” Eric pointed out before I could finish my sensible argument. “And I’ve never seen Bernice date a white guy.”
“Half of New York is multiracial, and we’ve never seen Bernice date anybody,” I retorted.
We were both doctors, but sometimes it felt like I was the only one who believed in reason and logic. “It could be anybody.”
“Yeah, anybody.” Eric opened the first floor’s heavy metal door for me. “But if it were a famous somebody, that would explain why she won’t tell me who it is. Or you—you know, the woman she named her whole baby after?”
Of course, Eric was wrong about G-Latham. But I had to admit he had a point about Bernice’s secretiveness on the subject of Olivia 2’s father. Still…
“It’s her business,” I reminded Eric as I walked through the door he was holding open for me. “And we have no right to pressure her to tell us who it is or to gossip about her behind her back. Now can we please change the subject?”
“Fine!” Eric answered with a dramatic roll of his eyes. But he perked up to ask, “So, where’s your future baby daddy taking you for your birthday?”
“Oh, well, he asked me to wear an evening gown tonight because….”
Eric’s eyes widened. “Ooh, is he taking you to the new production of Chrysanthemum with that one autistic opera singer? I hear it’s spectacular, but I couldn’t even get tickets!”
“…we’re going to a charity gala to celebrate Chrysanthemum’s upcoming opening night at his parent’s place,” I finished with an apologetic wince.
Eric deflated—then jerked his head. “Wait. Are you trying to tell me he’s making you go to some charity gala? On your birthday?”
“No,” I answer, rushing to Garrett’s defense, the same way I still cheered for the Louisville Cardinals, even though I had serious reservations about the long-term effects of concussions.
But then I had to admit. “I’m pretty sure Garrett didn’t remember it was my birthday when he told me I needed to be there.”
“What?” Eric caught my arm to stop us walking. “And what did he say when you reminded him?”
I silently sighed. “Um…”
Eric’s mouth dropped open, and he stared at me for a long disbelieving second before guessing correctly, “You didn’t tell him!”