“Parrish, I really think—”
“It’s not my place to make those decisions? I hear where you’re coming from, Miss Sara, and you’re wise to mention it. Love is crucial, but Marigold needs stability and consistency too. Maybe it’s best to let the caseworkers and the courts weigh those things and make a decision.” I sighed and pushed the frosting bowl away, suddenly nauseous. “But I don’t know this judge from Adam, and neither does Diesel, I’m sure. What if they pick wrong? Could I live with the guilt of knowing I could have done something to stop it?”
“You really—”
“Can only control as much as I can control?” I sighed again. “Yeah. I know. And if I get in too deep and got my heart stomped, I’d have to live with that too. There are no easy answers.”
“Could you—?”
“Sleep on it? See how I feel in the morning after a good night’s rest?” I nodded appreciatively. “Good call. You know, I do feel sort of weirdly exhausted after our conversation, come to think of it.”
“I can’t think why,” she said faintly.
I hopped off the stool, went around the counter, and bent to kiss her cheek. “I can’t thank you enough for talking through this with me. I really value your advice.”
“Oh.” Miss Sara clapped a hand to her cheek over the spot where I’d kissed her and snickered as I walked out. “Anytime, honey.”
Colin, the flagship store’s interior designer, knocked on my open office door and stuck his head in. “Morning, Parrish. Beau said you’re not picking up your cell, so he asked me to tell you he’s having dinner at the Tavern Friday night with Mal and Brooks, and he’d like you to put it on your calendar. Seven o’clock.”
“Huh?” I blinked up from my contemplation of my laptop screen like I was waking up from a dream. “Oh, sure.” I picked up my phone and flipped the switch on the side. “Shoot. I had it on silent, I guess. Sorry about that, Colin. Uncle Beau doesn’t do voicemail.”
“No worries!” Colin glanced at my computer and did a double take at the images on my screen. He grinned broadly. “You have anything you wanna share, boss?”
“What? No!” I slammed the lid firmly like he’d caught me watching porn and not shopping for replacement baby bottle tops. “I just happened to run into a-a-a friend with a baby yesterday, and the poor thing had gas. I sort of thought it might be her bottle. Too much air.” I cleared my throat. “Thanks for the message.”
Instead of looking at me like I was crazy—which was probably what I deserved because seriously, what twentysomething gay man picked out nipples for a friend?—Colin nodded enthusiastically.
“Oh, sure. When Sadie had colic, my husband and I probably tried every kind of nipple on the market. Is your friend feeding his baby a sensitive formula? That’s what pinged for us in the end.”
“Er. I don’t know.” Nor should I, I reminded myself, since nothing about this situation was any of my business. And furthermore, after my conversation with Miss Sara, I’d decided once and for all last night—at approximately 3:00 a.m., which was when I made all my best decisions—that it couldn’t be my business. That way lay madness and heartbreak and disaster. “But I’ll pass the info along.”
“Sure.” Colin tapped the doorframe lightly with his wedding ring. “You know, you might also want to check out Kinder-potamus, the baby store over on Francis Street. They have one of everything, and they’re super helpful.”
I nodded and filed away this knowledge to pass on to Diesel when I called him up and very politely declined his fake-marriage proposal, which I’d sort of been putting off all morning. I rolled my chair back and paced the little office whose front window looked out on Walnut Street.
Calling him was totally appropriate, right? Probably best to just rip off the Band-Aid? No need to see the man again and make things all… feelsy and complicated. No need to see that sweet baby again, either, and wonder what her future was going to look like if she was taken away from her uncle. I couldn’t imagine the look in Diesel’s eyes when he realized I wasn’t going to help him.
I pressed a hand to my stomach, which somehow felt as sick as when I’d eaten all that frosting.
A phone call was the answer. Definitely.
I chewed my lip. But then again… I would imagine if Uncle Beau were here, he’d say a phone call wasn’t nearly good enough. If I was going to say no, I really should do it face-to-face… and probably bring him a present. Something even better than an apology casserole.
My eyes fell on my closed laptop, and then I grabbed my phone and ran out the door.
“Hey, Colin? Where’d you say that baby store was?”