“Caroline will never find another Howie.” I glance over at him as we make our way to the cart.
“Are you being sarcastic?”
I grin. “Nope. I’m serious. You are a good man. A good father. And it really sucks for Simon. I know he’s only three, but he’s going to feel it even if he doesn’t fully understand.”
“She wants everything.”
I drive us to the next tee. “Everything?”
“The house. The minivan. Custody of Simon.”
“Did she fuck her boss?”
“Yes.”
I laugh. “She’s got balls. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to give her the house and the minivan, but not Simon. I’m going to give her the house and minivan for Simon. But I’m going to be with my son as much as she’s going to be with him. She’s not quitting her job, so I’m making sure that I have daytime coverage at the bar so he doesn’t have to go to daycare, and so I can be with him more than she’s with him.”
“Good plan.” I take my driver to the tee. “He’s a daddy’s boy anyway.”
“He is. How are you doing? I felt like you took the news of Millie’s pregnancy pretty hard. And totally understandable, dude. Really. I’d give the eye doctor all of my attention and forget about Millie.”
Focusing on the teed-up ball, I release a long breath and a smooth swing. It’s a great shot. “The eye doctor is pregnant.” I grab my tee and turn toward an unblinking Howie.
“Holy shit! You’re going to be a dad.”
Rolling my lips into my teeth, I shake my head. “I am not going to be a dad. It’s not my baby.”
“Fuck. That’s … jeez, I’m sorry, Shep. Who’s the other guy? Do you know?”
“Her brother-in-law.” I return my club to my bag.
Howie quickly drives his ball, a terrible shot into the water. “That is seriously fucked-up. Her brother-in-law?”
“It’s actually her sister’s baby too. Sophie is their surrogate.”
Howie’s eyes widen as he makes his way to the cart. “That’s …”
“Generous?”
He nods. “Understatement. She doesn’t have children of her own yet, does she?”
“No.”
“So you’re dating a really generous woman who loves to golf and has babies for other people. Shep, are you dating out of your league?” He climbs into the cart beside me.
“No. I’m not dating her, but if I were, then yes, I’d be dating out of my league.”
“You’re just screwing her without a fear of her getting pregnant.”
“Nope.” We speed off. “Not doing that anymore either.”
“So … what happened?”
I slam on the brakes and angle my body toward him, blowing a quick breath out my nose. “I had a moment.”
“A … moment?”
I nod. “Millie’s having the baby she refused to have with me. The woman I loved … with somebody else’s baby. Right after you broke that fantastic news to me, Sophie told me she’s pregnant. I asked if it was her ex’s baby. She said no. And honest to god, I thought it was mine. Millie? Millie who? The woman who has been living rent free in my head for many weeks … pregnant with my baby. For a few indescribable seconds, I was on top of the fucking world. And then she brought me back to reality, and I felt so low. Rock bottom.”
Howie grimaces.
I sigh. “And as if that’s not fucked-up enough, I told her I can’t see her anymore because I can’t watch her develop a belly, grow a baby inside of her that’s not mine. Dickhead? Absolutely. I’m not claiming anything short of Dickhead Status.”
“We’re having a chick talk. You know this, right?”
“Yes. It’s yet another new low for me.”
He laughs. “For us, buddy. For us.”
“I adopted two more dogs from the shelter after we broke up … or whatever it was we did.”
“Wow. Okay. Instead of eating or drinking or hooking up with three women in two days, you’re filling your emotional void with shelter dogs. That could get out of hand, buddy.”
Facing forward again, I drop my head back and close my eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”
“Do you really like Sophie? Or does her pregnant state remind you of Millie and that’s what you can’t handle?”
I lift my head and shoot him a sideways glance. “You know the answer to that.”
“Uh … I actually don’t. Do you?”
I don’t know the answer to anything right now. I’m tired of being held at arm’s length from the life I want.
“Can you keep the dogs next week too?” Millie asks at our weekly dog swap. The one where she doesn’t let me in the house I bought while she was pretending to get pregnant with my baby.
“Millie, I’ll take both dogs every week,” I say from the porch; not even, more like the end of the sidewalk leading to the porch.
She gives me a bratty eye roll. “Nice try. I’m taking a trip. I’ve uh … met someone.”