Every Saturday Night (Firsts and Forever 6)

I shifted a bit and looked up at him. He was reading something and wearing glasses with flattering dark frames. As soon as he felt me move, he set the tablet aside and smiled at me as he said, “Hey there. I was beginning to wonder if you’d sleep through the night.”

When I sat up, the blanket pooled in my lap. I was still naked, while he’d put on pajama pants. “What time is it?”

“Close to one a.m.”

“Shit. I’m so sorry I fell asleep. You’d made such an effort, too, with the games and snacks and everything.”

The charcuterie board and drinks had been cleared away, and the game boxes were in a neat stack on the table, beside a neatly folded pile of my clothes. I pulled on my briefs and T-shirt, then picked up my phone to request a Lyft. I thought it was too late to drag Lark out of the house to come get me.

When he saw what I was doing, Lucky asked, “Why don’t you spend the night? I’ll make you a nice breakfast in the morning.”

“I wish I could, but I need to get home.” When I saw how long a car would take, I swore under my breath. People were probably starting to leave the bars, and apparently they were all using the same app.

“Forget about the app,” Lucky said, as he got up. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

“I’m sorry to put you out like that. I should have just brought my car.”

I stood up and stepped into my jeans as Lucky asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to stay? I can sleep on the couch if you’re not comfortable with sharing a bed.”

“It’s not that. I just don’t want to spend the whole night away from my son.”

To say he looked stunned was an understatement. “You have a son?” When I nodded, he asked, “How old is he?”

“Eleven months. He’s only lived with me for a month though, so if I’m acting like the parent of a newborn, that’s why. I’m really lucky that my household is full of wonderful and perfectly capable babysitters, but this is only the second time I’ve left him with anyone. The first was last Saturday, when we met. It feels like everything in me is screaming to go home and check on him, even though I know for a fact he’s fine. I guess parents of infants are just wired that way.”

I sat down to put on my socks and shoes while Lucky asked, “Why didn’t you mention this last week?”

“Maybe because the baby takes up my entire life, and it was nice to go out and be Logan for a change, as opposed to someone’s parent. I’ve missed that, just getting to be myself and relax. Don’t get me wrong, I adore my son. But when I’m with him, it’s this constant, exhausting vigil—what’s he doing? Is he okay? Is there anything he can get into that’s going to hurt him? Is he hungry? Wet? Warm enough? Tired? Not to mention the bigger worries, like how badly am I screwing this up? Or—”

The beep of a text message interrupted me. It was from my brother, letting me know he was still up, in case I was worried about waking him to ask for a ride home. When I sent back a reply, he told me he was heading out the door. I turned to Lucky and said, “That was Lark. He’s on his way to get me, so you can stay put.”

I’d been so busy rambling while getting dressed that I hadn’t noticed he was still just standing there, not saying anything. I asked, “Is everything okay?”

“Fine. I’m just trying to process the fact that you’re someone’s dad.”

I grinned as I pulled on my flannel shirt. “Both my best friend Hal and I have said that a million times over the last month. I didn’t actually know about the baby until his mom showed up with him out of the blue about four weeks ago and gave me full custody. I’ve come to grips with it, but every once in a while it’ll hit me all over again—like, holy crap this is really happening!”

After a pause, he muttered, “I’m going to go find a shirt. Be right back,” and headed down the hall.

I didn’t quite know how to read his reaction. He was obviously stunned, but what else? Was it a huge turn-off that I had a kid?

Lucky was gone a couple of minutes. When he returned, he was wearing a black V-neck sweater with his plaid pajama pants, and his expression was perfectly neutral, so I had no idea what he was thinking.

He asked, “Can I get you anything while you wait for your ride? A glass of water, maybe?” Okay, so my news had definitely thrown him off. He seemed kind of formal, like a host at a restaurant.

“No, thanks.”

I took a seat on the couch, and he perched on the arm of it. We sat in silence for a while, until he said, “So, that was a pretty surprising bit of information.” When I didn’t say anything, he continued, “I guess I made some assumptions when we met. I figured you were a carefree young college guy, out partying with his buddies. But you’re so different than what I imagined. Being a full-time single parent, that’s—”

I guessed, “A complete turn-off?”

“Sacred.”

I turned to look at him. “Come again?”

“It’s sacred, Logan. You’re doing the most important job in the world—you’re raising a child. That’s huge, and I have nothing but respect for you.”

“That’s sweet, but why does it seem like this threw you for a loop?”