Fall to You (Here and Now 2)

“A baby,” she whispers. “We have a baby.”

“No. You have a baby. And I’m sorry if the idea of single parenthood is suddenly freaking you out, but you made the choice. You bought the sperm and dove right in.”

“I never bought any sperm,” she whispers.

“Bullshit. I know you want to pretend the baby is Will’s, but—”

“It’s not Will’s, and I didn’t buy sperm. I just told people that because I didn’t want them to know the pregnancy was accidental. The baby’s yours, Max. You’re the father.”

A car rushes past, splashing yesterday’s rain puddles onto the grass. Laughter rings out in the distance.

“I don’t believe you.”

She shrugs and swipes at her cheeks. “Well, some things are true whether you believe them or not.”

Then she walks away.

NATE CRANE’S Secret Fatty Fetish

I don’t know what made me look him up online. Maybe having Max’s ring in my jewelry box is messing with my head. Maybe I just wanted to pull up pictures of a sexy man who actually seemed to want me for me—not for what I can do for his future.

Regardless, when I sat down with my computer this morning, something made me go to Google and enter Nate’s name. There it was, one of the top hits—a website known for celebrity gossip featuring a picture of Nate holding me up against the side of that building, my thick thigh practically wrapped around his waist.

Fatty fetish.

Shit. Who am I fooling? I’m no one special, and whatever Nate seemed to see in me, the rest of the world doesn’t see. I sure don’t see it.

I close my laptop and fold my legs under me, my brain already piecing together a weight-loss plan. Maybe Nate thought I was gorgeous, but I’m never going to see him again. It was one night, and now I’m facing the rest of my life in a world where I’m the chubby chick at best, the “fatty” at worst. I won’t do it. I won’t live like that.

“I brought us donuts!” Liz calls from the kitchen.

The sound of rustling bags tells me that she’s unloading groceries. “Thanks.” But a donut is the last thing I need. What I need is a few hours on the treadmill. And why not? I have free access to Max’s health club, don’t I?

My phone rings, and I pull it from my pocket and see an Indianapolis area code. Who’s calling me from Indy?

“Hello?”

“Is this Hanna Thompson?” the man on the other end asks.

“It is. Who is this?”

“I’m calling from the offices of Smith, Peterson, and Frank in Indianapolis. We’d like to arrange a meeting with you to discuss a business matter on behalf of one of our clients.”

Liz walks into the room, a half-eaten chocolate Long John hanging from her fingers. “Who’s that?” she whispers.

“Who’s the client?” I ask, ignoring Liz.

“We’ll explain everything when you arrive,” the assistant says. “Can you make it in this afternoon? Say, around two?”

I frown. “Sure. I guess.”

The assistant gives me the address, and I jot it down while Liz stares on with growing impatience.

“What was that about?” she asks when I hang up the phone. She takes another bite of donut, and my stomach growls. I haven’t eaten anything since the banana I had for dinner last night.

“A lawyer in Indianapolis wants to meet with me.”

“Did some rich relative we don’t know about die and leave you his fortune?”