“Yeah, it also takes two to parent…”
Quick to intercept, I grit, “If you know you have a kid.”
“Oh c’mon Wesley,” she drags, raising her voice, with a matching cold stare. “You would have told her to abort the baby. She doesn’t fit into your lifestyle.”
My head shakes, unwillingly; a lack of respect for this nobody standing in front of me thinking they know who I am and what I would have done. Yeah, alright, kids weren’t on my agenda. Big fucking deal.
Phoebe’s eye divert to the carrier; narrowing her brows in confusion. “Why do you have her, anyway?”
“So you’re not aware that your best friend dumped her baby with her brother and ran away?” I tell her, frustrated at this conversation.
Phoebe appears stumped by the revelation, pulling her hair into her mouth and chewing it, annoyingly.
“She said she would be away for a few days, she needed to get away and clear her head. She never mentioned leaving Katerina,” she says, faintly.
“Well, clearing her head meant dumping our kid. Where is she?”
“I don’t know…” she stammers, nervous and upset. “I knew it.”
“You knew what?”
“That she wasn’t coping. Mom said that she was probably going through postpartum depression given everything that has happened.”
Phoebe extends her arm, prompting me to come inside, finally.
The house is small, with brown furniture and pictures hung all over the wall. There’s a glass cabinet in the corner; housing creepy porcelain dolls dressed in fancy dresses.
An older man, assuming her dad, is sitting in his rocker and reading a book with a pipe and steaming coffee beside him. There’s a sweet smell in the air, and moments later, Phoebe’s mom comes out with a plate of breakfast which she hands to her husband.
They all had matching ginger hair. Comical—to say the least.
“Oh, I didn’t know you were expecting a visitor, honey?”
“Neither was I. Mom, Dad—this is Wesley. Katerina’s…” She coughs, purposely, rolling her eyes. “Father.”
I’d like to think it wasn’t intentional, the shock of the news which explained their expression. Eyes wide, mouth gaping and silence that followed. Phoebe’s dad is quick to break the stance, placing the pipe back into his mouth.
“Mom, Milly’s gone missing. She left the baby with Flynn. We need to find her. Can you watch her for a few hours?”
Phoebe’s mom clutches her chest, worried. “Honey, should we call the police?”
“No Mom, it’s not like that.” Phoebe shakes her head with a forced smile, turning to me for reassurance.
“Um no,” I speak up, clearing my throat. “We will find her, won’t we, Phoebe?”
“Yes, of course. I’m sure she’s just visiting her mom. You know, after the news and all.”
What news? I wanted to ask Phoebe, but time is of the essence and we needed to get out of here.
“Of course, sweetie. Come here, baby girl. I’ll run to the store and grab some extra diapers and formula.”
Handing the carrier over, something odd washes over me. Worry, panic—it felt sickening and begins to make my stomach curl. What is the feeling? It’s almost like an anxiety, from separating.
“I already packed plenty, stopped off at the drugstore and got some.” I hand the bag over.
“Oh, well aren’t we the organized parent,” Phoebe snickers. “I’ll go get changed.”
“Please,” I tell her with a sarcastic smile.