Patchwork Paradise(63)

“Yes,” she said. “No.”

There was a rustle, muffled voices, and Imran came on the line. “I can’t get any sense out of her, guys,” he said, sounding resigned. “What did you say to her?”

“Uh.” I looked at Thomas. It was his turn.

“I had a baby,” he said without preamble. “The mother is in treatment for PPD, so Milo and I are staying with Ollie.”

I waited for the for now, but it didn’t come.

“Oh, Jesus,” Imran said, and he sounded annoyed.

“I have to say, this isn’t the reaction I thought we’d get when we mentioned a baby,” I tried to joke.

“No? Well, I guess Cleo never told you she had a miscarriage.”

The phone went dead, and I stared at Thomas as my brain tried to process the words. “What the hell?” I asked him. “Why would he be such an * about that? Unless . . . Was it yours?”

Thomas rounded the island, holding one hand up in plea as he clutched Milo to his chest. “It can’t have been,” he said. “Oh my God, Ollie, you have to believe me. It can’t have been.”

“I—” I stared into his kind, warm eyes. Right then they were shiny with anguish. “I don’t know what to think,” I said. After the jab about me wanting him here so he could help pay my mortgage, I wasn’t feeling exactly magnanimous. “I need a minute.” I knew he’d slept around a lot. I knew that. And it had never bothered me. I knew he’d slept with Cleo, and that hadn’t bothered me either. But this? My heart hurt. God. I couldn’t do this. I wanted Sam. I nearly started crying there and then.

He opened his mouth, but closed it again and nodded. “If you leave, please let me know when you’re coming back. If you want us to go, I can—”

I was about to reach for the door, but I turned to him, angry suddenly. “Don’t insult me. I told you I wasn’t going to kick you out of here no matter what. And I meant it. For the record, I’m also not using you to pay my bills.” A low blow and I knew it. Softer, I said, “I need a minute, that’s all.” It didn’t seem like too much to ask, but his dejected expression made me feel like a jerk regardless.

“I’ll be here when you want to talk.” He looked defeated when he turned to the living room. My heart shattered when Milo began to cry quietly. Had he felt the tension? Was he sensitive to fights already? I felt terrible.

For some reason my feet carried me up to the top floor. The painting sat under its cloth, and I carefully revealed it. Seeing my face in ecstasy like that was still a shock, and the whole thing made me squirm on the inside. How had Sam done that? Just from memory in the bedroom mirror? Had he taken a picture I wasn’t aware of? Not that I minded. I only wondered. My eyes were closed in the painting, but Sam looked right at the viewer. Godlike, he was, even though I was sure he hadn’t meant it like that. He’d been aware of his beauty, his presence, but never in an arrogant way. This look on his face was meant to say, See? See how much he’s all mine?

And I had been. But I wasn’t anymore.

Of course Thomas would’ve told me if he’d known about Cleo’s baby. He was a good person through and through. And good people made mistakes too. I’d made my fair share, and he’d always forgiven me.

I sighed and covered my face. I hadn’t signed up for this, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want it.

I’d taken Sam for granted in the best ways, and I’d lost him. But if I had the choice and knew what was coming, I’d do the same again. Sam had been worth every ounce of pain I’d felt over the past year.

But what about Thomas?

I tried to imagine never knowing what his kisses tasted like, what he looked like first thing in the morning, sleepy and soft. The way he gazed at me when he thought I wasn’t watching. I let my hands fall away and rose to my feet.

I hurried downstairs and found him on the couch, Milo asleep on his shoulder. He looked too exhausted to even carry him to bed.

“Here,” I whispered. “Let me. You put on the TV. I’ll be right there.”

“Ollie?”

“It’s okay. I won’t be long.”

I very carefully changed Milo’s diaper, and while he woke briefly, he snuggled back to sleep as soon as I put him in his crib. After turning on the baby monitor, I made my way into the kitchen, grabbed two beers, and joined Thomas on the couch.

He accepted the beer but wouldn’t look at me.

“You okay?” I whispered. “I’m sorry about what I said.”

He nodded and drank from his beer. “This isn’t easy,” Thomas said. “And I think we’d be really good together, Ollie. I do. But—” Oh no. My breath stuttered in my lungs. “When you said you needed a minute, I thought that was exactly what we both needed.”

“What?”

He set his beer down and pulled one leg underneath him so he could face me. With gentle fingers, he began to play with my hair. “I think we both need some space. Some time to sort ourselves out. I don’t want to end this.” He picked up my hand and kissed my knuckles. “But this isn’t turning into anything sustainable at the rate we’re going. Ollie . . . I’m going to go home for a while with Milo. I understand if that means you don’t want to continue this. I know financially you’re in a tough spot, and I can lend you some—”