Chapter 1

The day Duane Sanchez came back from overseas, my wife, due to give birth any moment, never came home all night.

At midnight, my childhood friend who runs the wonton place sent me a video:

"Percy, isn't that your wife with her first love?"

The clip was only ten seconds long.

They sat side by side. Hester Finch blew on a spoonful of wonton and lifted it to Duane's mouth.

"When I'm with you, the very air smells like romance."

Duane swallowed the bite and said with a smile,

"Your husband's not bad either. At least he's steady."

Hester nodded.

"Marriage is just two people making a life work together. Steady has never meant romantic."

I stared at the screen, and suddenly I laughed.

For her birthday I bought her a diamond necklace. She said it was tacky.

For our third anniversary I took her to a fancy steakhouse. She said it was a waste.

So it turned out the romance she wanted had always depended on who was giving it.

With Duane, even a bowl of wonton soup counted as romantic.

Fine. Then I didn't even want to give her the steady part anymore.

1

I hadn't finished the video when my mother-in-law called.

Her voice was shrill enough to hurt: "Percy! Hessie's going into labor! Get to Downtown General right now!"

I glanced at the time. Two thirty in the morning.

Just now, in that video, she'd been sitting in the wonton place, lifting a spoon to Duane's mouth, saying the air smelled like romance.

And now she was giving birth. Giving birth to my child.

My hands shook so badly on the way out that the car keys hit the floor, and I had to bend down three times before I could pick them up.

By the time I ran into the maternity hall, Duane was already standing at the delivery-room door.

He wore a light gray trench coat, both hands in his pockets, his face as calm as a man waiting for a coffee.

"Why are you here?"

"We were just... having a late meal together."

I was about to say something when the delivery-room door opened.

A nurse held out a form, her eyes moving once between the two of us. "Family member needs to sign."

I reached for it.

She paused, glanced down at the clipboard in her hand. "Oh. Sorry, sir. It's already signed."

I looked down at the form.

In the guardian line, three words: Duane's name.

"You signed it?"

"Hessie asked me to."

The delivery-room door opened again, and Hester was wheeled out.

Her face was pale, her hair sweat-soaked and stuck to her forehead, a wrinkled newborn in her arms.

She lifted her head, and her gaze slid past me and landed on Duane first.

Only once she'd confirmed he was still there did she move her eyes to my face.

"You came."

I asked, "Why did he sign in there?"

She frowned, as if I'd asked something I had no business asking.

"I told him to. I was in so much pain I could've died. Wait for you to show up to sign? What if something had gone wrong?"

"Did you call me even once?"

"I was hurting like that. Where would I find the time to call you? Duane's done this before, he—"

I lost my temper. "Done what before?"

Hester turned her face away and said nothing.

My mother-in-law rushed up from behind, shoved me aside, and threw herself at the bedside to look at the baby.

"My precious grandson. Oh, he looks a little like Duane."

Hester looked at me, her expression softening a shade. "Don't read too much into it. You know I was carrying Duane's child before..."

"A baby resembling the mother's ex-boyfriend, there's a medical basis for it. It's called telegony."

My throat came out rough. "I'll head back first."

I reached the elevator when my phone buzzed.

A message from Hester, a long one:

"Percy, I know you're upset."

"But the baby just arrived and needs someone to care for him. Duane looked after kids abroad, he has experience."

"You're a grown man who knows nothing about it. Staying won't help anyway."

"Be reasonable. Once the baby's a little older I'll have him leave. It's all for the baby's sake."

I stared at the screen, my finger frozen over the keys.

She told me to be reasonable. She ate wonton with her first love in the dead of night and called it romance.

She had her first love sign for the birth and called it experience.

She kept her first love by her side and called it all for the baby's sake. Then what was I?

All at once a lot of things came back to me.

The year she ran a high fever, and I carried her on my back through three streets in the middle of the night to the hospital.

She lay against my back, half-conscious with fever, and said one thing: "Percy, you're so good to me."

That was the only time she ever said I was good to her.

Her birthday, when I'd saved three months of pay to buy her a diamond necklace.

She opened it, took one look, said the style was tacky, dropped it in a drawer, and never wore it again.

Our third anniversary, when I booked the most expensive steakhouse in the city ahead of time,

wore the most expensive suit I owned, and waited two hours at the table for her.

She didn't come. Later she said she forgot.

I thought I hadn't done enough. I thought the diamond necklace wasn't expensive enough, the steakhouse wasn't fancy enough, that I wasn't romantic enough.

It turned out that wasn't it.

She didn't not want romance. She just didn't want the romance I gave her.

With Duane, even a single bowl of wonton was romantic.

I put my phone away and looked up at the lights of the maternity building.

All that warm yellow light, and none of it could reach me.