Chapter 2

The next day at noon, Clementine's mother called and asked me to come home for lunch.

I didn't want to go.

But Clementine was standing at the door waiting for me.

She had on light makeup and the dress I'd given her last year, as if nothing had happened the night before.

"My mom knows you've been feeling down lately, so she made some soup specially."

I glanced at her belly.

"Does she know whose baby it is?"

Clementine went still.

"She knows."

"When did she find out?"

"A month ago."

I didn't ask anything else.

So it turned out I was the last one to know.

The Manning dinner table was full of people.

Clementine's parents, her sister, and Ferris Fox.

When I walked in, he was peeling an orange for Clementine.

He'd picked off every white string, clean, and laid the segments one by one into her bowl.

Clementine took it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Is it sour?"

"Yesterday's batch was too sour. This one should be just right."

Ferris smiled.

"You've gotten picky."

I stood in the entryway.

Suddenly I felt like a guest who'd shown up late.

When Clementine's mother saw me, she waved me over quickly.

"Lewis, sit down, sit."

She sat me next to Clementine.

Ferris was on her other side.

Halfway through the meal, Neil raised his glass.

"Lewis, what's past is past."

"The most important thing is that everyone's alive and well. You've got a baby now, so don't take it to heart anymore."

I didn't pick up my glass.

"What's past?"

The table went quiet.

Clementine kicked me under the table.

Her mother smoothed it over.

"He means the thing with your body, of course."

"Now that Clemmie's expecting, no one out there will gossip anymore. You two just build a good life together—that's worth more than anything."

I looked around at the whole table.

"The baby isn't mine."

Clementine's head snapped around.

"Lewis Matthews!"

Her mother's face changed.

Ferris's chopsticks paused for a moment too.

Only Neil frowned right away.

"We're all family here. Do you have to put it so ugly?"

"Family?"

I looked at Ferris.

"Then what's he?"

Ferris didn't flinch.

"The baby's biological father."

He said it calmly.

Clementine immediately grabbed his wrist.

"That's enough out of you."

The way that hand came down was far too practiced.

I stared for two seconds.

Clementine noticed and let go at once.

"Don't read into it."

I laughed.

"How am I supposed to think about it?"

Clementine couldn't hold her face together.

"Today's a family dinner. Do you have to make a scene here?"

Me making a scene again.

From yesterday until now, it seemed the only thing she remembered was that I had a bad temper.

Nobody remembered I was the last person to find out my wife was carrying another man's child.

I couldn't eat anymore.

I stood up to leave.

Clementine's sister suddenly called out to me.

"Lewis."

"Clemmie's pregnancy is fragile this time. Even if you can't get past it, don't upset her."

"When she had her checkup last week, the doctor said her progesterone was low."

My steps stopped.

"Last week?"

Clementine's face changed.

Her sister realized she'd let something slip and went quiet.

I turned to look at Ferris.

"You went with her?"

Ferris didn't deny it.

Clementine gripped her chopsticks tight.

"You were away on business."

"Did you call me?"

"I was afraid it would upset you."

I nodded.

Such a handy excuse.

She sleeps with someone else—because she was afraid it would upset me.

She hides her pregnancy from me—because she was afraid it would upset me.

She lets the baby's real father take her to her first prenatal checkup—because she was afraid it would upset me.

She thought of everything for me.

The only thing she never asked was whether I wanted any of it.

I picked up my coat.

Clementine chased me to the door.

"Lewis Matthews, what exactly do you want?"

I turned around.

Her eyes had gone red.

"I already told you Ferris won't try to take the baby later on, so why do you keep clinging to these details?"

I looked at her.

"Clementine, you still think this is a detail?"

She opened her mouth.

I didn't wait for her to speak. I turned and went downstairs.

When I got home that night, there was a nursery design drawing on the guest room table.

Three words were printed on the door plate.

Baby Matthews.

Next to it was a pregnancy journal.

In the line for the father's name, Clementine had already filled it in for me.

Lewis Matthews.

I stared at it for a long time, and finally picked up a pen and, stroke by stroke, blacked out my own name.