Chapter 14: Not a Place to Land

I slept on Emilio's couch with my father's box under my head.

At seven, Emilio put a coffee on the floor beside me and sat on the arm of a chair with his glasses in his hand.

"You look terrible," he said.

"I'm going to be a father."

"I know. You told me four times last night."

"Did I?"

"Between the third and fourth you cried a little."

I sat up and took the coffee.

"I'm driving you to your mother's," said Emilio. "You haven't told her, and she's been calling me since the gala."

My mother's kitchen smelled of cinnamon and warm bread.

She stood at the stove with her back to me and did not turn around when I came in.

"Sit," she said.

I sat at the table where I had done my homework.

She put down a plate of eggs and stayed standing.

"Emilio called," she said. "He said it was your story to tell. So tell it."

I told her.

I told her about the car park, and how I had watched the kiss from behind a pillar.

I told her about the clinic, and the zero.

When I finished, she sat down across from me very slowly.

She did not speak for a long time.

"Two years," she said at last.

"Yes."

"She sat in this kitchen and cried over my tea, and she was carrying that."

"She was carrying his lie, too. She thought it was his child."

"And now it's yours."

"Yes."

My mother pressed her fingers against her eyes.

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