“What about kids?” Rich wanted to kick himself the instant the question left his lips. What the hell was the matter with him? He’d had no intention of talking to Jason about any of this.
“Children?” Jason’s attention didn’t stray from the game. “What about them?”
“If you don’t plan to marry, how do you feel about not having a child of your own?” This bothered Rich the most. He really would like a son or a daughter. Or both.
Jason took a long time answering, as though the question had caught him unprepared. “I don’t know… I hadn’t given children much thought. I guess I’d like a couple of kids someday, but on the other hand, I don’t want to get married in order to have them. But then—” he hesitated “—there’s no need to marry…not these days. We live in an enlightened age, remember?”
“Not marry the woman pregnant with my child?” Rich gave his brother a sour look. “I don’t care what age we live in. We both know better than that. A word of advice—don’t let Mom or Dad ever hear you say such a thing.”
Jason exhaled. “You’re right, that was a stupid idea.” He reached over to the bowl of popcorn Rich was holding and grabbed a handful. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Not telling you?”
“Yeah. There’s something on your mind.”
“I’ll tell you what’s on my mind,” Rich said, picking up his beer. “Football. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re down by seven points and Green Bay’s got the ball on the fifteen-yard line.” He laughed, but his brother didn’t.
“You’re sure?” Jason asked a few minutes later. “The score’s the only thing bothering you?”
“Positive,” Rich assured him, feigning a smile. A man didn’t tell his older brother, especially one who assumed women flocked to him, that he was thinking about becoming a sperm donor.
* * *
Six days had passed, and if Rich didn’t call her soon, Jamie was convinced she’d have a nervous breakdown. Every time the phone rang, her heart shot to her throat and she started to tremble like an October leaf.
Rich had made a point of saying he’d be the one to call her, and he’d promised to do so within a week’s time. Nevertheless, the wait was killing her, and each day that passed seemed to increase her anxiety.
She’d just put a casserole in the oven when the doorbell chimed. Jamie’s gaze flew apprehensively toward the door. Even before she answered it, she knew it was Rich.
Inhaling a deep breath, she walked unsteadily across the carpet and opened the door.
“Hello, Jamie.”
“Hi, Rich.”
His eyes refused to meet hers, and her stomach twisted into a tight knot as he entered her home. He removed his coat and hung it in the closet as though he intended to stay for a while. Jamie didn’t know whether she should take encouragement from that or not.
“Dinner’s in the oven. Will you join me?”
He nodded, although she suspected he hadn’t heard what she’d said.
“It’s a new recipe…. I seem to be in a cooking mode lately. Tamale pie—I found the recipe on the back of a cornmeal box. I’ve always liked Mexican food.”
“Me, too.”
“Would you care for some coffee?”
“Sure.”
He followed her into the kitchen and sat down at the table. “I suppose you’re wondering what I’ve decided,” he said when she brought him his coffee.
It was all she could do not to demand he tell her right then and there. Waiting even one more minute seemed too long. She pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. She was so anxious, her hands were trembling and she clasped them in her lap, not wanting to give herself away.
“I’ve done a lot of thinking since the last time we spoke,” he began.
If the lines around his eyes and mouth were any indication, his thoughts had been serious indeed. It didn’t look as though he’d slept much in the past week. For that matter, neither had she.
“I’m sure it hasn’t been an easy decision.”
“No, it hasn’t,” he said pointedly. “Before I say anything else, there are a few things I’d like to get straight. Once I do, you may change your mind.”
“I’m not going to do that,” Jamie said confidently.
His eyes held hers. “Don’t be so sure. First and foremost, I want full parental privileges. This child will be as much a part of me as he or she is of you.” He spoke forcefully, as though he anticipated an argument.
“What…what exactly do you mean by parental privileges?”
“I want a say in how the child will be raised, as much of a say as you. That means when it comes time to choose a preschool, I’ll expect you to confer with me. I don’t want you moving out of the area, either. At least not without me being informed and in full agreement, but I can tell you right now, I won’t agree.”
“Okay,” she said hesitantly. The only reason she’d even brought up the subject of moving was to simplify the situation for him. It wasn’t what she wanted at all. “Anything else?”
“I’m just getting started. If we go ahead with this, I want visitation rights.”
“Of course. I have no intention of hiding the child from you.”
“That’s not what I understood earlier,” he said, frowning.
“I …know. I should have thought this through more carefully before I approached you. I’d come up with the idea of you being the baby’s father the same night I talked to you. When I showed up at your place, the idea was only half formed.”