"Hi, Franco." I rarely call her on the phone, but every time I do she never sounds surprised to hear from me. I swear that she has a sixth sense about the people in her life and she's part fairy godmother.
"Hey, Audrey. Is this a bad time?" I know she's at work—it's eleven o'clock in the morning on a Tuesday—so I ask to be polite.
"Of course not." Gus's mom puts everyone's needs ahead of her own, so I don't know if she's lying or not. "What can I help you with?" See?
I delve in, despite my reservations, because I don't want to waste her time. "Can I ask you a few questions about Gus and Gustov?" Gustov is Gus's biological father.
"Sure." There's no apprehension. She's one of the only people I've ever known who holds back judgment until they know the whole story. Gus inherited the gift from her. It's the way we should all live, but most people don't.
"Did having a child fathered by Gustov complicate your friendship with him?" I blurt, and I feel like an ass for the lack of grace on the lead in and delivery.
She doesn't falter. "Quite the contrary, I would say it strengthened an already solid friendship and bonded us for life."
"Did you look at him differently when you were pregnant, or after Gus was born, knowing that you'd created a child with him? I'm sorry if this is all too personal. You don't have to answer if you don't want to." I'm sweating, this conversation is so uncomfortable.
"Other than being supremely grateful to him and appreciating his kind heart that much more, I would say no."
"Again, you don't have to answer this, but hypothetically if having Gus would have been the result regardless of the father, would you still have involved Gustov or would you have gone with an anonymous donor?"
"Without a doubt, Gustov. Familiarity, and the fact that I knew his participation came from a place of deep friendship, made all the difference. I knew I was carrying a child that was half of a man I already adored and admired. There's comfort in that that's irreplaceable."
That's the answer I needed to hear. My intuition feels like it's just received a standing ovation. "Thanks for being so candid, Audrey."
"Anytime. I'm always here if you need to talk. About anything," she adds knowingly.
"I appreciate that."
"Franco?" she says.
"Yeah?"
"You are a blessing. Your children will be too." There's no pause before she goes into her next offer. "Stop by sometime soon, we'll all have dinner."
"Will do. Thanks again."
"You're welcome. Bye, Franco."
I don't have to ask her to keep this talk between us because Audrey can keep a secret better than anyone I know. "Later, Audrey."
When I end the call, I set my cell down on the kitchen counter and stare at it.
And then I run to the bathroom and take a piss. Because I'm stalling, not because I have to go.
Walking around the house, I'm trying to quiet my mind and my heart rate. I'm pacing from one end of the living room down the hallway to the bedrooms and back again because it's the longest straight shot in the house.
It isn't long enough.
My mind is racing, reeling, dizzy.
Bending over, I rest my hands on my knees and take a few deep breaths. Deep breaths are supposed to be cleansing, not add fuel to the fire.
"Fuck me, this is crazy," I say out loud.
Then I answer to verify and validate, "It's good crazy, though."
Marching, on a mission, I walk to the kitchen, pick up my phone and dial the one person who will always give me a kick in the ass when I need it.
"What up, fuck nut?" Gus answers.
"Tell me to stop being a fucking pussy, or I'll regret it for the rest of my life." The request is loud but rushed, he probably didn't understand it all because I was talking too fast.
"One more time for the kids back home?" He should sound confused. He doesn't. That's why our friendship works.
I repeat slowly, "Tell me to stop being a fucking pussy or I'll regret it for the rest of my life."
"Franco." That's his serious voice to get my attention. He busts it out only on rare occasion.
"Hit me with it."
"Stop being a fucking pussy, dude. Regret is a motherfucker that follows you around for life. It haunts you. You don't want that shit. Do you hear me?" He's good. That was convincing. Well done.
"I hear you," I answer.
"You go do what you gotta do," he commands.
"Gracias, homie." I mean it. "Adios."
"De nada, homie. Peace out."
I don't hesitate in ending the call, finding her name in my contacts, and tapping it.
It goes immediately to voicemail.
Shit.
At the beep, I'm rambling. "Gem, it's me...obviously, it's me...you already know that because phones are smart and shit." Insert sigh, because I'm hopeless at adulting today. "Call me. Please. As soon as you get this. Call me—"
I'm interrupted, not because I've come to my senses and stopped the babbling, but because there's ringing in my ear. And it's her ringtone. For half a second, I think, Jesus, it's like we're on the same wavelength and she knows I'm trying to reach out to her with something really important. But then I realize she has an iPhone and probably just saw she missed a call from me.
"Bye," I blurt out, because I'm an idiot, and tap the screen to end the voicemail message.
I then, immediately, tap again to answer her incoming call and put it on speaker because my hand is shaking and I don't want to hold the phone because it makes it worse. Sitting down at the kitchen table, I place my cell on the table in front of me and bend over to talk directly into it like a lunatic who doesn't know how a phone works. "Hi, Gem." Fucking hell, I'm so glad she can't see me right now, or she'd turn me down flat before she heard the entire offer.
"Hiya, Franco."
"Happy Valentine's Day." It sounds mechanical. I feel shitty about that because I do mean it, I just should've saved it for after I get the hard stuff out in the air instead of before while my mind is freaking the fuck out.
"Happy Valentine's Day. How's your day?" She doesn't sound put off, maybe she can't hear the crazed overtones in my voice through the phone.