Page 17 of Life’s Too Short

“You only live once,” she sang. “God, I know I’ve only been doing this baby thing a few weeks, but it feels like a lifetime. You’re not supposed to take newborns out too much because their immune system isn’t strong enough yet, so I feel like a prisoner.” She handed me the bottle opener. “Would you mind?”

Grace had woken up and she watched us now with large blue eyes, like she was following the conversation. A cute baby.

I opened the wine bottle and handed it to Vanessa. “Why did you decide to foster?”

She poured us two glasses. “I kinda didn’t. She’s my sister’s baby. The girl in the hallway from earlier. Annabel.”

She set my wineglass in front of one of the chairs at the table and grabbed some plates from the cabinet. “She’s nineteen. No idea who the father is. Gave the mom thing about a week and then came over, dropped Grace off to run an errand, and never came back.” She paused. “She struggles with some addiction issues.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, taking a seat in one of the chairs.

She set down napkins and silverware. “Thankfully she didn’t use while she was pregnant. She was doing really well. She’d been in recovery for almost two years before this relapse.”

They’d given us butter for the bread, but Vanessa pulled out two plates and poured olive oil on them. Then she drizzled them with balsamic, ground fresh pepper over it, and tore open two Parmesan packets and sprinkled it on top.

I rummaged our to-go containers from the bag and served her marsala onto her plate and set it down in front of her seat. “So who were the other two?”

“My half brother, Brent. And my dad.”

I stopped and looked at her. “That was your dad?”

She shrugged. “He wants to see his granddaughter. I don’t really blame him—but I’m not letting Annabel in here when she’s high. He didn’t mean to bump my lip, by the way. He sorta fell into the door and it hit my mouth. Anyway, I have no idea what I’m doing with this baby. Half the time I think I’m just messing everything up.” She sat down and scooted in her chair.

“Well, you should know that the reason she was crying this morning was because there was a plastic tag fastener stuck to her pajamas. It had nothing to do with you or your lack of parenting skills.”

She stared at me. “Are you freaking serious?”

I opened the lid on my ravioli and served it onto my plate. “I never lie about plastic tag fasteners.”

Vanessa burst into laughter. A sparkling smile lit her face. “Oh my God.” She shook her head. “Poor Grace.”

“I only thought to look because I can’t stand tags on my clothes. I figured that might be it. It was easy to miss.”

“Well, I’m grateful you showed up.” She hovered her fork over her food. “You know, you’re kind of a legend around here.”

I cut a ravioli in half. “Really. Why’s that?”

“You’re the sexy single guy in this building. And you’re all brooding and aloof. You have that whole smoldering alpha male thing going on. You came over here all like ‘give me the baby,’” she said with a hard face in a fake male voice.

I snorted. I was neither aloof nor brooding. At least I didn’t think I was. But then when I thought about it, I didn’t really talk to anyone in this building. Not because I wanted to be rude. I just left early and came home late and was usually in a hurry.

I made a silent vow to smile more in the hallways.

She took a bite of mushroom, chewed, and swallowed. “They’re not going to believe I’m actually hanging out with you.”

“Who’s they?” I asked, picking up my wineglass.

“The ladies.”

I raised an eyebrow. “The ladies?”

“Yeah. There’s the yoga lady in 303. There’s the super-early-morning jogger lady in 309. And the two lesbian ladies in 302—who by the way want to see if they can have some of your sperm.”

I started to choke.

“They’re family planning,” she said, going on. “They told me to ask you if you’d be open to it if I ever met you, seeing as how we’re next-door neighbors and all. But don’t worry, I told them it was a long shot. I mean, you can’t just come at a complete stranger like, ‘Can I have some sperm?’ I was like, ‘Come on, guys, at least buy the man dinner first,’” she said out of the side of her mouth.

I coughed into my fist, my eyes watering. “Thanks?”