“Is he going to be at the birth.”
“If I am in labor and you are not in the building, I will not make a rule today that leaves me alone.”
He took that without a fight, which surprised her. The fight was still in his jaw. He had spent two years not being allowed to decide who walked into a room. He was home and still not the only one who might be called. The not-only sat in him worse than the betrayal on the first night, because the betrayal he had already imagined in some corner, the way deployed men imagine, and the kick was a fact.
He met Darren on neutral ground on Friday, the parking lot of the water plant, because Janelle had said her kitchen was not a courtroom. Darren came off shift in the same henley, tired, no glass in his hand. They did not shake. Evan said, “You were in my kitchen.” Darren said, “I was. I should not have been there when you walked in. That part is on me.” Evan said, “The other part is on both of you.” Darren said, “Yes.” They stood with their hands visible. A coworker honked and did not understand the honk was wrong. Evan said, “If the child is yours, you will be in the child’s life. You will not be in my doorway.” Darren said, “All right.” It was not forgiveness. It was a border. Borders were a language Evan still spoke.