Page 46 of Everything But Mine

That’s when I squeeze Amanda’s hand and take over, because I won’t let that question twist its way into her. And because it’s a done deal—nurture versus nature and all that jazz.

“That doesn’t matter,” I say, straightening my spine. “This is our baby. Amanda’s and mine.”

Amanda glances at me, first startled, then grateful. There’s a warm smile that’s just for me before she adds, “Daray was seeing someone else. She’s also pregnant.”

Gasps again—this time sharper. Her mom covers her chest. Her dad’s finger twitches against the flute. Mom mouths “Bastard” under her breath—too close to what my dad did.

“I don’t know what I’m doing with Daray, I’d—we’d appreciate discretion until I know,” Amanda continues. “But Eric is going to be this kid’s father.”

There’s a pause. Then, Uncle Sandro, who’s been quiet since the news dropped, lowers himself down on a chair, leaning forward slightly.

“Well,” he says, voice even but edged, “I bet that’s a hell of a lot more than Daray ever promised.”

It’s not loud. But it’s the kind of line that cuts the air clean.

“Amanda,” Mom interjects. Her voice is soft, the kind of softness she’s always had, even when delivering hard truths. “This is a lot. Are you sure this isn’t just… trying to do what feels easiest right now?”

Amanda tightens her grip on my hand. Her spine straightens. I don’t need to speak for her this time.

“No. This is far from easy. This is right.”

Her words echo another time, another night, another shift between us that felt right.

Kate’s voice pulls me out before I can dwell on my failures. “How about you, Eric?” she asks gently. “Are you sure? This is… It’s an enormous commitment. I mean, it’s cliché, but a baby is forever.”

Amanda’s form has pressed more and more into my side. The warmth of her fingers hasn’t left me for a second, and it gives me the strength to voice my resolve to the people who raised us. “I know. But I want to be this kid’s dad. With Amanda.”

Amanda traces circles on the back of my palm with her hand before adding, “I trust Eric.” Even with so much still unresolved between us, standing here with her feels like the biggest win of my life.

Kate’s eyes soften. She breathes out through her nose. “I have to be honest… I was worried when we heard about—” She does that same gesture Amanda does so often, where she waves her hand, both drawing attention and dismissing something. “But hearing this, watching you… You both look so certain. Happy, even.”

Amanda frowns a little. “Why are you guys so okay with this?”

Kate snorts. “Honey, Daray… We played nice for your sake. But I’ve been rooting for both of you to find the right timing for a long time. It looks like this might be it.”

There’s such sweetness in her tone. I’m awestruck that her mom thinks highly enough of me to even have a shot with Amanda. A hum of hope blossoms in my chest.

And then Amanda does the thing she always does—lays down her boundary. Hard. For everyone to know and for me to agonize over.

She’s tensed up, but that doesn’t stop her. “It’s platonic,” she adds ruthlessly. “We’re not—this isn’t romantic.”

The slap is invisible. No one flinches but me, and I do so only on the inside. Outside, I nod to reaffirm, even when I don’t let her hand leave mine.

Mom, bless her, reaches out to me and lays her hand over mine. “I’m so proud of you.” Because I am doing what my dad couldn’t even do for his own blood. “You’re going to be a wonderful dad, mo stoirín,” she says, her voice shaking slightly. “That baby’s already lucky.”

My throat feels thick. There’s a certainty in her voice that makes me think of the boy I was, starving for affection, and the man I’m trying to become, still desperate for something out of reach. Amanda turns to her, relaxing beside me, as if Mom’s comment has steadied her too.

“Well, Sandro,” Kate says. “Get your daughter some orange juice.” Sandro does, pressing Amanda into his chest, then patting me on the shoulder once before going into the kitchen. Kate resumes once Amanda has her pregnancy-safe flute. “To a new life. And old beginnings.”

There’s a swarm of reassurances from Aunt Kate as the conversation shifts to names, due dates, cravings. Amanda eats some ciambella and white pudding in the same forkful as if it’s the best thing she’s ever had. Mom offers Irish remedies for nausea. Until Sandro rises from his seat and holds my gaze.

“Eric.” His voice is meant only for me, even if it is heard by everyone. “Can I borrow you for a moment?”

The table quiets again. Amanda’s hand tightens around mine before I let go. I nod, press my lips against her hair, and rise slowly. My chest is already tight.

“Of course.”

I follow him through the sliding glass door and into the backyard. The wind’s picked up. The sun’s fighting to break through the clouds. We’re barely ten steps into the grass when he stops, hands on his hips, eyes on the hedge line like it’s got answers for him. He speaks without looking at me.