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He shrugs, turning to face me. “It’s not that we’re upset, we just have a lot going on.”
“With the wedding?”
He shifts, like there’s something he’s not telling me. Right away, my senses tingle.
“What? You not getting married?” I ask.
“We’re postponing.”
A little bit of ice trickles in my veins. No, that’s not supposed to happen. Coen and Sabrina were a done deal: signed, sealed, and delivered. I take a step in, throwing up my hand.
“What the fuck, man?” I hiss.
He raises his palms. “No, we’re good. We just…got left alone here at the ranch for a lot of the summer. Had a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in the field and made some choices.”
I stare, not comprehending.
“Are you saying Sabrina’s pregnant?” I ask finally.
He shrugs. “Yeah, I’m saying that.”
“Okay, so why wasn’t she on birth control? Have you just been raw-dogging it this whole time? Jesus, how good is your pull-out game?”
He laughs, running a hand over his face. My shoulders sink in relief.
“Jesus, do you always have to be so blunt? We were switching because she didn’t like what she was on, so we were using condoms for a bit. Turns out, for the condom to work, you have to use it every time.”
“Well, who woulda thought,” I say.
We both laugh, and the tension dissolves. I should’ve known right off the bat that this wasn’t about Serena and me. Coen and I have been friends too long for him not to be happy for me finding someone I love, even if he had concerns about it.
“So is she happy?” I ask.
“Yeah, yeah, she is,” he says, nodding. “We both are. It was a shock, but we’ve adjusted.”
“How far along is she?”
“Further than we thought. The whole Jack Daniel’s incident happened a little while back. The doctor said she’s about nine weeks in.”
I take a beat to soak it all in. Of all the things I thought he would say, telling me he’s going to be a father wasn’t one of them. For some reason, I thought Coen didn’t want kids. We had some discussions where I expressed my doubt about becoming a parent myself, but now that I think back, those were mostly one-sided conversations. I guess he was just doing what he does best, keeping things quiet.
“And she doesn’t want to get married?” I ask.
“No, she wants to push until she’s through the birth and postpartum.”
“Hell, you could get married now.”
He shrugs, hands in his pockets. “I would, but it’s whatever she wants. I’m just happy to be here. Reckon you’re in the same boat, in your own way.”
He’s not wrong. At this point, I’ve done a lot of the shit I wanted to do in my life. I’m ready to make someone else a priority, someone who means everything to me.
“Reckon I am,” I say.
We stand in silence for a while. Finally, I clear my throat.
“I got a question for you,” I say, taking out a pack of Marlboros. I’m not good at this heart-to-heart thing, and I desperately need something do with my hands. Then, I think better of it and put it back in my pocket.
“Well, what’s the question? Or do I have to guess?”
