They walked to the diner outside the University of Minnesota student center—not because any final decision had been made about Will, but because A) Abby thought they needed to “regroup,” and B) JJ Rabinowitz, event photographer, was so hungry he could “eat his camera.”
Milo was just glad to take off his beard. The worst thing about the beard was that it itched. He’d wanted to rip it from his face the entire time he was in the dome, but now he was glad that he hadn’t. He was glad to have been a fly on the wall when Will’s pregnant wife showed up.
A baby, Milo thought as they stood in line to order.
He didn’t know how to feel. Gwen Bardo’s belly had brought everything to a screeching halt. Her belly had appeared without warning, announcing to the world that Will was going to be a dad. A real dad. A dad who would push strollers and change diapers and read bedtime stories and throw baseballs and have awkward conversations about sex.
“How far along is she?” Noah said. His head was down. His thumbs were moving rapid-fire across his phone. “Josh wants to know.”
“Far,” Hollis said. “Did you see the size of her belly?”
“If the baby’s born by February eighteenth,” Abby said, “it’ll be an Aquarius, like me.”
“Aquarius,” JJ said. “Which sign is that?”
“The water bearer,” Abby said. “We are witty and clever. We dislike anything ordinary.”
“Clearly,” Hollis said, flicking Abby’s porkpie hat with her finger. Abby was the only one still wearing a disguise.
“Do you think he told her?” Noah looked up from his phone. “About being a sperm donor? Do you think she has any idea we exist?”
“I was wondering the same thing,” Abby said.
“So was I,” Hollis said.
The musings continued as Milo ordered. He wasn’t very hungry. His stomach was churning just like the thoughts in his head. He didn’t want to eat, but he wanted something comforting. Like cocoa.
“Do you have rice milk?” Milo asked the girl behind the counter, who was wearing a baseball cap and a U of M sweatshirt.
“Sure do,” she said.
“Do you have plain cocoa powder—the kind without milk?”
“Yup.”
“Could you please make me a nondairy hot chocolate?”
“You got it,” the girl said.
The cocoa was too hot to drink, so Milo sat at a table with JJ, who had ordered a double cheeseburger, fries, and a strawberry milkshake. Milo blew into his cup.
“How you doin’, man?” JJ asked, stuffing a fry into his mouth.
“Okay.”
“Want to see pictures?”
Milo wasn’t sure he wanted to see pictures, but JJ was already wiping his fingers on a napkin and reaching for his camera. “I got some great close-ups of Will. You can really see his bone structure…”
“Let me see,” Hollis said, arriving with a grilled cheese and a Coke and peering over JJ’s shoulder.
Good, Milo thought. Let Hollis marvel at Will Bardo’s cheekbones. He would sit here and think.
Gwen Bardo and her stupid belly, Milo thought, taking a careful sip of cocoa so as not to burn his tongue. He hated her belly for showing up and ruining everything. He had been ready. He had wanted to meet Will. He still wanted to meet Will. And if not today, at the Indoor Hat Tournament, then when?
Milo took another sip, a bigger one. It burned the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t care. He took another sip. He was starting to feel warm.
“I’ll tell you another thing about Aquariuses,” Abby said as she and Noah sat down with their food. “We are rebels.”
“Hey, rebel,” Hollis said, holding out the camera to Abby. “Tell me this doesn’t look like Milo in twenty years.”
“Wow,” Abby said, looking and nodding. “It really does.”
She passed the camera to Noah, who did a double take—“whoa”—before passing the camera to Milo. “Want to see yourself in twenty years?”
Milo blinked at the camera in front of him, but he couldn’t see the picture clearly. His eyes were itchy. He could tell that Noah was saying something but he couldn’t hear the words because he was starting to cough and his arms were hot and everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Milo could see the cup falling out of his hand. He could see that Hollis was turning and pointing, and that JJ was shouting and gesturing to Noah, but there was no noise, no noise at all, not even the sound of his own breath, and Milo was wondering why this was, and he tried to ask but there were no words because there was no air, and he needed air, because oh shit he couldn’t breathe, and he suddenly realized, as he slid off the chair and his head hit the floor with a sickening thunk, that someone had turned out the lights.