“You really think I can do this?” she asks.

“Absolutely. I hope you don’t mind me asking . . . but can I be Uncle Paul? I may spoil the little tyke a bit.”

She sobs again. Geez

“You would be Uncle Paul?” she asks in between tears.

“Yeah, I’d love that. And I can take care of the baby when you need help. Hell, if we get my parents on board they’ll want to babysit. My mom is absolutely wild about babies and small kids.”

“I really like your parents,” she says in a soft, sleepy voice.

I skim my fingers lightly over her back, back and forth, as I feel her settle into me. “Yeah, they may make me nutty at times but they’re really good people.”

A minute later I realize her breathing is deeper and she’s fallen asleep. We lie together like that for a long time. I like her in my arms and I like being with her on her bed. It might be wrong to feel this way under these circumstances, but I can’t help it.

I replay in my head all the emotions she shared with me tonight, from despair to hope and back again. I didn’t think she had it in her to be so emotional, but despite that she seems to be holding on. I try to picture her as a young girl being left at that kid’s center without her mom or friends and it gets me in the gut. Maybe her mom just couldn’t see a better way, but I have to think there could’ve been one.

Despite all that Elle rose above her circumstances and made something of herself. Now I’m more impressed with her than ever.

It’s just past midnight when my eyes open with a start and I realize I’ve dozed off. Elle’s curled even closer to me now, and I have to gently scoot away as not to wake her. I wander into the kitchen and find a pad on the desk so I can leave her a note.

Back in the bedroom, I carefully remove her shoes, open the folded blanket at the foot of the bed, and drape it over her. I prop up my note on the bedside table so she’ll see it as soon as she wakes.

It’s lunch time when my phone prompts and I look at the screen to see it’s her.

“Hey Elle, how are you feeling?”

“Nauseous but otherwise okay.”

“I put that fruit and yogurt in the fridge last night. Can you try to eat that?”

“I’ll try. How are you doing?”

“Fine, doing the work thing . . . figuring out tree installations. Are you working today?”

“I slept straight through my first call of the day so I decided to cancel my meetings and take the day off. I’ve made an appointment with my OB/Gyn.”

“Good, I’m glad you’re going. Do you need a ride?”

“No I think I can swing it. But thanks for the offer.”

“Any time.”

“I was thinking I’d like to cook you dinner. Are you free Friday night?”

“Sure, what’s the occasion?”

“To thank you.”

I rub my chin as I try to figure out what this is about. “For what?”

She lets out a happy sigh. “For everything.”

“That’s kind of vague.”

“Okay, how about for being a good man.”

“It’s a little wide-sweeping, but I’ll take it.”

“I promise on Friday to be more specific.”

I grin into my phone. “Excellent. So call me later, okay?”

“I will.”

I feel good all day. Really good, like my life is in order and I’m grounded to something bigger now. But how can the chaos of Elle’s accidental pregnancy and my compulsion to be her port in a storm, make me feel so settled? It’s freaking weird.

I decide not to be an idiot who questions everything and just go with it. Elle texts me in the afternoon to let me know the appointment went well and the good feelings expand with the news.

I take a longer run after work and skip my beer that night. It’s like I’m a new man, the kind of man I can actually feel positive about.

By the time I arrive for dinner Friday this new scenario between us is feeling normal. Elle’s been impregnated by a Viking, and I’ve traded my dream future as her passionate boyfriend for being a doting uncle to her baby. I’m not sure why it seems to make sense but it does, like we’ve stepped into an alternate universe and find that it’s not bad at all. When she opens the front door I hand her a book on pregnancy for working women and a little stuffed lamb instead of a bottle of wine.

Judging from her reaction to the gifts, I’m totally rocking this uncle thing.

She clutches the gifts to her chest and kisses me on the cheek. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Famished.”

She sits me down in the kitchen and pours me some wine while she finishes up the beef stroganoff.

“So what did the doctor say?”

“Well first of all she said I’m in really good health which bodes well for the pregnancy. She said I can keep up with my exercise routine as long as I don’t push it.”

“You mean the balls and straps?” I narrow my eyes. “Are you sure that’s okay? I’m not sure I like that.”

Laughing, she shakes her head. “No, I’m staying away from the balls and straps, but I also do the cross country ski machine, so I’m going to keep that up.”

I let out a relieved breath. “Okay. Good to know.”

“And she was very impressed with your choice of pre-natal vitamins and diligence in getting me on them right away.”

“Well I’m determined to be a do-the-right-thing kind of guy.”

“Indeed.”

“So when do you see her again?”

“In four weeks. It’s the appointment after that we hear the heartbeat.”

I look up at her expectantly. I wonder if she’d feel weird about me coming along. “That’s really cool,” I say as I glance down and take a bite of the salad she’s just put in front of me.

“Would you like to come?”

My head pops up and I can’t stop myself from grinning ear to ear. “Yeah! That’d be great.” After taking another bite of my salad I ask, “So what else did she say?”

“We talked about the challenges of being a single working mom. So she talked about building a support circle. It takes a village, and all that . . .”

“Right,” I say, nodding.

“I’m still scared out of my mind, but she reminded me that women all over the world do it every day. There are some good daycare places around here and with my flexible schedule I’ll have more quality time than a lot of working parents.”

“There you go,” I say encouragingly.

She takes a long sip of her water. “And we talked about sex.”

My mouth falls open and I set my fork down. I thought we were done with that subject for quite a while. “What about sex?”

“Why I want it all the time now.”

I feel the blood drain out of my face. “But you wanted it all the time before. You mean you want it even more now?”

“I do. She says it’s the hormones, but how am I going to manage all of this raging physical need?”

Oh dear God.

“Please tell me you aren’t going to start up Tinder again.”

“Oh no!” She looks alarmed. “That would be crazy.”

“Good. You were scaring me.”

She pulls her shoulders back and straightens up. “And look. My boobs are bigger. I guess they’re going to be huge by the time I deliver.”

“They were already pretty big.”

“And they’re really sensitive, but in a good way.”

In order to know this, she must be touching them a lot.

I can imagine her touching herself way too vividly in my head. I’m sure I’ll be imagining her skimming her fingertips over her breasts and softly pinching her nipples while I’m in the shower tonight.

“Um, wow, that must be cool.”

“Except that I want to touch them all the time.”

“Even now?”

“Especially now . . . well, you know, since we’re talking about it.”

I lean back in the chair to adjust myself. My jeans are too damn tight right now. “Well, don’t let me stop you. Be my guest.”

She cups her hands over her breasts and squeezes a few times with her eyes closed. A huge smile spreads across her face as she lets out a satisfied sigh. “Oh, that feels so good.”