“Oh, you’re home,” she says, her tone sickly sweet. I grunt in confirmation and take a sip of my drink. The alcohol burns a trail of warmth down my throat, settling in my stomach and heating my blood. “I’ve been chatting with mom,” she informs me casually, coming up behind me and resting her hands on my lower back. Instinctively, I move from her touch. “We’re not getting any younger, Benny, and I think we should try for a baby.” I almost spit my drink out. I wouldn’t mind kids. I like them, and I think I’d make a pretty good dad. But I won’t father children with Regina. Fuck no. “You want to bring a child into a relationship like ours?” I scoff in disbelief. “All my friends have either had children, or they’re pregnant at the moment. I don’t want to be the odd one out!” she cries.
