I brace for the question. It's the same question I've heard from my family, from Crew, and before his death, even my grandfather sat me down and looked me in the eye before he asked it. "You don't know who her mother is? How is that possible, Nolan?" When you fuck so many women that you can't remember names or faces it suddenly becomes possible. When you look into the face of a baby and see only yourself reflected back, it becomes possible. "May was left just inside the lobby doors of the building I took you to last night. She was an infant. There was a note with her addressed to me. It was handwritten but untraceable. There was nothing else left with her other than a blanket and the diaper she was wearing." Her eyes flick across my face at lightning speed. "Someone just left her all alone?" I nod. "The doorman found her once she started crying. He called me and I called the police." "The police?" There's no judgment in her tone.
