Frankly, it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t seem like he thinks he’s invincible, yet he doesn’t seem worried about it happening, either. Not in the oblivious way of teenage guys who think they can have unprotected sex with impunity, but trying to sober him up by mentioning the real possibility of him making me a mother—and himself a father—before either of us have a diploma doesn’t freak him out, either. Wouldn’t thinking about the result of unprotected sex freak out most teenage guys? I realize Carter isn’t ordinary, but why doesn’t this scare him?
Why does it feel like he regards a potential accidental teen pregnancy like no big deal… almost in the way someone regards something terrifying that they’ve survived before, so it no longer has the power it had over you the first time?
I cock my head, watching Chloe grin up at Carter and reach her free hand across to show him something that sparkles in the sun. Probably a sticker. He regards her with warmth, like always. Then he points in my direction and Chloe looks ahead, then waves at me with her sticker hand.
“Hi, bookstore lady!”
Hi, Carter clone.
Sudden horror grips me and I look from her to him again.
Thirteen. He was thirteen the first time he had sex. Chloe is five.
Erika flashes to mind, since she always hangs out in the dark pockets of my brain, waiting to torment me and fill me full of doubts. They weren’t a thing back then though, right? He couldn’t have possibly gotten Erika pregnant when they were little more than kids… but if he did, it would explain some things. It would explain why she’s so attached to him, why she thinks he belongs to her. Maybe she went along with everything he wanted her to do, everything his family told her to do, and she thinks it’s her due to end up with him.
It would also explain why she’s the only girl he’s ever given girlfriend status, even though it doesn’t seem like he wanted a girlfriend. Maybe it was part of her perks package, maybe he was being nice because… well, knocking up a 13-year-old is a shitty thing to do, even if you are also only 13. This just isn’t a thing that should happen.
Carter doesn’t seem like someone who would insist a meaningless fling he knocked up keep a pregnancy though, and if Erika didn’t want it… why is Chloe here?
Now I look at the little girl, and if I look hard enough, I can see some Erika. Erika has blue eyes and brown hair, but Carter’s genes clearly run strong, given how much he looks like his father. Erika is pretty, and Chloe is adorable. While their shades are different, they both have pin-straight hair and cute little button noses.
Carter cocks an eyebrow. “Earth to Zoey.”
I shake myself out of my rush of paranoid thoughts and try to remember what was just said. “Uh, sorry. What?”
“I said hi, and you didn’t say hi back,” Chloe announces.
“I’m so sorry about that, I was daydreaming. Hi, Chloe.”
My mind is still in overdrive though, kicking up new thoughts. When Carter walked me to my car, he said Chloe will have a bedroom at his apartment. I assumed he meant it as part of our joking scenario, similar to our kids sleeping upstairs at my dinner scenario last night, but the apartment is actually happening. Does she really have a bedroom at his apartment in New York? That doesn’t seem normal. How many older brothers have actual bedrooms set up for their five-year-old sisters? In case of what? A visit? How often would she be visiting to warrant her own bedroom?
Is this too crazy to ask him? This is definitely too crazy to ask him. If I’m right, I don’t even know what I would do with that, and if I’m wrong, he would think I’m a paranoid, overthinking psycho. I’ve already theorized he cheated and he’s only been my boyfriend for a day and a half. For our two day anniversary, I can’t ask, “Also, did you by chance impregnate Erika in middle school and Chloe is actually your daughter? Asking for a friend.”
“You wanna see my dance moves?” Chloe asks.
“Sure, I’d love to see your moves.”
She takes a step back away from the table, then does a series of attempts at ballet moves. I’m not sure she actually nails any of them, but she’s five; who cares?
Upon finishing, she plants a hand on her hip and does an end pose.
Clapping my hands, I say, “Encore!”
“I don’t know that word,” she tells me, coming up to the table and looking at the food. Her nose instantly wrinkles up. “I don’t want any of this, either.”
“How about a cheeseburger?” Carter suggests.
“No,” she says.
“Hot dog?”
“Nuh uh.”
“Chips. You love chips.”
Chloe shakes her head and looks up at him. “I want to go to a restaurant. I want chicken tenders or spaghetti.”