The bag ended up containing three diapers, a half-empty canister of formula, a dirty bottle, and Owen’s wrinkled birth certificate. I took out the document and unfolded part of it. The mother’s name was obviously listed as Katherine Wilson, and sure enough, in the space for the baby’s father it said Logan Genardi.
That didn’t prove anything, and I had no idea if Kathy really had been monogamous during our five months as a couple. But right now, it didn’t matter all that much if I was actually the baby’s father. He needed someone to take care of him, and I was all he had. I’d probably do a paternity test down the road just to satisfy my curiosity, but I already knew I was going to do everything I could to make sure this tiny person was okay.
As I awkwardly unfolded the rest of the birth certificate with one hand, I said, “Let’s see when your birthday is.” There it was. On June fifth, he’d be turning a year old. I glanced at the name at the top of the document, and a bark of laughter slipped from me. “I see your mom gave you her last name, and she really did name you after her favorite actor. It’s going to seem weird when I tell people I’m Owen Wilson’s dad.”
Talking to the baby when he clearly didn’t understand me made no sense, but it was keeping me from freaking out, so I kept doing it. “We’re going to have to figure out some stuff real fast, and that might include housing. I live here with my parents.” I nodded at the ranch-style tract house behind me. “They’re not the nicest people, and they’re probably going to be really mad when they find out about you. They have this thing about premarital sex and how it’s a huge, hellfire-level sin. Maybe they’ll warm up to you though, because you’re awfully cute. If not, I’ll need to find us a new place to live. The problem is, I’m kind of broke. I just paid my tuition for spring quarter, and it didn’t leave me with much in the bank.”
The baby sat there on my knee, watching me with those big, brown eyes while I held onto him to make sure he didn’t tip over. He’d dropped the cord from my jacket, which was all wet and slobbery now, and was trying to chew on his fist.
I thought about it and said, “I guess if we get desperate, we can try going to live with my brother Lark in San Francisco. He’s the only member of my family who seems to care about me most of the time, not that I know him very well. Our parents kicked him out when I was a kid, and—well, that’s not a very happy story.”
I scraped up all the optimism I could muster and smiled at the baby. “But maybe my parents will actually surprise me and welcome their first grandchild into the family with open arms, despite the whole born out of wedlock thing. That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?”
It was probably my imagination, but Owen Wilson looked skeptical.