Perspective Sixty-Seven
Baby daddy. That’s not really what I call him, but that’s almost the best way to describe our relationship. But we’re not together and we never were, so I agree that it’s complicated and awkward. We’re pretty good friends, though, so that helps. We met each other by a nightclub and went back to his place for a one night stand. When I say it was by a nightclub, that’s exactly what I mean. Neither of us belongs to the club scene. My car broke down and I was lost, and he just happened to be there, having just dropped someone off who had used his ridesourcing service. We used protection, but something must have gone wrong, because I found out I was pregnant a few weeks later. We never exchanged contact information, but I did catch his first name, which is rare enough to pinpoint him online. He was ready and willing to help me through everything, so that was a nice change from the horror scenarios I had been running through my head upon first learning of my situation. We didn’t have to go through the courts. He moved back to the area to continue his postgraduate education closeby, which he said he could do pretty much anywhere. The guy is obsessed with education, or rather he’s obsessed with not having to worry about making decisions. No one told him how self-driven PhD programs were, I guess. Oops, slipped my mind. Anyway, things are pretty great. We share our calendars online, and always know where the other one is, and one of us is almost always available to take care of the runt. And when we’re not, my on-again off-again boyfriend can usually step in. Wow, I suppose I never realized how lucky I am to have two upstanding men in my life to help me out. Most of my friends can’t even find one, and I’m technically just as single as they are. I don’t want to push back women’s progress by suggesting I need these men, but I can’t help that they’re around. The thing is that they’re feminists too, so that’s just another way I’m lucky. If I didn’t have such a great group of friends, I would have had to move back in with my parents clear on the wrong side of the tracks on the other side of the country. I wasn’t really interested in that; I’m pretty happy in the South Atlantic. Good job, perfect family, and everything I ever wanted and more. Now if I could just figure out what to do about my stalker.
Perspective Sixty-Nine
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