Buying His Coffee

It had been months since I had seen my ex, but there she was in the Starbucks nearest to my apartment, looking roundly pregnant. She was there with Lou, a college classmate who was not really a friend. They had not seen me. I thought about skedaddling but stopped myself. I had to be a grown up about all this.

I watched through the window. Randi glowed. I knew that she would be a wonderful mother. Other than the baby bump, she had not gained a lot of weight. Her blonde ponytail poked through the back of her baseball hat. It was early Saturday morning. She probably had not showered yet.

She looked like she was about to leave, but Lou looked like he was staying. My ex was never a big coffee drinker. Guess she did not want a stale scone or a dry croissant either. I positioned myself so that I could go in the door she was not going to use. When she left, I did exactly that.

We had been on the verge of marriage, Randi and I, until it all fell apart. We met in college, dated seriously and exclusively through junior and senior years, moved in together after graduating and had begun to plan out a life together as we took our first steps into the professional work world. I thought it would last forever. Then, it cratered suddenly.

When I entered, Lou was staring at the over-priced branded mugs and the ethically-grown, but not ethically-priced, ground coffee packages.

"Hey, Lou. Good to see you. What's going on?"

Lou looked at me a little groggily, the caffeine deficit in evidence.

"Oh, hey, man. Good to see you."

"Coffee?" I asked. "I'm buying."

"Sure," he said, smiling.

I got a plain, small, non-fru-fru, non-stupidly-complicated drip roast coffee, with one chemical sweetener. He got a completely fru-fru, complicated double-macchiato, ultra-sugared, double-half-caf something or other.

As we sat down, I asked, "Was that Randi I saw just now with you?"

"Yeah."

"Is she pregnant?"

"Yep."

"Yours?"

"Of course! Guess one got by the goalie," he said with a proud smile.

"Congratulations."

"We started dating after you two broke up," he explained. "Just got married about a month ago."

"When is she due?

"In about four months."

I did the math and smiled. I remember the conversation with Randi very well because it had been a trifecta of blows to a male psyche:

- "We need to talk."

- "Honey, do you love me?"

- "I'm pregnant."

I remember being surprised and confused. We had been careful. Then, a seed of doubt birthed a tree of suspicion.

"Great, honey. I'll do what I need to do. Of course, we need to get a paternity test done."

Randi broke our embrace and looked me in the eyes. Hers were not happy eyes.

"Without trust, there is nothing," she said.

"Trust but verify," I replied.

Getting a pre-natal DNA test done was my red line before I paid for anything and definitely before I married her. Suddenly, the marriage was off because of my lack of trust. She never did agree to get a DNA test done.

And here I was in the Starbucks with Randi's apparent baby-daddy. We both got scones. I paid. When we were done, Lou tried to give me money, but I refused.

"Congratulations again, Lou. Your money is no good with me today. See, Randi and I never broke up until after she told me she was pregnant. I wanted a DNA test. She refused. Either you will spend your life raising my bastard, or I dodged the bullet of spending my life raising yours. The least I can do is buy you a coffee and a stale scone. It is way cheaper. Besides, although she tried to get me to marry her first, she probably likes you okay. She cheated on me with you, after all. Maybe lust will grow into love eventually."

Lou looked shell-shocked as I stood up, slapped him on the back, and walked out the door. That was the last that I saw of either of them. A little while later, I moved out of town and settled several states away. I was not running, but there was nothing left to keep me there.

A few years later, I heard that they got divorced. Seems he had trust issues that he could never reconcile.

The Department of Social Services never contacted me about child support. Must not be my kid.