“I don’t know,” I insist. “Truly. I was so focused on pushing a human out of me that I didn’t notice.”
She groans. “You are useless! Was he big? Small?”
“Not that big. Seven pounds, four ounces.”
“The man, you dummy. Not the baby.”
“Oh. Right. He was big.” That part I’m certain about. The man’s shoulders were so broad he barely fit through the car door. “Very big,” I add.
“That’s something, at least,” she says. “More than you gave me about your son’s father! I thought after the reaming I gave you for that, you’d pay better attention.”
Brigitte is the only one who knows the story of how I got pregnant. Anyone else would judge me as a shameless slut. But Brigitte knows me well enough to know how out of character it was for me to have s*x with a gun-wielding stranger. At my place of wor
