Chapter 3: First Comes Baby

I rushed Kate and the baby — who apparently was mine — into my apartment after snapping out of my shock. There was just no possible way she was telling the truth. I was careful. I was always careful. The kid couldn't be mine.

"It wasn't easy to find you," Kate said, sitting on my couch as she set the car seat on the floor. "I didn't realize you were leaving New York."

"We barely spoke. Why would I tell you about my life?" I asked, sitting down and putting my face in my hands. "What do you want?"

"Her name is Sofia. I thought it was cute."

I lifted my head. "Her?"

She nodded. "Yes, you have a daughter."

"How old is she?"

"Nine weeks."

I started counting . . . I had sex with her roughly ten and a half months ago. I finished my residency in early June and it was now April. That would mean the baby would be around four to five weeks, not nine. I swear to God, it was an "ah-ha" moment.

"She's not mine," I said, smiling triumphantly.

"She was four weeks early. She's yours."

Fuck. "What do you want?"

"It's more what I don't want. I don't want her. I tried it, thinking I could do it if I loved her, but I don't. She's nothing more than any other baby to me, which means she's your problem now," she said, standing up. "Her birth certificate is in her diaper bag, along with everything else that's probably important."

I stood up and grabbed her arm. "What the hell is wrong with you? Leaving your child in a stranger's apartment? She's probably not even mine!"

"Get a paternity test for all I care. She's yours. I'm positive of it."

"Like you were seriously an innocent virgin when we fucked."

She laughed. "Well, no, but I know who I've been with, unlike you. Look at her hair, Edward. She's clearly yours."

"What kind of mother are you?"

"That's just it. I'm not a mother. I'm twenty-two-years-old, and I can't do this. I figured I'd give you the chance before giving her up for adoption. If you don't want her either, give her up. I'll sign whatever you need me to," she said as her eyes filled with tears. "I'm not really a horrible person, you know? I wanted to love her. I spent my pregnancy trying to love the thing that was growing inside of me, but I never did. When I saw her for the first time, it was like I didn't even give birth to her. I am not ready for this, and I don't want to be a mom to a baby that I don't love. That would be a horrible person."

"You could be suffering from post-partum depression," I said. "You just need to get some help, Kate. I'll . . . get you some help. I still have connections in New York."

Yeah, I didn't know where the fuck that came from.

She shook her head and wiped her eyes. "I don't want help, and that's not it. I'm fine. I just can't raise her. I can't give her a good life. I'm a college student, Edward, and I had to miss an entire semester because of her. I resent her, so I'm no good for her. Maybe you can be good for her."

"I . . . I can't be a father. I don't even like kids."

"Well, maybe you can like her. I'm sorry, Edward," she said, grabbing her purse and rushing out of my apartment before I could stop her.

I was left, in shock, standing in the middle of my living room. I had no fucking clue what the hell was going on. There was a baby in my apartment. I was alone with a child. My child, apparently. Suddenly, shit got real when she started wailing. Dear, God, what the fuck was I supposed to do?

I rushed over and kneeled down in front of the car seat. I lifted the blanket and was met with a red faced baby in a pink hat. My hand hovered over her, having no clue what it was supposed to do.

"Shh," I said, moving my other hand to the top of it and rocking her gently. "Please, stop crying."

She kept wailing. I went for the buckle and unfastened her, and then gently picked her up, supporting her little head. Jesus, she was tiny. Were all babies this tiny? It just didn't seem right. I had been around babies before. I was a doctor, after all. I didn't escape medical school and residency without having to deliver and treat them. Plus, I did spend some time with my nephew. She just seemed . . . small. I pulled her to my chest and began swaying. Honestly, I was fucking swaying.

"Shh, Little One," I murmured. "Just stop crying for me."

Why wasn't she stopping? Minutes passed, and she was still crying. Time kept passing, and she wasn't stopping. I was getting fucking worried. She probably missed her mom or something. But her mom was long gone.

"What do you want?" I asked. "Are you hungry? Shit . . . do you need to be changed?" I sniffed the air and didn't smell anything. "Maybe you're hungry, but I don't know how to feed you."

I lifted the stuffed diaper bag off the ground and set it on the couch. I put her down next to it, placing a pillow on each side of her just to be safe. She couldn't roll yet, right? Either way, I wanted to be safe.

I found empty bottles in the bag, as well as a container of that formula shit. I was so fucking clueless as to what I was supposed to do. I needed . . . I needed my mom. She knew this shit. She'd know what I was supposed to do.

"Hold on, Sofia. I know someone who knows how to help you. Just . . . hold on, Little One," I said, pulling my phone out.

The phone rang and rang. It wasn't that late, so why weren't they picking up? Fucking-A. The call went to voicemail, so I decided to call my dad's phone. He always answered it. He had to. It rang three times before his voice answered.

"Son? Is everything all right?" he asked, a bit out of breathe.

"No, everything is not all right," I snapped. "I need Mom, and now."

"Hold your horses." Did he seriously just fucking say that? I was panicking, for Christ's sake. "What's wrong? And do I hear a baby crying?"

"Yes, you hear a baby crying. I need Mom to come over right now. I . . . I fucked up."

I heard the phone shuffle around. "Edward, what's this about a baby?" Mom asked.

"There's something wrong with her. Please, Mom, help me?"

Damn it, I was fucking begging.

"Her? Who is her, Edward?"

"Apparently, my kid."

How hard was it to understand that there was a baby, and she wouldn't stop crying?

Mom gasped loudly before I heard the phone fall to the floor with a thud.

"Edward, are you still there?" Dad asked.

"Yes, now please, I need you both. Do you hear her? I think she's hungry, but I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Help me, Dad."

"We're on our way, son. Just rock her until we get there. Do you have formula?"

"Yeah, there's some in the diaper bag with bottles."

"Good. Wrap her tight in a blanket and hold her close to you. Be . . . soothing."

"Me? You want me to be fucking soothing? I just had a chick drop a baby off with me. I'm not in the mood to be soothing!"

"Well, figure it out," he said. "And watch your language around that child. I don't care how old she is. You need to stop."

I bit my tongue. "Okay. Please, hurry."

"We're on our way. We love you, Edward. We'll figure this out."

. . . . .

I grabbed the blanket off of the floor and laid it out on the couch. I picked the still wailing baby up and laid her down again, recalling how the fuck to swaddle a child. I was horrible at it. I wrapped her up as best I could and picked her back up, holding her close to me.

"It's all right, Little One," I said softly, swaying again. "Help is on the way, okay?

Her wails seemed to die down. I looked at her, and she opened her eyes. She had huge bluish-grey eyes, like most babies. There was something about them, though.

"Hey, that's a good girl. Thank you," I told her as she stared at me, silent. I kept rocking gently. "You can be a good baby, right?"

She squirmed a little in my arms, burying her face into my chest. I was just thankful the crying had stopped. I kept thinking about the fact that there was a very good possibility she was my kid. What the fuck was I going to do with a baby? It wasn't like I could abandon her. Her mother already did that. And what if she wasn't my kid? Then what? Hand her over for social services and say her mom just left her in my apartment? Shit was too confusing right now. I took a few deep breathes and kept swaying, calming me and her down.

Thankfully, my parents arrived pretty quickly. I walked to the door, with a once again crying infant in my arms, and opened it. Their eyes instantly went to the bundle in my arms.

"I seriously fucked up," I said.

"Let me have her, Edward," Mom said, holding her arms out for Sofia once they were in the apartment.

I gently passed the little one to her. It seemed she liked my mom. Her crying stopped much faster when she was in Mom's arms. Dad looked at me, wide-eyed, and somewhat horrified.

"Tell me what happened," he said, sitting down on the couch as Mom went through the diaper bag.

"I slept with her mother back in New York. She didn't want her, so she decided to give me a chance, I guess. I don't know, Dad. It all seemed to happen so quickly. She just left her here."

"Her name is Sofia, Carlisle," Mom said, reading the birth certificate. "Sofia Anne Cullen. Aww, she has our last name! She was born on February third, so she's two months old."

"Son, is that possible?" Dad asked.

"Only if she were born early like her mom said. If she had gotten pregnant from me and had a normal pregnancy, the baby should only be four to five weeks old," I said.

He nodded. "So she may not be yours. What do you think? Do you think she's yours?"

I shrugged. "How am I supposed to know that?"

"She has his nose!" Mom announced. "Oh! And his hair."

"How do you think she has my nose? It's . . . tiny."

"Edward, I remember your nose as a baby. She has the same, cute, button one," she said, touching the little girl's nose and smiling. "I'm going to go get her a bottle ready. Carlisle, will you take her?"

"Of course, darling," Dad said, holding his arms out for the baby.

He made it look so simple. They both did. I felt like I was about to break her when I touched her. She didn't even make a sound as he rocked her gently. What the fuck? Apparently, my parents were the baby whisperers.

"I take it you'll want a paternity test?" Dad asked.

"Well, I think I should, right?" I asked. "That's what most people would do in this situation, yeah?"

"And then what, son? You do realize, if she's yours, you have a responsibility to her, right? You did this. You created her."

"What am I supposed to do with a baby?" I whispered, putting my head in my hands. "God, what did I do?"

"You know, I do have to agree with your mother. She does remind me of you." I looked up to find him smiling at her. "Aren't you just precious? A little small, though."

"Right? That's what I thought. She's too small."

He shook his head. "I didn't say too small. She's just on the smaller side. It would support the fact that she was a month early."

"You think she's . . . okay, though?"

"She seems just fine, son." He smiled. "You're just fine, aren't you, precious?"

I was pretty sure my father was going gaga over the little one. I'd seen him this way with Ben, but it was a little strange. We didn't even know if the girl was mine. And yet, here he was, talking to her softly and rocking her.

When Mom came back in with the formula, she sat down next to Dad and set the bottle down, putting one of my dishtowels over her shoulder. Dad passed her the little girl. I watched carefully, maybe a bit too closely, as Sofia drank from the bottle she fed her.

"How uh . . . how did you make that?" I asked.

Mom looked up and smiled. "I can show you. It's very simple. You boil the water, let it cool to room temperature, add it to a bottle, and then add the formula powder. Shake it to mix it all together, and then test the temperature on your wrist."

Why did that seem like she was speaking a different language? I mean, it seemed simple in theory, but actually doing it? I just . . . I'd probably add too much water or some shit and hurt the little girl. Yeah, that'd be great. I'd water down the formula and take away all the nutrients she needed.

"Oh, she's such a good girl," Mom cooed. Swear to God, cooed. "All done, sweetie?"

"Did she drink it all?" I asked.

"She took about four ounces, which is perfectly normal for a two month old," she said, starting to burp the little one.

"Son," Dad said, "have you thought about what you're going to do?"

I sighed. "Get a paternity test done and go from there, I guess. What else is there to do?"

He nodded. "Take the next few days off of work, but come in tomorrow morning and we'll take swabs. After that, we'll talk to a lawyer. Right now, your name isn't on the birth certificate, so we'll have to fix that."

"She's going to need something to sleep in," Mom said. "I'll run to Wal-Mart and get a portable crib and other necessities. We'll get permanent stuff soon. Oh, and you'll need to borrow my SUV. You can't put her in your Porsche."

"She might not be mine," I said. "And even if she is, it's not like I can take care of her."

"Edward," she scolded. "She's yours. Trust me; I know. And you will be taking responsibility for her, young man."

The fierce look in her eyes scared the shit out of me. Again, what the fuck was I supposed to do with a baby?

"Your mother is right, son," Dad said. "It's time for you to grow up . . . Though I wish you weren't forced to like this, it's about time."

"Hold her, Edward," Mom said, standing up and placing the little girl back in my arms. "We'll be back as soon as we can."

"We? Dad, you're leaving me alone with her?"

He rolled his eyes. "You're going to have to get used to it. Might as well be now."

They were throwing me to the sharks — the shark being a damn baby. Fuck my life.