Page 76 of Biker Orc Baby Daddy
We stand there. Hands touching. The scribbled name between us.
CHAPTER 10
GUNTHER
Iwalk out of Cecie’s apartment at midnight with a scribbled-out name burned into my brain and a sudden, heavy weight in my chest that no spreadsheet could quantify. In the old tongue, my grandmother used to say that a first son is a gift from the Plentiful God, a sign of a prosperous future that must be honored with a feast and an offering. I am a man of logic and pocket protectors, but the sight of Orry’s dimple—my dimple—feels like a divine debt I haven't even begun to pay.
Try what, exactly?
Fatherhood. Partnership. Something that resembles a family.
No pressure.
I sit in my car for ten minutes. Hands on the wheel. Engine off. Clarence—my pocket calculator sits on the passenger seat. I pick him up. Press the equals button. Nothing happens. He's been dead for two years. I keep him anyway.
"What do I do?" I ask the cracked screen.
Clarence offers no wisdom.I drive home. Make a list.
Immediate Action Items:
1. Traditional Mandate: Consult my mother regarding the proper feast and offering for the Plentiful God to honor Orry’s safe arrival.
2. Schedule paternity test (for legal/analytical certainty).
3. Purchase age-appropriate developmental toys
4. Update personal insurance to include potential dependent
5. Stop spiraling
Number five gets crossed out. Then rewritten. Then crossed out again.
I don't sleep. I make spreadsheets instead.
Morning comes.I text Cecie at exactly 8:47 a.m. Professional. Respectful. Not at all desperate.
Good morning. Would you be available this week to schedule the test? I can arrange everything if that's easier.
She responds at 9:03.
Thursday work?
Thursday is perfect. I'll handle the details.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
You don't have to do everything yourself, you know.
Type. Delete. Type again.
I know. But I'd like to. If that's okay.
Okay.
One word. It feels like a gift.
I callthe clinic at 9:15. The receptionist sounds bored.
