“Who are you?” I don’t like calling her the woman. I’ve wondered her name for months since she started appearing in that doorway so close to mine.
She turns to me and in her arms is the baby. She’s holding a bottle and the baby is drinking. Quiet little sounds come from it and she grins down at the baby in her arms before tilting her head at me.
“What?”
“You. What is your name?”
“Paisley. Are you Mikah?”
She must want money if she knows my name. Perhaps she’s a fan. A puck bunny—that’s what my teammates call the girls who follow players and only want one thing from them.
“How did you know?” I wish she wasn’t so pretty. Sometimes it hurts to talk when all I want to do is look at her.
She points to an envelope on the table. The note.
“It’s on the outside. I didn’t know if it was your name or the baby’s, so I took a guess. Are you… are you okay?”
“A stranger shows up at my door with a baby in her arms, saying it’s mine. How okay am I supposed to be?” I wander to the table while I ask.
I’m surprised by her gentle laugh.
“I suppose this isn’t your typical Friday night.”
She is funny. If I didn’t think I might throw up, I might laugh. No. This is not my typical Friday night. Mine are for resting. Not life-changing drama.
I say nothing and grab the envelope. I stare at it for a moment. Perhaps if I do not open it, I can pretend this didn’t happen. My fingers shake as I tear it open.
The envelope is larger than normal and thick and I’m careful as I pull out several folded papers.
The top one is the most important though as I instantly see my name, written in scrolling black ink.
MIKAH,
His name is Angelo.