My Married Roommate Asked Me to Give Her a Baby

"Evan, I'm begging you."

Rowan Hale looked at him with the solemn face of a man asking for a kidney.

"You have to get Hannah pregnant."

Evan stared at him, stunned enough that even his mouth forgot how to be rude.

"Rowan," he said slowly, "do you hear yourself? Hannah is your wife."

To explain how this absurd scene happened, he had to go back a few days.

Back then, Evan was still in Ridgefall, a rough little town where people knew your business before you finished doing it.

"Damn, Jack Carter, look what you did to me. I can barely get off the couch. Still proud of yourself, big man?"

Evan stood in the doorway with his college acceptance notice in his hand.

On the old sofa, Auntie Rain from the next neighborhood was fastening her bra. Beside her, Jack Carter, a gray-haired middle-aged man with more swagger than money, was hopping into his underwear.

"You little bastard," Jack barked. "Ever heard of knocking?"

Evan shut the door again with a face full of disgust.

Jack Carter was Evan's foster father.

A few minutes later, Auntie Rain finally came out. Only then did Evan walk into the house.

Jack was still buttoning his shirt, looking impatient. "What? Why are you rushing around like the roof is on fire?"

"I got in," Evan said, raising the notice. "The college accepted me."

Jack snatched it out of his hand and read it carefully.

"You got accepted into a trade college, not some Ivy League palace. Why are you acting like you cured cancer?"

Evan scratched his head. "I mainly wanted to create some atmosphere."

Jack looked like life had personally disappointed him.

"My fault, then?"

"Other people's kids learn music, chess, painting, manners. What did you teach me?"

"Card tricks, reading cheats, fighting, lock picking..."

Jack cut him off with a wave. "Fine, fine. Stop talking nonsense. I don't know anything else, do I?"

"And another thing," Jack said, pointing at him. "Call me uncle again and I'll slap the taste out of your mouth. I raised you all these years. Would it kill you to call me dad?"

Evan nodded seriously. "Yes."

"I'll beat you to death."

Jack reached for his belt. Evan grabbed his wrist immediately.

"Enough. Tell me whether I'm going to school or not."

Jack sighed. "You're going. What else, stay home and raise pigs? A skill keeps a man from starving."

"Then do you have money for tuition? And bus fare? And living expenses?"

Evan looked at him.

Jack searched his pockets and pulled out forty dollars.

Father and son stared at the money in silence.

There had been more. Unfortunately, Jack had spent most of it on Auntie Rain, because apparently love, in Ridgefall, had market pricing.

Jack pulled up his pants. "I'll go out tonight. Tomorrow you'll have tuition."

He left with great style, even smoothing wax into his old slicked-back hair before walking out.

When Jack was young, he had been a street punk. He knew how to cheat at cards, pick pockets, open locks, and talk his way out of trouble after punching his way into it.

He had even spent a few years in prison.

Not long after returning from Harbor City, he had adopted Evan.

Jack never farmed, never held a proper job, and never acted like a man who had a plan longer than one afternoon. When money ran out, he went to market-day gambling tables and came back with a few hundred dollars for living expenses.

He also loved widows.

Several lonely women in the nearby neighborhoods had, in Jack's own words, "received warmth from society."

That was exactly why Evan only called him uncle outside the house.

Calling him dad in public felt too expensive for the soul.

The next morning, Jack came back.

Evan was still half asleep when Jack tossed a stack of bills onto his blanket.

"Damn, uncle," Evan said, licking his finger and counting. "Didn't you say you always stop after winning five hundred?"

This time, Jack had brought back eight hundred.

Jack touched his slicked-back hair. "Before, you called me uncle and I didn't complain. Now what should you call me?"

"Dad," Evan said at once. "You are my real dad."

Jack pushed him away.

"No. You should call me the French God of Gamblers, rookie."

Then Jack's joking expression faded.

"Pack your things. I'll take you to the station soon."

Evan blinked. "School doesn't start for a while."

"I don't want you living on campus. Trade colleges are full of punks. Old Whitaker's kid got into a fight at one and died. The school paid a little money and insisted he fell by himself."

Jack sat on the stone step outside and lit a cigarette.

"When you get to Harbor City, stay at Hannah's place. I called her."

"Hannah?" Evan asked. "That barely-related family friend?"

"That's her."

Hannah Snow was beautiful. She had married the year before and settled in Harbor City after graduating from college. Every holiday, when she came back to Ridgefall, she visited Jack and brought Evan snacks or little gifts.

She had a cool, untouchable beauty, a body that made plain clothes look like temptation, and a way of dressing that was clean and soft but somehow more dangerous than anything cheap and obvious.

Even if Evan never said it out loud, Hannah had been a goddess in his head for years.

Unfortunately, she was already married.

At noon, Evan packed his few clothes into an old leather suitcase and stood in the yard with a backpack on his shoulders.

Jack borrowed a battered motorcycle from a neighbor and rode him to the station.

After buying the ticket, the two of them squatted by the roadside and ate boxed lunches from thin plastic containers.

"Evan," Jack said, "the things I taught you are for protecting yourself. Don't use them to commit crimes."

"Got it."

"When you get to Harbor City, find part-time work if you can. Learn to feed yourself."

"Got it."

"Books matter, but the street teaches faster. Keep your eyes open."

Evan nodded. "I know, Dad."

After lunch, Evan got on the long-distance sleeper bus and said goodbye through the window.

Jack stood outside with one hand in his pocket. He did not wave much. Men like Jack acted like emotions were unpaid debts.

But Evan kept looking until the station disappeared behind the bus.

Two days later, Evan finally arrived in Harbor City.

The moment he got off the bus, he grabbed a tree by the roadside and threw up until his stomach had nothing left to contribute.

The motion sickness was one thing.

The smell inside the bus was another. It had been like spending two days inside a sealed box of sweat, instant noodles, cheap cigarettes, and human regret.

After drinking some water and recovering a little, Evan took a taxi. He showed the driver the address Jack had written by hand.

The taxi carried him to Southgate Heights, a clean residential complex where every building looked polished and every window looked richer than his entire suitcase.

Evan looked up at the pretty apartment blocks, then down at his faded jeans.

This was city life.

For a second, he felt small.

Small, but not beaten.

He followed the address, found Hannah's unit, straightened his clothes, took a breath, and knocked.

Three knocks.

A pleasant woman's voice came from inside.

"Coming."

Slippers tapped across the floor. Three seconds later, the door opened.

The woman in front of him had her hair pinned up and cucumber slices on her cheeks.

She wore a loose long T-shirt. Her features were delicate, her neck pale and slender, and even the loose shirt could not hide the full softness at her chest or the curve of her waist and hips. One bare leg, smooth and straight, showed beneath the hem, her toenails painted a tempting red.

"Evan, you're here?"

Hannah was cool and quiet by nature. She did not talk much, and she always gave people the feeling that she was hard to approach.

That distance only made her more difficult to look away from.

"Hannah," Evan said, a little stiff. "Sorry to bother you. My dad told you, right?"

"Yes. Come in."

The apartment was luxurious enough that Evan changed his shoes carefully and barely dared to step on the floor.

He did not even sit on the sofa. He chose a wooden chair beside it, afraid his clothes would dirty the cushions.

"Don't be so polite," Hannah said. "Treat this place like home."

"Okay."

"Hungry? There's not much in the fridge. There are instant noodles, and hot water in the kitchen. Or I can take you out to eat."

She pointed toward the kitchen.

Evan waved his hands quickly. "No, noodles are fine."

He cooked himself a bowl of cheap three-flavor instant noodles, ate it, then went into the guest room Hannah had arranged for him.

He was exhausted and fell asleep almost immediately.

He had no idea how long he slept before his bladder woke him up.

After using the bathroom, he passed Hannah's bedroom and heard a man's helpless sigh.

"Hannah, I'm sorry. I still can't."

Then came Hannah's gentle voice.

"It's okay. We'll find another way."

"But if we still don't have a child, your father..."

"Enough. Don't be sad."

Evan stood outside the door, stunned.

Wait.

This was that explosive?

Hannah's husband could not perform?

Damn.

Great.

No, wait.

Tragic.