Emergency Medical Dad

XXV: late june, 4pm

JESSIE

Meeting Peter is awful. He drops by the house for the second time late on a Saturday afternoon when I have Connor and Jorgen is slogging through a ridiculous double shift with Hobbes, midnight to four PM.

"Um, hi," I stand away from the stove, halfway through making a box of mac and cheese. "We haven't met."

He's taller than me by a slight bit, brown hair going grey and receding just a slight bit. He's so not Jorgen I get weirded out by the two of them being related. He's a little overweight and his scowl isn't scary in the way Jorgen's is, protective and irritated, it's scary in the way that makes me uncomfortable, angry and predatory.

"I'm Peter," he sticks out his hand to shake.

I shake it, his palms are clammy, "Jessie."

"You're Jorgen's..." he sizes me up. "Is it alright to use the words baby mama?"

"I would prefer it if you didn't," I shut him down. Jorgen's taught me that in the last few weeks. The first time was in a coffee shop. He leaned over and whispered 'you can say no.' into my ear, softly, but with a tone behind it that told me if I didn't, he'd save me. I couldn't get my voice loud enough so he did it. The next time was in line at the grocery store when the woman checking us out wanted me to donate something. The whisper was the same, 'you can say no,' just the gentle assurance from his lips to my ear. It happened again less than a week later, then here with an extra serving, just a look across the table, you can say no. The notion that he'll back me on everything I want while helping me find a voice for myself has been one of the most comforting and amazing things anyone has ever done for me.

"Why not?" Peter frowns. "If it's true."

"I, ah," I shake my head, turning back to the pots. Normally this is where he has to help me, normally this is where his voice takes over, deep and silky and strong. "I just don't like it."

"Hm," he mumbles. "So where is he?"

"Jorgen?"

"No, no, I know he's avoiding me, your son, I want to meet him."

It makes my blood run cold, for some reason. "He's on a walk with Joey and the dog."

"Ah," Peter responds, then goes quiet, watching me continue with the mac and cheese for when they get back. "So you and Jorgen, you're together?"

"No," it burns on my tongue, curling out of my mouth.

"Oh," he sucks in a breath. "I just assumed, because you're living here."

"I needed help. Jorgen is a good guy, he offered help."

"You do realize you're leeching, yes?"

I feel my back go stiff.

"I don't care, I don't live here, but I can't imagine my parents..."

I chew on my lip to keep down anything, mostly tears. He stays somewhat quiet for another few minutes.

"So what made you mess around with him? I figured most people didn't like him."

I don't answer immediately, "he's a nice guy."

"Oh," he frowns, leaning in to look at what I'm doing, aimlessly stirring the half boiled noodles to keep from having to look at him. "I'm fairly certain you know from whatever he might've told you that I, his somewhat brother, am not a huge fan of him."

"I know that."

"Hm, but do you know him?" He leans against the fridge, one arm crossed over his chest, watching me. "Because he's a master at giving you only one side."