Her Baby's Father. Anne Haven

wasn’t one. I would have been sitting on a bus, probably soaked to the skin, if I hadn’t come with him.

      He says, “What time do you have to be at work?”

      I check my watch. “In an hour. I’d better get going. My work clothes are at home. Can you still give me a lift?”

      “Of course.”

      We stick the flowers in a vase from the kitchen and then place them on the art deco table in the front hall. They’re nothing special, really, but I think Lenora will like them. She doesn’t seem like the kind of person to put her nose in the air about cheap flowers.

      Ross doesn’t ask me to tell him where I live again. He just drives there. When he pulls up to the curb and cuts the engine, I’ve already taken off his aunt’s black shirt and draped it over the back of the seat. I start to get out, but he tells me to wait.

      “Go change. I’ll drive you to work.”

      I don’t know what to say, mostly because I’m suddenly afraid he’ll want to come up while I get ready and I don’t want him to see our tiny apartment. I haven’t even let Drew see it. We’re on the third floor, and the unit is drab and lightless. There’s only one bedroom, which my mom made me take. She sleeps on the living room couch. The place is clean, but it’s still embarrassing.

      But my worry is for nothing. Ross hands me the umbrella. He doesn’t make any move to get out.

      Ten minutes later I’m back in the car, dressed in the plain white oxford shirt the Beauty Barn requires. At work I also have to wear a red apron with a barn on it and a button with my name, but they make us leave those in our lockers. The button boasts a picture of a cow. It looks like something out of Dr. Seuss, except it’s wearing too much eyeliner and eye-shadow, like one of those televangelist ladies.

      We cross the river, and get to the area where the Beauty Barn is located about half an hour before my shift. I figure he’s just going to drop me off, and I don’t mind because he saved me a lot of time on the bus.

      But he says, “You haven’t eaten.”

      I point to my bag. “I packed some snacks.” Just an apple and some cheese and crackers. I didn’t have time to make more.

      “There’s a good deli a few blocks away. I’ll buy you a sandwich.” He’s already got the car moving.

      “You don’t have to do this,” I say, though I can tell it’s useless.

      A few blocks turns out to be six, but we’re there in just a couple of minutes. Ross suggests a tomato-basil-mozzarella sandwich he thinks I might like and orders some kind of meat-lovers combo for himself.

      The sandwich is incredible. It’s on a crusty baguette with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and the basil tastes as if they just picked the leaves off the plant. Ross probably eats food this good every day. I don’t, and I savor it.

      “Was your mom home?” he asks, as I polish off the first half.

      I shake my head. “She doesn’t get off work for another few hours.”

      “And when does your shift end?”

      “Late,” I say. “My mom’s going to pick me up.”

      He nods. “Good. I’d hate to think of you waiting for a bus in the middle of the night.”