Chapter 2
Three minutes later, my phone started buzzing like crazy.
At first, it was only a few messages, but then it turned into a nonstop buzz. I picked it up and saw forty-seven messages.
Alex Green: [Holy shit, Ryan, you have a kid?]
Chris Lane: [How old is the kid? Man, you kept this under wraps.]
Ben Parker: [Guys, Ryan's secretly a dad.]
Tommy Ford: [Who's the little girl? She's adorable. Wait, is she your kid?]
The Instagram comments section went wild.
[Congrats. When's the party?]
[Wait, you're not single? How long have you been keeping this from us?]
[This is wild. Ryan said his blind date flopped, and now he's a dad?]
I froze on the couch.
They got it all wrong.
My phone buzzed again. The caller ID flashed: Mom.
I stared at the screen, my fingers trembling. I answered.
"Ryan," my mom said in a voice as calm as the ocean before a storm.
"Mom—" I tried to explain.
"Did you post that on Instagram?"
"Yeah, but that's not—"
"How old is the kid?"
"Four, but she's David's—"
"Four?" My mom's voice shot up an octave. "You were in college when—"
"No! Mom, listen to me."
"You just wait. I'm coming over tomorrow."
The call ended.
Three seconds later, my phone buzzed again. It was an unknown number.
"Hello, is Lily with you now?" a woman asked in a calm, professional voice.
"Who is this?" I asked.
"I'm Ms. Blair Sterling's assistant. How is Lily doing?"
Blair Sterling? Was that David's wife? That name sounded like a soap opera heroine.
"She's fine," I said. "She's watching cartoons."
"Okay, thank you," the woman said.
She hung up.
Staring at my phone screen, I couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong.
Wait, David's wife had an assistant?
I opened the folder again.
The schedule was printed super neatly, and the allergy list even had the exact batch number for some brand of milk.
The first name on the emergency contact list was Richard Sterling. It was marked with "grandfather" next to it. Then came a bunch of titles I couldn't understand.
I closed the folder.
David, what kind of woman did you marry?
*****
On Saturday morning, I got jolted awake by my phone buzzing.
The college group chat was blowing up.
The group name was Bros for Life.
There were 49 people online.
The last time the group was this active was two years ago, when someone jokingly said they would transfer money to everyone in the group.
Today, someone dropped a screenshot of my Instagram post into the group chat.
Mike Hayes: [@Ryan Summers, get over here and give us an explanation. When did you have a daughter?]
Mark Evans: [See, I told you. Last time we tried to hang out, he kept dodging us. Turns out he was busy playing dad.]
Ben Jackson: [Look at the caption. "Can't believe she's her father's daughter." Even he isn't sure if she's really his.]
Mike: [Man, this keeps getting crazier.]
Chris: [Wait a second, don't you guys think this kid is way too cute? No way someone with Ryan's face could have such an adorable daughter.]
Tommy: [Good point. So either her mom's got some seriously strong genes, or—]
Mike: [Or what?]
Tommy: [Or she's not actually his.]
Mike: [Then why did post this?]
Tommy: [So he said "Can't believe she's her father's daughter."]
I lay in bed, watching these guys break down my Instagram post like they were detectives on a case. I was seriously losing it.
Had they been binge-watching too many crime shows or what?
I typed: [That girl is not my kid. She's David's daughter. I'm helping him take care of her for a few days.]
I hit send. The group chat fell silent for a few seconds.
Mike: [Got it.]
Mark: [Understood.]
Ben: [Say no more.]
Chris: [Dude, no need to explain. We've got your back.]
Mike: [So David's your scapegoat now, huh?]
I almost threw my phone through the floor.
"Uncle Ryan." Lily had woken up at some point and was standing in the doorway, her hair a mess, clutching her teddy bear, her eyes wide as she looked at me. "I'm hungry."
I took a deep breath. Thinking that I could earn a thousand dollars in three days, I decided to put up with all of it.
"Come on, let's go get some breakfast," I said.
I took Lily's hand and headed downstairs to the breakfast place across the street.
We'd barely taken a few steps when Amy Wilson from room 502 came walking toward us.
Amy was like the apartment building's gossip hub. Her intel network covered the whole neighborhood, and rumors spread faster than 5G.
"Ryan." Her eyes lit up, zeroing in on Lily beside me. "Oh my, whose little girl is this? She's adorable."
"She's a friend's kid. I'm helping out for a couple of days," I said.
"Oh, really?" She crouched down, checked Lily out for a few seconds, then looked up at me. "Her eyes look really like yours."
"No, they don't. She's not my kid."
"Ryan, I totally get how things are with you young people," Amy said, patting my arm as she leaned in and whispered, "It doesn't matter if you're not married, as long as you're a responsible father."
"Amy, it's not what you think."
"Alright, I'll drop it," she said, grinning as she patted Lily's head and walked off.
But I knew that by the end of the day, the whole building would be gossiping that Ryan from the sixth floor had a four-year-old secret child.