“Do you think I’d be a good mom, Derek?”
She sounded so vulnerable and I frowned, sitting up. “Are you kidding me? You’d make a fantastic mother. You’d be the kind of mom who can get crazy with the finger paint and have food fights with her kids, but who can also sit by their bed at night and help them make sense of the world.”
“Oh, my God, Derek, that’s so sweet. Thank you. I so needed that.” She was quiet and then she said, “You’d make an amazing father. You’re already so good with Spencer. Imagine how it would feel to create a human being and watch a part of yourself grow and thrive and teach you things.”
Okay, Bump. It’s not like I haven’t thought about it in the last few years. I suppose every adult man eventually considers the idea of fatherhood. I mean, it’s hard to fight two-hundred-thousand years of genetic programming, and yes, I’ve also entertained the fantasy of asking Lene to carry my child, but that baby would be mine and Nick’s, not hers and mine.