One to Tell the Grandkids Read Free Page A

What’s it called? The 21st, a few blocks from here? It was five weeks and two days ago?”
    Caleb started at the name of his bar, but Slate banged his fist on the counter. “Shirley Tipsy!”
    She closed her eyes. “That’s how you remember me?” She sighed. “My name is Taryn.”
    Now that he had identified her, Slate was his usual smiling self. “Oh, man, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. What happened to you? I woke up the next day and you were just gone.”
    Caleb was beginning to catch on. A few weeks before, he was supposed to go out with Slate, but he’d gotten held up. Slate had a one-night stand with a woman he had nicknamed Shirley Tipsy—she’d ordered many dirty Shirley Temples—and now she had tracked him down despite the look on her face that told him she would rather be anywhere else.
    “It wasn’t one of my finest moments,” she said, reaching one hand up to twirl a finger through her hair in a nervous gesture. She glanced at Caleb and back to Slate. “Do you think we could go somewhere private? Outside at least?”
    Slate’s smile fell, and he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “ Wait. Why are you here? What’s so important you need to speak to me in private?”
    “I really think we should be alone.”
    “Ah, fuck.” Slate looked pissed. “I’m clean, lady. You didn’t get it from me, okay?”
    Caleb rolled his eyes, suppressing a groan. “Christ, Slate.”
    Taryn’s head snapped up. “Wait, what?”
    “I’ve never had a disease, so you didn’t get it from me.” He tugged his hair out of its ponytail in restless irritation. “Great, there goes my clean record.”
    “Slate,” Caleb said, but it was far too late.
    “Are you kidding me?” Taryn’s face had gone from pale to flushed red with anger. “I’m not diseased, you arrogant asshole. I’m pregnant.”
    Under other circumstances, the look on Slate’s face would have been priceless. He stumbled back a handful of steps. “I . . . what?”
    “I said I’m pregnant. Yes, it’s yours. Yes, I’m sure.”
    “That’s not p—”
    Before Slate could make a bad situation worse, Caleb grabbed him by the arm and yanked him. “Shut up. Now.” He turned to Taryn. “I’m sorry. My friend here has a very bad case of foot-in-mouth disease. He’s not an asshole. I promise.”
    Taryn huffed. “Right.”
    “You’re upset.”
    “You think?”
    “Half an hour. Give us half an hour to regroup, and then everyone can speak like rational adults. There’s a Vietnamese restaurant one block that way. Give us half an hour, and we’ll meet you there.”
    “We?”
    “Assumption on my part. Bring your friend with you. It just seems like the kind of situation you both need support for, right?”
    Taryn glared. Caleb got the distinct feeling she would have argued, except her eyes brimmed with tears. She looked away quickly. “Sure. Fine. Whatever. Vietnamese food. Half an hour. I’ll be there.”
    The second she was gone, Slate let all his breath out in a whoosh. He gripped Caleb’s arm and began muttering under his breath. “Oh, man. Oh, man. Oh, man.”
    “Come on.” Caleb started leading him to the door Taryn had just exited.
    “Oh, man. Where are we . . . what . . . ?”
    “Just follow me, Slate.”
     
     
    Caleb dragged Slate to his bar, and sat him on a barstool. Almost twenty minutes had passed, and Slate still hadn’t touched the shot the bartender, Oni, had set in front of him at Caleb’s request. Instead he sat with his head in his arms on the bar. “I’m in trouble. Oh, man. I’m in so much trouble.”
    Oni eyed Caleb for an explanation. “What he means to say is he got a girl, a woman, in trouble.”
    “Got her in trouble?” Oni’s eyes bulged. “As in you knocked her up?”
    Slate groaned.
    “Come on. Get up. That’s a bar, not a pillow.” Caleb patted his friend on the back. “Talk to me.”
    “It was a dick thing to say to her,” Slate said as he lifted his head.
    “Yeah,