Previously: Before Peter Pan.

Things had gotten weird almost immediately. “Spring is a really busy time for me,” he told her — seemingly out of nowhere, as if it were self-explanatory — a few minutes after she broke the news.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“I just can’t say if I know for sure that I’ll be around all the time. Spring is so busy.”

“You keep saying that,” she said, “but I’m not exactly sure what it’s busy with.”

He gestured vaguely with his antlers. “I have a lot of meetings.”

“I don’t know what that word means,” she said.

“Well, you should,” he said.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“But you’ll be there for the birth, right?” No answer. “Right?” He looked up.

“Sorry,” he said, “I thought I heard a quail.” They were quiet for a minute. “Do you hear it?”

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“I thought I heard one,” he said. “That’s one of the things that keeps me busy, you know? Sometimes quails need me.”

“No, no, I know,” she said quickly.

“So I really can’t say with 100% certainty either way where I will or won’t be.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Look, I don’t want you to worry about it. If anything — if anything happens to you, then I want you to know that I’ll be happy to check in on him when I can. I mean that. I really want you to think of me as a godfather to him.”

“But you’re his actual father.”

“Well, you say that, but…”

She lowered her eyes. “You know I haven’t been with anyone else.”

“No offense,” he said, “like honestly no offense at all, but I don’t know that. You just said it. People can say anything. So.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Don’t be like that,” he said.

“Like what,” she said.

“I’m not saying you have been,” he said, “or even that you haven’t. I’m just saying that ontologically speaking, it’s impossible for me to know.”

“Right,” she said.

“I have to go,” he said. “I definitely hear a quail now.”