Baby Daddies: Puck Buddies Series

by Tara Brown

  “Good, good. Your dad’s sixtieth is coming up at the end of August, and I want to have a big party. I talked to Josh a while ago and he’s going to come and bring the band, and I just realized I didn’t tell you yet. You left so early, I didn’t have a chance. And I was hoping you’d take care of the location for us. Maybe you have some connections for something fancy that can hold about seventy of us?”

  Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes. “Yes, of course. I’ll figure that out.” Claire’s right. I absolutely can’t bear the thought of Judith thinking I don’t have it covered.

  “Oh thanks, sweetie. I’d like it if you did the invitations too. You’re better at secretary work than me.” She couldn’t be more condescending. “I was surprised to see you in the news with Joshy. But I was confused. We couldn’t tell if you’re dating the actor or the hockey player or is Ben still kicking around?” She laughs as if the comments are all innocent.

  “Oh, uhm, none of the above,” I offer up another white lie. “It was a work thing that got out of hand. Those reporters always lie.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, that’s good. I thought that hockey player seemed a bit young for you anyway.” She snickers again. “If you can, please figure out where to have the party by next week and email me the details, and maybe send a copy of the invitation so I can approve it before you print them. That would be great. I’ll send a text with the things I want on there.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Okay, thanks again. Bye.” She ends the call and I stare at the phone. She has a master’s in hitting me in just the right places.

  “Jenny?” the assistant calls my name.

  “Yup.” I shove my phone into my purse as it starts buzzing with what I assume are Judith’s twenty texts to tell me three things.

  “If you want to get the gown on, she’ll be right with you.” The assistant smiles and closes the door.

  I undress and put on the hideous gown and lie on the paper sheet, hating the way it crinkles under me and some of my skin accidentally touches the cold bed.

  I’m staring at the ceiling, completely lost in how I’ll afford renting something for my dad’s party unless I take the job in Vancouver. All weekend I have been certain I would turn it down and stay with Lori but this puts a wrench in the works.

  Maybe I can stay with Sukii since she’s sleeping at Cap’s all the time anyway. If I let go of my apartment and put my stuff in storage, I could use the last of my savings to pay for the party and stay here to be with Lori.

  Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Even though it involves moving my stuff again.

  God help me.

  The door opens, interrupting my thoughts. “Hi, Jenny.” Dr. Almer smiles as she enters.

  “Hey.” I try to sound upbeat.

  “How are you?”

  “Good,” I offer the same lie I’ve been telling everyone for weeks. Months.

  “Okay, well let’s get to it.” She comes and sits next to me with her clipboard. “Uhm, it says here we are due for your three-month Depo shot, but your urine sample says we can’t do that.”

  “What?”

  Her face flushes and she swallows hard. “You came in for the Depo—right?” It’s a stupid question. “Your birth control.”

  “Yes. Of course.” My heart races and my sweating thing hits. I sit up. “What are you saying, is something wrong? Do I have cancer?” That would honestly be my luck right now.

  “No. God no.” Dr. Almer refers to the clipboard again. “It’s your urine test—see the thing is, we run a pregnancy test every time you come in for the Depo. It’s just a formality, normally—”

  “What?” I gag the word out. Rattling my head in tiny twitches, I try to understand what she’s saying.

  “Pregnancy test,” she repeats. “Yours is positive.”

  “Are you saying I’m pregnant?” I shriek. “But I’m on the shot! It’s birth control. I don’t even have periods. How can I get pregnant with no period?”

  “It’s accurate ninety-nine percent of the time. Have you taken any antibiotics or been under abnormal stress? That can affect the—”

  “What are you saying?” I jump off the table and grab my phone, ignoring the wind on my butt as the gown flies open. “What do you mean?” I double-check my dates. “I had the shot almost three months ago. See it’s right here! This isn’t possible.”

  “Of course, it’s rare—”

  “Rare?” I close my eyes as the empty pit my stomach is threatens to boil over. “Oh my God.” I wonder which person I’m pregnant with. Lawrence or Ben? Though neither is a good option. “Oh my God.”

  I’m pregnant.

  My knees almost buckle but I lean on the counter and try to focus.

  It takes several deep breaths before I murmur, “Can you tell how far along? It’s honestly life or death.”

  “Yeah, let me grab the machine.” She leaves the room abruptly and I lie back down.

  Tears are lodged in my throat as I calculate. The last time I had sex with Ben was when? My mind works backwards through the haze and mud of the last two months. No period from the shot means I don’t have that to go on. I have to use events.

  I flew to my parents’ place the tenth of June. But I didn’t see Ben that week before. I was working like a crazy person to finish organizing the Stanley Cup promotional events. I use my phone’s calendar to backtrack. The first of June, Thursday-night date night. We normally did Fridays, but he said he had a thing. We had sex and he said he had an early morning so I didn’t sleep over.

  If Ben is the father, I’m basically two months pregnant.

  I heave at the thought of that.

  The door bursts open and the assistant and Dr. Almer enter with some enormous rolling machine. She slides it up next to me and smiles weakly. “Ready?”

  “No. And I have to confess, I have two possibilities for who the dad is.” Shame slithers around inside me. “If I’m two months or more pregnant, it’s my ex-boyfriend’s baby. If I’m like a month pregnant, it’s this guy I just started dating. I’m screwed either way.” Eloquent as always.

  “Okay, well that should be easy to tell. There’s a vast difference between two months and newly pregnant.” She nods and lifts my gown, flashing my vagina. The assistant grabs the stirrups and positions them. None of us cares about me showing off my fanny all over the room. I lift my feet into the stirrups and slide down for her.

  My life is streaming before my eyes.

  Dr. Almer lifts up something I would’ve imagined was a sex toy and lowers it to my vagina. She’s doing something down there and then I’m startled by the feeling of being invaded by a rod. Holding my breath and yet trying not to tense, I’m twitching my head in little jerks as my doctor explores my nether regions with what looks like a sex wand.

  Everything about this moment is awful, particularly how she’s moving. My heart’s thumping wildly and I’m praying she’s wrong. But then she stops and tilts the sex toy massager. She changes the angle and digs into my body.

  “There’s no way you’re over three weeks pregnant.” She offers me a sympathetic glance. “Is that better news?”

  “No.” I gulp. “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah, there’s the slightest presence of a gestational sack, it’s barely visibly. At seven or eight weeks I would see it. Three weeks would be my guess. Somewhere around there. We’ll know in a month. I’ll have Janet book you in and we’ll start a plan. And if you decide not to have the baby, we can—”

  “Let’s get the plan going,” I say flatly as a tear leaks from my eye and slides down my cheek onto the paper bedding.

  “Well then, congratulations, Jenny. You’re going to have a baby.” Dr. Almer smiles wide. It’s forced.

  “Yes,” Janet says. “Congratulations!”

  I’m clinging to the confident and hopeful stares they’re offering and ignoring the rapid heartbeat and numbness.

  “We’ll schedule your pap for next time, since I’ll have all sorts of bloodwork and
other things to do. I’ll send home the important pamphlets and websites for you to peruse. That way you can work out any questions you might have for me before that next appointment.”

  “Okay.” I nod but I don’t agree because this can’t be real. “Is there anything I should be doing before that appointment?”

  “Well yes—no drinking, smoking, tuna, raw fish, rare meat, raw eggs, and try to cut your caffeine if you have a lot. The websites and pamphlets will tell you better than I can right now; I wasn’t prepared for this,” she says as if this is happening to her. “I’ll have a better presentation next time, I promise.” She winks and hands me a cloth to clean up the lube.

  I wish I could say this is the worst date I’ve been on but that would be a lie.

  Stuck in a trance, I dress and leave the room, emotionless and perplexed.

  A few key sentences are repeating in my mind.

  We used condoms.

  I was on birth control.

  How is this possible?

  Why does God hate me?

  And repeat.

  Without speaking, I pay and leave, realizing I can’t afford to have this baby in the US. All my choices are gone. Or rather my freedom to choose to stay here is.

  I have to go home to Canada.

  My heart stops racing but the sweating is going strong.

  I sit on a random bench in the middle of Midtown and press my brother’s name.

  He doesn’t answer.

  He’s sleeping. It’s seven in the morning in LA.

  I don’t know who to call or what to do or where to go.

  Lori.

  My fingers move, scrolling to his name and I almost call him. But I can’t.

  How can I tell him that I’m pregnant with his kid?

  I can’t ruin his life like this.

  He’s young and fun and crazy and not ready to be a dad.

  I press Sukii’s name to phone her.

  She answers, excitedly, “Hey! You excited about the wedding? Cap just told me you’re coming too.”

  “I’m pregnant,” I blurt it and almost don’t believe it myself.

  “Oh God. Where are you?” All her excitement is gone.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper.

  “Send me your location—I’m coming.” The call ends and I stare at the phone for a second before I do as she asked.

  It’s minutes and she’s there, rushing toward me. She had to have sprinted the few blocks from work. She wraps herself around me and I lose it.

  I’m sobbing into her neck.

  “Oh my God. Is it Lori’s?”

  I nod, heaving my breaths.

  “Well, at least it isn’t Ben’s.” She pulls back and wipes my face, calming me. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know.” Her eyes are glossy and her lip quivers. “Are you keeping it?”

  “Yeah, but I can’t tell him yet.”

  “Jenny!” She’s firm. “You can’t do that. Fathers’ rights are a big deal.”

  “How can I ruin his life by forcing a baby on him? Have you seen him with Sami’s son? He didn’t pick up that baby once at the wedding.” I start hyperventilating as I say it, “He never even acknowledged it. He won’t want to keep it and I can’t—” I heave. “I’m not giving him the choice of having the kid if I tell him. He’ll feel obligated to be with me. I don’t want that.”

  “Okay, but not being part of the kid’s life is his choice. You don’t get to decide that. You have to tell him.”

  “We used condoms and I was on birth control. I don’t understand how this could happen.” I cry again. “He’s gonna think I trapped him because he’s rich. And even if he doesn’t think it, everyone else will!”

  She hugs me and holds me tightly and doesn’t say anything else.

  What else is there to say.

  A cold and painful reality has hit and there’s no changing it. I am taking the job in Canada and having this baby in Vancouver.

  I just have to say goodbye to Lori first.

  8

  The breakup

  Tuesday, July 25

  Lori

  I park the car outside Jenny’s dodgy-ass building and get out, locking it several times as I walk up to the door. She hasn’t answered my texts or calls for two days, and I’m going crazy. I gave her space yesterday when she didn’t text me back, assuming she was wrestling with the job decision, but tonight I asked Cap if Sukii heard from her. He said something was up and Sukii had barely texted him back all day. And when he did see her, she was being cagey, whispering and upset on her phone with Jenny. She refused to tell him anything. Which means something is up.

  The door to the building is locked but it’s one of those old crappy doorknobs that can be picked by a credit card, a skill I mastered as a kid. A skill half of New Yorkers have mastered. Jenny being in this building makes me uncomfortable, but she’s not one of those knight-in-shining-armor-digging girls so I can’t force her to move.

  When I get inside, I’m sweating instantly. It’s in the nineties outside, even though it’s eight at night, but it has to be over a hundred in this brick oven. I’m almost wheezing by the time I make it up the stairs.

  Knocking on the door, I lean against its frame, ready to scoop her up and inhale her and beg her to tell me what’s wrong.

  But when she answers, it’s clear neither of us are expecting what we find on the other side of the door. She gasps seeing me and she’s sobbing. She stops abruptly and wipes her eyes as if it’s possible to hide this level of distress.

  “What’s wrong? Jesus, did someone die?” Panicking, I rush inside and pull her to me, but she’s rigid and weird. She doesn’t melt in. Instead, she pulls back and folds her arms over her thin tee shirt that hides nothing. I can’t believe she opens the door this way in this neighborhood.

  “It-it’s nothing.” She sniffles and shakes her head. “I just thought you were Claire. Sorry.”

  “Jenny,” I say with a nervous laugh. “You’re so swollen I can barely see your eyes. What’s happened? Whatever it is, I’m here to help.” I close the door and lean against it, dying to know how to fix whatever has destroyed her. I’ll kill whoever has made her cry like this.

  “I-I don’t know how to say this, but I’m taking the job and moving back to Canada. I’m so sorry.” She loses it at the end. Snorting and fighting her sobs.

  “What?” Her words are a kick in the dick. “Why? If you’re this upset about doing it, why are you going?” I step into her, lifting her puffy face. “You don’t want this. You want to stay with me. Is it money?”

  “Lori—”

  “Yeah, I know what you’re about to say. We’ve known each other for a hot minute, and we skipped all the important parts, but I don’t care. I didn’t need months spent talking about my top-ten list of goals for the next five years to know how I feel about you. That took two days.” My heart is in my throat.

  “You don’t understand.”

  “No, you don’t.” My brain is screaming for me to hold up but my mouth keeps moving, “I’m crazy about you.”

  I pause, trying to catch my breath and calm down.

  “The idea of you being gone makes my chest hurt like it’s collapsing in on itself.” I’m trying to hold back from scaring her with too much but the idea of losing her to the West Coast is killing me. “And if this is about money or a job or where you live, then come stay with me. You can have the second bedroom. It’s over by the gym, in the west wing, and we can pretend we’re not living together. We can have breakfast dates on the veranda, and I’ll try not to stare at you in the morning without your eyebrows on yet.” I’m trying to make her laugh.

  “Please don’t,” she pleads but a weak chuckle escapes.

  “Don’t what? Convince you that this is real. What we have is important. More important than money. I’ve never felt this way before about anyone.”

  “I have to go.” She doesn’t sound certain.

  I lose i
t. “Why are you doing this? I know you feel the same way about me. You quit your job to be with me; why would you take one so far away?” My heart is in my throat. I’m not prepared for this fight. “Whatever this is, I’ll fix it.” I hug her but I feel the disconnect. She’s made up her mind and I don’t know what to do. “Let me in.” I’m begging.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

  “Can you just come to my place tonight and we’ll talk, and I’ll help you with this decision.” I cringe. “Not that you can’t make decisions, because I know you can. I just think if you’re this upset, maybe a second opinion would help,” my voice cracks with my heart.

  “No, I have to pack. I’m flying to Vancouver tomorrow—”

  “Wait, tomorrow? You’re not coming to the wedding?” I pull her back to see her face.

  Her eyes flicker to mine and shift. She won’t keep my gaze. She’s shutting me out, and I start to question if this is my fault somehow.

  “Did I do something?”

  “No.” She looks back to me and I believe her. “You’re so—I wish things were different.”

  “Is there something you’re not telling me? Whatever it is I’ll help you.” I’m pleading with her to let me in, but she’s walled off.

  “No. I just need to take this job. I need the money—”

  “I have money. Let me help, please.”

  “You can’t solve everything with money, Lori!” she shouts.

  “Yes, I can!” I shout back. We pause for a second, staring. I cling to humor to try to win this. “That money doesn’t solve everything is something poor people say.” I smile, forcing her to keep my stare.

  “I’m sorry.” She doesn’t waver. “But I have to get back to packing,” her voice breaks but she doesn’t budge.

  “No.” I say it and realize how crazy it sounds.

  “Please,” she presses.

  I want to fight and force her to talk to me but it’s obvious that won’t work. She’s so stubborn, the harder I pry the tighter she gets.

  Defeated and confused, I nod once. A thousand thoughts fly through my head as I kiss her forehead, smelling the sweet cherries one last time. I wish I could bottle her smell. I don’t have enough to last me.