Pregnant by the Playboy

by Jackie Lau

  “How’s the pregnancy going?” she asks.

  “Not too bad. I’m just hungry all the time.”

  She nods sympathetically. “Has your morning sickness passed?”

  “More or less, yeah.”

  She rests her elbow on the arm of the couch and puts her head in her hand. “What’s Vince like in a relationship? I’m curious.”

  “Oh,” I say. “He’s nice.”

  “Nice. It’s not the word people usually use to describe Vince, but I know what you mean. Kind of a bland description, though.” She raises her eyebrows.

  What does she want me to tell her?

  “He took me out for mocktails, and he’d been to the place beforehand and tried half the menu so he could tell me what was good.”

  Courtney giggles. “Yeah?”

  I start to relax. She doesn’t want dirt on Vince, nor is she interrogating me to make sure I’m good enough for her husband’s family. I feel younger than I am, like we’re two girls giggling over boys.

  “I always thought Vince just needed to meet the right woman,” she says.

  I hesitate. “I feel like I’m supposed to save him.”

  I’m glad I talked to Vince about it last weekend, but this is the first time I’ve voiced that fear to anyone else.

  She tilts her head. “What do you mean?”

  “Like, he wants me and the baby to be his whole purpose in life, and I’m afraid I’ll disappoint him. I think he needs something in addition to taking care of us.”

  Courtney opens her mouth, but then Julian walks into the room, carrying Evie in a detachable car seat.

  “Why, hello!” Courtney coos. “Is it bedtime?”

  Evie makes a bunch of loud noises.

  “That’s okay,” Courtney says. “Daddy will sing you a song, and you’ll go right to sleep. You always say you won’t, but you do. Usually, anyway.”

  Julian sits down in an armchair, Evie on the floor in front of him, and he leans over and starts singing to her in Cantonese. Courtney watches them with a fond smile. Julian really is sweet with his daughter, and I’m sure she has him wrapped around her little finger.

  He’s singing something about a mosquito, then a cat.

  And the weird thing is...I know this song.

  I shut my eyes and try to remember. Someone sang this to me. I think it was a man’s voice, though not as low as Julian’s.

  But there weren’t any men who looked after me. There was just my mother, and two other women in the building who’d take care of me while she worked. The only man...

  Oh my God.

  I remember him.

  I thought I only remembered his funeral, and everything else I’d reconstructed from what my mother told me over the years.

  But I do remember my father.

  I can hear his voice in my head. He sounds like he’s singing with a smile on his face. It’s not, objectively, as nice of a singing voice as Julian’s, but it’s my dad’s, and it’s such a precious thing.

  Someone touches my leg. “Marissa, are you okay?”

  I can’t manage to respond to Courtney. I think I hear her get up, but I need to keep my eyes closed to hold onto this.

  My mother never sang this song, I’m sure of it, and she never told me that he sang it. No, I remember this on my own.

  The song ends.

  “Sing it again,” I say frantically.

  Julian does as I request without asking why. I open my eyes just long enough to see that Evie is asleep, so this song is only for me.

  Distantly, I’m aware that I just met my boyfriend’s family for the first time, and here I am, tears streaming down my face. This isn’t how meet-the-parents dinners are supposed to go.

  But...

  Baba.

  I smile through my tears. I don’t remember him looking at me over my crib; I can only hear his voice. Just this one song.

  It means the world.

  The memory is taking on some clarity. At first I was terrified I would forget it if Julian stopped singing, but now I know I won’t. It will stay with me, and I will cherish it.

  I’d just turned three when I lost my father. It wouldn’t make sense for me to have memories from when I was Evie’s age, but maybe he sang it to me up until the day he died.

  Someone squeezes in beside me on the armchair.

  “You okay?” Vince asks.

  “He sang this to me,” I say. “I remember now.”

  When Julian finishes the song, I still can’t open my eyes, afraid of what I’ll see. People watching me, wondering what on earth is going on. But Vince is here, and he knows who I’m talking about. We haven’t spoken about it much, but he knows, I’m sure of it.

  “I can’t understand the words,” Vince says softly, and I hear the smile in his voice, just like I could hear it in my father’s voice. “I wish I did, but I don’t.”

  “Did anyone sing it to you when you were little?”

  “Not that I recall. I don’t know where Julian learned it. But I’ll sing it to Baby, okay?” He places his hand on my stomach.

  “Okay,” I say between sobs. “That would be nice.”

  We sit there for a few minutes, and he doesn’t tell me to stop sobbing, just lets me cry against his shirt.

  Eventually, he says, “You want to head out?”

  I finally open my eyes. There’s nobody else in the room, just me and Vince, and he’s smiling at me uncertainly. I throw my arms around him.

  Everyone appears by the door when we put on our shoes. They say it was nice to meet me, but I’m only dimly aware of my surroundings. My mind is focused on my father’s singing voice and Vince standing next to me.

  We walk down the driveway and climb into the car.

  “I’m so glad I remember him,” I say, even though I know I don’t look glad about anything. I keep thinking of all that I missed, and it feels different than it did before.

  When Vince starts driving toward my condo, I call my mother.

  I know I’m right about this memory. Still, I want someone to confirm it for me, and there’s only one person who can do that.

  When she answers, I immediately say, “Did Dad sing this song to me when I was little?” Then I sing a couple lines and wait.

  “Yes,” she says. “You remember?”

  “I remember.”

  “You loved it. I tried to sing it to you after he died, but you screamed every time. You knew it was the wrong person singing to you.”

  I think she’s crying, but if I ask, she’ll deny it.

  “You met Vince’s family tonight, didn’t you?” she says.

  “Yeah. When his brother sang that song to his daughter, I remembered and burst into tears.”

  My mother says soothing words to me. I’m sure they understand. They must love you, how could they not?

  I end the call as we’re pulling into the visitors’ parking at my building. When we get out of the car, Vince opens the trunk and pulls out a box.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “Some stuff your mother wanted me to give you.” He pauses. “We can do it tonight. Or later, if you prefer.”

  “Tonight.”

  Upstairs, I open the box, and there’s a small collection of toys I vaguely remember from my childhood, plus a mobile I don’t remember at all.

  “Your mom said your father made it,” Vince says.

  I smile at the slightly lopsided Winnie-the-Pooh characters. Then I close my eyes and conjure up my father’s voice, trying to remember this mobile above my crib.

  But I can’t.

  “You want to get ready for bed?” Vince asks, though it’s only nine thirty and I never go to bed this early.

  “Yeah.”

  He takes out a pair of pajama pants as well as a T-shirt. When I wear clothes to bed—which I don’t always do when he stays the night—I alternate between my “pregnant and hungry” and “pregnant and cute” T-shirts. Vince picks the latter for me tonight.

  “I should get a ‘preg
nant and hormonal’ shirt,” I mutter.

  “Nah, this one is more appropriate.”

  I roll my eyes, and he chuckles.

  He strips down to his T-shirt and boxers, and we climb into bed together. I snuggle up against him.

  “Why did my mom give you that box rather than giving it directly to me?” I ask.

  “To encourage you to develop tender feelings for me. Her words, not mine.”

  I snort, then grab a tissue. God, my nose is a mess.

  But Vince is still here, and he holds me in his arms.

  I’m no longer surprised when he’s good to me. Deep down, he’s kind and thoughtful. I’m not sure how he feels about people outside of his family knowing that, though he’s certainly not hiding it around me.

  “How was meeting my family?” he asks. “Before...you know.”

  “It was good. The family I never had.”

  “You can have them, too.”

  I swallow and burrow my face against his chest.

  “They like you,” he says.

  “They’d like anyone you brought home because it hadn’t happened in so long.”

  “You have a point, but...” He strokes my hair. “I love you, Marissa.”

  My heart fills with emotion, then empties.

  I can’t say it back.

  I do like him very much, and I’ve said “I love you” to many men over the years, but I feel like if I say “I love you” to Vince, it has to mean forever.

  I don’t know why I feel that way, but I do.

  And though we’re having a baby together, it hasn’t really been that long—I tell myself that’s the problem. It hasn’t been very long, and I don’t truly know yet. I need more time.

  But I’m starting to worry. I’m thirty-six, and I’ve had many decent relationships. I’m good at finding kind men and dating them...and then breaking up with them because my feelings aren’t strong enough. I want a happy relationship that lasts years and years, but what if I just can’t have that?

  What if I’m incapable of it?

  I can’t return Vince’s words, but I press myself against him and enjoy his comfort.

  Chapter 23

  Vince

  “I’ve never felt this way before,” I say. “Nothing even close. Did you know that?”

  Evie regards me seriously with her dark eyes and neither nods nor shakes her head.

  “You don’t believe me, Evie? I swear, it’s true. I want to hold her for always and never let her go. And dammit, I really want to see my ring on her finger.”

  Marissa clearly likes me, but she won’t tell me she loves me, and I’m practically frantic to hear her say it. I haven’t pushed it; I shouldn’t. But she means everything to me, and I can’t stand the thought of never hearing those words from her lips.

  And every bit of vulnerability she shows me...it intensifies my feelings.

  When I held her last Sunday night, after meeting my family, after she heard Julian sing that song, I became even more desperate. I need her. I don’t know how I’ll manage otherwise. I need to sing our baby to sleep, then crawl into bed with Marissa.

  I cannot bear the thought of any other future, and I no longer worry that my feelings won’t last.

  Yet sometimes, I still struggle to believe she can love me back. What if there’s something wrong with me that prevents it? I have little experience with this stuff, as everyone knows.

  “Did you like Marissa?” I ask Evie.

  She makes some incoherent noises.

  “I’ll have to stop telling you my secrets. You might repeat them to Mommy and Daddy.”

  “What might she repeat to Mommy and Daddy?” Courtney is standing at the door to the playroom, her hair wet and a towel draped over her shoulders.

  “Phallic cactus,” I say without missing a beat.

  “Thanks, Vince.”

  Evie isn’t paying attention to us. She’s crawling toward Pusheen at the other end of the room. Pusheen is better than Labatt 50, of that I’m certain.

  “Good job, Evie,” I say.

  Courtney sits on the floor beside me. “How’s Marissa doing? After last Sunday?”

  “She’s fine. She feels badly that—”

  “Oh, she shouldn’t. We understand.”

  I texted Julian the next day to explain and to thank him, as Marissa asked me to do.

  “I like her,” Courtney says. “I like her for you. She seems very down-to-earth.”

  “Yeah.”

  “By the way, Naomi’s husband got a couple books for Evie that I thought you’d like.” She grabs them off the bookshelf.

  Quantum Mechanics for Babies.

  Baby Loves Coding!

  I laugh. “These are awesome.”

  I had no idea such books existed. I add them to my mental list of things to get for Baby, and as luck would have it, I’ll be walking by Indigo on my way home. I usually drive to Courtney and Julian’s, but I have something to pick up in Yorkville today, which is in between my place and theirs.

  Plus, it’s a beautiful day out. It’s spring, and any day now, it’ll be cherry blossom season. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but I’ve been checking the High Park Cherry Blossom Watch.

  I might not be an expert on romance, but cherry blossoms are romantic, right?

  My plan is coming together.

  I sure hope it works.

  * * *

  When I walk into the lobby of my building, Brian is there.

  “Hey, Vince,” he says. “Thought if I came to pick you up, you might actually go out tonight. There’s a party.”

  “Of course there is,” I mutter.

  But the truth is, I kind of want to go. I have no plans tonight. Marissa is hanging out with her friends, and we’ll see each other tomorrow instead. We’ve been spending most of our time at her place lately, but tomorrow, I’ll have her over for the first time since that fateful weekend.

  “Sure,” I say. “I’ll go.”

  “Yeah?” He follows me to the elevator.

  “Why not?”

  “So this whole commitment to the woman who’s having your baby—that’s over now? I told you—”

  “Brian,” I snap as the elevator doors close behind us.

  He startles. He’s not used to me talking like that.

  “I love Marissa and I know what I want,” I say. “I’m not going to change my mind, okay? You got me to doubt myself last time, but you won’t succeed this time.”

  “But you want to go out tonight.”

  “Being in a committed relationship doesn’t mean I can’t go to a party. I won’t pick up a woman, but I can still enjoy myself. Have a few drinks. Shoot the shit. Be in bed by two.”

  “By two? Are you serious?” he says, pretending to be outraged.

  I relax. This is more like it.

  “I know, I know. So, what do you say we have a drink, then head out?”

  When we get to my suite, I pour us each a bourbon.

  Brian downs his in one gulp and pours himself another.

  I start to feel a little on edge again. Sure, things are changing, but why can’t we enjoy a drink together?

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  He’s wearing a pinstripe suit and his hair is styled the way it normally is, but Brian’s actions usually have a grace or polish about them, and today, he looks a little vacant. Rough.

  Our friendship might be based on superficial shit, and I haven’t known him for years and years, but I can tell something is wrong and I do care.

  “So you really love her,” he says, shaking his head.

  “I do.”

  He tosses back another drink.

  “What the fuck, Brian? Why can’t you be happy for me? We’ll still be friends. Besides, you make friends easily. Or do you still not believe I love her? Here, I’ll show you.” I pull out the small box I just purchased and open it up.

  “You asking me to marry you? Gee, thanks, Vince, I’m flattered.”

  “Come on, be serious.”

/>   “Well, if you truly meant it, I’d be flattered.”

  “As you should be. I’m awesome.”

  “You are,” he says quietly, and a horrible suspicion grips me.

  Oh, fuck.

  “But you love her,” he continues bitterly. “Not me. You’re having a baby with her. Not me. I don’t even want a baby.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “I know.”

  But we’re dancing around the truth.

  Brian picks up the ring and slides it onto his pinky. “You didn’t get her a big one.”

  “She wouldn’t want that. I know her.”

  He puts the ring back in the box. “I’m the idiot. The idiot in love with his straight friend. I didn’t think you’d ever fall in love, and we’d continue to hang out together all the time. It wasn’t what I wanted, but it was something.”

  I press my hands to my face. I never considered Brian falling in love with anyone—least of all me—just like he, and so many other people, never thought I’d fall in love. And yet...

  “You deserve someone who returns your feelings,” I say.

  He snorts.

  “What? Why wouldn’t you deserve that?”

  “My life feels pointless,” he says.

  “So did mine. Until I met Marissa.”

  God. I pinch the bridge of my nose. Maybe Brian and I could have had real, meaningful conversations about shit like this.

  But now, he’s told me he’s in love with me, and I’ve told him I intend to marry someone else. I’d like to remain friends, but if that’s too hard for him, I understand.

  “You’ll find someone,” I say.

  “Thanks, Pollyanna.”

  “At least you have good taste.” Seems like an appropriate Vince Fong thing to say.

  “I’d kiss another guy and wish you’d get jealous and push him out of the way.”

  “All those people you kissed and fucked. You were just hoping to make me jealous?”

  “Oh, please. Don’t get me wrong, I was enjoying myself. But at the back of my head, I did hope. Are you totally weirded out now?”

  “No, just surprised.”

  Brian tosses back his bourbon and pours himself some more. “I threw so many parties because that’s what you liked.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He waves this away. “I should leave.”