by Vivien Vale
Silence.
What happened? Did Mom faint?
“Mom?”
I think I can hear some sobbing. Oh no, fucking hell, please don’t let her cry. Inwardly, I groan.
I shouldn’t have said I like Rose. She’ll be making all kinds of fucking plans now. If I’m not careful she’ll arrange a wedding, book a baby shower, and celebrate our first anniversary―all in the blink of an eye.
“Can you bring her to dinner?”
Phew. I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Yeah, sure, I told you we’ll come to dinner.”
My emails on the computer are going bananas. Apparently, several people are in desperate need to discuss a range of different issues with me, from a blocked toilet, to a cat stuck up in one of the palm trees of one of our resorts.
I frown. What the fuck am I going to do about a cat stuck in a tree? Why are they bringing this shit to me?
“Sunday night.”
“Pardon?” That’s right, I’m still talking to my mom. “I’ve got to—” I start but she cuts me off.
“Come to dinner this Sunday night with that lovely girlfriend, Rose.”
I sigh. No point arguing about this. It makes sense for me to introduce Rose to my family, anyway; I’ve met hers already.
“Promise you’ll come to dinner this Sunday, Daniel. With Rose.” My mother sounds all serious, and I realize she’s calling me Daniel, not Danny.
“I promise, Mom, but I’ve got to get back to work now.”
After she’s hung up, I stare at the wall of messages and try and work out which one is the most important. I decide the cat one is the least important, and it goes to the bottom of the list.
But before I make the next work call, I better attend to something else. I pick up my phone.
“Hey, darling,” I say with a smile.
“Oh, hello there, handsome,” Rose replies, and I picture her sitting at her desk.
I wish she were here in the office with me. Perhaps I should see if I can find a job for her with me here.
Of course, I’m sort of getting her a job by doing this whole pregnancy thing. I know we’ve not discussed it since agreeing to getting to know each other, but we both know the end goals was―is―a baby.
“I just got off the phone with my mom,” I tell her.
“Good for you. She okay?”
I chuckle. “She’s fine. She was reminding me about the dinner she mentioned when she was at the penthouse. She wants us to come to their house this Sunday.”
There’s silence. I have no fucking idea what I’m going to do if she backs out now that she isn’t being put on the spot by my mom.
“Okay, sounds good,” Rose replies, and she sounds quite cheerful.
“You sure?” I double check. I don’t want her to do it because she feels obliged.
“Absolutely. I mean, your mom and I are practically best friends already after this morning,” she jokes and I hear her laughter. The sound is music to my ears.
“Great,” I reply and play with my gold-tip fountain pen. I need to end the conversation, but I don’t want to get off the phone with her yet.
After cursing the little device earlier, now I’m enjoying talking to Rose.
“I better get back to work,” Rose announces, but I just thought of something.
“Shall we make a day of it, and I’ll pick you up?”
“I can’t leave until later in the afternoon. I’ve got a busy week ahead and need to finish everything by the end of the week. Sorry.”
I wish we could spend the day together, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
“No worries, Rose. Make sure you look after yourself and eat properly and don’t work too hard.”
“You’re starting to sound like my boyfriend,” Rose observes, a smile in her voice.
“Isn’t that what I am, your boyfriend?”
Instead of a reply, Rose laughs and then she’s gone.
Isn’t that what I am―her boyfriend? An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. Maybe we better talk about where we’re heading.
And soon.
Before I can pick up the phone and start returning these calls, my secretary buzzes me.
“What is it now?” I bark into the receiver and notice it’s nearly lunchtime. After this call, I think I’ll head out for lunch.
Since I’ve not had a proper cup of coffee this morning, I’ll need to have two with lunch.
“Sorry to disturb you, but I have someone on the phone who says they need to speak to you urgently.”
I roll my eyes. I’ve tried to train my secretary to give me all the information there is when she tells me about a caller, but clearly this has not sunk in yet.
“And who might this person be who needs to speak to me so urgently?”
“Sorry, sir, it’s a woman called Maggie.”
The only object on the desk is my cup of coffee, and so I take it and fling it across the room.
It lands against the blank wall with a little thud. Liquid splatters over the wall and onto the carpet. I don’t fucking care.
“I’m not available to speak to her. I will never be available to speak to this woman ever. If she calls again, don’t bother putting the call through to me.”
I slam the phone down and clench my fists. Slowly, I try and count to one hundred. I’ll need to bring my raging thoughts under control quickly.
When I’m still super fucking enraged by the time I’ve counted to four hundred and fifty, I decide I better go for a walk and get my flat white now.
I’m sure a walk and a good cup of coffee will put me into a better frame of mind.
Rose
For some reason, the butterflies won’t go away. They’ve taken up residence in my stomach and refuse to move out. If anything, they’re multiplying.
I knead my fingers in my lap and stare out the window of Daniel’s car. Maybe it’s the big billboard staring at me from various buildings―the smiling mom and baby tugging at my heartstrings as a permanent reminder that I’m not getting any younger.
Then there’s the ad for some retirement plan, asking if the timeline is being met. It’s one of those obtuse marketing strategies where the consumer is not actually sure what’s being advertised. It might just be me, but I don’t get the ad at all.
The only thing it does to me is remind me of the timeline I have with Daniel.
Okay, so we don’t actually have a timeline, and maybe that’s the actual problem.
When we first started on this road to get to know each other before we made a baby bargain, we should have discussed a time frame. Would the get-to-know-each-other phase last one month, two months, or three?
I mean, some people spend years getting to know each other only to find out when they’re old and gray that they’re not compatible. With the biological clock ticking, I don’t have that luxury.
And, let’s face it, if he’s still not sure if we should go ahead, it won’t be different in a month, a year, or ten.
God, in ten years I won’t be fertile anymore, I’m sure of it.
He’s not going to wait that long to make up his mind, is he? I gnaw on my bottom lip and shoot him the occasional sideways glance. His jawline is relaxed, and there’s a little twinkle in his eyes.
What’s stopping him? Second or third thoughts? Maybe he never meant to go through with it anyway?
I mean, this might be just a way for him to get a free fuck. The thought is absurd, I know. I’ve read the websites, the social media accounts, and all the other crap where women drool over the man and can’t wait to jump his bones and have his baby.
Okay, so he’s not doing it for the sex, I get it.
“Ready, darling?” His soft voice rouses me from my meandering thoughts.
I look around.
He’s parked the car outside a nice, colonial-style two-story home. A magnificent garden with a white pebble path stretches out ahead of me.
I see roses, marigolds, purple flowers, and something that looks lik
e daffodils. It’s a feast for the eyes.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I make myself smile. Now is not the time to ask about the timeline.
I can imagine his face if I brought it up now, outside his mother’s house.
“So, Daniel how about that timeline?” I’d ask. “Are you ready to have that baby yet? And has your lawyer drawn up the contract yet? I mean, we want to make sure we document it all and prepare for any eventuality.”
With a shake of my head, I dismiss such crazy ideas. But seriously, would there really be a contract? It might be a good idea, right?
What if I have the baby and, for some reason, it’s not good enough for him? What if he changes his mind just before I give birth?
“So, Rose.” He turns to me as the midwife tells me to push. “I don’t think this is a good idea. And if you don’t mind, I’ll leave you and the…” He hesitates as he stares at my stretching pussy, “baby to it.”
I’d be left giving birth, with a baby tied to me 24/7.
The thoughts are ridiculous, I know, and I do my best to focus on what Daniel is saying.
He takes me by the hand and leads me up the garden path. Before he gets a chance to ring the doorbell, it opens to reveal a tall dark-haired man standing there.
“Hey, Ruben.” Daniel waves a hand in my direction. “Rose, I’d like you to meet my most recent step-father, Ruben.”
Most recent?
I shake his hand. He has a strong grip.
“Finally, I get to meet the girl who’s stolen my son’s heart.” He takes me by the shoulders and peers at me, and I notice Daniel cringe at the word son. “I can see why. You certainly do your name justice, my dear.”
My cheeks color a little, I’m sure of it. I mumble a thank you and we step inside.
“Right on time for dinner, you two. Punctual as ever, dear boy. You’re making your mother proud.” Something tugs at my heart as Daniel takes my hand and leads me inside.
Is it sadness that this might not be real? That I’m going to dinner with his family, and it could all be a charade? Am I…falling for Daniel?
I shake my head. Whoa, Rose. Get a grip, babe. A business arrangement—it’s only a business arrangement with Daniel. Don’t go falling in love with him now.
“So, Daniel, tells me you’re a retired lawyer.” I look at Ruben. “Sounds like interesting work.”
His step-father winks at me. “It can be. Trials can be very stressful, but you also get to meet a lot of colorful people.”
“Ruben represented someone once in a defamation case,” Daniel pipes up.
“Some judge—no names shall be mentioned—had the misfortune of having a nasty neighbor. And one morning, when the dear judge stepped outside his mansion to pick up the newspaper, he saw a huge sign on his front lawn saying ‘Mr. and Mrs. Asshat live here.’”
“No way.” I shake my head.
“Anyway, the dear judge sued the sign writer for defamation.”
“Wow. What happened?”
Ruben claps his hands together. “There was a four-day trial and, in the end, the poor judge lost. It was held that sharing your opinion about someone is not defamation.”
“You’re not boring our guest with legal war stories dear, are you?” Daniel’s mom comes out of one of the rooms to greet us.
“I’m not bored,” I reassure her and return her greeting.
“Let’s eat,” she says anyway.
Dinner is amazing. Daniel’s mom is an awesome cook, which is a surprise, given the few things he’s mentioned about her being more about shopping than mothering. Though, after that breakfast the other day, it shouldn’t be.
“Has Daniel told you about the time he kept a spider as a pet?”
I shake my head.
“Daniel used to be mad about insects,” his mom tells me. “And he’d go around the house collecting spiders. Of course, he’d get terribly upset when one of his sisters would throw out the glasses with his pets still inside.”
Daniel rolls his eyes.
“I haven’t heard much about these sisters,” I admit.
“Step-sisters,” Daniel corrects. “Fendi, Prada, and Chanel.”
I shake my head, trying hard not to burst out laughing. No fucking way.
Daniel leans over and whispers, “I’ll tell you later.”
His mom chimes in. “Oh, you don’t know about the girls? Why, Daniel, we’ll have to do this again and make sure they’re all here.”
“What’re you trying to do? Scare Rose off?”
I laugh. “Oh, come on, they can’t be that bad.” I give him a little kiss on the cheek. “I’d love to meet the rest of the family.”
He gives me a crooked smile. “You say that now…”
When dinner is finished, I offer to help clear the table, but Daniel’s mom is firm and insists I stay put, waving her hand. “Oh, we have help for that.”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing again. This family is so far removed from anything I’ve ever known. They definitely aren’t like my own.
We enjoy dessert and cocktails, and, after a few hours, I’m exhausted.
“Do you want to stay the night?” asks Daniel when he sees me yawn.
I hesitate for a second or two before I shake my head. “I’ve got a lot going on at work tomorrow and need to be there bright and early.”
There’s something in his eyes that I can’t quite put my finger on.
Disappointment? I can’t tell. But since it’s a long drive home, I know we better return tonight.
I don’t want to get up in the early hours of the morning and be exhausted from the drive before I even start my workday.
I’m sure he understands. But that look of disappointment, if that’s what it was, has me wondering all over again just what the status of our relationship is. We’re going to have to have The Talk―and soon.
Daniel
By the time we finally say our farewells, it’s late.
Rose snuggles into her seat and smiles. She waves goodbye as I pull the car out into the street.
“You were a real hit,” I say, feeling incredibly proud.
I never knew how important it was to me that my mom likes the girl I bring home. And not only does she like Rose―she adores her.
Rose seems to have no trouble at all communicating with one of the most important people in my life, even if Mom does drive me bat-shit crazy most of the time.
So far, Rose has only put her best foot forward. In everything.
“Dinner was lovely,” she says and yawns. I resist the temptation to stare as her beautiful eyes start to close.
I feel a little guilty for the late night she’s had, seeing she’s got a hard day at work ahead. Next time, I’ll have to check with Rose about the schedule of future dinners and parties.
I turn on gentle and soothing music as her breathing slows and steadies. I’m pretty sure she’s already asleep.
I hum to the music and give my thoughts free rein. Rose certainly is becoming part of my life. She seems to fit in nicely—perfectly, really.
I like her company, her wit, her intelligence, and, of course, the way she fucks.
I sigh.
Why have I let it come to this? I mean, we really need to sit down and discuss the arrangement in more detail. I can’t understand why we haven’t yet.
Has she not raised it again because she’s changed her mind? But if so, why is she still spending time with me? Going to dinner with my family, no less?
It nags at me. If she hasn’t changed her mind, why hasn’t she raised the matter again?
Thoughts spin around my head like flies trapped in a can, unable to find their way out.
Daniel, I tell myself, this is fucking useless.
What I need to do is talk to her about this.
Exactly how I’m going to raise it, though, is beyond me. Do I do it in the office or over dinner?
Suddenly, I’m not quite sure anymore what to do or how to say it.
This is fucki
ng ridiculous. I’m getting really fucking pissed with myself now. I don’t have trouble with anything. Okay, okay, maybe there’s one thing I have a bit of a problem with, but generally when it comes to dealing with people, I’m a fucking expert.
I run a multi-million-dollar business. I manage a range of staff members, from the top to the bottom.
Surely, it can’t be that hard to sit down with Rose and discuss our business arrangement.
At the words business and arrangement, I feel a little uneasy. Could having a baby with a woman really fall into this category?
I’m not having second thoughts at all; it’s just that I’m no longer sure what to call it. Rose might not like it if I call it a business arrangement, and I wouldn’t fucking blame her.
Babies are people. They’re flesh and blood and crying and all sorts of things. Business is something else entirely.
By now, I’m drumming my fingers on the steering wheel.
Could I put it a little more delicately, along the lines of our…mutual interest?
Yes, mutual interest already sounds a lot better and seems to hit the mark. I mean, I’d like an heir, and she’d like a baby.
I let myself imagine how our conversation could go.
“Rose, it’s about time we talk about the finer details of our mutual interest.”
Or is it a project? ‘Project’ doesn’t sound too bad, either.
“Rose, how about we sit down and discuss our joint project? It’s about time we work out the finer details.”
I cringe. Would she slap me in the face? Probably.
Or would she just stare at me and say something like, Okay, but what are you going to do about your condom problem?
She would, of course, be right on the money. It’s the elephant in the room. Oh, sure, I’ve told her about the difficulty, but we haven’t really talked about solutions.
I know all too well—there won’t be a baby, a joint project, if I can’t fuck her without the latex.
I run my hand through my hair.
Suddenly, the weight of the world seems to rest on my shoulders. After I drop Rose at her place, I think I’ll go home and have a stiff a drink. Nothing wrong with drowning my sorrows from time to time.
Of course, Rose said she’d do anything to help, but the problem is I don’t really know what else to try. So far, nothing has worked.
