The Baby Plan

by Kate Rorick

  “I . . . I don’t think . . . I mean, who would do that on purpose?” Lyndi found herself asking.

  “You don’t know this chick. Apparently, she’s totally flaky, never had a real job. And now she’ll have my brother taking care of her forever.”

  Lyndi could feel her cheeks turning bright red. Thank God for the low lights.

  Is this what Marcus’s family would think of her? That she got pregnant to trap him?

  Right then, her phone dinged once more.

  * * *

  You have an appointment with Dr. Keen at 3 PM tomorrow.

  * * *

  “Of course, we can’t say that in front of my brother. He’s, like, over the moon about it. Meanwhile, my parents are trying to gently convince him to have a paternity test. This is going to be the most fun Christmas ever!”

  Suddenly, it was all too much for Lyndi. Her sister overstepping via text. The way Olivia was salivating over every juicy word of her own story. She began to feel the familiar nausea creeping up.

  “Excuse me for a second, guys.”

  She stood up, and before anyone could say anything (not that they would, they were all on tenterhooks for Olivia’s story) she stepped out the front door of Ora Café, taking a deep breath of the chilled winter air.

  God, did she really think three minutes ago that she had this pregnancy thing down? Not according to her older sister, who no doubt had been to the doctor’s once a week since conception, was strictly following nutritional advice, and didn’t need a daily pastel email to remind her how far along she was.

  She wanted to cry. She wanted to let her emotions get the best of her and just let it out. But she had three friends inside who would see right through her, and so, she made the only other emotional choice she could. She got angry.

  Well, as angry as Lyndi tended to get, anyway.

  * * *

  You didn’t have to do that.

  * * *

  There, she thought. That’ll show Nathalie.

  * * *

  Apparently I did.

  * * *

  Okay, maybe not so much. What she wanted to type back was that it was utterly presumptuous of Nathalie to think she knew what was best for Lyndi—vis-à-vis her body, her baby, or her schedule.

  Instead, what she wrote was . . .

  * * *

  I have work, you know.

  * * *

  * * *

  You’re done by 3, you know.

  * * *

  * * *

  Okay, fine.

  * * *

  Fine. Felt snappish. Felt good to say. After all, everyone knows that fine doesn’t mean fine.

  But . . . Nathalie had helped her out. She meant well. So after a couple seconds, she added . . .

  * * *

  Thanks.

  * * *

  * * *

  And the doc will be able to determine the sex?

  * * *

  * * *

  Not at 11 weeks. You’ll need to take a blood test. An NIPT (noninvasive prenatal test), which you’ll want to anyway to rule out some of the most prevalent genetic abnormalities. That test will also tell you the baby’s sex.

  * * *

  Lyndi felt her body go slightly numb. And it wasn’t from the cold air whipping around her.

  * * *

  Oh. Ok. I hadn’t really thought about that stuff.

  * * *

  * * *

  Stuff?

  * * *

  * * *

  Abnormalities.

  * * *

  Because she hadn’t thought about that. She’d mostly been thinking about how to sign up for health insurance and how to avoid drinking alcohol when out with her friends and why on earth she couldn’t have eggs Benedict with delicious hollandaise sauce.

  And she suddenly felt stupid, and cold, and sad.

  Luckily, she had her sister, who weirdly, knew how to make her feel better, even while they were fighting via text.

  * * *

  It’ll be okay. Dr. Keen is really nice. Young. But she’ll be thorough. Your baby will be in good hands.

  * * *

  * * *

  Okay. And don’t worry about Mom and the gender reveal party stuff. Just let her enjoy herself.

  * * *

  * * *

  I couldn’t stop her if I tried.

  * * *

  Feeling slightly better, and much less nauseous, Lyndi straightened her shoulders and marched right back inside.

  She put that same big smile on her face as she had when she approached the table earlier, although this time it took a little more effort.

  “Sorry about that,” she said.

  “No worries!” Elizabeth said. “Olivia was just spreading her brother’s dirty laundry all over the restaurant.”

  If Olivia had been sober, she might have taken offense at that. As it was she was buzzed and there was now a second froofy Christmas drink in front of her, so she just snickered and sipped.

  “Everything okay with you?”

  “Sure,” she said, putting on a brave face. “My sister is just freaking out about this gender reveal party my mom wants to have.”

  “Gender reveal party?” Allison asked. “Wait . . . is your sister pregnant?”

  “ . . . yes.”

  “Oh, congratulations! You’re going to be an auntie!” Allison cried and clapped.

  Even Elizabeth looked a little starry-eyed at the idea. Lyndi swung her gaze between her three friends.

  “You guys are . . . good with that?”

  “Well, of course!” Olivia replied. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

  “But . . . your brother.”

  “Your sister is very different from my idiot brother. She’s been with her husband forever. God, I remember when we were in high school and she and her husband came and picked us up from that corner store after your car broke down—”

  “The thing is, the gender reveal party . . . it’s not just for her.” At all their quizzical expressions, she took a deep breath, and continued.

  “I’m pregnant, too.”

  She could have dropped a nuclear bomb in the middle of Ora Café, and no one at their table would have moved.

  “Marcus and I are very excited.”

  It took a minute for her friends to find their footing. Unsurprisingly, the most buzzed found it first.

  “Oh . . . my God!” Olivia cried, her voice pitched light, trying to sound happy. “That’s just . . . congratulations! Right? Congratulations?”

  “Yes,” said Allison immediately. “Absolutely. Congratulations. That’s amazing news. So you’re going to . . . um . . . keep it?”

  Ice ran through Lyndi’s veins. “Obviously.”

  Then they fell silent again.

  Lyndi turned to Elizabeth. Hoping for something. For her usual quiet, snarky support. For her ability to give light to the other side of things. For someone, anyone to be on her side.

  Instead, Elizabeth just stuttered. “Well, okay. Um . . . hey, so, Allison, you know that new digital media lab your company is running? I’m thinking of applying—”

  “Oh, you should—it would be right up your alley! I’ll send you all the info . . .”

  “Ohh, my company is thinking of putting together a digital media team,” Olivia added. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they asked me to head it.”

  And Lyndi was left mute, alone, sipping her sparkling water, while her friends did everything in their power to avoid talking to her.

  Chapter 8

  THERE WAS NOTHING LIKE A TELEVISION show’s holiday party to remind you that glamour was relative, Sophia thought, as she walked into the West Hollywood bar/bowling alley that the production had rented out for the evening.

  Most people, if they were reading Us Weekly or People, would think that a television show would go all out for their company party. There would be photographers, step-and-repeats, waiters with hors d’oeuvres sliding past on trays, and possibly a celebrity MC.

  In
reality, there were no photographers—no one was particularly interested in documenting the antics of 200 people who don’t appear on-screen. And while there was food, it was of the deep-fried bar food variety, set up on a buffet table. And the attached bowling alley blasting music you could spin a disco ball to really didn’t make for a glamorous atmosphere. But it did make for a fun one.

  Sophia walked into the bar and was immediately hugged by two wardrobe girls, a grip, and two of the writers. There was plenty of alcohol in the signature cocktail the bar had made just for the Fargone crew (called The Never Too Far Gone, which was bourbon-based, and set off Sophia’s smell-o-vision). When 200 people who worked together day in and day out finally have permission to blow off steam together (on the company dime, too!) the more alcohol goes in, the more love comes out. As evidenced when Kip rushed over to greet her.

  “Soppppphhhhhiiieee!” he said, picking her up and spinning her around. Kip might have been delicate and precise when it came to doing hair, but when he’d had a signature cocktail or two, his high school wrestling team self came out.

  “Hey, uh, put her down, man, would you?” a mellifluous voice from behind Sophia said, causing her spine to tingle, as always.

  “And you brought Sebastian! The flower man himself!”

  Kip put Sophia down and she stepped aside to allow Kip to assault Sebastian. Sebastian put a wide grin on his face as he shook hands with Kip . . . who wasted no time pulling Sebastian into a bear hug.

  “She told me,” Kip whispered into Sebastian’s ear. “Congratulations.”

  A look of surprise crossed Sebastian’s face, but he had the grace (and now, the media training) to hold it together, and accept Kip’s clap on the back with a grin and a nod.

  “Have you seen Vanessa yet?” Kip asked Sophia. “She’s high as a kite.”

  “She’s high?” Sebastian interjected. He’d known Vanessa longer than any of them, and his concern was justified.

  “Not on drugs,” Kip replied. “On the Golden Globe noms.”

  The Golden Globe nominations had come out just that morning, and in a complete and utter surprise (or as totally expected, given the amount of press attention it had been getting), Vanessa’s little indie movie from over the summer garnered three nominations—and one of those was for Vanessa herself as supporting actress.

  Sophia was incredibly happy and proud of her friend. When she heard the news this morning, she immediately texted Vanessa her congratulations. But she hadn’t seen her in the flesh yet, and couldn’t wait to tell her in person.

  Although, judging from the crowd surrounding her at the bar, Vanessa was currently swamped with congratulations.

  “I’ll brave the crowd and get us some drinks. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure yours is a virgin,” Kip said with a wink. “Let you guys get all your hellos in. Then we are getting shoes and We. Are. Bowling. Did I tell you I was on the bowling team in high school?”

  “You were on every team in high school,” Sophia yelled after him as he moved off.

  “You told him?” Sebastian murmured in her ear. Sophia could tell he was upset.

  “He’s my trailer mate,” she replied. “I can’t exactly keep it from him why the hairspray is making me nauseous.”

  “No, I get it,” Sebastian said quickly. His tone slid from angry to worried. “Thing is, if he knows . . . Kip definitely shouldn’t be picking you up and twirling you like that—what about the baby?”

  Sophia bit her lip. Kip was a cuddle bunny, his ministrations had never been jarring or dangerous. But it was so cute to have Sebastian be all concerned with her welfare. It made her feel . . . protected. And since she’d spent so long protecting herself, it gave her a kind of glow to be protected by someone else.

  Her first pregnancy, she’d never had that. She hadn’t had it in nearly eighteen years.

  “I know, you’re right. I’ll talk to him,” she said, her placating bearing fruit when Sebastian’s brow cleared and he slung a long arm around her waist.

  “I just worry, is all,” Sebastian said, running his other hand through his lanky hair. “Ever since you told me about the—you know.”

  Sophia let her head fall on his shoulder. “I know.”

  She did know. And he wasn’t talking about the baby. The baby news, he had taken extremely well. Ecstatically, even.

  She’d told him at his place. The band leased a house in the Hollywood Hills, and kept it even when they were on the road six months out of the year. It was owned by some director who had purchased it after he had made it big with a cult favorite movie, and before his divorce.

  It looked like barely anyone lived there, because all of the furniture was midcentury modern and precise and came with the house. None of the guys’ possessions were there, beyond a number of shredded black T-shirts and a Mr. Coffee. The only area that looked like people actually lived there was the garage, which had been converted to studio space.

  It was one of the reasons Sebastian had said he preferred to spend their time at Sophia and Maisey’s house. Because it felt like a home.

  And because there weren’t five other guys underfoot.

  But Sophia had known she had to do this on his turf. Because . . . because she didn’t really know. Maybe because she wanted him to feel safe, surrounded by all his stuff . . . , er, all his T-shirts. Or maybe because she didn’t want her own home marred with a bad memory if he reacted poorly.

  But maybe, it was because she didn’t want him to think that this baby would only exist in her world. It would exist in both of theirs.

  Luckily none of her fears were realized, because when the words “I’m pregnant,” popped out of her mouth, after the initial shock passed, she got to witness the biggest grin spread over Sebastian’s face. Then, he grabbed her hand and rushed out of his bedroom and into the living room, where one of his bandmates—Mick, the drummer—was busy banging out a rhythm on the back of an Arne Jacobsen swan chair worth more than all the furniture in Sophia’s house.

  “Dude,” Sebastian stated firmly. “We’re having a baby.”

  Then Mick’s face split into a wide grin. Sophia knew she always liked him.

  “Awesome!” Mick said, abandoning the Arne Jacobsen to squeeze Sophia in a hug, and then immediately back off. “Sorry—should I do that? I shouldn’t do that.”

  “I’m fine,” she’d assured him.

  “Dude, it’s our first band baby!” Mick cried. “We’ll have to get him or her those noise-canceling headphones so they can come to our concerts! Oh, God,” Mick said, looking down at his drumsticks, “I shouldn’t have been drumming so loud.”

  “Mick, the thing doesn’t have ears yet,” Sebastian said. Then a worried look crossed his face. “Does the thing have ears yet?”

  “The thing is a baby and no, it doesn’t.” She laughed.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, but I go to the doctor in three days for my first appointment, and I’ll make sure to verify with her.”

  “We’ll ask her,” he’d said, squeezing her hand. “But no drumming until then,” he warned Mick, who nodded vehemently. Then, “C’mon.”

  He tugged her back toward his bedroom. She bit her lip in anticipation and let herself be pulled away.

  “Hey, where are you guys going?” Mick asked.

  “To celebrate,” Sebastian said.

  “Can I come?”

  Sophia met Sebastian’s eyes. Saw their heat. “No,” she replied with a laugh.

  The next three days were a whirlwind of affection. They still had a couple of days’ worth of work on the show until they were officially on Christmas hiatus, but it was tough to concentrate. Sebastian was texting every hour on the hour. Checking in with little messages of love. His flower deliveries went from weekly to daily. Honestly, it was this, more than anything that clued Kip in to the fact that something was up.

  Kip’s reply had been a lot more practical than Sebastian’s. After he asked how Sebastian took the news, he asked, “How did Maisey?�
��

  Sophia had just pressed her lips together. “Like a teenager.”

  “Good,” Kip said. “Let her act like a teenager once in her life, I almost forgot she was one.”

  But Maisey constantly surprised Sophia. Because when it turned out that the band’s recording company wanted them to come in for an emergency meeting the same day as Sophia’s first appointment and Sebastian couldn’t come, Maisey gamely stepped in.

  “Really?” Sophia had said. “You want to come?”

  Maisey just shrugged. “It’ll get my mind off Stanford.”

  Maisey still hadn’t heard from Stanford’s early admissions office. Every day after school she rushed home and checked the mailbox. And then her email. And then the mailbox again. At least the girl was smart enough to know she needed out of the house.

  It was at the doctor’s office that they had gotten the news that had sent Sebastian’s protective instincts into overdrive, and had him worrying (even more) about Sophia’s new fragile state of being.

  “The baby looks great!” the doctor had said, moving the wand around inside Sophia. The first ultrasound was transvaginal, which was a surprise to Sophia, and a complete shock to Maisey. The poor girl kept looking up to the corner of the room, muttering to herself “I’m never having sex, I’m never having sex.” Which, to be honest, Sophia was totally fine with. Nothing like the realities of the human body to act as the most effective sex deterrent.