The Baby Race

by Tara Wylde

  “Oh, yeah. Definitely. Take your time.”

  The borshch proves to be a thick red soup with a dollop of sour cream swirled in. Not bad at all. Comfort food for a cold day. And the raincheck’s a go—even better.

  She meets me outside at quarter past four. She’s changed out of her uniform, into a long-sleeved green dress that looks so warm I’m tempted to go in for a hug. But something tells me to use my words. Feels like there might be an elephant or two haunting the room.

  “So, the other night....”

  Lina shakes her head. “Could we save that for later? I thought... Let’s do something fun first. On me.”

  “What’d you have in mind?”

  She looks around. “Well, you’ve already eaten, so....” Her gaze lights on the fortune teller’s sign. “You know, I’ve been working here three years, walking by that place every day, and never gone in. Wanna get our palms read, or our cards, or whatever?”

  Got to admit I’m curious. “Sure.”

  I’m pleasantly surprised when she slips her hand into mine for the short walk. It had crossed my mind she might’ve said yes to avoid having to serve me after turning me down—but no one holds hands to be polite.

  The fortune teller’s shop’s pretty much what I expected: kind of musty and Halloweeny, with shelves upon shelves of woo-woo nonsense. There are crystals and brass bells, animal skeletons, shriveled things in jars, books that look like they might’ve been new when the printing press came out, and more carpets and beads hanging from every wall and rafter. A massive crystal ball dominates the room. It’s lit from below, presumably to give it a magical air.

  Lina nudges me, jerking her head to one side. I turn to look, and come face to face with—

  “Shit! Is that...?”

  “Hope not!”

  Because... It looks like a shrunken head.

  “It’s gotta be fake.” Lina’s shrinking against me, like she doesn’t want to be anywhere near it.

  Bells tinkle in the depths of the store. A sweet-looking middle-aged lady comes out. Apart from the rings weighing down every single one of her fingers, she’s dressed kind of boringly, for the surroundings. “Ah—admiring Horace?”

  She named the thing?

  “It’s really....” Lina catches my eye, like, a little help?

  “Fascinating,” I finish.

  The lady takes a seat at the table, and starts shuffling a deck of cards. “Couples reading?”

  We exchange glances.

  “Sounds good,” I say. A second later, it hits me—what if she gives us a terrible reading? Even if Lina doesn’t believe in this stuff any more than I do, that kind of thing tends to stick. Like when you meet someone with a doofy name, and forever think of them as a dork or a goofoff, no matter how serious they are.

  “So, what do we do?” Lina’s already taken her seat. Nothing to do but follow suit.

  “Shuffle the cards three times each. Think of a question, but keep it to yourself.”

  Right. Sounds simple enough. While Lina’s concentrating on the deck, I shoot the fortune-teller a look, like make it a good one, or else! She stares back impassively. Fantastic.

  It occurs to me to try to stack the deck, somehow—at least keep the Death card out of the mix. I’ve read enough horror books to know it’s in there somewhere, biding its time, getting ready to laugh in my face.

  Before I can so much as sneak a peek at the top card, the deck’s being snatched from my hands. Maybe it’s not too late to grab Lina’s hand, run out of here—would that look totally psycho?

  Okay, stall. Say something. “What’s your name?”

  “Floria.” She lays out five cards in an X shape, face down.

  “Oh, is that—“

  “Ssh.” Floria turns over the first two cards. No Death. Well, that’s—

  “The Five and the Nine of Pentacles.” She points at Lina, then at me. “You’ve lost everything. You’ve built everything from nothing.”

  That cannot be what it says.

  “You—“ She’s on Lina again. “You thought you’d found everything you could want, only to see it revealed as illusion. Your burden is great. Debt and obligation stoop your shoulders. You can only see the light at the end of the tunnel when the sun is up... And for you, it’s been a long, long night.”

  Maybe I can derail this with a joke. “What about moonlight?”

  Floria stabs her finger at me. “And you! You’ve fed your hunger, but you can’t forget what it’s like to starve. You should be on top of the world, but all your passion, all your self-denial, have only got you nine-tenths of the way. There’s a void at the heart of it all.”

  She’s...not totally wrong.

  “Next card!” She flips it over with a thwip. “This one’s for both of you: the Seven of Swords. So much unsaid between you! Everyone has their dark places, but you—what do you think you’re protecting? Grasp the nettle, or see the weight of those secrets break your backs!”

  “Hey, now! That’s—“

  “And your last two cards represent the keys to your future. Turn them over yourselves.”

  I’m tempted to refuse, but Lina’s already flipped hers. There it is: the fucking Death card, like my obsession summoned it to the top of the deck. Mine shows a hand holding a sword.

  “Death, and the Ace of Swords, reversed. Transformation or chaos; a new beginning or a confusing end. It’s quite clear: if you don’t know what you want, you won’t stand a chance of getting it. You can confront your secrets and stride forth together, or go round in circles and lose your spark. And it is quite a spark; that would be a shame.”

  “Wait—was Death the good card, out of those two?”

  “It signifies unavoidable change—the shedding of the superficial, the unnecessary, that which is holding you back.”

  “And the other one?”

  Floria waggles her finger at both of us. Her rings sparkle in the glow of the crystal ball. “Lack of clarity. Forty dollars.”

  The shift in subject’s so abrupt I don’t think to go for my wallet till I see Lina fishing out a couple of bills.

  “No—forty dollars from you.” Floria’s looking me dead in the eye. “Weren’t the cards clear enough?”

  I feel myself turning bright red. I was going to pay! Worst fortune-teller ever! Couldn’t she have said we’d have two kids, a Golden Retriever, and a house by a stream? Would that’ve been so hard?

  Lina seems to be finding the whole thing hysterical. She’s barely reining in her laughter as she ducks under the hanging beads in the doorway. “Tell us something we didn’t know, eh?”

  “Huh?” I’m glad she’s not taking it hard, but I’m still kind of reeling.

  “Well, I mean, she went straight for the low-hanging fruit, didn’t she?” She ticks the points off on her fingers. “One—my coat was nice when I bought it, but it’s seen better days. Yours is a new Brioni. So my star’s falling; yours is rising. Two—we had to look at each other before we agreed to a couples reading. So we don’t know each other that well. Obviously, there’s going to be secrets. We haven’t had time to tell each other much of anything, let alone everything. So—shocker!—we should see more of each other. What’s that, cold reading 101?”

  Can’t argue with any of that. “Still. I felt judged. Didn’t you feel judged?”

  Lina snorts. “Everyone’s judging everyone all the time.”

  “Oh? You judging me right now?”

  “Guilty as charged.” She winks.

  I’m still kind of up in a bunch. I blame that stupid Death card. Plus, even if it was nothing but cold reading, I feel oddly exposed. Embarrassed, even. And it’s way too soon for money to enter the conversation. Time to change the subject. “Okay, so...tell me a secret, then.”

  “A secret....” The WALK sign comes on. Lina steps out into the street. “I always make a couple of mistakes when I post on Facebook, so people won’t think I’m stuck up. Like, I’ll put it-apostrophe-S, when I mean, y’know, ‘its’.”<
br />
  “Oh, lame secret!”

  “What? I thought it was pretty juicy! I mean, isn’t that the pinnacle of insecurity?”

  “Well, when you put it that way....” I pretend to think it over. “Nope. Still lame. Gimme another.”

  “No way. It’s your turn.”

  “Fine—okay. Here’s how it’s done: I almost didn’t come into the restaurant today. I was standing outside, looking in, and I couldn’t shake the idea that...maybe you did stand me up. Like, on purpose.”

  That seems to catch her off guard. She breaks stride for a moment, and when she starts walking again, she’s definitely put some distance between us. “I did.”

  Wait...seriously? I hate this secret.

  She’s not looking at me. “It’s not that I didn’t want to see you. It’s just... This is going to sound insane, but I got home last night, and realized I’d almost burned my building down.” There’s a low note of horror in her voice. “I’ve been distracted since—since... I’ve had a week you wouldn’t believe, and then that happened, and I thought...what the fuck am I doing? I don’t have time for—I don’t have room for— It’s not fair to you.“

  “But you didn’t tell me no when I showed up anyway.”

  “Guess I’m selfish.” A car whooshes by too fast, sending up a plume of slush. There’s barely room to dodge. We wind up squished together under a yellow awning. I can’t resist the temptation to tuck her hair behind her ear. She leans into the touch, and I feel it again, that sense of rightness, of connection.

  I’ve got to get to the bottom of this. “Selfish? Selfish how?”

  “’Cause I’ve got—that woman was right, about the debt, the obligations, the—the crushing weight, or whatever. I’ve got two jobs, classes; I’ve got... I’ve got no room in my life. It’s like... You’re this great dress I keep seeing in the window at Bloomingdale’s, but even if I could afford you, I’d never get the chance to wear you. I’d be fooling myself.”

  “So, I’m...a backless Vera Wang?” I wish she’d smile.

  She shakes her head. “You’re a luxury I can’t afford. But I....”

  My confidence is kind of flagging, but hey, fake it till you make it. I grin nice and wide. “But you’re going to splurge on me anyway.”

  “You’re cocksure.”

  “That’s because I’m not some ballgown you’d never have anyplace to wear.” I lean in and lower my voice. “Think of me more as...a slice of chocolate cheesecake: rich, creamy, fattening... And you can gobble me down any time.”

  “Gobble you—oh my God!”

  “Mm, and I’m good with everything. You can have me on your lunch break, in between work and school—with your morning coffee.” I waggle my brows. Finally, finally, she laughs.

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  “You totally want me.”

  “God help me, I do.”

  Now seems like a good time to try for that hug. She melts into it. This can’t be a mistake.

  I’m not letting her get away.

  129

  Elina

  Actual cheesecake. The genuine article.

  I feel like I’ve stepped into an alternate reality. Nick claimed to crave the stuff, after suggesting I think of him as dessert, and here we are. Eating actual cheesecake, ginger for me, black forest for him. In a very tiny, very red hotel café that feels like it belongs in the 1920s. This might be a terrible idea, but I can’t deny it’s a delicious one.

  Nick spears a cherry with his fork. “Where’d you go?”

  “Mm?”

  “You had a faraway look.”

  “Daydreaming, I guess. This place is so... It looks like there should be a back room somewhere, with people drinking bootleg whisky and dancing the Charleston.” I take a sip of the sweet ice wine he ordered. It goes well with the spicy cake. “How’d you even know this was here?”

  “Told you—I used to walk everywhere. I did mean everywhere.” He grins. “This place is great in the summer. They crank the AC. Stepping into the lobby’s like...aaaaaahhhhh.”

  “Oh, I love that. Especially when it’s humid.”

  The small talk’s getting kind of...not awkward, exactly, but it feels like the other shoe’s hanging in the air. Sooner or later, one of us’ll have to—

  “So, I’m not normally a one-night stand guy.”

  And there it is. I barely avoid choking on my cheesecake. “Whoa! Okay...so you just dove right in.”

  “Couldn’t think of a delicate way to put it.” There’s cream in the corner of his mouth. He licks it away while I’m trying to decide whether to tell him about it. “Didn’t want you thinking I was out there, like...running some kind of, uh...back seat...sex brothel.”

  Back seat sex brothel? At least it wasn’t just me wondering how I must’ve looked, giving it up so easily on what wasn’t even an official first date. “And I’m not, like...some back seat ho?”

  “I thought you might’ve had buyer’s remorse when I woke up alone.”

  “No, not—I mean, I didn’t wanna do the whole awkward drive home thing, if—if you were regretting it, or we found out we had nothing in common halfway across Brooklyn Bridge. But mostly, I had to get back.”

  “But it was—“ Nick’s dragging his fork through the chocolate sauce on his plate. “What I’m trying to say is... It was good, right? I know I didn’t imagine—it wasn’t all in my head?”

  His sudden bashfulness makes me bold. “You asking me or telling me?”

  Nick’s eyes narrow. “It was better than good.” He pushes his plate aside so he can lean across the table, into my space. “You looked in my eyes. You trusted me. You were tangled in your shirt, but you didn’t even want to break free. You tilted your head back just so, like you were—"

  A waitress brushes by. Nick stops talking, but doesn’t break eye contact. The second she’s out of earshot, he picks up where he left off, voice low and intense. “—like you were offering yourself up for my pleasure. I wanted to burn that into my memory. Carry it around with me forever.”

  I remember that moment. He was looking down at me like he wanted to eat me alive. I was ready to let him.

  Nick’s gaze is boring into me. He expects me to say something; of course he does. I’m awful at this. I don’t have a sexy voice; I can never find the right words. “You just...took charge,” I manage.

  That seems to have been the right thing to say. He inhales sharply, and his hands curl halfway into fists. “You abandoned yourself to me.” His gaze has me pinned. I don’t dare move. “Give me your hand.”

  I reach for him.

  “No—under the table.”

  My face goes hot. I want to look around, make sure no one’s watching, but I feel like if I glance away, the spell will be broken. I drop one hand into my lap. Moments later, I feel his close over it. I don’t resist as he moves it to his thigh, then higher, till I feel the swell of his cock. He’s rock hard and twitching under my palm.

  “Someone could see....”

  “I’ve got you.” His hand tightens on mine. There’s something possessive about the way he presses it against him. “You do trust me, right?”

  He has no idea what he’s asking me. I nod anyway. I don’t distrust him, and I want to see where this is going.

  I’m not sure whether he starts to move my hand, or if I’m the one who can’t resist the impulse to stroke him through his pants. His eyelids almost flutter shut as I trace the contour of the head with my thumb. I’m leaning over the table at an awkward angle; he’s half-sprawled in his chair. Anyone walking by would guess—

  “We—we could get a room.” His voice has dropped an entire octave, hoarse with desire.

  I rub my palm in slow, deliberate circles. “This is a hotel.”

  “I’m going to need a moment....”

  “Oh? Whatever for?” His cock swells in my hand. I glide my palm along the entire length, finishing with a gentle squeeze to the tip. He bites his lip and doubles forward slightly.

 
“Ah...don’t—“ Nick lets go of my hand. I pull it back, but not without one last caress to his inner thigh. The way he shudders tells me he might need more than a moment to compose himself. I make a show of finishing my wine as he slumps there, breathing heavily.

  Maybe he’ll punish me for my insolence.

  Five minutes later, we’re practically undressing each other in the old-fashioned birdcage elevator. Our room’s only on the ninth floor, but even that seems too far, too long to wait. He’s got one hand knotted in my hair, tipping my head to expose my throat. The other’s under my skirt, gripping my hip hard enough to leave marks. I’ve got both of mine up his shirt, exploring the contours of his back. He’s stronger than he looks, all muscle and sinew and thrumming tension.

  The door rattles open both too soon and not soon enough. Nick takes me by both hands and steps backward into the hall. I follow, finding myself once again unable to look away. He leads me to the first room on the right, and spins me around so I’m flush against the door.

  “Should I let us in?”

  “I—“

  He cuts me off with a sharp whisper. “Or should I have you right here, where anyone could see?” He’s got a fistful of my skirt. He’s twisting it so the hem creeps up my thighs. Nothing’s exposed yet, nothing that shouldn’t be, but—

  “Wonder if there’s security cameras....” He makes a show of looking around. My own panicky survey reveals a flashing light near the elevator, but I can’t tell whether it’s attached to a camera or a smoke detector.

  He wouldn’t really...right here? Would he?

  Taking advantage of his distraction, I dart my hand into the pocket I thought I saw him hide the keycard in. But he’s faster than me. My fingertips brush the plastic for an instant, and then... Then I’m pinned, both wrists trapped in one of his huge hands, pressed to the door above my head.

  Shit—maybe he would!

  Would I let him?

  I never have to answer that question, because he only stares at me for a long, heated moment before I hear the beep of the electronic lock. We practically fall into the room. He kicks the door shut hard enough that we both jump at the crack. And then he’s got me on the bed, hot and breathless. I’ve lost a shoe, and my skirt’s pooled around my waist.