Baby Daddy

by Kendall Ryan

  So, reluctantly, I give her a good-night kiss on the forehead, turn off the lights, and let myself out, but not before staring longingly at her belly, knowing that we have a child growing inside there . . . a child I shouldn’t want to want.

  It’s becoming harder to convince myself that I’m still that same non-father-material person who met her in the elevator a couple of months ago.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jenna

  At four weeks pregnant, it’s time for my first prenatal appointment. I wait patiently as the nurse checks my height, weight, pulse, blood pressure, and temperature, then takes blood and urine samples. I already gave a complete medical history the first time I came here, but she asks me the entire survey again, with bonus questions about Emmett, until I’ve recited what feels like every cough and headache our families have ever suffered for generations.

  Finally, she hands me a paper gown. “Change into this and lie on the table, please. The doctor will be in shortly to do your pelvic exam.” Then she leaves me alone for the first time in almost an hour.

  Whew . . . I knew when I started trying for a baby that I was signing up to become a lab rat, but this level of scrutiny will take some getting used to. And I’ll be repeating it more and more frequently until the day I give birth. Hopefully, next time won’t be so intense, now that we’ve established a baseline for my health.

  I unfold the paper gown, cover myself the best I can, and lie down just as someone knocks on the door. “Come in,” I call out.

  Dr. Kaur bustles into the exam room. “Nice to see you again, Miss Porter. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, you?” I reply automatically.

  “Good, good.” She washes her hands at the sink before joining me near the exam table. Unfolding the paper that’s covering me, she explains her movements as she goes. “Now I’ll just check for lumps here . . .” She squeezes my breast and I wince slightly. “Tender?”

  “A little. I assume that’s normal.”

  “Yes, but still, I apologize.” Moving much more gently, she continues interrogating me as she works. “Do you smoke or drink?”

  “I’ve never smoked. I used to have one or two drinks occasionally, but I stopped as soon as I knew I was pregnant.”

  She hums an approving murmur. “Exercise?”

  “I go to the gym twice a week.” Or I try to, anyway. Hopefully, a tiny bit of exaggeration isn’t a medical sin. Besides, sex is a form of exercise, right?

  “Feet in the stirrups, please. I’m just going to take a look at your cervix.”

  “Will you bring me back a souvenir?” I joke as I prop my legs up.

  She gives the tiniest possible huff of polite laughter. “Ideally, I’ll find nothing there. Now, you might feel a slight pinch.”

  Lies, all lies. It feels like she’s digging around for buried treasure, and I resist the urge to flinch. Ow . . . is it really necessary to crank that thing open so wide?

  While she pokes and prods around, she asks, “Any significant sources of stress?”

  Well, a person in a lab coat is currently barking questions into my vagina, so . . . “I’ve been having some trouble with work lately, but nothing unusually stressful.” Trying to keep the Lit Apothecary afloat has been an adventure right from the word go.

  Oh yeah . . . and figuring out what the fuck I’m going to do about Emmett. I still don’t have a good answer to that one. For the sake of my sanity, we’ve kept sleeping together, and he gets my hopes up by doing sweet things like texting me things he’s researched about the pregnancy, even when he doesn’t have to. But all that has to end eventually, right?

  Hell, I don’t know. And I don’t even want to think about it. What’s that saying, ignorance is bliss? In this case, ignoring it has been bliss, so I’m just going to keep on ignoring the situation between the two of us.

  I breathe a subdued sigh of relief when Dr. Kaur finally finishes and steps outside to let me get dressed. When I’m decent again, she returns and sits at the computer. She scrolls down for a minute, skimming the nurse’s notes. “You mentioned that your partner’s grandfather died of cancer. Do you know what kind? And how old he was?”

  “Uh . . .” I glance at the typed packet in my lap. I interrogated Emmett about his medical history in anticipation of this visit, but I’m drawing a blank. “Sorry, I don’t.”

  “Hmm.” She frowns over her glasses at me. “All right.” She swivels around to the screen for another minute, then back to me. “Have you noticed any problems or irregularities since your last period?”

  I shrug. “None that come to mind. I’ve felt pretty great.”

  She blinks owlishly behind her thick lenses. “Really? No nausea, heartburn, fatigue, dizziness, headaches, mood swings, constipation, spotting, cramping, trouble sleeping, food cravings or aversions . . .”

  I shake my head at most of the symptoms she rattles off. “Nothing except for maybe a little fatigue and . . . uh, an increased libido.”

  “Excellent.” She favors me with a rare smile. “It seems pregnancy suits you.”

  I grin back at her. “I hope so. What comes next?”

  “We're going to perform a pelvic ultrasound. Would you like to hear your baby’s heartbeat?”

  I give her an enthusiastic nod.

  An ultrasound tech wheels in a machine, and Dr. Kaur stands back as the screen soon comes to life with a blurry black-and-white image of a bean-shaped baby, and the best thump-thump-thump noise I’ve ever heard.

  Tears fill my eyes as I watch the screen in wonder. This moment is even more than I ever dreamed it could be. God, how I wish Emmett was here, holding my hand, seeing what we’ve done.

  “Everything looks perfect, Miss Porter,” the ultrasound tech says as she finishes.

  “You and your baby seem to be in perfect health,” Dr. Kaur adds. “Speak with the receptionist to schedule another prenatal checkup in four weeks.”

  “Oh, that’s such great news,” I say on a relieved breath. I didn’t even know how much tension I was carrying until I got to see the baby with my own eyes.

  “What questions can I answer for you?” Dr. Kaur may be on the brusque side, but she knows what she’s doing and takes me seriously.

  “Um, do you know when I’ll be due?”

  “Oh, right.” She pulls out a calendar and consults it. “I estimate your due date to be in mid-August of next year. We’ll refine that estimate as we get closer.” She holds out her hand. “If I haven’t already said so, congratulations. I’m happy for you.”

  Beaming, I shake her hand. “Thank you.”

  As I step out of the building into the thin, wintry sunlight of late afternoon, I pull out my phone to call Emmett. “The doctor said everything looks great,” I tell him.

  “That’s wonderful news,” he replies, sounding genuinely enthused, and I can’t hold back a giddy grin. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

  “I was going to drop by the mall and check out what their baby stuff is like, and then figure out dinner.” I unlock my car and get in.

  “Want some company? I’m still at work, but I was thinking of calling it a day soon, and there’s nothing to do at home.”

  I should seriously think about this, but fuck it. “Sure. Meet me by the food court entrance?”

  “I’ll be there in half an hour. I just need to wrap up here.”

  “Okay, see you soon.” I hang up and head downtown.

  • • •

  Emmett meets me right on time, and together we stroll through the mall to an adorable baby boutique I’ve never let myself enter, not wanting to get my hopes up.

  “Now, remember,” I warn him as we enter, “you’re not allowed to tell me what I should or shouldn’t get.”

  “Got it. No opinions on anything.” He mimes zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key.

  I smile at that, appreciating his ease at letting me do things my way and call the shots. Pausing b
y a shelf of crib blankets, I pick up one to stroke the cloud-soft fleece and consider its pattern of dove-gray geometric stripes. “Oh, cute,” I muse.

  Emmett looks over my shoulder. “I like it.”

  Forgetting I’m not supposed to care what he likes, I glance back at him. “Really?”

  “Yeah. We don’t know if we’re . . . I mean, if you’re having a boy or a girl, so it’s good to get something gender-neutral. Though I’d have a hard time choosing between this and that one.” He points at a buttery cream-colored blanket.

  I examine it and find myself in agreement. “Yeah . . . they’re both such good colors. Darn, you’ve made my decision harder.”

  He chuckles. “Sorry.”

  “I think . . . I don’t know why, but something tells me it’s going to be a girl. Still, though, it’s good not to color-code everything. I grew up surrounded by so much pink, I hated it on principle until I was a teenager.”

  “We could buy blue just to fuck with people,” he suggests.

  I laugh. “No, it’s not worth constantly explaining the joke to people.”

  He grabs another blanket, this one striped in seafoam and olive. “What about green?”

  “Stop giving me more good options or we’ll be here all night,” I say with a mock groan.

  “Are you going to find out the sex?”

  “Yes. And, oh my God, I forgot to show you these pictures of the baby.” I pull the black-and-white printouts from my purse and hand them to Emmett.

  His face twists in wonder and he blinks, a slow smile uncurling on his mouth. “Holy shit.”

  “I know.” I grin back. “And I heard the heartbeat.”

  Swallowing once, Emmett hands the pictures back to me. “It’s incredible, Jenna. I’m so happy for you.”

  As we wander through the store, examining and debating toys, strollers, clothes, furniture, nursery decorations, and every other kind of baby accessory under the sun, we find ourselves agreeing on almost everything. Our tastes line up perfectly. It feels so right, so dangerously good to run such a domestic errand with him—to act like parents together.

  I shouldn’t let myself wish this was real, but longing floods my imagination and I can’t fight the pull. I picture Emmett becoming part of my life, our lives, always nearby. Smiling down at his newborn daughter as he cradles her tiny body in his arms. Feeding her, playing with her together, rocking her, even changing her is all so cozy and welcoming in my mind’s eye. It’s love. It’s home.

  I break away from Emmett in the stroller aisle, brushing off his concerned questions with a terse “I’m fine, just need to pee,” and hide in the restroom until I manage to bite back my tears.

  Goddamn it, I hate this. I never wanted to want any man so badly. I knew better, tried to avoid it, yet I’ve still fallen for someone who will leave me. And I can’t do jack shit about it. I just have to wait, helpless, as every passing day brings the end a little closer.

  It takes a few minutes, but I try my hardest to calm myself down until I don’t look anything like how I feel. Then I put on a smile and emerge from the restroom to rejoin Emmett . . . because I sure as hell don’t want to waste what little time we have left.

  Chapter Twenty

  Emmett

  As I leave work, I find a voice mail waiting on my phone. I expect it to be from Jenna and nervously check it, hoping that whatever she needed wasn’t too urgent. But it’s Aubrey, my older sister, who greets me.

  “Hey, little bro, I have a small favor to ask. Frank’s mom fell and broke her hip, so he has to go visit her and see if she needs anything. He should be back in a day or so. Would you mind giving me a hand with the kids tonight and maybe tomorrow?”

  I call her back in the car and she picks up right away. “I got your message,” I say. “Of course I’ll come help you out. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  “Thanks. I owe you one.” She sighs, and I can hear tiny voices hollering in the background.

  “It’s no big deal, really. I didn’t have any other plans tonight.” Because Jenna doesn’t need me—and what if she never needs me again? That’s not a road I want to go down—and the thought of sitting around my penthouse all alone sounds like torture.

  I drive over to find her house in complete chaos, but Aubrey seems unfazed, so I guess this is normal. While she nurses and bathes baby Dustin, she puts me to work juggling a bored Kimberly, a cranky Elijah, and a giggly Brooklyn who takes off running at every opportunity. Now, mercifully, all three kids sit transfixed by a Disney movie in the living room, and all I have to do is bounce Dustin on my knee while Aubrey cooks a pot of chili for dinner. But it’s still total insanity.

  “You were great with the little boogers,” Aubrey comments over the noise of sizzling onions and ground beef.

  I snort. “I managed to stop them from killing themselves or each other, you mean.”

  She shrugs. “Sometimes that’s plenty of work on its own. Especially for four kids all under six years old. Still, I’d say you’re a natural.”

  “Thanks?” I reply cautiously, sensing a trap.

  She dumps in cans of kidney beans and crushed tomatoes. “So, how are things going with Jenna?” she asks way too casually.

  And there it is. But before I brush her off with a cursory fine, I hesitate.

  To be honest . . . I’m totally lost here, and I could use some advice. What the hell do I say, though? In the beginning, I kept my arrangement with Jenna on the down-low because we weren’t supposed to ever be anything worth talking about, and now it’s too late. I can’t admit that she’s pregnant, because my family would just think I’m a total shithead for not immediately dropping down on one knee. But I can’t make an honest woman out of her . . .

  Can I? Do I even want a serious relationship, let alone marriage? Does Jenna?

  All I know is, I’m not ready to let go of her. It’s only been five weeks and she isn’t even showing yet, but I can’t wait to see her with a round belly and full breasts and know that it’s my baby inside her. The thought of never kissing her again, never listening to her ramble about literature and history and philosophy, never spending another night with her beside me, never holding our baby in my arms . . . it’s unthinkably painful. And it’s all self-inflicted. I thought I could walk away unscathed. I had no idea what the fuck I was signing up for, and now all I want is Jenna and our baby.

  For the first time in my life, I want to stick around. I want to give her and the baby everything they need. I want to be part of their lives.

  I swallow past a dry throat, floored by the revelation. The loud movie and the sound of Aubrey’s spatula scraping the pot fill the suddenly awkward silence. She half turns to look at me, her brow furrowed in concern. “Emmett?”

  I heave a loud, overwhelmed sigh. Maybe I can stick to half-truths. “I . . . really like Jenna.”

  Aubrey suppresses a smile. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

  “I really don’t know. I don’t think I’m at all what she wants. What do I do?”

  “Well, I’d start with telling her how you feel,” Aubrey says in a duh tone, leaning down to taste-test the chili.

  I can guess why she sounds exasperated; she probably thinks my problem is just more of my typical aversion to commitment. And I can’t even begin to explain all the ways this time is different. “I’m not just being dense or immature here. We had that talk in the beginning, and she’s already said she’s not interested in a relationship. So, what would be the point? I’d just humiliate myself and cut short what little time I have left with her.”

  Aubrey hums thoughtfully as she roots through the spice cabinet. “Look, I sympathize. Our parents’ marriage was horrible and the divorce was even worse. After all the sh—, I mean, stuff they put us through, I don’t blame you for being skittish.” She throws in a generous pinch of salt and another of pepper. “But even though it’s difficult—” She abruptly twists to call over her shoulder, “Sugar pie, don’
t grab the kitty like that, it’s not nice. Don’t pet him if he doesn’t want to be petted.” Kimberly sulks away from the cornered cat, and Aubrey turns back to the bubbling pot. “Sorry. What was I saying?”

  How did she even see that? I was facing the right direction and I still didn’t notice what was going on in the living room. Guess it’s true what they say about parents growing eyes in the back of their heads.

  “You were explaining why I’m a coward,” I reply dryly.

  Aubrey’s two years older than me, so she remembers that whole ugly mess even better than I do . . . yet she’s been happily married for ten years. She got over it somehow, and I just missed the memo. Although taking over Dad’s job might have had something to do with it.

  “You’re not a coward. You were traumatized.” She puts a lid on the pot, turns down the heat to simmer, and sits at the kitchen table beside me. “I know it’s hard and scary. But the best thing to do is follow your heart. Even if Jenna says no, it’s better to find out how she feels than spend the rest of your life regretting the missed chance to speak up.” She reaches out to cover my hand with hers. “Don’t let fear control you. Sure, people might make mistakes, but life means taking risks sometimes. And we should never stop living.”

  My sister’s words hit me right in the chest, and I drag in a deep breath. Into her earnest gaze, I can’t reply anything but, “Okay. I’ll try.”

  I have no idea what trying involves, but I know I’m sure as hell not ready to give up on Jenna.

  Aubrey beams at me and squeezes my hand before letting go. “That’s the spirit. Now, you’re staying for dinner, right? It’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

  I don’t even check my watch. “Sure, I’d love to.” Going home alone is the last thing I want to do.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jenna

  This careful dance we’ve been doing—the texting and occasional meet-ups for sex have been great, but I knew it couldn’t last forever. And since I haven’t heard from Emmett in a couple of days, I fear this might be the end. But then he called an hour ago to ask what I was doing this weekend, and when I replied “Absolutely nothing,” our plan was hatched.