“One is plenty,” I said. Nat wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t getting any younger.
“This is a lot of talk,” Nat said, “but neither of you has any skin in the game. What’s going to keep you from falling head over heels for the first guy you meet?”
“This isn’t about reward or punishment,” I said. “It’s about bettering our lives, about being okay on our own.”
Natalie downed the rest of her tea. “You two will be engaged by January.”
I leaned across the table. She looked really smug over there with her tea and her third-base boyfriend. “Let’s make it interesting. If I make it the whole year without breaking my rules—no sleepovers, no second dates, no strings—you have to teach that after-school elementary science program I’ve been begging you to do…for free.”
“For free?” She scrunched up her nose.
“Out of the goodness of your heart.”
“Okay, then. If your new single-and-loving-it life flames out in less than twelve months—as I predict it will—you have to buy me that ginormous interactive SMARTboard for my classroom.”
“It costs way too much money. We don’t have it in the budget.”
“Well, either you’ll have to find the money—pilfer some cash from athletics or something—or not fall in love until next November.”
Katie set her phone on the table. “What about me? I need some motivation.”
Nat scratched her chin. “If you lose, you have to wash my car for a year.”
Katie nodded. “I can do that.”
“Wax it, undercarriage, the whole thing.”
“Got it.”
“And if she wins…” I say.
“You pay for my gym membership for an entire year, plus specialty classes, plus three smoothies a week.”
“You’re on.” Nat pulled out her phone and started typing.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Just looking up all the cool things I’ll be able to do with my new SMARTboard.” She glanced up at me and winked.
…
Ian
Scott met me at the elevator on Monday. “Prepare yourself.” He sipped the beverage from his Starbucks cup. He told everyone he drank black coffee, but only I knew the truth. Scott, Mr. On-Trend, knocked back white chocolate raspberry mochas on the daily. He started every single morning with a sugar bomb that had been passé, flavor-wise, more than ten years ago. It was the most uncool thing about him, and I adored him for it.
“For what? Why am I preparing myself?” I peered past him toward our office space. Everyone stood huddled in front of the reception desk.
“To vomit.” Scott started walking and I fell into step with him. “Tommy’s back from paternity leave and he has pictures.” Scott rolled his eyes at the word “pictures.”
“Babies are cute.” I nudged Scott in the side. “As long as they’re not mine.”
“One benefit of being gay,” he said, “is not having to worry about some twenty-two-year-old I met one hot weekend showing up later with a blue stick he peed on.”
I patted his shoulder. “You’re living the dream.”
“You know it.”
I sidled up to Tommy, who had captured the full attention of every woman in the office as he proudly flipped through about a million photos on his phone. “Welcome back, man.” I clapped him on the back.
“Hey!” Tommy scrolled through his photos and landed on one. He shoved the phone toward me. A picture of an amorphous, bald blob, basically swimming in one of those baby bodysuits, filled the screen. “Here’s Maeve in the ‘Little Rambler’ onesie you gave her.”
I nodded. “Nice.” Tommy, Scott, and I had been best friends since grade school. After college, we started our little business—buying and selling real estate commodities and investing in small businesses. The details were boring, but the money kicked ass. I pointed to my office and Tommy waved me off as the women huddled around him again, cooing. They used to coo like that around Tommy for a totally different reason.
I found Scott waiting for me in my desk chair. He swiveled around like Dr. Evil, all ten of his fingertips touching. “You got out of there fast.”
“Give Tommy a break,” I said, dropping my briefcase on my desk. “He’s just excited.”
“He’s so domestic all of a sudden. It won’t last. He’ll snap sooner or later.”
“No, he won’t.” I motioned for him to vacate my seat, which he did, but not before stealing a pencil from the Holy Cross mug on my desk. I plopped down on my chair. Scott’s ass had warmed the leather. Thanks, pal. “What were you expecting? He got married. He had a kid. It happens.”
“Not to me. Not to us,” Scott said, an almost imperceptible tinge of sadness in his voice. Unlike me, Scott had wanted those things, once upon a time. He stared out the window, which looked down—way down—on Canal Street. Our office sat near the top of the Ogilvie building. My corner space gave me a view of the river, the opera house, and the train tracks headed north. During his down time, Scott liked to hang out in here and watch trains come and go at all hours of the day. “Speaking of…” Scott spun around, a too-big grin on his face. “I had a very fun, unmarried experience this weekend with that waiter from the bachelorette auction.”
“Congrats.” I flipped through the envelopes in my in-box.
“How about you? Did you visit Minnesota?” He winked.
“You know I didn’t.” I tossed my mail back onto the desk. This was our usual Monday morning conversation, but I was not in the mood today. “I visited no lands, foreign or domestic, this weekend.”
Scott narrowed his eyes. “Bullshit. I can tell you had sex. Who was she? The mayor’s daughter? The coat-check girl?” His hand went to his mouth. “Oh my God, did you fuck Dr. Sharpe?! Please tell me you did. Ian banged the school principal!”
Rolling my eyes, I picked up the envelopes I’d just sorted through. I needed time. Scott and I always talked about our weekends. We spared no details. Tommy and I had golf. What bonded Scott and I was recreational sex. But I’d decided to keep all the mortifying Erin-related details to myself. “I didn’t bang anyone. I wasn’t feeling so hot after dinner and went right home. I think I ate some bad shellfish.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Guilt pinged in my gut. I never lied to Scott or Tommy. Never, ever, ever.
“You’re telling me that you—Ian Donovan—did not get laid over the weekend.” Scott stood nose to nose with me now, fingertips planted on top of my desk, trying to suss out the truth. He was pulling a Larry David on Curb, staring into my eyes, searching for the lie.
“That’s what I’m telling you,” I said. “I was sick.”
That night with Erin existed just for me and her. That’s what I’d decided, at least. It had been a fun night, an amazing night, but it was different from when I hooked up with other girls. I’d slept over. She’d been the one who’d kicked me out, which embarrassed the shit out of me. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how she just hopped out of bed naked in the morning like it was no big deal. I hadn’t had an experience like that in…well, ever.
I didn’t do feelings or emotions. I didn’t do the sad walk of shame. But Erin had been the one who slammed the door on me.
And it bummed me the fuck out.
I’d love to pretend it didn’t, but it did.
Between her and Maria Minnesota, I was on the verge of becoming a romantic or something. My game had slipped.
I had to pretend the night didn’t happen and move on, learn from my mistakes—like I did during a round of golf. If I bogeyed one hole, I didn’t take that disappointment to the next one. I shook it off. And now I was shaking off the most recent mistakes of my sex life. There’d be no more staying overnight, no more second dates, and no expectations. The thing with Erin had been a blip. It had reaffirmed that my original guiding principles were correct. I had put those rules in place for a reason, and I needed to heed them.
I looked up and nodded toward the door. �
�I’ve got to check messages.”
Scott took the hint and left, and I pressed play on my voicemail. A small, annoying part of me hoped to hear Erin’s voice through the speaker, though I had no idea why I would.
No dice.
Which was fine. Which was the point. Erin was living up to her end of our bargain. I didn’t want to hear from her or anything. I was done with her, just as she, apparently, was done with me.
All proceeding as planned.
I shook my shoulders, dislodging Erin from my mind.
The first two messages were from my friend Isamu in Tokyo, one of the partners at Fumetsu Enterprises, who’d given me the inside track. His company was in the process of developing a completely indestructible cell phone, among other things, and they were playing really, really hard to get. Something I knew a bit about. I made a note to schedule another trip out there ASAP.
The third had come from some woman named Liz Barton, an alumna from my high school who had started her own VC group in town and wanted to pick my brain. I’d ask my assistant to set something up.
My mom had left the fourth message. “Hi, honey! Just checking in. Call me when you get a chance. If you misplaced my number, it’s—”
I deleted the voicemail, like I deleted all my mom’s voicemails. I hadn’t spoken to her since, well, probably the holidays last year. She was my cautionary tale, my reason to remain attachment-free, and I’d do well to remember that right now.
I pressed the intercom button on my phone and called Scott’s office. “Hey, buddy. You up for going out tonight? I could use some fun.”
After work, Scott, Tommy, and I hopped over to The Bizzee Sygnal, which had been Scott’s choice. He loved watching the sloppy women from the ’burbs falling all over the guys who’d just gotten off work. We let him pick, even though he’d informed us he wasn’t in it for the long haul this evening because he had to go up to Winnetka to visit his mom.
Tommy and I followed Scott downstairs to the “oldies” room, where the DJ played tunes from the ’80s and ’90s, which never ceased to make me feel like an ancient grandpa. Scott hopped up on stage with some thirtysomething women and started dancing to “Forever Your Girl” by Paula Abdul, while Tommy and I grabbed two seats at the bar and ordered beers.
“You’re not dancing?” I asked. Unlike me, Tommy had no qualms about bopping around to cheesy music.
He shook his head. “Maybe later.”
I nudged him in the side. “Give me the real scoop, man. How’s being a dad?” This whole concept was so foreign to me. I had some friends who were parents, but I barely saw most of them anymore. We lived totally different lives, which in and of itself created distance between us. While I was rolling in from the bar at four in the morning, they were getting up to feed their kid or change its diaper. Tommy was my first ride-or-die to take the parenting plunge. Yeah, part of me worried about how that’d change our relationship, but, really, things had already been different since he and Susie got together and he stopped going out as much. For years now, it had mostly been Scott and me alone on the weekends or after work.
“Being a dad is great.” Tommy sipped his beer. “Susie’s great. Maeve’s great.”
He was hiding something. I narrowed my eyes and forced him to look at me. “So everything’s perfect?”
“One hundred percent.” Now he downed half his drink.
“Bullshit,” I said. “You’re telling me there’s not one negative to taking care of a kid—not the diapers or the crying or having to get out of bed in the middle of the night?”
“My mother-in-law is visiting and she’s thinking about moving in with us.”
“That’s a bingo!” I touched my glass to his.
“It’s a good thing. She does so much to help Susie. I’m grateful to have her around.” Tommy sounded like a pod person. He gazed around the bar as if seeing it for the first time. My friend had morphed into an alien being.
“You’re glad to be out tonight, though?”
He shook his head. “I miss my girls.” Again with the alien monotone.
I punched him in the arm. “You sap.”
Tommy grinned, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. I glanced over at Scott, who’d wrapped his arms around two middle-aged women with big hair. He’d always questioned whether or not Tommy could handle life as a husband and father. This was the first time I’d ever questioned it as well.
“There something else going on?” I asked. “You can tell me anything, bud. You know that.” Tommy and I had been through absolutely everything together—his dad dying, my mom leaving, his relationships ending.
He hit me with a watery grin. “Just thinking about old times.” Now he smiled with his eyes. I relaxed a bit. Same old Tommy. “Remember when we switched identities?”
I shook my head in disbelief. I’d completely forgotten about that. For some reason we’d decided it would be fun. “Oh my God, that was…why the hell did we do that again?”
“Because we were bored or something.” He shook his head. “I really leaned into the whole ‘being you’ thing that night. I fed the girls all your stories about jet-setting around the globe.” Tommy was our CFO, and he mostly stayed in Chicago. He didn’t rack up the miles like Scott and I did, which was probably a big part of the reason why he could handle being in a relationship and we couldn’t. He raised his eyebrows. “I went home with two women that night.”
Chuckling, I patted his hand. “And no one can ever take that memory away from you.”
“True.” He downed the rest of his drink, as Scott made his way back over to us. “At least I’ll always have that.”
I was about to ask him to elaborate, to get down to the real reason why he was acting so off tonight, when Scott said, “I’ve got to hit the road.”
Tommy threw a few bills down on the bar. That was it. No more talking. Our guys’ night out had ended in a whimper. “Me, too. Can we share a ride to the train station?”
Scott nodded. “You coming, too, Ian?”
I glanced around. The bar had started to fill up. This would be the perfect opportunity for me to reaffirm my guiding principles, maybe use a couple of those traveling-the-globe stories Tommy had mentioned. “I’m going to ride it out here,” I said.
After the guys left, I finished my first beer and ordered another, trying to psych myself up to make a move. I was Ian Fucking Donovan—a rich, attractive dude with a good personality. I could get any woman in this club. Heck, I could get two women, if I wanted to.
A group of bubbly twentysomethings had gathered at the end of the bar.
Fish in a barrel.
I pointed to the TV, where the Bulls game had been playing earlier. “Did you see the score?” I asked the woman nearest to me, a blonde. I didn’t care about the score. I barely cared about sports, other than golf.
She shook her head. “Sorry.”
“I’m Ian.” I held out my hand in greeting.
She giggled. “And I’m young enough to be your daughter.”
Her friends swarmed around her, laughing, and then a group of guys who were much closer to her age came over and sidled up. I wasn’t old enough to be their dad. Their uncle, maybe. Their cool uncle who bought them beer when they were underage. “That’s Ian,” the girl told her friends, giggling. I was a joke to them, an old man who’d lived past his prime.
One of the other girls, a brunette, pulled away from the group. “Don’t listen to them. I’m Paris.” Paris grinned—nice smile, white teeth. She sported a dress with a cutout over the stomach. Standard fare these days.
“Want to buy me a drink?” She shook her long brown hair over her shoulders, still flashing me that grin.
“I—” I checked my watch. Still early, but, honestly, the idea of chatting up someone whose name I wouldn’t remember in a day or two exhausted me. Tonight, just knowing I could’ve scored was enough. “You know what? I would, but I’ve got somewhere to be.” I raised my glass to her and downed my beer.
Then I opened my ride app, typed in my own address, and went home alone to watch Black Mirror.
Chapter Four
Erin
“So, what’s going on with you?”
Dana, my gynecologist and good friend since kindergarten, perched on her official doctor’s stool, while I sat on the patient’s bed. At least she’d let me keep my clothes on today. For now, anyway. No secrets remained between Dana and me, at least on my end, but it was nice once in a while to have a conversation with her without my ass hanging out the back of a flimsy paper gown.
I gazed at the Christmas tree in the far corner of the room that had been decorated with blue lights and tiny menorah ornaments. “I’m feeling a little off.” I touched my cheek, which felt clammy. I’d probably caught something from the kids at school. This kind of thing always happened, though usually earlier in the year. In years past, by now, by December, my immunity had kicked back in and my body could ward off any bugs the children tracked into the school.
“You look great,” Dana said. “You left urine samples?”
“As always.” Dana was my OB/GYN, but I always went to her first whenever I had questions or concerns. She could always talk me down from any of my presumed illnesses. I bet Dana never imagined how much she’d be testing my pee as a grown-up, back when we were giving our Barbie and Jem dolls makeovers in third grade. We never asked the Magic 8 Ball if copious chats about my urinary tract lurked in our future.
“Well, we’ll run tests on that. But honestly, you’re glowing.” Dana checked my chart on her tablet. “Are you eating better? Taking the vitamins I prescribed?”
“Yes and yes.” A slow smile crept onto my face. In all the years of me coming to Dana for exams, I never had anything new to report, sex-wise. For the past decade, I’d been with Dirk. She knew all about our sporadic sex life and our troubles getting pregnant. But now I had something to brag about. “Honestly, other than the nausea, I feel like I have a new lease on life.”
“And a new wardrobe,” she said.
“Thank you for noticing.” Today I’d donned a pair of black leggings and a blue velvet tunic that looked way too dressy for a Wednesday afternoon, but it matched the new vibe I’d decided to cultivate. I deserved a new wardrobe to match my new attitude. It was time to be who I wanted to be, and who I wanted to be was one of those old ladies who dressed up all the time—sequins were my new sweats.
Knocked-Up Cinderella Page 5
