“What are you not telling me?” Dana rested her iPad on her lap and flipped her reading glasses to the top of her head.
I waggled my eyebrows. “I had sex. Just once. Well, one night. Three times. With the same guy, but it was great and I’m going to do it again. With other people. I have an active sex life, or, well, I plan on having one. In the near future.”
Dana replaced her glasses and noted this new information on her tablet. “Really? And now you’re not feeling well?” She frowned.
“Just a little off, nothing big. I haven’t gotten my period in a while, but you know me, my period comes when it wants.” I scrunched up my face. “Is it menopause?” I voiced the fear that had been haunting me for the past week. “Did random sex kick me into the change of life?” I whispered those last words.
Dana took off her glasses. “Well, you’re only forty.”
“So…maybe?”
“Maybe.” Dana pulled out her phone and sent a text. “I’m sure it’s fine.” She reached over and patted my knee.
My heart beat in my throat. “Oh God.” It was bad. I could tell. Here I’d been all carefree about my night with Ian, a guy who’d probably been with billions of women. Yes, we’d used a condom, but those weren’t foolproof, right? I grew up in the ’90s. This was one of the hard truths we all knew: sex would kill you, New Coke was one of the biggest mistakes of all time, and up-up-down-down-left-right-left-right-B-A-Select-Start would get you thirty lives in Contra. “Is it syphilis?” I said. “Did he give me gonorrhea?” I lay back on the bed and pressed my arm to my forehead, like a swooning antebellum socialite…who’d just found out she had The Clap.
Dana patted my knee. “Don’t assume anything. My nurse will be here with the results in two minutes.”
“Two minutes?” That was how long I had before I’d find out that I had contracted a sexually transmitted disease from the one fling I’d ever allowed myself. At least I didn’t have any other partners to contact with this news. Thank God for small favors.
Exactly two minutes later, the door opened and shut. I scrunched my eyes closed, waiting for Dana to give me the bad news. I didn’t have to wait long. A few seconds later, Dana said, “E, you’re pregnant.”
I bolted upright. My head swirled. “No.”
Dana held up the thing her nurse had brought in. It was a regular old pregnancy test, and the stick glowed blue. Bright. Ass. Blue.
“Congratulations?” Dana said.
I held out my hand and she placed the test in my palm. I stared at it, unblinking, barely thinking. I’d taken a bunch of these over the years, even though I’d lost hope long ago that I’d ever get pregnant. I just thought maybe, maybe if I merely peed on the stick a little it’d make me pregnant. I’d never seen any of those tests turn any sort of color. This one was as blue as the ocean. With my mouth wide enough to catch flies, I looked Dana right in the eye.
I was pregnant, something I’d longed to be for years.
I was going to have a baby, but not Dirk’s baby.
Ian Donovan’s baby. A stranger’s baby.
I let out a shaky breath. “Thank you?”
…
Erin
I arrived at work that morning around eleven. When I showed my ID badge at the front desk, Mabel, the security guard, said, “You look pale, Dr. Sharpe. Are you sick?”
“Little bit,” I told her.
It would be lunchtime in an hour. Everyone ate at the same time at Glenfield Academy, and kids were allowed to go home for lunch, if their parents permitted it. This place was like a time warp to the 1950s.
When I got to my office, I shut the door, sank into my desk chair, and sent a text to Nat and Katie. “Come to my office as soon as lunch starts. Do not pass ‘Go.’ Do not collect two hundred dollars.”
I folded my hands on top of my desk and waited, silently watching the hand on my Fox Mulder wall clock until it reached the twelve.
“Erin?” Nat knocked on my door.
“Come on in.” My voice came out thin and weak.
Natalie slowly opened my office door, and she and Katie entered.
Katie shut and locked the door. Her hand went to her mouth when she saw my face. “Is it cancer?”
I shook my head and pointed to the seats across the desk from me. Once they had both settled in, I spoke. “I’m pregnant.”
Natalie’s jaw dropped, and Katie hit the side of her head, like she was trying to clear her ears.
After a moment, Nat said, “You’re pregnant?”
“And…?” Katie cocked an ear to me, waiting for more information.
I shrugged. “And…” I blew out a shaky breath. “This was what I wanted, right?”
They both nodded slowly, and I could tell they wanted desperately to say the right thing to the pregnant lady who sat across from them, white as a ghost.
“Is it, though?” Nat narrowed her eyes.
I stood and started pacing, shaking out my hands in front of me. I’d had time to think this morning—on the drive up from the city, and while sitting here staring at my clock, but the shock hadn’t worn off yet. I’d gone from thinking I’d never, ever get pregnant to finding out I’d been accidentally knocked up. I tried to keep any worries, fears, or hopes out of this. Finding out I was pregnant was just information. Positive information, if a little ahead of schedule. “Dirk and I had been trying for years…ish. And my whole plan had been to start the process of having a kid on my own after the year of being single ended. This…just speeds up the timeline.”
“Where does Ian fit in?” Katie asked.
“He doesn’t.” I’d barely thought of Ian after leaving Dana’s office. One of his swimmers had busted through the net. So what? We’d said our goodbyes. He wasn’t looking to be tied down.
“He’s the father,” Katie said.
Nat shook her head. “Ian Fucking Donovan is your baby’s father. This poor child.”
I pointed to her. “Nat gets it. Ian and I agreed ‘one night only.’ This goes way beyond that. He travels all the time. He’s a playboy. God knows what he does on the weekend. He doesn’t want this.”
“He does not,” Nat said.
“You don’t know that.” Katie had spun her chair around to watch me head-on.
Nat raised her hand. “I do.”
“But he deserves to know about the baby. He deserves the option of being part of this kid’s life at least.” Katie shook her head. “Erin, you know the right thing to do is to tell him.”
“But I don’t want his help.” I touched my heart. “I’m fine on my own, right? Bringing him into this puts me right back to where I don’t want to be—counting on a guy to help me out.”
“You can do it on your own,” Katie said. “Heck, you can even tell him up front that you need nothing from him. But you have to tell him.”
I looked at Nat. She knew how much of a cad Ian was, how terrible he’d be at this job he didn’t even want. She shook her head. “Katie’s right. You have to tell him.”
I sighed.
“But just don’t expect anything from him,” she warned me.
“Believe me, I won’t.”
…
Ian
My phone buzzed, vibrating my whole desk, seizing my attention from the Tokyo-related spreadsheet Tommy’d handed me a half hour ago. Scott and I had plans to head to Japan soon to impress Fumetsu Enterprises with both our knowledge of their business and our innate ability to schmooze. But right now, the numbers part eluded me. The facts and figures had been blurring for the past fifteen minutes.
I squinted at the digits on my phone. They weren’t familiar. The message said, Hey, Ian. It’s Erin Sharpe. Can you meet for coffee?
My eyes refocused and my heart beat a bit faster when I read her name—out of annoyance, I’m sure. She wasn’t supposed to be texting me. That hadn’t been part of our deal when we had sex a full six weeks ago.
But maybe she wanted another hookup? I could totally go for that. Erin had been so cool
the last time, the way she’d kicked me out of her condo like I was nothing. Unlike Maria Minnesota, Erin was exactly the kind of girl with whom I could have a repeat romp. Erin and I were both hit-it-and-quit-it kind of people.
In theory, anyway. I hadn’t hit anything that would need to be quit since meeting Erin. I’d been out a bunch of times with Scott, gleefully playing the role of wingman, but I hadn’t found anyone I wanted to take home, even for a night.
Maybe one more dalliance with Erin would be just what the doctor ordered. I had to get her out of my system, and then I could move on, go back to the way things were. This time I’d leave first. I’d be the one to utter the thank you, ma’am, after the wham-bam. She’d turned the tables on me, and I needed to turn them back, to set the universe right.
I texted her back Coffee? with a winky face. Coffee was never just “coffee.”
She wrote me back right away. No. Literally just coffee.
So much for that theory. Still, I’d meet her. I’d hear her out. And I’d charm the pants off her in the process, hopefully.
I freshened up a bit before heading down to the street, where bells rang and the streets smelled like cinnamon. People from all over Chicagoland taken the train in to stop at the Chriskindlmarket and see the lights and windows on Michigan Avenue. Tourists and revelers crammed the sidewalks. Maybe that was why Erin had come downtown in the middle of a Thursday. She’d probably gotten off school for winter break and was looking for something…or someone…to do. Well, I’d be happy to oblige. Just this one time.
I straightened my glasses and ran my fingers through my hair one last time before pulling open the door to Starbucks just down the block from my building. I scanned the room, hunting for that punky platinum hair, which I found in the far corner, at a small table.
Erin’s hair looked sad. It lay flat against her head, not sticking up or styled in any way. She wore a Loyola University sweatshirt and black sweatpants, and she’d draped a big, marshmallow-like parka across the back of her chair. She clutched a steaming mug of something with two hands, while she stared out the window.
Oddly, though she looked like death, my first instinct was not to scurry away. She was still Erin, the woman with whom I’d had a great time dancing ironically (or not). She was still the woman who took the wine, and it crushed me that right now she looked like the entire weight of the world had settled on her back. I actually had to stop myself from running over there and hugging her, to try to make her feel better.
Who the hell was I?
I removed my coat on the way to the table and sat down across from her. “Hi,” I said.
She turned her head and looked at me. Dark gray circles had formed under her eyes, which were red and puffy. She’d been crying. “I’m pregnant,” she said.
In a split second of utter shock, confusion, and disbelief, I burst out laughing and said, “What?” She had to be joking. And, honestly, kudos to Dr. Sharpe. This was an epic prank, busting my balls with a fake pregnancy, and her playing the part with the tragic clothes and hair and red eyes.
“I’m not joking.” Her face revealed no hint of a smile.
“You’re not joking.” The blood drained from my face, leaving an icy trail from my forehead to my toes.
She stared out the window as she spoke. “I’m having the baby. It’s definitely yours. You don’t have to be involved.” Now she looked at me. The deadness in her eyes chilled me. She didn’t appear angry or sad. She seemed numb, and she looked at me like I meant less than nothing to her. “I’m only telling you because I know I should. I don’t expect anything from you.”
I believed her. She really didn’t expect anything from me. Why would she? I was the king of one-night stands. Not exactly responsible father material.
“I can pay—” Having never been in this situation before, at least not that I’d known about, I had no idea what to do with the information she’d just handed me, but I could give her money, at least. Money I had. Time to devote to another person? Emotional stability? Dependability? Those were foreign concepts.
She shook her head. “I don’t need money.” She reached into her coat pocket and handed me a business card.
I glanced down at it. It was from an OB/GYN office, and someone had scrawled a date and time across the top. This was really, really real. Not that I hadn’t believed Erin before, but now I had proof —in black and white ink.
“That’s an appointment for my first ultrasound. You don’t have to come.”
I might have been new at the whole being-a-father thing, but I certainly wasn’t new at recognizing when I wasn’t wanted. “Okay,” I said. She was the boss.
Erin, still not looking at me, nodded, grabbed her coat, and left the coffee shop without another word.
I chugged the rest of her hot tea, barely registering the burn on the roof of my mouth as I stared at the card she’d given me. Monday afternoon. December 23rd. Two o’clock. Dr. Dana Costello. I was free. Or not “free,” but I could move things around. Easily.
No. I should respect her wishes. Erin only told me this news out of obligation. She didn’t want me there. She had made that abundantly clear.
But maybe I wanted to be there?
Fuck. What was I thinking? Of course I didn’t want to go. The last thing I wanted was to be a part of this kid’s life, a part of anyone’s life. I’d avoided this level of responsibility my entire adult life. I’d only end up hurting my child, not to mention their mother. I was just like my own mom, but, unlike her, I knew my limitations.
However, instead of chucking the business card in the trash and erasing this whole afternoon from my mind, I pulled out my phone and added the time, date, and location to my Google Calendar to buy myself some time to think, just in case. I didn’t have to make any bold decisions right this second.
…
Ian
“Who, pray tell, is Dr. Dana Costello? And why are you seeing a gynecologist?”
I nearly dropped my coffee as I stepped into my office the next morning. I found Scott in my swivel chair, slapping the business card Erin had given me against his palm. I could not get rid of it. Every time I tried chucking it into the garbage, someone—me—snatched it back out.
“I came in here this morning to watch the trains, and, lo and behold, there on your desk sat an OB/GYN’s card. Where did you two meet? She sounds fancy.”
The air drained from my lungs. Scott thought the two o’clock appointment was a date. I supposed that made more sense than the alternative—that I’d knocked up the one-night stand Scott didn’t even know I’d had. “Dana and I met a couple weeks ago. At The Bizzee Sygnal. After you left.”
“You met a doctor at The Bizzee Sygnal? Wonders never cease.” He handed me the card.
I tossed it into the garbage—for real this time—and paced in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Morning rush hour was still a go, and train after train pulled in and out of the station below. “She’d gone to the bar with some college friends. We got to talking.” I shrugged, ignoring the sick feeling in my stomach that if I had met a doctor at The Bizzee Sygnal a few weeks ago, I would’ve made an excuse not to sleep with her. My mojo had disappeared.
“So, bud,” Scott said. “I came to tell you something.” I noticed then that Scott looked the way I felt—drained and confused.
“You okay?”
Shaking his head, he stood and closed the door. “My mom’s sick.”
For the second time that week, an iciness snaked down my spine and drifted through my limbs.
On instinct, I stepped over to hug him, but he waved me off. “I know,” he said. “I don’t want to get all—” He flailed his arms. “I’ve been dealing with hospitals and tests and what-ifs for the past few weeks. Now we’re facing logistics. It’s cancer. Stomach. Doesn’t look like it’s spread. She’s going to have chemo and radiation. She’ll be fine.” He placed his hands in prayer position and stared at the ceiling for a moment before looking at me again. “But I need to step ba
ck a bit, business-wise.”
I nodded. “Whatever you need.” Scott’s mom had cancer. Scott’s mom. She was Scott’s entire life—the only person who trumped either work or friends. If he lost her…
I couldn’t think about that.
He said, “I don’t want to leave you in the lurch right now with the Tokyo stuff—”
I waved him off. “Man, don’t worry about it. I’ve got it. You know that.”
“Thank God for Ian,” Scott said. “Mr. No Entanglements.”
I chuckled nervously. Heck, I’d just gotten word of a very significant entanglement, if I wanted it to be.
“Fuck cancer,” Scott said. “Let’s talk about something happy, like you and the lady doctor. Have you two gone out since you met?”
I shook my head. God, how could we pivot to this banality? The word “cancer” still hung in the air like an anvil about to drop on our heads.
“But you’re meeting up on Monday?” Scott asked.
I’d play along. If Scott didn’t want to talk about it, we wouldn’t talk about it. When he felt ready, we would. I’d be there for him, always. “I don’t know if I’m gonna show up.” Hell, that was the truth.
“You’re gonna blow off the doctor? The gynecologist?”
“Maybe.” I’d been back and forth about this since Erin told me the news. She didn’t want me there. She didn’t need me there. I got that. I respected it. But what did I want? I wasn’t looking for a romantic relationship, but I had managed to stay close to my childhood friends all my life. Maybe I could make room for a kid.
What the fuck was I thinking? No, I couldn’t. I was leaving for Tokyo for two weeks. I’d have to go back there again and again over the next few months. And that wouldn’t be the end of it. After we signed that deal, there’d be others—in Australia or South America or wherever.
I didn’t have room in my life. For anyone.
“I know what this is,” Scott said. “You’ve been gun-shy ever since Maria Minnesota.” Again, as always, he said her name like a game-show host. “Is this Dana woman looking for a commitment from you?”
Knocked-Up Cinderella Page 6
