“What are you getting at?” Katie asked.
I stood at the window, gazing out at the parking lot full of nice cars, surrounded by beautiful, timeworn oak trees. At my old school, my office faced a chain link fence, with the alley and a graffiti-covered garage just beyond. No one threw fund-raisers for those kids. No Prince Charming ever showed up to bid forty thousand dollars on a lark for a date with Cinderella. “Let’s raise money for the Glenfield Academy arts program, yes, but then I propose that we split any money raised to develop a fine arts program at a CPS school.” I turned around, shrugging. “My old CPS school.”
“People won’t go for that,” Katie said.
“Yes, they will. Like you said, they know who they hired.” Maria rose from her seat. “Maybe they’ve never raised money for an inner-city school because no one’s ever told them they could or should. And I say we don’t limit it to the Gala, either. Let’s get the kids involved—selling candy, holding car washes. They should take some ownership of this project.”
“I love it,” I said.
“I’ll get in touch with Katie, and we’ll work out the details,” Maria said.
We all shook hands. After Maria left, Katie stepped over to my desk and flipped over my phone. “Yup,” she said. “I thought so. You’ve been texting Ian. You’re not…feeling relationshippy about him, are you?”
I rolled my eyes. “No. He texts me once in a while about baby stuff. That’s it. I never text him back. Totally innocent.”
Katie raised an eyebrow. “Never, or hardly ever?” She stepped forward and started doing stationary lunges, a somewhat endearing habit she’d developed.
“Hardly ever.” I sat in my chair and straightened papers. My watch buzzed with another text from Ian. I flipped the phone over before Katie could see. She missed it on account of all the lunges.
“I thought you were doing this on your own.” She dipped down and up, down and up.
“I am,” I said. “But I’m also not going to cut off communication with my child’s father just because of some proclamation about staying single for a year.”
“This isn’t about that.” Katie straightened up and stretched at her waist. “It’s about you. I don’t want you to get hurt. Ian’s married to his job, that’s it. He walked out on you after the ultrasound.”
I shook my head. “I am totally going into this with my eyes wide open. He’s showing interest now, which is fine. But he’ll get bored sooner or later, and I’ll be back where I started—alone and fine with it.”
“As long as you’re okay,” she said, “and as long as you’re not getting attached.”
“I am not getting attached,” I said.
…
Erin
Being a pregnant principal with a billion social obligations kind of sucked sometimes. There were very few events I could nope out on, even if I wanted to. But I made the executive decision to ditch a Friday night fund-raiser hosted by an alumnus and Republican congressional candidate raising money for a right-to-life organization.
I played the pregnancy card, which meant I was now lying on the couch, curled up with a full vat of buttered popcorn, ready to flip on America’s Sweethearts. I had decided to start working my way through the entire rom-com genre—from A to Z, and tonight belonged to me, Julia Roberts, John Cusack, and Catherine Zeta-Jones.
Right before I pressed play, my phone buzzed.
It was a message from Ian. “Did you know about the listeria? Tell me you’ve been nuking your deli meats for at least two minutes on HIGH.”
I wiped my buttery hands on a paper towel and texted him back, “I don’t even eat deli meat.”
“Good,” he said. More little dots appeared on the screen, and I set down the remote. No point in pressing play until he finished telling me everything he needed to tell me. “So, what are you up to?” he asked. “Going to Anti-Choice Jerkstores Present…A Night in Atlantic City?”
So we were getting all personal now? I thought we were only supposed to talk about whether or not to use cloth diapers. And though I had fun chatting with him, admittedly, I didn’t trust him. He was still the guy who left me high and dry in Dana’s ultrasound room bathroom. But it wouldn’t kill me to engage in polite conversation. I should keep this going for the kid. I sent him back a vomit face emoji.
“Barf because you’re sick or barf because that event sounds terrible?”
I giggled. “The second one. I’m actually having a nice night in with popcorn and rom-coms.” At my current speed, I’d probably finish this bowl of popcorn before the meet cute.
“Sounds nice,” he said. “I could use a night like that.”
“What are you doing?” I asked. “Skirt chasing?” It was what I assumed he was doing at all times. I mean, I wasn’t delusional. Yes, we’d had two very fun orgasm sessions together, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think I was the only one he’d seen naked recently.
“I’m in Kansas City, in a hotel room. I’m supposed to meet clients out for BBQ, but I’m not in the mood.”
Mmm…pulled pork. I could go for that right now. I wonder if Smoque delivers? I’d ask Alexa later. “But BBQ,” I said. Ian didn’t understand how good he had it right now.
“I know,” he said. “But I’ve been here three days. I’m about to turn into a brisket.”
I pictured him sitting on the edge of his hotel bed, with a barbecued slab of beef as a head. It didn’t totally turn me off. “So, stay in.”
“Maybe I will.”
I glanced at the TV, which was stalled on the America’s Sweethearts Netflix menu page. I was always jonesing for alone time, probably because I was pretty introverted and had to spend my work day dealing with all kinds of people—large and small. Though schmoozing was a part of my job, I loved nights by myself when I could lie on the couch like a slob and eat ridiculous amounts of popcorn without judgment. But these nights always ended up making me a little sad, a little wistful. Watching bad rom-coms alone was fun, but not as fun as it was with other people. Nat and I used to do this together, when she wasn’t out with whomever she was dating at the time. Dirk, if he was around, would sneer at us from his recliner while he read some massive tome about world history or whatever, but Nat and I didn’t care. We ignored him and did our thing, laughing and eating and drinking. But tonight she’d gone to the silly Atlantic City event. “You have Netflix?” I asked Ian.
“I do.”
My fingers faltered as if trying to slow me down. “If you’re serious about staying in, you can watch America’s Sweethearts with me remotely. We can make fun of how Julia Roberts says ‘Kiki.’” I was half kidding. Ian was probably bullshitting me about wanting to stay in tonight. He wasn’t a stay-in guy. He had buxom, brisket-fed Kansas City women to meet.
And…nothing. No response. No little dots. He took my offer seriously, probably thinking this was me trying to trap him into some kind of relationship where we had babies and watched movies together. I’d been hunting for a little company, and, in the process, I’d crossed a line. And not just his. My own line, too. I was supposed to be doing this—all of this—on my own, not chatting up my baby daddy and asking him on a virtual date.
But then the phone rang, and I answered it on the first ring.
“Hi?” I braced myself for the “talk” I knew was coming. Ian was about to tell me that even being texting buddies was too much.
“So what movie is this again?” he asked.
“Um.” Were we seriously doing this? Was Ian Donovan opting to stay in on a Friday night to Mystery Science Theater our way through a bad rom-com? I spoke slowly, so as not to spook him. “America’s Sweethearts. Julia Roberts and Catherine Zeta-Jones are sisters. CZJ is a big movie star who’s forced to promote a film with her ex-husband, John Cusack.”
“That sounds kind of familiar?”
“It’s not very good.” That was my way of giving him an out.
“Which is the point, right?”
Dude! He got it. Ian Donovan understo
od the appeal of sitting through a crappy movie you’d already seen. “It’s totally the point.” I picked up the remote again. “Are we actually doing this?” If he wanted to back out, this was the time.
“We’re doing it,” he said.
God, this was more stressful than phone sex. Asking him to talk me off would’ve been way easier. Our relationship was based on orgasms and the ramifications of those orgasms, nothing more. Opening ourselves up to movie-related inside jokes would mean taking our relationship to a whole new level. “When I say go, press play. Are you ready? Are you on the right screen?”
There was a pause. I imagined him in his hotel room, setting up the video. He no longer had brisket head. He was wearing a dress shirt and tie, which he’d definitely loosened using two fingers. “…Ready,” he said.
“Go.”
The title screen came up. “America’s Sweethearts,” I said, reading the title card. “Or Billy Crystal Gets His Nuts Licked by a Dog.”
“I wasn’t familiar with that alternate title.”
“It’s like Dr. Strangelove,” I said.
“Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb?”
I had learned to stop worrying and was loving this conversation. Ian was such a movie dork. “You really do know movies, huh?”
“I told you I did. My dad and I used to have movie nights together all the time when I was a kid. He showed me all the classics.” There was a pause. I felt every second of it. Talking about our families—this was certainly uncharted territory. “We still do it sometimes.”
“That’s so cool.” I’d never pictured Ian with a dad. His dad was my kid’s grandpa. So weird. I wanted to know more. “Like, what? Would you do that when your mom was out of town or something?”
“Or something,” he said with a hint of finality, shutting the conversation down.
Well, he gave me something, so I’d give him something. My family was going to be his kid’s family, too, after all. “I had to sneak out to my friends’ houses to watch movies.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. My parents were not screen people. We didn’t own a TV. At least not until I was fifteen and they adopted my sister. Then they were like, ‘Go ahead, Erin, watch whatever you want.’” That came out harsher than I meant it to. I totally understood what my parents were about. Before Katie, I was their only hope. They parented me like I was their one chance, their one shot. They weren’t going to do anything to jeopardize my future or my opportunity for success. Then when Katie came around, they mellowed. They suddenly had another outlet for their attention.
Something stirred in my stomach, and I grabbed my midsection. “Whoa, what?” That came out of nowhere.
“You okay?” Ian asked, his voice rushed.
“I think so.” I lifted my shirt, inspecting my abdomen, like there’d be anything to see with the naked eye. “There was just this weird feeling in my belly. Maybe the popcorn isn’t sitting well.”
“Pain?” he asked. “Are you having contractions?” I heard him flipping through a book on the other end.
“No. It didn’t hurt.” I searched for the words to describe what I’d just experienced. “It was more like an odd little fluttering.”
“Oh my God!” Ian shouted. There was a sound like he’d just chucked the book to the floor.
My heart pounded. “What? Is it bad? Am I dying?” I tried to take a few deep breaths. I knew this was too good to be true. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to get attached to any of this. I was losing my baby.
“No!” Ian said. “You’re fine! That was the baby. You just felt him…her…our kid move!”
“What?” I clutched my gut, still not believing I was okay.
When Ian spoke again, his voice was calmer. “The baby totally just moved.”
I was suddenly slightly less alone in the living room tonight. “No way.”
“Yeah. You’re almost at twenty weeks now. That’s about the time you’d start to feel it.” He paused. “Tell me all about it.”
I couldn’t stop beaming. That little whoosh under my flesh was my baby. My baby had made its presence known tonight. He or she was hanging out and watching America’s Sweethearts with their parents, like a real person. “Not much to tell,” I said. “It was literally a little flutter, like a butterfly in my uterus.”
“Can I be jealous now? I’m not sad to miss out on actual labor, but this is something a guy will never experience.” He paused. “I’m really glad I got to be on the phone, with you, though. For this.”
“Me, too.” My hand stayed on my gut as I blinked back tears, thanks to all the hormones and emotions. This was our odd little family—me, my one-night stand, and our fetus. This was our first movie together, our first family night in—like Ian used to do with his dad. I wiped my eyes. No use being sentimental over something so silly. Tonight was nothing special. This was no big deal. We weren’t a family. We were two strangers having a child together. We’d never have family movie nights together in the future. I’d have movie nights with the kid, and so would Ian, but separately.
“You know,” Ian said, “my mom was never around for movie night, but maybe when this kid is born, we can invite you to hang out sometimes, too. That is, if you’d want to.”
Oh, and now the tears were streaming. “I would like that,” I said. “Very much. And, Ian.” I swallowed, taking my time. This was a huge mistake. I should not be doing it. But thanks to the hormones and the baby moving and all of it, I had to take this leap. “Since you’ve been reading up so much on the baby stuff, you probably know that the twenty-week ultrasound is coming up.”
“Yeah.” His voice broke a little. “I did know that.”
“No pressure,” I said, “but if you want to come, I’d be happy to have you there.” I told him the date and time.
“I’ll be there,” he said.
I told him, “Awesome,” but my head said we’ll see.
Chapter Eight
Ian
Scott knocked on my doorjamb. “Where are you going?”
He’d caught me slipping into my jacket, trying to get to Erin’s ultrasound on time. We’d agreed to meet outside the doctor’s office since we were coming from opposite directions—her from Glenfield Academy, and me from the Loop.
“Nowhere,” I said. Good cover, Ian.
“You’re all dressed up.” Scott’s eyes narrowed. “You’re wearing a tie.” He sniffed the air. “And cologne.”
“No, I’m not.” I buttoned my coat to cover the tie, which I was definitely wearing.
Scott stepped in and shut the door. Damn. I really had to book it. I did not have time to deal with Scott’s sleuthing. I’d already dodged a phone call from that Liz girl who wanted me to mentor her and one from my mom that I’d accidentally answered. She’d said, “Hello?” And I responded, “Gottagobye!”
“I know what this is,” Scott said.
“Can we talk later?” I checked my phone—no notifications—and shoved it in my pocket. I had fifteen minutes to get over to Northwestern. Way to cut it close, Ian.
“You have a date.” Scott plucked a Hershey’s kiss from the crystal jar on my desk and painstakingly unwrapped it. This was his version of David Caruso putting on his shades.
“I—” I hesitated. But no. That was the perfect out, wasn’t it? A date. “Yes. I have a date.”
Satisfied, Scott popped the chocolate into his mouth. “Well, she’s gonna have to wait, because I need you to call Isamu. Now. Emergency.”
My shoulders slumped. “What?” Isamu was my contact at Fumetsu. Not Scott’s.
“He called today, and I picked it up because you seemed busy. He has concerns that we’re not going to do right by them, because I slipped and told him about my family stuff—” Scott ran his fingers through his hair, blinking away tears. “I’m sorry, man.”
I’d been holding my breath, and I let it out in one big whoosh. I’d spent months—months—tap dancing around Isamu, trying to convince him that we
were the right VC firm to launch Fumetsu Enterprises into the stratosphere. Scott had undone all my hard work in the course of one conversation. But that wasn’t on him. He’d been trying to help. And if my relationship with Fumetsu was, in fact, that fragile… “Scott. Don’t worry. It’s fine.” I grabbed the phone and dialed. “I’ll fix it.”
Ten minutes later, having smooth-talked my way back into Isamu’s good graces, I jumped into the first cab I saw—beating out another white dude in a suit, so I didn’t feel too bad about it. Desperate times, pal. I had five minutes to get to Erin’s doctor’s office. Five minutes to get across the Loop and over to Streeterville.
I made it in eleven.
Fuck. Shit.
I was so late, Erin had already gone inside.
I dashed up the stairs and into the office, where I found Erin sitting alone in a waiting room chair. Because I was late.
Because I couldn’t even do this one simple thing right.
Like a kid about to be scolded by the principal, I trudged over to her. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I got stuck on a call.”
“Lucky for you, Dana’s running late, too.” Erin had come dressed in her work clothes, which were like the toned-down version of the last gala outfit I saw her in. Under a bright pink trench coat, she wore a black A-line dress covered in a pattern of colored chalk. Rubber lobsters dangled from her ears, and she seemed completely unfazed by that fact. She was who she was, full stop. Dr. Sharpe was nothing like the kind of woman I’d meet out at a trendy River North club. In a good way. In the best way.
And I, the jerk, had left her waiting.
I sat next to her, draping my trench coat over my forearm. She flipped through a Ladies’ Home Journal. “Looking for Bundt recipes?” I asked.
“Slow cooker.” She showed me the page she’d stopped on. “Here are the top five set-it-and-forget-it chili recipes.” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled up at me.
A drowning sensation washed over me. I couldn’t make it to a simple appointment on time—an appointment that meant the world to me. Though I’d been working like a dog to keep the business afloat while Scott took a step back, the Fumetsu deal nearly slipped from my grasp today, the second I turned my back. I’d inadvertently involved myself in a very intricate high-wire act. “I’m really sorry, Erin.”
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