The Knocked Up Plan(38)

High fives abound, and Penny rubs my belly as we stop at a crosswalk. “I’m tempted to kiss your belly for luck, but that’s totally weird. Also, I think we need to get in the habit now of patting your belly.”

“Pat it. You can feel up my belly as much as you want for the next nine months.”

As we say good-bye and I walk the rest of the way home, those words play over and over in my head.

Nine months, nine months, nine months.

I intend to enjoy every single second of every day of them.

By that night, I am still blissfully period-free. I wash my face and loop my hair into a ponytail. I open the closet door all the way and appraise my appearance in front of the full-length mirror. I stand sideways, considering my breasts, my legs, my hips, and most of all, my flat belly. I run my hand over my middle. I swear I can feel something happening. Like my mom said, maybe you just know. I clasp both hands on my stomach, lace my fingers together, and send a wish to the universe to take care of the baby I hope is growing inside me.

I turn off the lights and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When I wake on Monday morning, it’s as if I’ve been shot full of anticipation, and nerves, too. Everything feels different.

When a tongue slobbers up my cheek, I remember that I’m not the only one who has to pee. Ruby licks my face again, and that’s my cue to toss off the covers, tug on some sweats, and leash her up. I have to go, too, but I can hold it for five minutes while she does her business. I want to be able to savor the moment when I see those two pink lines. Then, I can spend the rest of my morning calling the whole world. Well, just my mom and my girls and that man who made it possible. I’d tell them, but no one else.

I pull on a fleece, grab a plastic bag, and leave. After a quick trip around the block, I race back up the stairs to my apartment.

When I unhook Ruby’s leash, I pat the side of my leg, her cue to follow. My loyal girl trots behind me as I head to the bathroom. My new plunger is parked next to the toilet, nice and pristine. I grab the test box and read the instructions for the twentieth time, even though I’ve memorized them. But I don’t want to mess this up.

I’m ready for the news.

I’m ready to head down the path to motherhood.

I’m ready to go this alone.

I inhale deeply, pull down my panties, and I see blood.

I freeze.

And a whole new emotion washes over me.

Foolishness.

I’ve never felt like a bigger fool in my life. Tears leak down my face. I can’t believe I let myself get so carried away. I can’t believe I let myself think it would be easy.





Nineteen





Ryder

As I round the corner, I check my messages again. Still no word from Nicole, and I know today is the day. I stuff the phone into my back pocket, reasoning that can only mean good news. She’s probably caught up in the excitement. I bet she cabbed it to her mom’s house already and they’re shopping for baby blankets or maternity clothes. Does it make me a complete dick if maternity clothes give me the willies?

Look, I’m not saying pregnant women aren’t hot. Some are sexy as fuck, and Nicole would look smoking hot as a pregnant chick with a giant basketball belly and those perfect tits. All I mean is, I’d rather not see her in clothes with a pouch just yet.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

I do sound like a dick. Even in my own head.

While I’m at it, I guess I might as well make all my asshole confessions as I weave through the Monday morning crowds on the way to work. God knows, when I get to the office, I’ll have to put on my good-boy cap. But here goes. There’s a part of me that hopes she’s not pregnant.

I drag a hand through my hair as I march up the avenue.

I can’t believe I just thought that. But let the wild rumpus of dickhead ideas roam free in my brain. I really enjoyed fucking her, and I wouldn’t mind trying to score a touchdown a few more times inside her. The nights with her were everything I could want—amazing evenings with a wonderful woman, the hottest sex of my life, plus some of the best conversations in the post-fornication glow.

Nicole and I get each other on an instinctual level. Not just in bed, but out of it, and I will miss that.

I will miss having her.

When I reach the office, I shove those notions aside. Surely Nicole is in the family way, and I’m going to be the most enthusiastic sperm donor ever in the history of sperm donors.

I square my shoulders, take a deep breath, and go inside. I say hello to the receptionist, make idle hallway chitchat with a few co-workers, then check my phone one more time. Still nothing. She’s probably not even here. I bet she took the day off to celebrate her good news.

I head to her office and tap on the door. A weak voice says, “I’m busy.”

My heart falls, and I know instantly that it didn’t work. “Nicole, it’s me.”

There’s a honk as if she’s blowing her nose.

She pulls open the door, and her smile is the most plastic thing I’ve seen. My poor girl. She’s so sad, and she’s trying so hard to be tough. I close the door behind us, lock it, and gather her into my arms.

“I’m sorry, baby.” I stroke her hair, and it occurs to me I’ve called her baby when we’re not screwing. In the heat of the moment, I just say it and it feels right. But at this moment, too, it feels surprisingly right.