The Knocked Up Plan(46)

But hope is a potent drug. It overpowers fear. My wish is stronger than my need to tamp down all this fervent want.

The next morning, I walk my dog in the chilly dawn, the remnants of this week’s Halloween still in store windows. After I race back to my apartment, nerves and anticipation jostling inside me like boxers in a ring, I take the stick I never peed on last month, and I pee on it.

I stand in my bathroom, counting the seconds.





Twenty-Four





Ryder

“Cupcakes. You need cupcakes.”

The caller sounds intrigued by my statement, but happy, too. I can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “Cupcakes? Tell me more.”

I lean back in my chair, park my hands behind my head, and give him my best advice. “There’s just something about cupcakes. They make you happy. When you’re tasting cupcakes, you can flirt with your woman, you can get to know her—you can find out what makes her tick and what ticks her off.”

The caller laughs. “Cupcakes are like a universal lubricant, then?”

I tense for a second, worried Cal will freak the fuck out if anything is remotely dirty on the show. Across from me, Jason widens his eyes in concern.

But I’ve learned that dirty isn’t entirely the problem my boss has with my work. It’s the heartless dirty he abhors. He doesn’t mind a sex joke if it’s mingled with a wish for intimacy. “Cupcakes sure do seem to pave the way for good things. I’ve concluded that it’s the frosting, man. Frosting is everything.”

“Awesome. I think I’ll find a cupcake shop for my date tonight.”

Jason shoots me a thumbs-up as we say good-bye to our caller.

It’s just me and the mic now as I close out the show. “But the real frosting is this—it’s listening to the woman. When she wants to talk, you listen. When she opens her heart, you listen. When she tells you her fears, you listen. Make her feel cherished, and that’s how you win a woman, whether with cupcakes, mini golf, geocaching, trapeze, an afternoon hotel hijacking, or a night at the arcade.” For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like a fraud when I talk about intimacy and emotions.

That doesn’t mean I want those things in my life. I’m just glad I can do my job again without hating it. I’ve learned through this time with Nicole—maybe because the boundaries are safe and clear-cut—that getting to know someone doesn’t mean giving them your heart to drop into a Cuisinart. Nicole hasn’t chopped and julienned one of my favorite organs.

I suspect that’s because of the nature of our arrangement. The terms and conditions we set in place created a test lab of sorts. A safe zone for dating. In our test lab, we didn’t launch the rocket of romance into space, but we learned it can withstand the pressure of the atmosphere.

When we sign off, Jason offers a palm for high fiving. “Great show. Did I ever tell you I took Lizzie geocaching?”

“Oh yeah?” The geocaching column went viral, and we’ve heard from tons of men and women about their very own treasure hunt dates.

“Best time ever,” he says as we leave the studio. “Followed your column to a T, even the Whispering Arch.”

“How’d that go?”

Jason shrugs sheepishly. “Told her I loved her there.”

“Wow,” I say, smiling. “What did she say?”

“Said she loved me, too. I’m a lucky bastard.” He points at me. “And you’re the master. You know your shit.”

“Glad I could help.”

As Jason turns the other way, Cal marches down the hall, his long legs eating up the carpet. I draw a deep breath like I can protect myself from his ire. He stops and fixes me with an intense stare. “More. Of. That.”

I relax. “Thanks.”

He claps my shoulder. “Keep it up.” He resumes his pace, and finally, the leash he’s had on me loosens.

I turn the corner in the hall, and when I reach my office, I do a double take. A small box is perched on my desk. It’s blue with a white bow on top. I furrow my brow, but then the color registers. Blue like the Katherine’s jewelry store. Why on earth would someone send me a Katherine’s box?

But even as I pose the question, the answer arrives, fully formed in my head. This box can only mean one thing. I fight off that tiny wish in the back of my mind that I’m wrong.

I tug at the ribbon, letting the white fabric fall on my desk, then I park myself in my chair, staring at the box as if it’s a moon rock, an artifact from another planet. Or maybe a relic from another time in my life. Because I suspect that this box marks the end of the best two months I’ve spent with anyone.

I flick my finger against the robin’s egg-blue cardboard, reminding myself that it may be an end, but it’s the beginning of something else. Something Nicole has always wanted. Her heart’s true desire.

That’s all that matters. Not that I might miss her.

I remove the top, fish around in the wrapping paper, and pull out a silver key chain.

This is no dime-store key chain. It’s not a knick knack you’d leave behind in a geocache. It’s silver and real, and I grin wildly as I hold it up, watching the emblem dangle. I let my happiness for her blot out any unexpected, bittersweet emotions.

She’s given me a key chain of a tadpole. It’s engraved. “I am eternally grateful for your gift.”