The Knocked Up Plan(66)
But maybe not.
Maybe love isn’t a collection of falsehoods.
Maybe happiness isn’t a farce.
Maybe being together can go right, if you trust yourself to try again.
I pat my dog’s head, and we go inside.
A cupcake is a good start.
I grab a strawberry one from her favorite bakery, and a bouquet of red tulips from a florist near her home. My heart skitters as I walk along her block.
I’ve traveled this block so many times en route to a night of baby-making, and more recently, to taking her home after the Ping-Pong fall.
But tonight feels different.
Because it is different.
It’s the start of what I hope will be all the things I never thought I wanted from this arrangement and now I can’t imagine living without.
When she opens the door, her smile is so bright it nearly blinds me.
“Hi!” Her voice rises at the end as if she’s been practicing the greeting all day.
“Hey, beautiful,” I say, and dip my mouth to hers to kiss her lips. I catch more cheek than lip.
“Come in.” She shuts the door behind me, and after a proper dog greeting from Ruby, I hand Nicole the flowers. “For you.”
She sniffs them. “They’re lovely.”
After she grabs a vase and fills it, she sets the flowers on the living room table then sits. I join her on the couch. She crosses her legs, and places her hands on her thighs. She seems more proper tonight. Not in appearance—she wears jeans and a sweater—but in demeanor.
“Everything okay? You seem . . . jumpy?”
She shakes her head. “Everything is great.”
“I got you a cupcake.” I hand her the box.
She opens it, her eyes lighting up. “I’m going to save it for later. Too nervous to eat.”
“Why are you nervous?” I ask, hoping it’s for the same reason I am.
She takes a breath, her shoulders rising and falling. She doesn’t speak, and I can’t fucking exist in this in-between state any longer. I didn’t take a journey to the haunts of my broken heart to do nothing.
“I’ve been thinking about us,” I say, ripping off the Band-Aid.
“Me, too.”
Relief floods me. “You have?”
“Yes. A lot.” Her voice rises, and hope rises in me. She’s got to be thinking the same thing. I can’t be so goddamn out of touch with emotions that I’ve misread her.
“At first, I didn’t think I would want this, but now I do.” I clasp her hand, and she threads her fingers through mine. God, it feels so right. All of this feels so damn right.
Her voice is soft and heartfelt as she speaks. “Everything has changed, hasn’t it?”
My heart soars. “Yes. Everything has changed.” I squeeze her hand, take a deep breath, and prepare to tell her I love her, I love our baby, and I want it all.
“Ryder?” In her voice, I hear all the hope in the world. “I would love for you to be involved in the baby’s life. Would you like that?”
The floor falls out from under me. My jaw comes unhinged. The room topples, turning upside down.
Yes, I want to shout.
No, I want to shout.
I want you, too.
But she didn’t offer herself.
She only offered the child.
“I can tell you’ve fallen for the baby,” she says, squeezing my hand again. “And it melts my heart. If I’m wrong, tell me, and I won’t be offended. But if I’m right, I would be so happy to have you as part of the baby’s life.”
I can’t answer her. Her words sound foreign to my ears, garbled and muddy. I want to find the rewind button. The redo option.
I blink, trying to make sense of this flipped-around reality. But when I replay her words in my head, they’re not muddy. They’re crystal clear. She doesn’t want love from me. She wants her baby to have a father.
My chest hurts. My heart literally fucking aches. I want to grab her shoulders, stare into her eyes, and ask her to be mine for-fucking-ever.
I open my lips to tell her she’s the one, and I want it all with her, but something catches inside of me.
An ancient hurt. Old fears. Or perhaps the stone that blocks my voice is the stark reality that life isn’t a fairy tale.
I think back on my chats with Simone, the things I try to teach her. You get what you get and you don’t have a fit.
Sometimes, you don’t get all you want. In fact, you rarely do in life. I don’t have all my business back. I have enough of it. I don’t have my marriage, but I have the dog. And I don’t get the woman. I get the kid.
The kid I desperately want.
I’m being given a great and wonderful gift, and you don’t turn away from that.
When I finally speak again, the words sound as if they’re coming from someone else. “I would love to be part of Papaya’s life.”
“We should probably focus on that, then. Do you agree?”
Her meaning is crystal clear. Last night was a last hurrah.
Thirty-Six
Top Five Signs You’re a Pathetic, Mopey Idiot
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By Nicole Powers
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