Josh and Gemma Make a Baby(61)

“Come on. Time to go,” he says.

I go to jump out of the bed, but he leans down and puts his arms under my knees and my back and scoops me up. I wrap my arms around his neck.

“You have to stay horizontal,” Josh says. “Twenty minutes. For the baby.”

There’s the light in his eyes again, that glimmer of laughter. It’s only been ten minutes. He’s going to keep me horizontal come hell or high water. For the baby.

I give him a beaming smile, and Josh wastes a precious few seconds to just look at me, a stunned expression on his face, like he’s never seen my smile before.

Ham-Arm has almost extricated himself from the curtain.

“Come on. We gotta go,” I say.

Josh nods and hefts me closer to his chest. I can feel the hard beating of his heart. He starts to go, then, “Wait. My purse, my coat,” I cry.

Josh grabs them from the side table, then he makes a swift exit from the recovery area. Shouts of “boy toy,” “Jell-O” and “cream” follow us.

When we make it to the lobby, I see Joy at the desk. As Josh jogs by, I call, “You might want to send someone to the back. A couple had an accident.”

Joy pokes her head out from behind her high desk. Her mouth drops open when she sees Josh running through the lobby with me in his arms.

“I’m not paying for it,” he calls over his shoulder. “This time, his head broke it.”

I start to laugh, then I can’t stop. I bury my face in Josh’s chest and laugh until I’m out of breath. As we pass through the lobby, the same security guard as last time rushes past us toward the fertility office.

Once we’re out onto the sidewalk, Josh slows to a walk. The crisp air bites at my cheeks and I blink at the brightness of the late morning.

We made it.

I wiggle in his arms. “You can put me down now,” I say. I’m not exactly light.

He shakes his head and pulls me tighter against him. “Five more minutes.”

I sigh and then lean my head against his shoulder and let him carry me through Midtown Manhattan. My coat is in my arms and acts as a sort of blanket against the chill. It’s Saturday so there are window shoppers, couples, and families ambling down the sidewalk. Still, no one except curious little kids look at the tall handsome guy carrying a woman down the street.

I wrap my arms more tightly around Josh’s neck and shoulders. They’re solid and muscular, thicker than they were sixteen years ago. You know, the last time I was this close to him. His body is different. To be honest, a lot different. He was seventeen then, and he’s thirty-three now. I’m sure…I know, a lot has changed.

I remember how much I’d idolized him. How much I fantasized about him as a teenager. Now I know, even then, I didn’t really know Josh, I just fantasized about the idea of him.

It’s sad to admit that you never really liked someone, that instead, you liked the idea of them.

And then, just as easily, I discarded the idea of him.

For all these years, I never, ever knew Josh.

Not a bit.

I sigh and lean my head against his warm chest and stare up at the winter blue sky.

The sounds of the city, the whoosh of the buses, the taxi horns, the screeching of the subway rising from the sidewalk grates, all of those sounds mix with the steady beating of Josh’s heart.

Finally, he comes to the southern edge of Central Park. He heads down a path that leads toward the little iced-over pond. There’s a green bench looking over a flock of geese that have found a small bit of water not yet iced over. He settles down onto the bench and sets me down so that my head rests in his lap. I bend my knees and put my feet on the bench.

Josh gives me a rueful smile. “Well?”

Then, I can’t help it, I grin back at him. Because we did it. We did it.

“In less than two weeks we’ll know—” I begin.

“What are you doing for Valentine’s—” He stops, clears his throat, and then says, “I was wondering what you’re doing for Valentine’s Day?”




He asked, “What are you doing for Valentine’s Day?”

Embarrassed heat flares over my cheeks and I look away. “Oh, um.” I scramble up and sit upright on the bench, then shove my arms into my coat and zip it up.

Josh avoids looking at me and I realize that my reaction wasn’t exactly what he was expecting. I cough into my hand and then shift uncomfortably, because darn it, my bum still hurts.

“Well,” I say. Then I stop, because suddenly nothing makes sense anymore. Or maybe it wasn’t sudden at all. But still, nothing makes sense. “I have a date.”

Josh looks at me quickly, then away, back toward the pond and the geese flapping their wings at each other.

I swallow and rub my hands up and down my arms. It’s cold out.

“No problem. I was only asking,” Josh says, “because you’ll find out the results around then, and I thought you might want company. Your mom said you didn’t have a date.” He still won’t look at me.

I nod. “Okay. Yeah. No. I’ve got a date.”

“Right. Good.”

“Mhmm,” I agree.

We sit for a minute, just watching the geese honking and being jerks in the water, and then I stand. It’s too awkward. It’s awkward again.