Want to Know a Secret? (15)

I ruffle my hand through his red-tinged brown hair. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

Bobby studies me for a moment. “Mom, are you having a baby?”

Aaaaaand my confidence flies out the window. “What?”

“Dylan’s mom is having a baby,” Bobby explains. “And Lena’s mom is having a baby. And I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

I smooth out my dress over my belly, hoping it doesn’t even remotely look like I have a baby bump there. I glance over at Elliot, whose hopeful expression mirrors Bobby’s. The truth is, Elliot and I want another child. He would have liked three or even four, but the fact that I haven’t managed to get pregnant with even a second is a source of tension.

There’s part of me that wonders if he thinks of me as a failure for not managing to conceive again. He’s been gently pushing me to see a fertility specialist, and a few months ago, he mentioned he went to a urologist and got his sperm checked. His sperm were perfect, of course. He had superstar, Olympic sperm. So the implication is that if we’re not pregnant with his Olympic sperm, it must be because of me.

Ironically, we had no trouble at all getting pregnant with Bobby. Actually, we jumped the gun a little bit on that one. But nobody noticed my baby bump in my wedding dress.

“No,” I reply patiently. “We’re not having a baby.”

“Yet,” Elliot adds.

I shoot him a look. The last thing I want is for Bobby to go around telling his friends that his parents are trying to have a baby. How long will it take for that to get back to the other parents?

But Elliot just shrugs. He thinks I’m going to get pregnant any month now. He doesn’t get it.

“Well, I’m going to head over to Maria’s house,” I say. “Are you two going to be all right? You know Julie makes us shut our phones off?”

“I think I can handle a few hours alone with Bobby.”

That remains to be seen. Whenever I go out, Elliot always texts me the most inane questions. He’s a high-powered attorney, but sometimes it feels like he can’t find his right hand without me. The last time I went out and he watched Bobby, he sent me a text asking where the milk was. The milk is in the refrigerator! If it’s not in the refrigerator, you shouldn’t be drinking it!

“Dad, can we play Nintendo together?” Bobby asks.

Elliot frowns. “I have a ton of work to do, Bobby. Can’t you play by yourself?”

“I guess.” Bobby drops his head and looks down at his macaroni and cheese. He loves playing Nintendo with Elliot, but I’m not surprised he doesn’t have time tonight. I’ve tried to play with him, but apparently, I “suck.”

Maria offered to drive us both to the school tonight. Parking is sparse, so we agreed it would be a good idea to carpool. And it will be a chance for me to get to know my new neighbor better.

I limp over to Maria’s house in my new Sergio Rossi pumps. It’s colder than I thought it would be, and I hug my wrap around my chest as I shiver. I consider going back for a coat, but I’m almost at Maria’s house. We’ll be in her white SUV in a few moments.

I hit the doorbell, but I don’t hear any chimes within the house. Maybe it’s broken. I wait for a few seconds, then bang on the door. After another few seconds, I hear footsteps, and the door swings open.

Damn, it’s Sean.

He’s the last person I want to see after that awkward encounter yesterday. Also, the last time I saw him, he was shirtless. And now I’m having trouble picturing him not shirtless. It makes me a little breathless all of a sudden.

“Hi!” I say brightly. “I’m—”

“April.” He flashes me a crooked smile. “I remember.” He steps to the side so I can slip past him. He smells like wood chips. “Come on in.”

He doesn’t seem angry, at least. Maybe he bought my story about wandering into the wrong room. Then again, he doesn’t seem stupid or na?ve either.

“Maria will be down in a second,” he explains. “She’s still deciding on… shoes, I think.”

“Oh, she shouldn’t stress so much about what she’s wearing,” I say. Even though I spent two hours picking out my outfit for tonight.

“That’s what I said.” Sean shrugs. “So what is this thing tonight at the school?”

“Parent-Teacher Association,” I explain. “It’s where parents help fundraise for the school and plan fun and educational events for the kids.”

“Oh.” He scratches at his beard. “Should I be going to that then?”

I laugh.

He frowns. “Why is that funny?”

“Oh.” I blink at him. “I thought you were joking. Fathers usually don’t go to these meetings.”

“Really?” He focuses his blue eyes on me. “Why not? I’m a parent. What if I have ideas about fun and educational events for my kid?”

“Well…”

He’s not making an unreasonable point. But the fact of the matter is that fathers simply don’t go to the PTA meetings. In the two years I’ve been going, I’ve only seen one father there, and he was a bit creepy. One of those men whose eyes were always focused just a little bit below your face, if you know what I mean. And he spent fifteen straight minutes gushing about how much he liked my cooking show, and especially this one sweater I wore.