by Lauren Rowe
I swallow hard. “How far along are you?” I ask. “That’s all I meant to ask, Kat. I wasn’t implying...” I trail off.
“I’m about seven weeks, I think,” she says. “Maybe eight. But the whole counting thing is kind of confusing—the minute you miss your period, you’re already considered four or five weeks pregnant—but since I haven’t been having periods, I’m not completely sure yet. I’ll know more when I have a sonogram, probably next week.”
A nurse walks by in the hallway, her shoes squeaking on the linoleum and we both look toward the noise for a moment.
“Cameron and I used a condom,” Kat continues, sounding like she’s ordering a hit. “And I was with Cameron way before the timeframe, anyway. I’m one hundred percent positive it’s yours. But I’d be happy to take a paternity test if you have a shred of doubt. Actually, fuck it, I’ll take one, anyway, just so you never have room to doubt.” Oh man, she sounds like a cold-blooded killer right now.
“I know it’s mine,” I say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask that. It just slipped out.”
Kat sniffs the air, utterly pissed. “You’re entitled to ask. But I’m telling you there’s no doubt in my mind whatsoever. You’re the only man I’ve been with.” She grits her teeth. “We’re exclusive and I don’t cheat. But, like I say, I’ll get a paternity test. No problem.”
I’ve got goose bumps. She looks really scary right now, like she’s sharpening her blade to cut off my balls and smash them between graham crackers.
“I don’t doubt you,” I say. “I know you’ve only been with me. I’ve only been with you, too.”
“I guess you’re thinking I’m some sort of gold digger who’s trying to trick you into marriage, just like your father warned you against.” She rolls her eyes. “But I swear to God that’s the furthest thing from my—”
“We should get married,” I blurt suddenly.
Kat stops talking and stares at me, her blue eyes wide.
There’s a long beat during which we could hear a pin drop if it weren’t for the loud hacking noises coming from Typhoid Joe on the other side of the room.
“What?” Kat says. She looks at me like I’ve screamed, “I’m a merman!”
“We should get married,” I say softly, my heart pounding in my ears, my stomach churning. Oh my God. I can’t believe I just said those words. I feel like I’m gonna throw up. I wait for a moment, fully expecting Kat to burst into happy tears and shout, “Yes!” But she doesn’t. She just glares at me silently, her blue eyes on icy fire. “Well?” I ask, unable to keep the testiness out of my voice. Why does she look like she wants to clobber me instead of kiss me? Honestly, she should be crying with gratitude and relief right now—she’s the one who forgot to take her goddamned fucking pill, not me, so she’s got no right to be thinking up ways to detach my balls from my body. “I just asked you to marry me, Kat,” I say, my tone impatient. “I’m doing the noble thing here. I think you should at least do me the courtesy of a reply.”
Kat smiles thinly—but it’s clearly a “fuck you” kind of a smile.
There’s a long, silent, excruciating beat.
To be perfectly honest, Kat’s starting to piss me off. For fuck’s sake, I’m a fucking Faraday and I just offered to marry her—how the fuck is she not leaping at the chance? I’m doing the right thing, without hesitation or waffling, despite the fact that, as I’ve mentioned to her quite clearly, marriage isn’t something I’ve ever contemplated doing before this very moment and despite the fact that she’s the one who fucked up here, not me. I’d say I deserve a fucking medal, not the daggers Kat’s throwing at me with her eyes. If my dad were here watching this exchange, I can only imagine how that vein in his neck would be bulging with fury.
“You want me to reply?” Kat says coldly.
I nod—but by the tone of Kat’s voice, I’m not so sure.
“Okay, then I will.” She shifts her weight in her chair, obviously gearing up to decimate me. “Thank you for your noble proposal of marriage, good sir. That was an admirable thing to do. You really should feel quite proud of yourself for displaying such unimpeachable integrity and bravery in the face of such horrific and victimizing circumstances.”
Jesus fucking Christ. Only Kat could make a whole bunch of words generally regarded as complimentary sound like a string of curse words.
“I didn’t expect you to ask me to marry you,” she continues. “Not in a million years. I’m genuinely impressed with how quickly you rose to what you perceive to be your obligation. Thank you for that, good sir.”
I nod. That’s right. I rose to my obligation. But I’m confused. Kat’s words and body language are completely at odds. It feels like she’s doing that licking-and-punching-my-balls-thing she always does. And why the fuck does she keep talking like she’s in a miniseries on fucking PBS?
“But,” Kat adds, her voice prim, “although I’m infinitely grateful to you for swooping in to save me from this incredible cluster-fuck of a situation that will surely heap shame and disgrace upon my family’s good name, I think I’ll have to politely decline your kind and generous offer, good sir.” Kat grits her teeth again. “I think I’d rather take my chances, however slim, that there might be a man out there who’ll one day ask me to marry him simply because he’s fallen head over heels in love with me to the point of actually wanting to marry me, the crazy son of a bitch, despite the fact that, by that time, I’ll be the mother of another man’s goddamned kid.”
I blink quickly. What the fuck did Kat just say to me? Motherfucker! Did Kat just break up with me to marry some other hypothetical guy—and with my fucking kid in tow?
“Excuse me?” I say, suddenly enraged.
“You heard me,” Kat says, jutting her chin at me. “I said no.”
“What the fuck, Kat!” I bark, rising out of my seat. I know I’m talking way too loudly for this small waiting room but I can’t control myself. “You can’t say something like that to me—I’m a fucking Faraday!”
Kat looks around the waiting room, obviously embarrassed. “Sit down, Josh. Jesus.”
I glower over her for a moment longer, but then I sit, clenching my jaw.
“You can’t say shit like that to me,” I grit out in a hoarse whisper. “Now’s not the time to be a terrorist, Kat. You’re pregnant with my kid—so don’t talk to me about running off into the sunset with some other guy. You’re my Party Girl with a Hyphen and you’re not marrying some other guy with my goddamned kid in tow.” I take a deep breath. “Now I’m gonna ask you one more fucking time—and this is the last time I’m gonna ask you, so don’t blow it.” My nostrils flare. “Will. You. Fucking. Marry. Me?”
Kat’s lip curls with blatant disgust. “Nooooooo,” she says, forming the long “O” sound like she’s falling down a thirty-foot well.
“What the fuck?” I say. I still can’t believe I’m hearing her right. “No?”
“No.” She squints her eyes like she’s taking aim with a shotgun. “Nooooooooooooooooo,” she says again, this time emphasizing the “O” sound like she’s falling down a fifty-foot well. “Thank you very much for being such a duty-bound gentleman, good sir,” she says through gritted teeth. “Believe me, I know you’re doing me a huge frickin’ favor—a massive fucking favor—especially since you’re a Faraday and my family is but an assemblage of lowly commoners without a noble title to our shameful name. Goodness, I really, really appreciate your infinite generosity good sir.” She rolls her eyes. “But no fucking thank you, Sir J.W. Faraday. This isn’t 1815. I’d rather just figure my shit out on my own and roll the dice that even a harlot from a simple family of serfs might one day get to marry for love instead of motherfucking obligation.”
I make a face registering my disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”
Kat shakes her head. “No, sir. I am not.”
I leap up again, pulling at my hair in frustration, and immediately sit back down. Goddamn, this woman. When that nurse said I couldn’t accompany Ka
t to Colby’s room because I’m not fucking family, Kat looked at me in that moment like she would have given anything in the world to call me her husband—I’m positive I didn’t imagine those puppy-dog eyes she flashed at me—and now that I’ve asked her to marry me only sixty minutes later, she’s turning me the fuck down? The woman’s deranged. What sane woman would ever dream of turning me down?
For fuck’s sake, I’m a thirty-year-old with over six hundred million dollars to my personal name—I’m talking personally here—and that’s not even including unvested shares in Faraday & Sons that will soon be coming my way to the tune of half a billion bucks if we play our cards right—or the eight hundred million bucks my uncle has told Jonas and me he’s earmarked for us in his will. And on top of all that, I’m not exactly Quasimodo to look at, either, let’s just be real—not to mention the fact that I’ve got a magic cock and I make the woman come like a fucking freight train every time I fucking glance at her. And she’s turning me the fuck down?
“Kat, don’t be a fucking terrorist right now,” I say, my voice filled with barely contained rage. “Think about what you’re doing.”
“Oh, you want me to think?” she says. “Am I having trouble thinking—perhaps due to the pregnancy hormones, good sir?”
I throw up my hands. “Would you stop calling me ‘good sir’? You’re annoying the shit out of me. Look, the bottom line is you’re having my baby, Kat, and it should have my name.”
Kat crosses her arms and leans back in her chair. “Fine. The baby can have your name. Happy?”
I’m stunned. “Well, no. I mean the baby should have my name and so should you—the mother of my child. We should be, you know, a unit—a legal unit.”
“Aw, you think so? You think ‘the mother’ should take your name because that’s the way we ‘should’ do it so we can be a ‘legal unit’?” She scoffs. “How sweet.”
I nod, not understanding her reaction in the slightest. “That’s right.”
“You really think so?”
I nod again. Why the fuck is she reacting like this? If anyone should be mad it’s me. Kat’s the one who didn’t take her goddamned pill. And now we both have to pay for her mistake for the rest of our lives. Under the circumstances, I think I’m behaving exceedingly well.
“You think we should, Josh?” She glares at me like she’s laced my iced tea with arsenic and she’s waiting for me to keel over. “Golly gosh, Joshua, I truly appreciate your incredible sense of duty. You’re a man of endless integrity, through and through (and, actually, I’m serious about that, even though I’m pissed at you—you really are a man of integrity). But I’m not gonna marry any man out of sheer obligation, not even my filthy-rich-hot-as-fucking-sin-baby-daddy.” Her eyes prick with tears. “Not even if he’s you.”
“Kat,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Stop acting like a fucking lunatic. I’m the one who should be pissed, not you.”
Kat raises an eyebrow. “Why should you be pissed?”
“Because you’re the one who fucked up and didn’t take your pill.”
Kat doesn’t speak for a long beat. “I’m really sorry about that,” she finally says. “You’re right—I totally fucked up.” Her eyes catch fire. “But I’m sure as hell not gonna compound one mistake with another. I’ll be your baby-momma, Josh, and I’ll certainly expect you to step up and be a father to this kid, financially and otherwise (which, by the way, I have no doubt you’ll do—again, I know you’re a man of integrity). But I’m most certainly not gonna marry you for no other reason than I’m gestating your accidental Faraday. Now, if you actually want to marry me, that’s a different story...” She pauses, her eyebrows raised, obviously expecting me to say something. “If that’s something you want, regardless of the baby...?”
I stare at her blankly. She’s got to be kidding. Why the fuck would I want to get married, other than the fact that she’s gestating my accidental Faraday? She knows I have no interest in marriage—I’ve told her so, as plain as day. There’s literally no other circumstance when I’d even think of asking Kat, or any woman, to be my wife, sorry-not-sorry. “Kat,” I say, emotion suddenly rising up inside me. “You’re asking too much of me. Stop being a terrorist and be rational.”
Kat’s eyes soften with sudden and surprising sympathy. “Josh, I’m not being a terrorist, though if I were, you’d certainly deserve it. I’m being kind to you in the long run, though you obviously can’t see it now. This baby was an accident, plain and simple. We both made it, but you’re right, I’m the one who flubbed taking my pill. You were relying on me to have my shit together and I blew it—so I hereby release you. You’ve made it clear how you feel about marriage—you don’t see the point in it.” She adopts a deep voice obviously intended as an impression of mine: “‘If you wanna go, go—if you wanna stay, stay.’ I haven’t forgotten what you said. Just because I’ve got an accidental Faraday in my uterus doesn’t mean you suddenly want to marry me in your heart. And I deserve to marry a man who loves me—not a guy who’s asking me to marry him to appease the ghost of his asshole-father.”
A lump rises in my throat. Is Kat right? Is my father still controlling me, even after all these years, even from the grave?
There’s a long beat, during which Typhoid Joe hacks up his tenth lung of the night.
“Josh,” Kat says softly after Typhoid Joe quiets down. She puts her hand on mine in a gesture of tenderness, making my heart pang. “If it weren’t for this baby growing inside me, you wouldn’t even be thinking of asking me to marry you. Today when you introduced me to your friends at flag football was the first time you ever called me your girlfriend—which I really liked, by the way.”
“Kat, please just say yes,” I whisper, despair overtaking me. She’s pregnant and I’m proposing. Why won’t she say yes?
“Thank you, Josh. I really appreciate the offer,” Kat says, her tone surprisingly sweet. “But how are you gonna vow to be my husband ’til death do us part when you haven’t even told me something as simple as ‘I love you’?” She looks at me pointedly, like she’s willing those three words to come out of my mouth right this very minute.
I run my hand through my hair. Shit. I should say it. I’ve never felt this way about any woman before. I’m addicted to her in every way. I’m ninety-nine percent sure what I’m feeling for Kat is what normal people call love—which means I should say the goddamned words. I open my mouth and close it again. Fuck.
Kat scoffs. “I know turnabout is fair play and all, but please don’t barf on me.”
“What?”
“You look like you’re about to barf.”
I exhale.
Kat waves her hand dismissively, anger once again rising in her face. “Forget it. I’m not gonna be the gold-digging whore who proves your asshole-father right and traps you into marital bondage. I don’t want your fucking money or your goddamned name and I certainly don’t wanna force you to say something you’re not genuinely feeling. Give me whatever to sign and I’ll sign it, saying I don’t want your freaking money and that you’re only obligated to take care of your kid and nothing more.” Tears prick her eyes.
“Kat, I don’t think you’re a gold digger,” I say softly. “I’ve never thought that about you, not for a minute. I know you forgot to take your pill by accident.”
“It’s okay, Josh. Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’ll keep going the way we are and see where this thing leads—which, if I were placing bets after this conversation, looks to be nowhere—but who knows? And when the baby comes, we’ll see where things stand between us—if we’re even talking to each other by then—and we’ll figure our shit out from there, one day at a time.” She glares at me with glistening eyes.
“Kat, listen to me. Just gimme a minute to absorb the situation. Maybe I’m not saying all the right words, but my heart’s in the right place.”
“No, you’re heart isn’t remotely involved in this conversation—that’s the problem.”
“Kat,” I say softly.
If my heart’s not involved in this conversation, like she says, then why does it feel like it’s shattering?
“It’s okay, Josh,” Kat says. “I’ve had a lot more time to process the situation than you have—a full week. Take your time. Think and regroup.”
“You’ve known for a week?” I ask.
“Yeah, I barfed right after I got home from the karaoke bar, so I took a pregnancy test.”
“You found out the night of the karaoke bar?”
She nods.
“Shit.” I shake my head, remembering myself holding a goddamned boom box over my head in front of her apartment building. “I came over that night—I wanted to apologize to you.”
“Yeah. I got your text,” Kat says softly. “I couldn’t come out. I was too much of a wreck.”
My heart is aching. Kat obviously has no idea I stood out in front of her apartment with a boom box, ready to hand her my dick and balls in a baggie.
“Kat,” I say. “Fuck what I said about marriage being pointless, okay? All bets are off. You’re pregnant with my baby. We should get married. Please.”
Kat shakes her head.
I throw up my hands, suddenly exasperated with her. “Goddammit. I don’t know what you expect from me. You’ve totally blindsided me here, Kat.” I look up at the ceiling, begging God for patience, and then level her with pleading eyes. “Kat, think about what you’re doing. You’re turning down an offer of marriage from the father of your child—who, lucky for you, happens to be me.”
Kat scoffs. “Oh, now I’m the ‘lucky one’?”
I throw up my hands. What the hell is she holding out for? Some sort of fairytale? Some knight on a white horse, whisking her off into the sunset? “I’m sorry my proposal isn’t fulfilling your girlhood fantasies,” I say caustically. “But maybe it’s time to stop dreaming about being Cinderella and get real. This is as good as it’s gonna get under the circumstances.”
Kat glares at me for a long beat, her eyes full of homicidal rage. “Fuck you,” she finally spits out. “‘Get real’? ‘As good as it’s gonna get’? Fuck you, you arrogant little prick. I deserve the fairytale, whether I’m knocked up or not, you motherfucking asshole-douche-prick-fuckwad.” She glares at me and flips her golden hair behind her shoulder. “I’m Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman,” she says. “And I’m not gonna settle for, ‘Oh, fuck it, we might as well get married,’ simply because I happen to be a street-walker in thigh-high boots and you happen to be Mr. Darcy.” She juts her chin at me. “Let me be really clear about something, Josh: I. Don’t. Care. About. Your. Freaking. Money.”