by Jackie Lau
“But he hasn’t been himself lately,” Brian says.
I don’t claim I’m just the same as always, because that’s not true. My regular life doesn’t hold my interest.
Although it’s still good to see my friends.
I met Holden through Brian, and we’ve been friends for a while. He lives in Vancouver, but he comes to Toronto on a regular basis.
“I didn’t know you were visiting this weekend,” I say to him.
“I did tell you,” Brian says. “When you arrived tonight. But you were spaced out again, and totally ignoring the girl who was hitting on you. Speaking of that, Gabriella and I were going to...” He waggles his eyebrows. “You want to join? Like last time?”
Yes, Brian and I have fucked the same girl before. A bunch of times, in fact.
“Not tonight,” I say.
I imagine what I’d tell Marissa. Sorry, honey, I had to break my promise to you. My friends were getting too suspicious, and I didn’t want to say anything before twelve weeks. So I had a threesome at a party, no big deal.
No, I’m not tempted.
“Seriously, man,” Brian says. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine, I promise.”
Brian places his hand on my arm. “You’re acting weird, and it’s been that way for a while. You can’t deny it. You’re not acting like Vince Fong.”
But who’s the Vince Fong that the world sees? A useless playboy with a penthouse and lots of money. A guy who just cares about having fun.
It sort of disgusts me that I’m nothing more than that.
Though it’s not like all my relationships with people are shallow, superficial things. Sure, I goof off around my family, and I’m particularly fond of getting on Julian’s nerves, but that’s just the way I express love sometimes. And I’m utterly enamored with my baby niece. Just the thought that soon I’ll have a baby myself makes me smile.
Me and Marissa and a baby and a little house. The meaning I’ve been missing.
Holden peers at me curiously. “I know what happened. Vince has fallen in love.”
“No, that’s not it,” I say, and it’s not a lie.
I’m very fond of Marissa, it’s true. I think we’d work well together. But it would be an exaggeration to say that I love her. Not yet. I expect I’ll come to love her, though—she’s pretty amazing, after all—and I desperately hope she’ll return my feelings.
Or is it not possible for someone to feel that way about me?
I shove down my doubts.
Brian stares at me as he drums his fingers on the railing.
“Okay, fine,” I say. “Something is up with me. It’s not bad, don’t worry. I have to keep it a secret for now, but I’ll tell you soon, I promise.”
Brian and Holden glance at each other.
“Maybe it’s a new business deal,” Holden says, “and it’s making him a little anxious because he’s been out of the tech world for a while.”
I never want to go back to that life. It nearly destroyed me, and what would be the purpose? Just to give myself something to occupy my time? I have no drive to do it again.
But I don’t feel like saying all that to my friends, so I just shrug.
“Yeah, maybe that’s it,” Brian says. “Still, his actions don’t make sense.”
Now I understand how aggravated Julian must feel when Cedric and I talk about him in his presence. My friends are getting on my nerves, but I just grit my teeth.
Even if I did tell them the truth, would they understand?
I’m so weary of it all.
How many zillion parties have I attended in the past few years? While Julian has been falling in love and getting married and having a child...and also buying a phallic cactus named Joey and learning to bake?
Just then, my phone buzzes, and I smile when I see it’s Marissa.
I’m craving a matcha double fromage cheesecake again.
“Yeah, he’s definitely in love,” Holden says.
“Vince, in love? I hope not.” Brian shakes his head. “No, I’m going for the business deal. He just got good news.”
“Sorry, guys, I have to take off.” I put my hand on Holden’s shoulder. “Good to see you again. You staying in town for a few days?”
“Yep.”
“Come over tomorrow, okay? I’ll be around. There’s a great brunch place that opened up around the corner from me.”
He looks at me like I’ve sprouted three heads.
I laugh. “Just kidding about brunch. But come by sometime, okay?”
I head downstairs and outside, and I tell my driver to take me to Cheese & Me. The Bridle Path isn’t a long drive from Marissa’s condo, but I have to go downtown to get her cheesecake first. By some miracle, Cheese & Me actually has a matcha double fromage cheesecake at ten thirty at night, so I don’t have to find someone who will allow me to overpay for half of theirs. Excellent.
Marissa answers the door in pajamas again, but different ones this time. The pants are pink with stars, and her T-shirt says “pregnant and hungry.”
I laugh.
“What’s so funny?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.
“Your shirt.”
“Right. I forgot about that. Were you able to get the cheesecake?”
She holds out her hands, and I pass it over.
“Oh my God. Thank you.”
She brings it into the kitchen, and just like last time, she starts ravenously eating the cheesecake with a plastic fork while I look on, amused.
“What were you doing when I texted?” she asks between bites.
“I was at a party.”
She immediately stops eating. “Sorry. You could have stayed. I wasn’t craving cheesecake that badly.”
I pointedly look at the cheesecake.
“Okay, fine, but you don’t have to answer to my every whim. The fact that I’m pregnant doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy life.”
“I wasn’t enjoying myself all that much at the party, to be honest. I’m glad you gave me an excuse to leave.”
“Not enough drugs and sex for you?”
“I had two whiskeys. No sex. My life isn’t quite what you imagine.”
I’m not sure she hears what I’m saying, as her focus is on the cheesecake.
Once she’s eaten about twenty percent of it, she finally makes eye contact with me. “Thank you. For bringing me cheesecake again.” She looks me up and down. “The three-piece suit was a little hotter, I have to admit.”
“The navy two-piece suit isn’t good enough for you?”
“Oh, you still look pretty hot, don’t you worry.”
“Hot enough for you to kiss me again?” I say, before I can give it a second thought.
She considers this for a long moment.
She’s driving me nuts.
And then, instead of speaking, she presses a slow kiss to my lips. When I lick her bottom lip, she eagerly dives in for more, and my cock hardens.
I didn’t feel anywhere near this alive at the party.
We kiss for a few minutes, and then she decides she needs a little more cheesecake.
Once she’s got the cheesecake in the fridge, she says, hesitantly, “You want to stay and watch a movie?”
“Yes,” I reply, without asking which movie she plans to watch.
It ends up being a thriller with lots of white dudes who all look the same, and when I say this to Marissa, she laughs harder than is warranted and puts her arm around me. She snuggles up even closer during a particularly thrilling chase scene, where one white dude with short hair is being pursued by a pack of white dudes with short hair through a city.
I’m not paying much attention. I’m more focused on Marissa, her body pressed against mine. This isn’t the way I usually spend my Friday nights. A quiet evening snuggling, eating cheesecake, and watching a movie is not what I’m known for.
But you know what? I could use more of this.
As long as it’s with Marissa.
Chapter 1
4
Marissa
I’ve made it to twelve weeks. Yay!
Apparently the fetus is now the size of a plum, and I found myself looking at plums in an odd way when I was at the grocery store this morning.
Today I’m having my first ultrasound. Vince is supposed to accompany me. He should pick me up from my condo in five minutes, and I’m not worried that he’ll show up.
Sure enough, he arrives right on time, and we make it to the ultrasound clinic fifteen minutes early. I check in and we take a seat in the waiting area. Across from us is a young couple, their hands intertwined. The woman has an engagement ring on her left hand, plus a wedding band, and she’s further along than me. I’m guessing they’re both about twenty-five.
I suddenly feel old.
Is it crazy to be pregnant at thirty-six with a man I hardly know?
But I’ve gotten to know Vince a little better in the past few weeks. We’ve seen each other a bunch of times. We’ve eaten cheesecake together. (Well, okay, I ate most of the cheesecake.) We’ve watched a movie together.
And on Wednesday, I did something terrible.
When I got home from work, I was exhausted but also filled with an unbearable loneliness, which has happened a bunch of times in the past few years.
So, I told Vince I was craving Thai basil chicken.
I was not, in fact, craving anything.
Don’t get me wrong, Thai basil chicken definitely sounded good. It wasn’t a pregnancy craving, though.
However, I pretended it was, and Vince picked some up and drove to my condo, and we ate together at my kitchen table. This time, he wasn’t wearing a suit, just jeans and a sweater.
Today, he’s not dressed up fancy, either. He’s wearing a gray Henley, and he looks pretty hot in it, as I’m sure he knows. I’m not going to tell him and inflate his ego even more.
But though I appreciate his good looks, I can’t say I’m turned on. I’m feeling a touch nauseous, and to be honest, I’m envious of the kids sitting across from us.
They’re married, and they’re having a baby together. How did they manage to get everything in order at such a young age? My generation is getting married and buying houses and having kids at lower rates, aren’t we? We’re alternately blamed for spending too much money and killing industries because we’re not spending enough.
I live by myself, and I own property in an expensive city, and I feel like I’m doing well.
But these kids have something I don’t.
Her ring is small, but who cares? I wouldn’t want a big rock. Her husband whispers something in her ear, then puts his hand on her slightly-curved belly.
I imagine them living in a one-bedroom basement apartment and waking up with smiles on their faces each morning.
And here I am, single with a “geriatric” pregnancy. My body would probably handle pregnancy a little better if I was twenty-five. Maybe I wouldn’t be so tired.
I take a deep breath. This isn’t what I thought I’d have, but it’s okay. It’s not the life my mother imagined for me, either, but she’s supportive.
“How are you doing?” Vince whispers, looking up from the book on pregnancy he’s reading. It’s a different one from last time. I haven’t asked how many he’s read.
“I’m fine,” I say.
But although my body has been changing, waiting for the ultrasound makes everything seem more real than it did before.
“I’ll take you out for something to eat after.” He squeezes my hand. “Whatever you like.”
“Okay.” That sounds nice.
“Did you know the fetus is now as big as a lime?”
“My book says it’s as big as a plum.”
“Same difference, I guess.” He pauses. “Though limes are more uniform in size than plums, aren’t they? So maybe that’s a better comparison.”
“Are you trying to say your book is better than mine—”
My stomach objects to this conversation about plums and limes. I put my hand to my mouth, feeling like I’m about to hurl, and Vince grabs a garbage can.
Fortunately, the urge soon passes.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
Across from us, the man is singing to his wife’s stomach. “Rock-a-bye Baby,” which is kind of a horrible song if you listen to the lyrics. In the background, a Katy Perry song is playing.
Then Everclear comes on.
“I like this one,” I murmur.
“Yeah, it’s a good song,” Vince says.
Across from us, the mother-to-be exclaims, “Oh my God, I love classic rock!”
Classic rock? What the fuck?
Vince chuckles at the look of outrage on my face.
And then the man stops singing, and he and his wife discuss all the “classic” songs they like. I’m feeling more and more horrified by the second.
OMG, I really am old.
“I’m going to throw up!” I cry.
Vince thrusts the garbage can in front of me just in time.
* * *
I’m sitting on the exam table, feeling not too bad now. The ultrasound and a few other tests have been completed.
The ultrasound technician returns to the room with Vince, who stands beside me and squeezes my hand. The technician shows us the image on the screen and explains, roughly, what everything is. The results will be sent to my ob-gyn.
“It’s cool, isn’t it?” I say.
“Yeah.” Vince’s single-word response is quiet. “That’s our baby-to-be.”
There are tears on his cheeks, and something in my chest clenches. I wrap my arms around his waist.
“I can give you two a minute,” the technician says.
“No, no,” Vince says, “I want to hear the heartbeat. You can do that now, right?”
Yes. I waited for him, not wanting to hear it before he did. The ultrasound technician picks up the Doppler and places it on my stomach.
Soon, we hear it.
“Wow.” Vince is awestruck, and I can’t deny that I’m touched. “We made that.”
I feel a momentary longing to have something more with him, which has happened on occasion since my conversation with Pearl. Like the night I asked Vince to stay for a movie.
I shake my head. No, we’re going to be co-parents, that’s all.
I wouldn’t say I’m falling for Vince Fong, but I’m glad he’s the one in this with me.
* * *
When Vince and I leave the clinic, we head to a nearby Indonesian restaurant that I quite like. We get a table and order satay, nasi goreng, semur daging, and urab. The latter is a vegetable dish with grated fresh coconut, and it’s one of my favorites.
Our chicken satay with peanut sauce arrives, and I eagerly dig in. Though my stomach wasn’t doing so hot earlier, I’m hungry now.
Yep, that “pregnant and hungry” shirt would definitely be appropriate, but I only wear it at home. I found it online several weeks ago and couldn’t help myself from ordering it.
“By the way, I signed our baby up for daycare,” I say.
“Already? You’re planning on taking your full year of maternity leave, aren’t you?”
“I am, but you have to get on the waiting lists early. People often sign up well before the baby arrives.”
“Oh.” He has a bite of chicken. “I was thinking I could be a stay-at-home dad, actually.”
Although Vince said he wanted to be fairly involved, I never imagined him doing something like this.
“How would it work?” I ask tentatively. “Since we won’t be living together.”
“I’m still hoping you’ll change your mind about that. But if not, I can come over to your place every morning and leave when you get home, if that’s okay.” He pauses. “Assuming you would like to keep your job. If you want to stay home for a few years, I can arrange for that, financially. I figured you’d want to work, though.”
He’s right. Maintaining financial independence is important to me, and t
aking myself out of the workforce for a few years and having a gap in my resume could make things more difficult.
But I like the idea of our child being cared for at home, or maybe going to daycare part-time. It never occurred to me as a possibility, though. I couldn’t expect that much childcare of my mother, but if this is what Vince wants to do...
I just can’t wrap my mind around it. This man is known for going to parties all the damn time. Women. Alcohol. Looking hot in suits.
But the picture of him chasing after a toddler is just as attractive.
Maybe this would make my ovaries twitch if I wasn’t already, you know, pregnant.
The rest of our food arrives. The fried rice is a little greasy and delicious. The semur daging—a tender beef stew with sweet soy sauce and spices—is even better, and I moan in bliss. The urab is just as good as I remember and provides me with important vegetables.
I pop a green bean in my mouth and smile at Vince.
* * *
I haven’t seen Carrie Lo since the night of the party. She wants to meet at one of our usual bars downtown, and I don’t protest.
When she slides into the seat across from me, she asks, “What are you drinking?”
“Orange juice.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. But I’m pregnant, so no alcohol for me.”
“You’re pregnant?” she screeches, and a few heads turn in our direction. “Sorry,” she says, more quietly. “It just wasn’t what I was expecting.”
I chuckle. “Same here. Actually, I think I got pregnant the last night we saw each other.”
“Did I look at you just right and”—she snaps her fingers—“your egg got fertilized?”
“Wouldn’t that be something.” I pause. “Or maybe I got pregnant the next day...or the day after that. But it was definitely that weekend. Since immaculate conception is unlikely, and that’s the only weekend I had sex in the past year.”
Carrie’s mouth falls open as she makes the connection.
I’m kind of enjoying this.
My friend is wearing a silver dress with sequins that would look ridiculous on some people—like me—but on her, it’s glamorous. Her black hair falls in soft waves.
But the expression on her face is anything but sophisticated.
“No way!” she says. “Vince Fong is the father?”