by Sara Celi
“If they believe it is, we better go judge it for ourselves.”
“The fried oysters are supposed to be the best.” I took my wool coat from the closet by the door. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”
“You haven’t eaten there?”
“First time for everything.”
I walked outside onto the front step, wondering as I did if fried oysters were allowed in a pregnancy diet. Probably not raw oysters, but fried? I wasn’t sure. Maybe it would be better to not risk it. Neptune would have plenty of other options on the menu anyway.
We drove to the restaurant and were soon seated at a corner table with a view of the chef’s preparation station and the rest of the dining room. Neptune had a plush décor set against a palate of navy blue and dark velvet. An elegant chandelier of crystal and gold served as the artistic focal point of the main dining room. Surveying the room, I saw a few city council members, one professional football player, and a man I was sure was an Ohio state senator.
“This is nice,” Ian said. “You could set this restaurant in DC and it would fit right in.”
The waiter arrived with two menus, a wine list, and some information about the evening specials. When he walked away to give us a few moments to decide on our order, Ian seized the thick portfolio containing the wine selections.
“Looks like an extensive bourbon list.” He flipped a few pages. “I didn’t expect that.”
“A lot of restaurants have expanded their bourbon offerings given how close we are to the Kentucky bourbon trial. Sort of a way to capitalize on that.”
He stopped on a page in the middle of the list and looked up at me. “We should order some.”
“Some bourbon?” I almost choked on the words.
He nodded.
“No,” I said a little too sharply. “I mean . . . I’m not a big drinker.” I wrinkled my nose. “It’s not my thing.”
“That’s a bit of a surprise. You drank plenty of tequila the night we shared in DC.”
“Well, um . . . that was . . . tequila. This is bourbon.”
“That’s fine, we don’t have to order any.” He turned a few more pages of the list. “We’ll simply get a bottle of red wine. Or would you want white?”
“No.” Heat rushed to my checks. I wasn’t handling this well, and I knew it. “I mean—I don’t think I should drink any alcohol tonight. I’m still getting over that stomach bug, and I don’t want to risk it.”
“Fair enough.” He closed the drink folio. “But I hope you don’t mind if I order a glass of something.”
“That’s fine. Totally fine. I wouldn’t expect you to change your order because of me.”
I exhaled a little, glad that I made it through that test without having to admit the pregnancy yet. I wasn’t sure how I wanted to tell Ian the news, but I didn’t want to do it over dinner. That didn’t feel right. I opened my menu and took in the scripted list of appetizers, salads, and entrees.
“What are you in the mood for tonight?”
“I say we go all out. Nothing is off the table.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said, forcing myself to remain steady and calm.
We didn’t say much until the waiter returned to the table. I ordered a caprese salad and braised pork belly. Ian ordered a Caesar salad and Amish chicken breast. The waiter was about to finish, but then Ian’s face changed.
“You know what I’m thinking?” he asked. “Let’s get some of the escargot, too.” He looked at me and raised a hand. “Sound good? I was looking at that on the menu, and—”
“No,” I said, this time my sharpest reply yet. “I don’t . . . I don’t want the escargot.”
He blinked. “You don’t? Well that’s okay, it’s a bit of an acquired taste, anyway. I understand that some people don’t like it.”
The waiter agreed and suggested the restaurant’s breadbasket instead, saying it was one of the best in the region and offered a smattering of different kinds of breads, from sweet to salty. At least I didn’t have to argue against that. We finished ordering, and I relaxed a little. So far, so good.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m really looking forward to trying this food,” Ian said when we were alone at the table again. “I eat out a lot in DC, but most of the time wind up going to the same Capitol Hill haunts. And I rarely have the chance to eat something that isn’t mired with the networking required of my job as a lobbyist.”
“That’s a shame. I’m excited about this fare, too. That pork belly sounds delicious.”
My chest tightened and I felt the pressure around us increase. I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be able to keep this up, and time was running out. Ian needed to know I was pregnant. He deserved to know. This wasn’t the kind of thing I could keep from him, the reality of it had implications for him, too.
By the time our salads arrived, I’d had enough. Screw the plan. The timing for this kind of news didn’t get any better. Grabbing the arm of my chair, I steeled myself.
“I have something to tell you,” I said over our decorative, delicious looking meals. “And it can’t wait any longer.”
“What is it?”
I sucked in a final, steadying breath. “I’m pregnant.”
His eyes widened, and he dropped his fork, which clattered to the floor. “What?”
EIGHT
IAN
I didn’t understand her at first. “What do you mean?”
Jessica put her fork down, too. “I’m pregnant. And the baby is yours.”
My mouth went dry and my throat constricted. This was the kind of news you didn’t expect to hear, the kind that came with a punch or two to the gut. “Excuse me?”
“I’m guessing that I’m about two months along. Maybe a little less.” She took a deep breath. “But yes, I’m pregnant. I got the confirmation when I was sick. I took a test and it’s . . . it’s undeniable.”
“Are you kidding?”
She shook her head. “I’m pregnant.” She said it as if she wanted to convince herself as much as she did me. “We are pregnant.”
I stared at her for a long time; it felt like the minutes slowed to hours. Pregnant. Jessica was pregnant. And she’d said the baby was mine. I always wanted a family, and it was part of my lifelong plan, but not like this. Not like this at all. “Are you . . . are you absolutely sure?”
“I took four tests over the last two days. They were all positive.”
“How do you know it’s mine?”
I winced at the question, and the accusatory tone that slipped out of my mouth. I wasn’t saying the baby wasn’t mine, but to be honest, I didn’t know Jessica well at all. One weekend together did not make a relationship, and while Molly thought the world of Jessica, plenty of people showed their friends the best side of them, not the real side.
“We had one night together,” I added. “That’s all. And it was weeks ago.”
“It’s yours.” She hardened her jaw and narrowed her eyes. “Look, I haven’t slept with anyone since you. I don’t sleep around.”
“I never said you did.”
“Even if I wanted to, frankly, I haven’t had the time. And this—I wouldn’t lie about something like this.”
“I just want us to be sure.” I held up my left hand. “I’m not calling you a liar.”
“Well, it certainly sounds like you are questioning my judgement here, and I’ve done the math. I went over the calendar several times. And it’s . . . this happened when I was with you.” Jessica looked down at the tablecloth. When she focused on me again, her eyes contained a sadness that wasn’t there when we sat down for dinner. “I’m sorry I picked this time to tell you, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I couldn’t sit through this meal, hiding the truth from you.”
“I-I don’t know what to say about all of this. I honestly don’t.”
“I’m sorry. For you, and for me. I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be. But . . . we have a decision to make.”
She blanched. “Decision?”
“Of course we do. You’re pregnant. And since you said it’s mine, if it’s mine, we have a decision. More than one, actually.”
“What are you talking about?” Jessica pushed away from the table. “If you’re saying what I think you’re saying . . .”
“No.” I leaned forward, boring my eyes into hers. “I’m not. I’m just saying—”
“I’m keeping the baby. That’s final.”
The heaviness of her words slammed into my gut, the third punch of the night. “Maybe we should talk about this some more. We hardly know each other, Jessica.”
“I don’t care. I know what I’m doing.”
Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t.
“This is a big deal,” I tried. “And I don’t recommend making any rash decisions when you’re keyed up.”
“I’m not keyed up.” She sighed. “You know what? I’m not very hungry anymore.” Jessica took her clutch from the chair next to her. “I’m . . . I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“Wait. Don’t leave.”
She stood, the legs of the chair scraping against the shiny wood floor. “I hope I didn’t ruin your holiday, but I had to tell you. You needed to know.”
“Jessica—”
“Goodnight, Ian. I’ll find my own way home.”
I protested one more time, but she walked away from the table, and everything about her body language told me not to follow her out of the restaurant. So I didn’t. Instead I sat there like a dumbfounded jerk as I tried to process what she’d told me and the implication of it all. A woman I hardly knew was pregnant with my child after a one-night stand. What a mess.
Soon the waiter arrived with our long forgotten meals. “Dinner is served.” He stopped short when he saw the empty chair across from me and the absence of a dinner guest. “Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I really don’t.”
NINE
JESSICA
I was being hasty. Stubborn. Myopic.
It didn’t matter.
I wanted out of that restaurant. I wanted the space to breathe. I wanted to get away from Ian, who hadn’t exactly reacted as well as I hoped to the news that he was about to be a father. I understood that; I didn’t have a great feeling about it, either. This was the kind of life altering news that had ramifications. It was normal to not take it well.
I called for a car from my phone when I reached the street and hopped into the one that arrived about two minutes later. Soon enough I was home, my bed and the thick duvet on top beckoning me, offering shelter from the mess my life had become. No matter what, the coming new year would be full of twists and turns, with nothing about my life looking the same.
I crawled underneath the sheets and pulled them over my head. I’ll deal with it later once I’ve had some decent rest.
TEN
IAN
I had the waiter box up the meals, slipped him an extra fifty bucks for his trouble, and headed back to Watch Hill. When I arrived at my aunt’s house, I texted Jessica three times and called her once. Despite my utter shock over the pregnancy, and my possible role as the baby’s father, I didn’t want to leave her with the wrong impression. Time was running out to make it right—I had to catch a late flight to DC the following day.
She didn’t text or call me back.
The next morning, I stopped by Already Perked after my usual six-mile run. The next few days represented the final sales push for the café, and I figured she’d be there, working hard behind the counter with the rest of her crew.
But all I found was the same barista who’d been working when Molly and I ordered the Mexi-Cocoas.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “She called in sick today and didn’t give a lot of details. Just said she needed time off.”
A little defeated, I shoved my hands into my running jacket pockets. “Hope she feels better.”
“It’s unlike her to call in or do this.” He shook his head a few times. “Could really use her here today, but I guess we can manage. Only a few more days, and it will be a new year.”
“That’s right,” I said, my breath still heaving from the run. I waved goodbye and took a few steps backward. “Thanks anyway, and happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year,” he called as I left.
Convinced I’d find Jessica at home, I ran the few blocks to her street as fast as I could, welcoming the additional workout. But when I arrived at her house, the bare driveway, closed curtains, and a package left on the front doorstep told me no one was home. I knocked on the front door just to make sure.
Nothing.
I sent a few more texts that afternoon, hopeful she’d reply before I flew back to DC. I didn’t want to leave her like that, not with so much left unsaid between us. This was heavy stuff, and I didn’t want her thinking I shirked my responsibilities to her or her baby—our baby.
But when I boarded the plane that night, she still hadn’t returned my calls or texts.
ELEVEN
IAN
“I didn’t expect you to be back in the office this week,” my boss, Alex, said when he saw me walk into the small space that we leased on K Street. He stood near the coffee bar that had been billed as one of the features of working at his firm. Unlimited refills, any time of day. “I thought you were planning to take time off until the new year.”
“Plans change.”
“Wow.” He dumped sugar into his drink. “That’s not a very merry reply.”
“You’re right.” I sighed. “Just have a lot going on.”
“Need some coffee to wake you up? Sometimes going home can be complicated.”
I dropped my briefcase on the floor near my designated cubicle. “I know when Congress gets back in town, we have a lot of work to do, so I figured I’d get a start on scheduling the meetings we need to have.”
“I like that idea.” Sipping his drink, Alex strode over to my workstation. “I can always count on you to think ahead. It’s one of your best qualities.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate that.”
Alex disappeared into his small office, leaving me alone among the array of cubicles. We were the only people working in the building and likely the only people working on K Street, but that didn’t bother me. Our firm had a goal, and I’d been devoted to it. If that meant working long hours, that’s what I’d do. I fired up my computer, opened my Google calendar, and set about emailing half a dozen staffers about schedules and necessary introductions for that year’s incoming freshman class of congresspeople.
Alex stopped by my desk around four. “You really are working too hard.”
“Three meetings scheduled for after the new year. Congressmen from Texas, Wyoming, and Idaho.” Even I marveled at my work. Stress often made me focus. “I think I’ll have another two set up by the end of the week.”
“Good.” Alex looked at his watch. “Since you’re unexpectedly in town, there’s a party tonight at Ambassador Santiago’s place in Kalorama. Black tie. Seven. Ashlee is coming with me, but our invite says four. There’s a good chance a couple of contacts we want to make will be there. You in?”
“Sure.” I had nothing better to do anyway, and attending the party seemed like a welcome distraction from the enormity of what I’d left behind in Ohio. It might even reinvigorate my taste for a job that had gone stale in the last six months. “Just text me the address, and I’ll be there.”
“Excellent.” Alex slapped the top of the cubicle wall. “See you soon.”
He sent the directions a few minutes after leaving the office, and I headed home, too. Once I got back to my apartment, I knocked back a beer and watched thirty minutes of a professional hockey game before digging my dry-cleaned tuxedo out of my closet. It didn’t take long to get ready, and I walked out to the waiting car about ten minutes before seven. That put my arrival at about seven fifteen. Late enough, but not too late.
The party was already in full swing when I arrived at the address.
The driver dropped m
e off in front of a large Italianate mansion with leaded windows and immaculate boxwood bushes. A uniformed security team walked me through the home to the large solarium that doubled as a ballroom. A four-piece band played in the corner, and waiters threaded among the well-connected DC crowd with trays of craft cocktails and caviar dollops on wafers. I stopped for a second at the entrance and surveyed it all. Ambassador Santiago had a reputation for throwing some of the best parties in the city, and I could see why.
“Ian, over here.” Alex raised two fingers to catch my attention over the din of conversation. He stood about twenty feet from the doorway and clapped his hand on my shoulder when I arrived at his side. He nodded at the woman standing close to him. “Isabelle, this is Ian, one of my best employees at the firm. Isabelle is on the staff for Senator Owens.”
We shook hands.
“Glad to meet you.” I slipped with ease into the persona I’d perfected for these events. Senator Owens served as majority whip, and I’d been trying to get on his radar for at least the last six months to discuss his support for the food waste management bill our firm had spent most of the year crafting and refining. “I’ve been exchanging emails with the senator’s scheduler, Janet.”
“She’s with him in Oregon right now,” Isabelle said. “The senator is spending the rest of the holiday there but should be back on the fourth.”
“I’m sure he has a lot of work to do with the new class of lawmakers.”
“Thankfully, this was an off year, with only ten senators up for election.” Isabelle widened her eyes as if I should have an implication just from her expression. “I really don’t want to think of how it’s going to be in two years. One of the most important elections of our lives.”
People in DC always said that about every presidential election year. I ignored the twinge of annoyance that came with hearing that sentiment for the umpteenth time.
“That’s why I’m hopeful we can spend time discussing some of our shared interests, particularly when it comes to the environment,” I said instead.