To Keep Her Baby

by Melissa Senate

  “Like where?” he asked.

  “Somewhere magical and special. Like New Orleans.”

  He smiled at the thought of her in a poufy white dress, not caring if she got powdered sugar from her beignets all over it. “I’d like to go there one day.”

  “Me too,” she said. “One of the waitresses at Busty’s said the reason I wanted to elope was probably because I don’t have family to invite. Man, did that put a gray cloud over my head for a few hours.”

  James took her hand and held it for a moment. “That comment sounded kind of passive-aggressive. Why’d you work there anyway? Why not a...regular bar or restaurant?”

  She looked down at the granite step. “A friend worked there and she said the tips were great, twice what I’d make anywhere else. I was thinking about applying to college, just part-time to start, and I needed money, so I took the job. I felt like I had something of a family there. We celebrated birthdays, rallied during hard times. I guess that feeling was more important to me than the bad stuff, so I stayed. Yeah, there was always a beyotch or two, but they’re everywhere. That feeling, like I had people that cared about me? It was everything.”

  “I can understand that,” he said.

  For a moment they just sat there, the shared experience of not having parents in the air between them.

  “You know, when I quit Busty’s and drove up here, I had three hours to feel anxious as hell. Heading into the unknown, ‘family’ gone. No one having my back. That gray cloud was over my head the whole drive.”

  “I’ve got your back, Ginger. I hope you know that.”

  “To a point, yeah,” she said. “But you’ll probably come back from Paris or Tombouctou with a fiancée, and she’s not gonna want me hanging around. Trust me. Oh, awesome—the gray cloud is back.”

  “Ginger. First of all, I’m not looking to date, let alone get married. So there won’t be a fiancée in my immediate future. Trust me. I’m done with relationships for a while. But no matter what, we’re friends. I take the word friends seriously.”

  She glanced at him and nodded. There was something unsettled in her expression, and he wished he knew what the hell to do about it.

  “I did take a couple classes,” she said suddenly. “But I was always so tired during the day from working nights. Maybe now I can go to school at night. Thanks to my fancy new job, I can afford it.” She gave him a smile, and he knew she was trying to change the subject for both their sakes. He hated to go with it, to sweep the heavy conversation under the ole rug, but he had no idea what to say about it. They were two trains on opposite tracks.

  “Did you know that James Gallagher Solutions offers tuition reimbursement?” he asked. “That’ll come in handy for you.”

  She grinned. “Delia didn’t say anything about tuition reimbursement when we were talking benefits.”

  “Benefits at JGS are staff generated as needed. Delia already had a college degree and wasn’t interested in further education, so it never came up. But she did partake in the airfare reimbursement program to visit sick relatives or tiny new relatives.”

  She gaped at him. “Well, I certainly have the best boss in town, that’s for sure.”

  The dog came back over then, wagging its little cinnamon-colored tail. Ginger laughed and gave the dog a few pats and scratches.

  The region of his chest felt way too heavy. He needed air—and he was outside. He really didn’t know what he needed. But he had to get his head screwed back on straight. “Well, I have to put the finishing touches on the Solero proposal, so how about I walk you home?”

  “’Kay,” she said, standing up and linking her arm through his. The little dog scampered over to another couple, who oohed and aahed over his cuteness.

  A beaming bride and groom came running out of the chapel. “Hey, catch!” the bride said and tossed the pink-and-red bouquet right at Ginger.

  She caught it against her chest. “Congrats!” she called as the couple ran off toward a red convertible. “Guess I’m next,” she said to James. “That’s according to bridal legend. And everyone believes that one.”

  “Your checklist guy—Bluebell’s father—is out there. He really is.” The words actually managed to clear his stuffed head a bit. Yes, this was keeping his focus where it needed to be. On the right man for Ginger, which wasn’t himself. But a moment later, a shot of acid burst up into his throat. Because the thought of Ginger with another man made him insane.

  He hadn’t even kissed this woman. So why was he feeling all...territorial?

  You care about her, he reminded himself. So of course you want her to find the perfect husband and father. That’s all it is.

  “Too bad I can’t find Checklist Guy before tomorrow at noon,” she said.

  He raised an eyebrow. “What happens then?”

  “My first prenatal checkup. I’ll get to hear the heartbeat and see Bluebell on the monitor.”

  He saw her bite her lip, something she rarely did, and in that instant he knew she was going to that appointment alone and wished she weren’t.

  “I’ll go with you,” he heard himself saying as if underwater.

  She stared at him. “You? Why on earth?”

  “Because I care about you, Ginger. And I want to go.”

  He could tell she was thinking about it. That it was both a good and bad idea, that relying on him for anything baby related wasn’t in her best interest. He was leaving in a couple weeks—that was the one thing in his life set in stone.

  “Well, in that case, thank you,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

  His heart squeezed as it went out to her even more. She must really not want to go to that appointment alone. And he couldn’t blame her.

  He’d just told her he had her back, hadn’t he? So of course he’d accompany her to her ob-gyn visit.

  Tonight, when he’d be lying in bed unable to sleep, he had no doubt he’d replay this moment again and again. When the words tumbled out of his mouth.

  If he wasn’t careful, he’d be marrying Ginger next. Right in this chapel. And expecting octuplets.

  So be careful, he warned himself. Very, very careful.

  * * *

  “How’d your assessment go?” Sandrine asked as Ginger came inside the Queen Anne.

  Ginger wondered if James had sped from the porch, where he’d just said his goodbyes, to his car to flee from town. Anything to avoid going to her prenatal checkup. He’d offered because he was her friend, and she was glad she had him in her corner. End of story, case closed, stop thinking about it!

  “It started out great,” Ginger said, “then got awful, then got great again, then got confusing.” She filled in Sandrine on some of the particulars. The good, the bad and the confusing.

  Sandrine pushed her long hair behind her shoulders. “At least there were two greats in there. My own casual date assessment was awful and confusing. No great anywhere in there.”

  Ginger rubbed Sandrine’s shoulder. She shivered just thinking about that superficial dentist telling her to order a plain salad for dinner. “But the good news is that you’re probably over that veneered-out jerk.”

  “I’m three-quarters there,” Sandrine said. “I’ve been crazy about him for so long it’s hard for the feelings to just disappear, you know?”

  “Oh, I know. I’ve been trying to quit my feelings for James for weeks now. And no matter what I know intellectually, my stupid heart wants him. And now guess who’s coming with me to my prenatal checkup tomorrow?”

  Sandrine gasped. “Wow. He must really care about you, Ging.”

  Ginger bit her lip. “He seems to. But he also cares about his sisters. And Larilla. He’d do anything for them. That’s who he is. And lately it seems he’d do anything for me—except fall in love. I’m not what he wants in his heart of hearts.”

  “Freedom,” Sandrine said.


  “Right. And he deserves it.”

  “I guess we both have to work on falling out of love,” her friend said. “There must be something about it in Glamour or Cosmo. I’ll do an online search. I sure do have it easier than you,” she added. “Falling out of love with a great guy? How are you going to do it?”

  “I’m sure I won’t be falling out of love anytime soon,” Ginger said. “He’s leaving, and I’ll get my heart smashed and then I’ll spend the summer getting over him only for him to come back and be my boss two feet away in the office.” Yeah, that was not going to work. But no way was she giving up her job. She seemed to have a knack for that line of work.

  “I’ve got it,” Sandrine said with a snap of her fingers. “It’s the only way.”

  Ginger grabbed her friend’s shoulders. “Please tell me immediately.”

  Sandrine laughed. “You find Checklist Guy. Just like James said—he’s out there. Find him and you find the real Mr. Right. The guy who checks all the boxes, particularly the one about wanting to be a father—and gives you all the feels.”

  Hmm, Sandrine was onto something there.

  But was this mythical guy really out there?

  Chapter Eight

  “You’ve got a serious case of the jitters,” James said as he escorted Ginger to her ob-gyn appointment.

  She gaped at him in the middle of Main Street. How the heck did he know that? She’d been jumpy all morning, barely able to focus in her private session with Madame Davenport, who’d sent her “to rest, dear.” And it was the same crazy butterflies in her tummy during the two hours she and James had spent at the office, doing one last proofreading and polishing of his proposal for the Solero Sisters Bakery. Three times he’d asked if she was feeling okay, if she had morning sickness or needed to lie down or take a break. She’d muddled through, but at half her usual Ginger speed. Which she’d been glad to discover was still fast.

  It had taken her hours to realize what her deal was: she was nervous about this afternoon’s ob-gyn appointment. Nervous as hell. When she figured it out, she had an “oh, is that all?” moment, but then let herself sit with the nerves and butterflies until she was almost flattened by them.

  What if something was wrong with her baby?

  In that moment, when the truth of why she felt so scared hit her, she’d never felt so alone. Yes, James was right there, but he wasn’t hers. A good friend and here he was, accompanying her to the appointment as he said he would. But he wasn’t hers. She was alone. Really, really alone.

  And I don’t want to be. I can’t do this alone. I don’t want to do this alone. I want a life partner who’ll love me and the baby. She had to find the mythical Checklist Guy. That was how she’d have all her dreams for Bluebell come true.

  But now here was James, able to see what it had taken her so long to figure out. How could he know her so well? Checklist Daddy wouldn’t know her at all. Right away anyway. Though James had seemed to truly “get her” from the beginning.

  So just add: knows me so well to the checklist—and voilà!

  She sighed. If only it were all that easy.

  “Yup. Nervous.” Just say it. You’re bursting with it. “What if there’s a problem?” Tears pricked her eyes, and she stopped walking and wrapped her arms around herself. “What if something is wrong?”

  “Let’s go on the assumption that everything is fine,” he said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “If, God forbid, something is wrong, we’ll deal with it.”

  She saw him freeze at his own use of we’ll. Maybe because she’d been staring hard at him when it came out of his mouth.

  James Gallagher wasn’t the kind of guy who’d correct himself with an I mean, you’ll deal with it. And he didn’t. “You’ve been feeling great, so that’s probably a good sign.” He squeezed her hand again and said, “Come on, kiddo, let’s go.”

  Kiddo. She was only four years younger than he was. She had a feeling he was trying to distance himself from that we’ll, homing in on her relatively young age in relation to his so that the we’ll made sense to him. She’s like another kid sister, he was probably trying to tell himself.

  Everything will be fine, she told herself. Repeat, repeat, repeat. She did feel better, walking beside James, having him with her.

  “Here we are,” he said, pulling open the door to Dr. Maya Gomez’s office.

  It took fifteen minutes for Ginger to fill out all the paperwork. Just as she sat back down, a couple came out a side door, all smiles. They were both tall and tanned and blond and perfect. The woman was pretty far along, maybe seven, eight months, Ginger figured.

  “It’s a girl!” the woman trilled, waving ultrasound photos in the air.

  Ginger smiled. “Congrats. I wonder what I’m having. I’m only about ten weeks along so a little too early anyway.”

  “Wow, you two are going to have one gorgeous kid,” the woman said, looking between them. “With your blond hair and his blue eyes, or his dark hair and your greenish eyes.”

  James looked at her as though she had four heads. And as though he felt a little bit sick.

  “James isn’t the father,” Ginger rushed to say—more for his benefit than anyone’s. Hadn’t the woman heard the old saying: when you assume, you make an ass out of you and me? An oldie but evergreen. Then again, Ginger and James were sitting together in an OB’s office.

  The woman’s gaze went straight to Ginger’s ringless left hand. “Oh. Sorry,” she added with a twinge of pity before joining her husband at the receptionist’s counter.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Ginger snapped. “I’m an unwed mother-to-be. Single. No need to be so judgy!”

  “Jeez,” the woman muttered as she turned around and held up her own left hand—empty too. “Calm down.”

  Oops. “I’m sorry,” Ginger said. Now she was the one making an ass out of herself. “Overly sensitive today for some reason.”

  The woman smiled. “Oh, I hear you. That’s my brother.” She gestured toward the guy at the counter. “He’s asking if there’s such a thing as extrastrength prenatal vitamins now that I’m in the home stretch.”

  Ginger laughed. “Want to exchange contact info? We can start our own club of single moms.”

  “Love to!” she said. She and Ginger pressed their numbers into their phones, and then the woman and her brother left.

  And just like that, Ginger had a new friend named Erin.

  “Only you can bite off someone’s head and end up with a new bestie,” James said on a chuckle.

  Ginger smiled. “It’s a skill.” But she wasn’t proud of it. Biting off heads, jumping to conclusions—all stuff she needed knocked out of her by Madame Davenport. She couldn’t go around throwing scones—literally and figuratively. The new and improved Ginger didn’t act like that.

  “Miss O’Leary?” a nurse called from the side door.

  The butterflies raced. Ginger couldn’t even stand.

  James peered at her. “Think positively, right?”

  Right. No need to expect the worst or for the sky to fall. She took a breath and stood, and James put a hand at her back, like a husband. Like an expectant father.

  Fifteen minutes later, Ginger was in a paper gown, and James, who’d left to give her privacy to change, had come back in. He sat on the chair in the corner, a weird pleasant look on his face.

  She eyed him. He was a little freaked out too. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was. Except his issue was about being here at all.

  Dr. Gomez gave a rap on the door and came in, warm and friendly and immediately helping to set Ginger at ease. After answering a bunch of questions and conducting an exam, the doctor said that Ginger was ten weeks and three days pregnant. Her due date was late December. She could have a Christmas or New Year’s baby!

  Finally, after squirting some gel on her belly, and gently moving around
what she called a transducer, Ginger heard the unmistakable sound of her baby’s heartbeat.

  “Sounds good,” Dr. Gomez said, her eyes on the monitor. “And all appears well and on target.”

  Ginger stared at the monitor, Bluebell’s little form right there for her to see.

  I will do my absolute best by you, she promised the baby.

  After answering Ginger’s thousand questions, the doctor let her to know to stop at the desk to schedule her next appointment and pick up her prescription for prenatal vitamins, then she left the exam room.

  “Wow,” Ginger said, blinking back tears as she stared hard at the little paper photograph of the ultrasound. Bluebell right there.

  She glanced up at James, who had a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead.

  Yup, he was sweating being here.

  “I’ll leave you to get dressed,” he said and couldn’t get out of the room fast enough.

  I wish he could be your daddy, she thought, staring at the photo. I don’t even know if there could be a better man than James. Maybe I should start thinking less about finding a father for you and more about being the best mother I can be.

  Because no one could take James’s place in what he meant to her.

  * * *

  James stood outside Dr. Gomez’s office waiting for Ginger to come out. He was holding a bouquet of pink tulips. A display of them were in front of the florist two doors down, and he’d hurried over to buy them.

  When she came out, she seemed surprised to see him. “I thought you ran screaming for the hills.”

  “Nope.” He wanted to explain himself, but how could he? Uh, I got a little emotionally overwhelmed seeing your baby on the monitor, hearing its heartbeat. Your baby became very real in those moments, and between that and my feelings for you, I panicked and fled. No, he could not say all that. Ginger would, which was the difference between them. She said what was on her mind. It was one of her best qualities. “These are for you. To celebrate a great first prenatal exam.”

  She stood there staring at the flowers, not saying anything. Uh-oh. What had he done wrong? Weren’t they the universal small token of good tidings?