Her Perfect Man- The Complete Series Box Set

by Z. L. Arkadie

  I run out of the bathroom, grab my keys and purse, and head back to the drug store. This time, I buy six different tests—three brands, two of each. The same girl from last time rings up my purchase. She looks at me sympathetically, but I reject her sentiment. I’m not pregnant. I can’t be pregnant.

  I take my bag and hurry out of the drugstore. I’m aware that I’m speeding as I drive home. I partly wish I would get pulled over by a patrolman—then I could cry to him about not wanting to be pregnant. As if whining and crying to strangers would change my earlier results. Nope, it can’t. It’s going to take more prayer, so that’s what I do.

  I promise God a lot if all the pregnancy tests come out negative. I will never have premarital sex again, which in effect will make my church-going mom happy. Heck, I’ll even attend services with her at least once a month. Now, I know church isn’t God’s requirement, but going would make me a better daughter. For my dad, I would sell my Mustang and only drive the brand-new truck. He would love that.

  When I make it home, I race to the bathroom and start all over again. I take the first test and wait twenty minutes. My result is a blue cross, which means pregnant, but it’s sort of fuzzy. I force myself to pee on another stick. I wait ten minutes for these results, and my result is a pink cross. I keep going. At this point, my eyes are glassy and my head hurts. I’ve prayed so much that I feel as if God has stopped listening. I’m only clinging to the hope that he’s going to grant me a miracle at some point and one of these tests will show negative results.

  I’m pretty sure a few hours have gone by. I’m in the kitchen, drinking water. Four pregnancy tests down, two more to go. I wonder if I should make the ultimate deal with God. My mom, Tessa, may have a line to God that going to church every chance she can affords her. She never rides me about settling down and starting a family, but I know it would make her happy. She’s always mentioning hugging and kissing her grandchildren one day. I’m her only child, so apparently, I’m the source from which they will come. So I press my hands together and close my eyes. God, I’ll do it. I’ll do it for her—one day, not today—ten years from now at least.

  I open my eyes and take two deep breaths. Hell, I didn’t even manage to convince myself I was sincere about my vow. So I close my eyes and dig deeper. I will soon find a good guy and make a family so that my mom can have grandchildren. I open my eyes. Thinking those words feels all kinds of wrong, but still, I hold onto the hope that it’s enough to make one of the last two tests come up negative.

  I head back to the bathroom and force my bladder to dispense enough urine to pee on both sticks. Twenty minutes later, and I’ll know the results. Twenty minutes later, my life will change for the better or the worse.

  10

  When I wake up this morning, my head feels as if I dove into a deep swimming pool and didn’t hold my breath. Now there’s a sharp pain on both sides of my head, and my eyes are still tight from crying myself to sleep last night. According to all seven tests that I took, I’m pregnant, and Randy has to be the father. What’s even worse is that I’m the mother. However, I can hear my own mother in my mind, saying, Nothing is confirmed until the real doctor says it.

  So I get out of bed and call my doctor. The receptionist asks me why I want to come in, and I recount the awful night I had.

  “Seven pregnancy tests?”

  “Yes.”

  “All positive?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Then I can confirm that you are pregnant, but we’d still like to get you in for a checkup. You’re lucky because we have an opening this afternoon at one. Is that a good time for you?”

  Oh, how I want to say no and delay the inevitable. “I can make it.” My voice is filled with doom and gloom.

  Six hours later, Dr. Haskell has taken another pregnancy test to confirm my predicament. She ordered a series of blood tests, prescribed prenatal pills, and scheduled my next checkup. Of course, she asked the probing questions about the father. I told her I’m the mother and that’s all she needs to know for now. She didn’t seem to like what I said, but she didn’t quarrel with me.

  For the rest of the day, I decide to neglect class. I also call into work and tell them I’ll be out not only today but also for the rest of the week. Tomorrow I have Naomi’s graduation and party to attend, and I’m not scheduled to return to the Calypso until Monday.

  Now that I have no more obligations, I curl up in bed and wait until my eyelids become heavy. The doctor has confirmed that I’m four and a half weeks pregnant. The life inside me was definitely conceived the night before Randy ran off to make TV. The thought is once again too much for me to bear, and I make myself fall asleep again.

  On Friday, I practice being sprightly enough to not tip off Naomi about how I really feel deep down inside. When I pick her up, she’s a sight for sore eyes in her cap and gown. Her little apartment that she used to share with Elena, our friend who died in a car accident four months ago, is filled with boxes. She’s finally moving in with Derek. Of course, she says she will be living with him only until she finds her own place, but I don’t buy it. As we head to the ceremony, I let Naomi do all the talking about the party at her father’s house and how much Dick Sutters has changed since his fiancée entered his life. The weird thing was the fiancée, Alice, is Derek Valentine’s sister and an interior designer. Naomi mostly talks about how Alice is going to remodel Derek’s house. I would butt in and say it sure sounds like she’s planning on living there permanently, but the more she talks about herself, the less we have to discuss me.

  When we make it to the university, I feel a lot better. The day’s ceremony momentarily suspends the reality of my pregnancy. When I graduated, Naomi came out to support me. She cheered the loudest. So I make sure I cheer even louder for her, even beating out Derek Valentine. Admittedly, he can’t cheer too loud because they’re still “in the closet” with their relationship since he’s her professor and boss. But I’m pretty sure that come the day she doesn’t have to set foot on campus again, they’ll be out, proud, and loud about their relationship.

  By the time the ceremony ends and Naomi’s graduation dinner starts, I’m so exhausted. Now when I eat I have to be mindful that I can potentially harm another life. So I ask myself, are all the pesticides washed off the vegetables, and what about preservatives? Should the fetus inside me consume that shit? I keep a smile on my face and engage in light conversation with her family members. Also, I make sure I drink nothing but water, and I am aware that Naomi is not too involved in her own party to notice. She’s watching me like a fucking hawk.

  After the toasts have been made and dinner consumed, we go to the backyard to mingle around the pool and have drinks and hors d’oeuvres. For the first time ever, I didn’t really taste the food that was on my plate, and right now all I want to do is go home and sleep.

  I talk to Dick for a while, and he gives me tips on how to pass the bar. Actually, I’m thoroughly entertained by how he’s handling me with kid gloves.

  “You just relax, and it will come back to you.” Dick tilts his head and looks at me intently. I think he really wants to know if it’s sinking through my thick skull.

  I smile. “I understand. But you know, Mr. Sutters, what if I want to be a chef?”

  He looks astonished. I can tell he’s reading my expression, trying to figure out if I’m being serious. Alice joins us. She’s brought a silver platter of cream puffs.

  “Richard, try these,” she says.

  Dick takes one of the savory-scented puffs off the platter.

  She places the platter in front of me. “Would you like one?”

  I’m a little nauseated, but I say, “Yes. Thank you.”

  I figure it’s time to redirect the conversation, so I tell them that they have a beautiful backyard and ask them to explain what kind of shrubs they’ve planted. I hit the jackpot with that subject because they talk over each other, explaining how they made over the backyard. I’m only half listening. Finally, Na
omi comes over and tells her dad that she wants to speak to him. She hasn’t told Dick that she’s in a full-blown relationship with Derek yet, and tonight, she’s supposed to break the news.

  “Of course,” Dick says, and they stroll off together.

  Alice finishes telling me her plan to drain the pool and retile the bottom and sides with porcelain. I fight the urge to yawn. Gosh, I really don’t want to let Naomi’s future stepmother know that I’m bored already. Thank God someone calls her name. She offers me another cream puff, I take one, and she practically dances off to see what the guy who called her wants.

  Finally, I’m alone, so I yawn.

  “Hey,” Naomi says close to my ear.

  I turn around to face her. She chuckles and wags her finger. “But next time, I’ll make sure you don’t see me coming.”

  I think I’m smiling—at least, I feel like I’m smiling. Actually, I didn’t see her before she revealed herself; I was just too exhausted to react. “Right.” I yawn again. “Listen, nice dinner party, but I’ll be leaving soon.”

  She points her chin toward the glass in my hand. “I notice that’s your second glass of water. What’s up with that?”

  I figure now’s the time to come clean. I sigh. “I’m pregnant.”

  She smirks. “You don’t even feel like beating around the bush, do you?”

  I rub my stomach. “What for? I figure eight months from now, when I’m pushing a baby out of my hoo-ha, you’ll know why tonight I’m drinking water, so why lie?”

  Naomi nods continuously. “Wow. So Randy’s the father?”

  I instinctively look around for the cocktail tray, even though I won’t indulge. “I think I need a drink for that answer, but yes, Randy’s the father.” I raise a finger. “But it gets better. I failed the bar—again!” I got my results from February’s exam a week before I banged Randy in the kitchen. I never told Naomi about it because I didn’t want to listen to her encourage me to take the exam again in July.

  Just as I thought, the corners of her mouth turn down sympathetically, and she pats me on the shoulder. “That’s okay. The fifth time may be the charm.”

  I grunt and roll my eyes. “Fuck it. The only reason I kept taking that fucking test was because law school was expensive.”

  “Yes, it was,” Naomi says.

  “Right. But I’ve come to the realization that failing was my way of telling myself that I really don’t want to be a lawyer, and no matter how hard I try, I don’t want it.”

  Naomi’s eyes expand as if she’s experiencing my crisis. “If that’s the case, then what are you going to do now?”

  “The million-dollar question.” I take the brochure for my culinary school out of my purse and give it to her.

  She grimaces while studying it. “This is for culinary school.”

  I smile. “I want to be a chef.”

  “Really? I’ve never seen you cook anything in your life.”

  I snatch my brochure from her. “I cook,” I say defensively.

  She looks at me with one eye narrowed and then sighs. “You know I will always support you no matter what you decide.”

  I look down at my belly.

  “So does Randy know?” she asks.

  I look up. “Not yet.”

  She jerks her neck. “You haven’t told him yet?”

  I envision Randy off in New York, filming the cooking show. He’s already having a thing with another contestant. “I don’t even like him,” I say, partly to remind myself of that fact.

  “You should have thought about that before you screwed him twice.”

  “Well… three times.”

  Naomi’s jaw drops. “Three? Why not four or five?”

  “Okay, maybe four…”

  Naomi shakes her head. “I can’t believe you.”

  I raise a hand. “Could we just drop it for now? I’m too sleepy to explain myself at the moment.”

  She sighs. “Okay, but call if you need anything from me, and unlike tonight, I won’t get all judgmental with you. Deal?”

  I read her expression to see if she really means it and then extend a hand. “Okay, deal.”

  We shake hands, and then she pulls me in for a hug. “Pretty soon we won’t be able to do this so easily,” she says.

  Just thinking about my future extended belly makes me want to pass out from dread, but instead, I smirk sarcastically. “Better get all your hugs in now.”

  We laugh together, and I tell her that I’m so tired that I just might pass out on one of the lounge chairs. She gives me another big hug and thanks me for coming.

  I can hardly keep my eyes open as I drive home. When I make it inside, I kick off my shoes, strip off my dress, and fall right into bed without taking off my makeup. I’m out like a lamp seconds after my head hits the pillow.

  The next time I wake up, it’s late Saturday morning. I got through Naomi’s graduation day, but now I’m back to feeling like woe is me. So I spend the rest of the weekend lying in bed, watching home renovation shows all day. I only get up to make myself arugula salads with toasted pecans and to drink water. I also get out of bed to pee often.

  It seems as if the weekend goes by at record speed. On Monday morning, my internal alarm wakes me up at my regular time of 7:12 a.m. It’s a new day, and frankly, I could just as well sleep this one away too. I press my hands against my flat stomach. I wish I could still hope, but I’d be silly to deny reality at this point.

  So I force myself to rise even though I’m physically and mentally drained. I walk through my regular rituals of breakfast and personal hygiene and get dressed. I drive to school and attend all of my classes. It’s so strange. It’s abundantly clear that my life will never be the same, and yet it feels as if nothing has changed. I still made the best-tasting apricot-ginger sauce in my Soups and Sauces class today. I still sat on the edge of my seat as I listened to Chef Jeanne share part two of the secrets to cooking fine French cuisine.

  My last class ends, and it’s time to drive to the Calypso. For some reason, working there doesn’t suffice anymore. I only applied for a job because I knew I didn’t want to be a lawyer anymore—actually I never wanted to be one. I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to do with my life. All I knew is that I had to work on my lackluster people skills. Strange, but whatever career path I decided to choose, I knew I would have to figure out how to please the public. That meant learning to grin and bear it even when the person I was serving was being a jackass.

  Calypso’s customers weren’t too rude though. Mostly, Randy was the one who has been demanding, impatient, and unforgiving. However, on the bright side, he knew his shit. He and I arrived at the café just around the same time, a year ago. I was hired a week after he started. The restaurant was known to have the worst of everything—coffee, sandwiches, and baked goods. But Randy changed recipes and trained staff on how to make the food and drinks consistent. I learned a lot from him in the early days—I really did. Maybe that’s why I found myself attracted to him enough to lose my head and screw him on nights when he and I were closing together. At first, I thought he was having sex with all the girls he closed with, but I soon discovered that I was the only one, which was sort of strange because he rode me harder than anyone else.

  Regardless, those were the old days. In the new days, Randy is going to be a father and I a mother. Poor baby.

  I shake my head as I pull into the parking lot, which is emptier than usual. But I see Rita and Sarah standing in front of the door. I wave at them because they’re watching me. They’re both frowning, and I wonder what in the world is going on.

  I park next to Rita’s car and rush across the asphalt.

  “We can’t get in,” Sarah says before I reach them.

  “Oh”—I open my purse—“I have a key.”

  “So do I,” Sarah says.

  “And so do I,” Rita says.

  I clutch my keys in my hand. “Then what’s the problem?”

  “Our keys don’t work,” Sarah says.<
br />
  I figure we all have the same key, so I don’t try mine. Instead I cup my hands on the glass and look through the window. The pastry case is half filled, there are cups on the table, and some of the chairs around the table have been pulled out as though whoever sat in them left abruptly.

  “Has anyone tried to call Rex?”

  Sarah and Rita look at each other with wide eyes. Therein lies the answer to my question.

  “I’ll call him,” I say. Unlike Randy, Rex gave us all a direct number to reach him just in case of an emergency.

  I take my phone out of my purse.

  “There he is,” Rita says.

  I look up to see Rex’s white truck driving into the parking lot. We stand in silence as he parks, gets out, and walks toward us. He has a stressed-out look on his face, and he’s avoiding eye contact.

  “The Calypso is officially out of business,” he says before reaching us.

  “Why?” I ask although I already have it figured out.

  He throws his hands up. “The place has zero operational budget.”

  “How does an establishment lose its operating budget in less than twenty-four hours?” Sarah asks.

  The sides of Rex’s mouth turn down in a severe frown. “Well, the owner could gamble it way. You can buy this place if you have three hundred fifty thousand in cash.”

  Rita gasps and then slaps her hand over her mouth. “Then it was true. Steve is a gambling addict.”

  Rex nods. “It’s true.” He sighs.

  “But I have my things in my locker,” Sarah says.

  “Me too,” Rita says.

  “Me three,” I say. I have one textbook and two recipe books in mine.

  Rex twists his lips thoughtfully, pondering while the three of us wait for him to finish. “Steve was here this morning. Follow me.”

  We trail Rex as he leads us to the back of the building, where there’s a narrow alley. We stop near the dumpster. Rex glances toward the back door and then looks up. About eight feet above us is a window that’s cracked open.