(Almost) Happily Ever After

by Annabelle Costa

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, settle down. It’s not that big a deal.”

  “It is a big deal,” I insist. “You’re going to have a baby. You’re going to be a mother. That’s really intense.”

  Mia just shrugs. What is wrong with that girl?

  “Just don’t forget our Annoying Pregnant Lady Pact,” I say.

  The Annoying Pregnant Lady Pact that Mia and I have together is predicated on the fact that all pregnant women we have known have been incredibly annoying. I don’t know what it is about being pregnant that turns up your Annoying Hormones, but somehow it just does. For example, this friend of ours was throwing a party a few months ago and sent out a Facebook evite, and another pregnant friend of our replied, “Is my fetus invited too?” I mean, what kind of stupid thing to say is that? I wanted to be like, “No. No fetuses allowed. You’ll have to have an abortion if you want to come.”

  Anyway, the pact we made basically states that if/when either of us got pregnant, we would not be annoying. At least, not to each other.

  Mia starts to laugh. “You think I’m going to be an annoying pregnant lady? Libby, that pact was created entirely for your benefit.”

  I smack her in the arm. “I wouldn’t be an annoying pregnant lady.”

  “You know you would,” she insists.

  Hmm. She might actually be right about that. “Well, it doesn’t matter,” I say. “I don’t think I’ll be pregnant any time soon.”

  She raises her eyebrows at me. “Why not? You’re engaged.”

  I never told Mia my secret, even though she’s my best friend. I thought that telling her would be too painful. But if she’s going to start bringing up the idea of me having kids, I should probably just be honest.

  “Mia.” I take a deep breath. “I’m not sure if I can get pregnant. At least… not with Will.” She frowns and I add, “I’ve been off birth control for nearly two years.”

  “Oh.” She bites her lip. “It does sometimes take time to…”

  I shake my head. “No. It’s…” Okay, this is something I haven’t told Mia or anyone else before. But what the hell. I’m already spilling my guts. “Will doesn’t… you know… ejaculate. Because of his spinal cord injury.”

  Mia is quiet for a second. She doesn’t know what to say and I can’t blame her. What do you say to something like that?

  “Have you guys talked to a doctor about it?” she finally asks me.

  “We haven’t,” I admit. “Honestly, we haven’t even talked to each other about it. I mean, when we first started having sex, he told me about it. That he couldn’t… you know. But… that was it. I feel weird bringing it up.”

  “Libby, he’s your fiancé,” she points out. “You need to be able to talk about these things.”

  She’s right. If I’m going to sit around feeling miserable because I can’t get pregnant, then I should at least know if there’s something we can do about it.

  Tonight, Will and I are going to have a long talk about his sperm.

  Chapter 6

  When I get home, it’s eight o’clock, and Will is actually home. I can’t even believe it. Getting home on a Monday night by eight is unheard of around here. And he doesn’t even appear to be working from home, although he’s still dressed in the bottom half of his gray work suit and he’s got a white dress shirt on, although sans tie and with the top button undone. He’s on the Xbox, playing Grand Theft Auto.

  “Hey, Libby.” He pauses the game when I come in and offers me a smile. “How was dinner with Mia?”

  “Great,” I say, deliberately not mentioning the baby growing in her womb.

  He picks up the extra controller next to him on the sofa. “Wanna play?”

  “Sure,” I say.

  It’s been ages since Will and I played a game on the Xbox together. He’s much better than I am, but it’s still fun. I lean my head against his shoulder as we play, and he eventually puts his arm around me, even though it means he has to work the controls one-handed. I love the feel of Will’s arms around me. If he were just any old workaholic lawyer, he’d probably have pretty scrawny arms, but the fact that he pushes his chair around all day means he’s got these great, tight muscles in his chest, shoulders and arms. It’s crazy sexy.

  “So what’s your great news?” I ask him.

  Will pauses the game again. “Actually, I was sort of sorry I said anything before because it’s not a definite thing but…” He allows himself a tiny excited smile. “There’s a really big case coming to the firm. Like, really big. Huge publicity. And Saperstein is saying he wants me to take the lead on it.”

  I know this is supposedly great news, but all I can hear is: I’m going to be so busy, the only time you’ll see me will be in your dreams.

  “Wonderful,” I say flatly.

  Will doesn’t seem to notice my lack of enthusiasm. “This is something that could make my whole career,” he says. “I don’t know what the case is, but Saperstein says it’s already been in the Times. If I’m their lawyer, I’ll probably get mentioned in the articles too.”

  “Really?” Despite my ambivalence, that actually sounds really cool. “Do you think you’ll be on television?”

  I can just imagine Will on television. I always think the young pundits on the news are so adorable—he’d fit right in.

  “Uh… maybe.” Will looks less thrilled by that prospect. “Hopefully not. Still, that would really cement my reputation if I could win a really big case. I could be as well-known as… Alan Dershowitz.”

  I frown at him. “I have no idea who that is.”

  “Oh.” He laughs. “Well, he’s famous in legal circles, at least. He represented some really famous clients, like Mike Tyson and OJ Simpson.”

  “Aren’t they both horrible people?” I squeeze my fists together. “Are you going to defend a murderer or a rapist?”

  “No!” Will shakes his head. “You know I don’t do criminal law. I don’t know what the case is, but it’ll probably involve some breach of contract, since that’s my area of expertise.”

  “Oh, okay.” It’s hard to imagine how a breach of contract would be exciting enough to make the papers on a regular basis, but I don’t want to dampen his excitement.

  He squints at me, finally noticing my reaction. “Is everything okay, Libby?”

  I shrug. “I guess so.”

  “That means no, right?” He squeezes my knee. “That means I’m supposed to keep bugging you until you tell me what’s wrong.”

  Hmm. He’s getting to know me pretty well.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I say. “Not exactly…”

  He raises his eyebrows at me.

  I take a deep breath. “Are you able to have children?” I blurt out.

  Will’s mouth falls open. I think it’s safe to assume he didn’t expect me to say that. “Libby…”

  “It’s not a big deal if you can’t,” I say quickly. Wow, I’m such a liar. “I just… I was wondering because… you know, we haven’t been using birth control for a long time… and also, you can’t… you know…”

  Will’s ears turn red and he pulls his hand off my knee. “Yeah. That’s true.”

  “So it’s true?” I can almost hear my heart pounding. “You can’t have kids?”

  “No, I…” He lowers his eyes. “Look, I’m sorry we haven’t talked about this. It’s… it’s weird for me, I guess. But you deserve to know. Obviously.”

  I look at him, waiting to hear what I deserve to know.

  “My urologist told me that I could most likely…” He heaves a sigh. “I could probably ejaculate with the right kind and intensity of stimulation.”

  “Right kind of…”

  He makes a face. “Prostate.”

  “Oh…”

  “It can be done in a doctor’s office,” he adds quickly. “You wouldn’t have to… be there or anything, but you’d probably have to be involved in the whole process.”

  “I’d want to be involved,” I say.

  He nods. “Yeah. Look, I ha
ve a friend with a spinal cord injury who went through this process with his wife and he recommended a fertility clinic that he said was really good. Maybe I should make us an appointment.”

  “So…” I bite my lip. “You want to get started on it… now?”

  “Well,” he says thoughtfully. “Why not? We’re getting married as soon as we can get a license, and we know we want kids together. Right?”

  I don’t know why, but nothing makes a woman feel closer to a man than planning to make actual babies together. The thought of Will being the father of my children makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. I snuggle up against his muscular shoulder. “Definitely,” I say.

  “So how many kids do you want?” His voice is slightly muffled because his lips are in my hair.

  “Two,” I say. “So neither of them will be lonely. How about you?”

  “Um,” he says. “I’m not sure. Somewhere between one and three.”

  “So… two, then?”

  “Between one and three, inclusive.”

  “Three kids…” I muse. I cast a slightly worried glance down at my genitals. I can’t imagine three infants passing through there. Even one seems doubtful sometimes.

  He laughs at the expression on my face. “How about this? Let’s have one, then see how we feel.”

  I nod, relieved. “I’d rather think about names. What do you think would be a good name if we have a baby boy?”

  “Ashkenazi Jews usually name their babies after dead relatives,” Will says. “So I was thinking we could name him after my grandfather Howard. He and I were really close when I was a kid.”

  I frown. “So we’d have to name our son Howard?”

  “Well, it could just be a name that starts with the letter H.”

  I snuggle deeper into Will’s shoulder as I contemplate possible names for my future son. “There are literally no good boy names that start with the letter H.”

  “Sure there are.”

  “Name one.”

  “Um,” says Will, who clearly has not thought this through. “Henry?”

  “Ugh.”

  “Ugh?”

  “Wasn’t Henry that king who beheaded all his wives?” I shake my head. “I veto Henry.”

  “Okay,” he concedes. “What about… Harold?”

  “Yes, I’d like to give my son the name of an eighty-year-old man. God, that’s even worse than Howard!”

  Will laughs. “How about Hugo?”

  “Wasn’t that the Hunchback of Notre Dame?” I say.

  He pokes me in the leg. “No, The Hunchback of Notre Dame was a book written by Victor Hugo.”

  Have I ever mentioned that Will knows everything about everything?

  “It’s still a horrible name,” I say. “Veto.”

  “Fine. But you only get like three vetoes.”

  I poke him back. “We’ll see about that.”

  Will thinks for a minute. “How about Hamilton?”

  “Hamilton?”

  He nods. “After the first Secretary of the Treasury. Shot by Aaron Burr. Now a hit Broadway show. Very hot right now, Libby.” He grins at me. “We could call him Hammy for short.”

  “Veto.”

  “Okay…” He bites his lip, an adorable expression of concentration on his face. “How about… Harrison?”

  Harrison? Actually, that’s not terrible. I’ve always loved Harrison Ford. It’s definitely a handsome prince sort of name. “I’ll consider it,” I say.

  “So that settles it.” Will squeezes me tighter against him. “Our firstborn son will be named Harrison.”

  I know he’s joking around—obviously, there will be at least a million more conversations between now and when we decide on the name of our firstborn. But still, I can’t help but smile to myself as I lean against him. Will and I are going to have a baby together. He and I are going to be somebody’s parents. Together.

  And there’s nobody else I’d rather do this with.

  Chapter 7

  For Reid’s next office hours, I really make an effort to look terrible. It’s strange, because usually when I’m putting in an effort, I’m trying to doll myself up. I’ve never tried to doll myself down before. I wear one of Will’s T-shirts, which is gigantic on me, and a pair of sweatpants that I bought during my short-lived “jogging to get back in shape” phase. I wear my glasses again and don’t even apply a stitch of make-up. While I make the trek to NYU, I avoid looking at myself in any reflective surfaces because I know it’s going to be painful.

  In any case, I’m very pleased with my appearance when I show up at Reid’s office and tap on his open door.

  “Hey, Libby,” Reid says, rubbing his goatee. I am not a big fan of goatees, although they’re better than soul patches. Facial hair isn’t my favorite. “You here to learn about single-celled organisms?”

  Yes, we have finally moved on from the plant kingdom, and now we’re learning about protozoa. And guess what? Amoeba and paramecia aren’t any more interesting than plants. And amoeba sex isn’t interesting either. You know how amoeba reproduce? Asexually. That means when they want to have a baby, they just freaking divide in half.

  None of this is getting me fired up for my future career as a vet. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be treating any single-celled organisms at my practice. Any sick amoebas are going to have to go elsewhere. I apologize if that makes me sound heartless, but amoebas don’t even have brains. They are basically just a nucleus and a bunch of endoplasm and food vacuoles.

  God, this class is boring.

  “I sure am,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.

  It takes all my energy and concentration to review the most recent material with Reid. I feel bad, because this really isn’t his job. He’s not my private tutor. Office hours are basically just for random questions. Yet I’m beginning to realize that relying on Reid is the only way I’m going to pass this class.

  Fortunately, Reid’s a really good teacher. He’s very patient and explains everything slowly, like I’m five years old. Which sadly, is appreciated. It’s clear that Reid is a genuinely nice guy, and whatever else is true about him, he really wants his students to do well in this class.

  “You’re really getting it!” Reid says. If I were twenty years younger, he’d be handing me a gold star right now. “You’re going to ace the next test.”

  I feel my cheeks grow warm. “Well, you’re a great teacher.”

  “It’s easy when I’ve got a great student.” Reid gives me this pointed look, which makes me think that none of my attempts to uglify myself are helping in the slightest. “Anyway, I’m sure there’s a lot that you could teach me about… other things.”

  I feel like Reid sees me as some sort of Mrs. Robinson figure. Like, he thinks I’m the older woman who’s going to somehow become his sexual guide. It’s sort of insulting, partially because I’m only like five years older than he is, and also because I really don’t want to be this guy’s sexual guide. But mostly it’s the age thing.

  In order to break the weird sexual tension emanating from Reid’s body, I decide to ask him about the slogan on his shirt. “What does ‘Cut from a different cloth’ mean?”

  “Oh!” Reid’s eyes light up. “Well, this is a hemp shirt. Of course.”

  Of course.

  “Whenever possible, I try to buy only clothing made from hemp,” he explains.

  Of course.

  “It’s much better for the environment,” he explains.

  “Why?” I ask.

  Reid’s face lights up and he launches into an explanation so quickly that it’s obvious this is something he talks about a lot: “Hemp is much easier to grow than cotton. It requires much less land and it uses much less water, which is important when there are serious droughts going on throughout the country.”

  “Interesting,” I lie.

  “They say that hemp is not widely used because marijuana is illegal,” he goes on, “but I’ll tell you something I bet you don’t know.”

 
“Um,” I say.

  “Marijuana is illegal because of hemp!” He smiles knowingly.

  “Okay…”

  “Stay with me, Libby, even if this sounds crazy.” Hmm. “So other things can be made out of hemp besides clothing. For example, paper. I mean, think of how many trees get cut down every year, and think about how awesome it would be to have a renewable source of paper.” He pauses to let me appreciate how awesome it would be. “But who wouldn’t like paper made from hemp? The paper lobby, of course. And the best way to make sure hemp paper would never get made was to criminalize the raw material that hemp paper is made from.”

  “There’s a paper lobby?” I ask.

  “There’s an everything lobby,” Reid assures me.

  “That sounds terrible.” Terrible and not at all like a marijuana-fueled conspiracy theory.

  He nods soberly. “I’m glad you get it. Some people… well, like, when I say this stuff to my parents, they just roll their eyes.”

  I wasn’t rolling my eyes? Wow, that’s a miracle. “Do your parents know that you smoke… well, you know…”

  He laughs. “I don’t do it in front of them, but I think they’ve figured it out. They’re sort of… conservative. Everyone where I grew up is pretty conservative.”

  “Where did you grow up?”

  “Utah. Near Salt Lake City.”

  I grin at him. “Are you Mormon?”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t get me started on the Mormons. Even them aside, I was always an outlier there. Everyone was so straight-laced.”

  “That’s what’s nice about this city,” I say. “Everyone is weird.”

  “I know!” He tugs at his hemp T-shirt, which is pulling at his gut. “I’m the straight-laced one around here. Sometimes I think I should get a bunch of insane piercings just to fit in better.”

  “Maybe you should get those things that stretch your earlobes,” I suggest. “What are those things called?”

  “I think they’re called tunnels or plugs, depending on whether or not they’re hollow.” He shudders slightly. “To be honest, Libby, those things skive me out. I’m kind of squeamish.” He grins. “Or at least, that’s my official excuse when my parents ask me why I’m not doing something more useful with my bachelor’s in biology, like going to med school.”