by Emerson Rose
“Right. Okay, Steve. See ya at seven.”
“Later.”
As soon as we hang up, I dial Lourdes.
She answers in the cutest groggy voice. “Hello.”
“Hey, did I wake you?” I ask.
“Mmm, gosh, I guess so. I must have fallen asleep on the couch with Toby. I’ve been exhausted lately.”
“You’re growing a human. You have the best excuse.”
“Yeah, but I don’t remember being this tired when I was pregnant with Toby. Maybe it’s because I’m older.”
“Could be, but if you’re concerned, we should ask Dr. Clover to be on the safe side.”
“I’ll bring it up at the next appointment if it’s still bothering me.”
“Good, I’ll remind you. Hey, a buddy of mine asked me over to barbeque tonight. Do you and Toby want to be my plus one and two?”
She yawns, and I hear her shuffling around, probably trying to get out from under Toby.
“If you can stay awake long enough, that is,” I tease.
“Sure, sounds fun. What time?”
“I’ll be by around six to get you.”
“We can come to you if your friend lives in your area.”
“No, I want to pick you up.”
“All right, suit yourself. We’ll be ready and waiting at six then.”
And I know she will be. Lourdes is a very prompt person. She likes to organize and plan ahead. Some would call her a control freak, but I just call her smart and prepared.
“Did you like the song?” I ask.
“Yes, Liam, it was beautiful. You left me crying in the doctor’s parking lot, though. That wasn’t nice.”
“Why were you crying? You didn’t drive like that, did you? I’d never forgive myself if something happened because of m—”
“No, no, stop. I didn’t drive until I got myself together. It was beautiful, and I’m hormonal. That’s all.”
“Hmm, hormones. I forgot about that. I’ll stick around next time.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“No problem. Listen, I’ve got to shower and take care of a few things at the club before I pick you up, so I’ll text you when I’m coming, okay?”
“Okay, bye.”
“Lourdes.”
“Yeah?”
“I still want to kiss you.”
“I still want you to,” she whispers, and I disconnect, leaving her with that thought. I don’t want her to stop thinking about it. They say anticipation is the hottest aphrodisiac. We should be downright explosive when it finally happens.
Chapter 22
Lourdes
A date. This is an actual date. He asked me, and he’s picking me up to spend time with him and his friends eating dinner. That constitutes a real date in my book, even if it includes Toby. It’s sort of funny that today will go down in my journal as the day I officially found out I’m having Liam Wild’s baby and the day we went on our first date. That’s so backward, I’m not even sure you can call it backward. It’s more like we’re traveling back and forth in a wormhole, filling in the blanks of our lives as we hop back and forth in time.
I can’t believe I fell asleep again. It seems like everything I do has an end goal of sitting down and resting, which ends up in a nap. I get up and dress Toby, give him breakfast, and I want a nap. We play and read or visit Rachel, and I want a nap. I fix dinner, but I can’t sit down and watch TV with Toby without falling asleep.
Rachel is suspicious. I’m pretty sure she knows I’m pregnant. She flipped her shit when I finally told her I was accepting Liam’s offer. I did it at Mom and Dad’s house when they had us all over for dinner one Saturday night, thinking she would keep it together and not react so strongly in front of everybody, but whoa, was I wrong.
So now my parents know, Ivy and Blake know, and Mom’s whole damn neighborhood knows. Rachel went on and on about how unethical it is and how immoral Liam is and how he’s taking advantage of me.
I let her vent, because it very well might be unethical or immoral to fall for the man I’m surrogating for. If he didn’t have such a witch for a wife—and if he hadn’t been drugged into marrying her—I would feel guilty and wouldn’t have signed on the dotted line. Extenuating circumstances make a monumental difference in our story. I will never again judge anyone’s relationship without knowing all the facts.
Since I can’t call my sister to gab about my date, I call Kit. I miss him. I think I’ll be the unfashionable damsel in distress again so he will come over and visit.
“I need my personal wardrobe specialist.”
“Oh, you do, do you? Got a hot date with Chachi?” he asks.
“Why do you call him Chachi? He hates it, you know.”
“Lovey, that’s why I do it. A Chachi is a guy who dresses nice and thinks he’s better than everybody else.”
“He doesn’t dress any better than anyone else, and he’s not a snob,” I say, defending Liam.
“I know. That’s why it’s so funny. That boy is so casual and unassuming, I can’t believe he’s a superstar.” Kit’s voice is all dreamy and wistful when he says superstar, like he wishes he were famous too.
“So are you going to help me or what?” I ask.
“Of course. When and where, and for what kind of occasion are we dressing you?”
“Um, now, at my place, and a barbeque.”
“Be there in a few. Ciao, Bella.”
He hangs up before I can say goodbye. I look at Toby sleeping on the couch and yearn to curl up behind him again. Maybe I will, just until Kit gets here. It couldn’t hurt.
“Hey little mama, you’d better wake up and control your germ distributer over there. I’d do it but, well, look at me. I don’t do messy kids,” Kit says, nudging my shoulder.
I smell peanut butter. When I open my eyes, I’m staring at Kit, who is, as always, perfectly pressed and dressed to kill. He smiles sympathetically and looks toward my kitchen. I follow his gaze and see Toby sitting on top of the kitchen table, surrounded by pulverized gluten-free Saltine crackers, with organic peanut butter spread all over his hands and face. And that’s not all. He must have been busy for a while, because the refrigerator door is standing open and a menagerie of fruits and vegetables are covering the floor in front of it.
“Shit.”
“Shit, shit, shit,” Toby chants.
I’ve got to stop cursing in front of him.
“Toby, don’t say shit,” I say, jumping up. I sway, and the room dips and curves.
“Whoa there, Lovey, take it easy. The little squirt is fine. He’s just spreading germs from here to kingdom come, but whatever. It’s your house.” Kit grabs my elbow until the world comes back into focus.
Oh my God, there is peanut butter everywhere. There’s a slimy brown handprint where he stood holding onto the refrigerator door, a streak all along the cupboards under the counters, and the chair he used to crawl onto the table is gummed up all over the surface. How on earth does a two-year-old destroy a kitchen in such a short time?
“Wait, what time is it?” I say, still holding Kit’s arm for support.
“Girl, don’t get all worked up now, but it’s five o’clock. I had something come up that I had to do before I came over, but we still have time to make you barbeque worthy. Don’t worry. I’ll work some magic.”
“Five o’clock? Holy sh—” I stop short before I let the S-word slip again in front of Toby.
“Toby’s been unsupervised for, oh, I don’t even know how long. I fell asleep right after I talked to you, so potentially three hours. Oh, God. I’d better check the other rooms.”
I stop at the table where Toby sits munching on crackers, but when I go to pick him up, I don’t know where to place my hands. There’s glop everywhere. I look at Kit, who is cowering by the couch, far away from the mess.
“Watch him,” I say and hustle into the bathroom to start a bath before he can object.
“Hurry, Lovey. I’m not making any promises. If he falls, he f
alls.”
Kit talks a big talk, but I know he likes Toby. He likes him better when he’s clean and dressed like a little model, but I’m sure he wouldn’t let him take a nosedive off the table. I start the bath and peek into our bedrooms, crossing my fingers that the damage isn’t too terrible.
Toby’s room is messy, but no more so than when he usually plays with all of his toys at once. My room is a little worse. He found my makeup and drew a nice fat, red line with lipstick down the center of my night table and smeared mascara there as well. Both cleanable problems, no permanent damage. I can live with that. Kit is making little apprehensive noises, and I can tell he thinks Toby may be in danger. As confident as I am that he won’t let him fall, I know Kit is a diva, and he did come to help me, so I hurry back into the kitchen to make sure he stays pretty.
When I come around the corner, I can’t help but burst into laughter. Kit is hovering over Toby, who is laying tummy down with his feet dangling over the edge of the table. He could drop at any second, but he just hangs there kicking his legs, giggling as if he knows he’s torturing poor Kit.
Kit looks up at me wide-eyed and horrified. His hands are outstretched to catch Toby if need be.
“You’d better come catch the little monster before he falls, funny girl.”
“I’m sorry. You should see yourself right now. I wish I had a camera.” I laugh.
“Hush. Is it safe back there?” he says, hitching his thumb toward the bedroom and backing away from Toby. I move in and scoop up my little peanut butter ball.
“Yeah, just stay away from the night table. He was playing in my makeup.”
“Maybe there’s hope for him yet.” Kit winks and sidesteps to the bedroom to avoid any contact with us.
I listen to Kit grumble while I bathe Toby. It’s five thirty before he smells like a little boy instead of a jar of peanut butter, and now I’m a mess and Liam will be here soon. I don’t have time to clean up the kitchen or pick up Toby’s room. I need to shower.
“I’ll be right there. Just need a quick shower,” I call to Kit.
“Who’s responsible for mister peanut butter?” he asks.
“You,” I call out and close the bathroom door.
More grumbling. Great. He’ll never want to help me again.
I shower in record time and head into my bedroom wrapped in a towel, where Kit has my clothes spread out on the bed and a bar stool in the middle of the room. Toby’s on the bed with a library of books scattered around him, and the nightstand is clean.
“Sit.”
I sit.
“You cleaned my nightstand?”
“That’s just makeup, honey. I’m used to cleaning up makeup.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Now let’s make you barbequelicious.”
Kit works his magic, applying my makeup appropriately for a casual evening outside by the grill, and he styles my hair with a flat iron. When he’s done, he pulls me off the stool and holds me at arm’s length.
“There’s something different about you, Lovey. What is it?”
“I’m pregnant,” I say and duck under his arm to get to the bed and dress. It’s almost six. I’m sliding into the pretty jumper that I had forgotten all about in the back of my closet while I wait for Kit to turn around. I’m completely dressed before he does, and I’m not sure if he was waiting for me to be decent or if he was in shock.
I stand in front of my mirror and admire his handiwork. I don’t know why, but I always look so much better when Kit helps me. He sees me in the mirror and turns to face me.
“How the hell did you get yourself into such a calamity? Isn’t one peanut butter monster enough?” he asks, pointing at Toby sitting on the bed.
“It’s complicated.”
“Elaborate,” he says, sitting on the stool and crossing his legs and his arms over his chest.
“I don’t have time right now. He’s going to be here, and the kitchen is—”
Kit waves a dismissive hand toward the bedroom door and shakes his head back and forth.
“Explain.”
I sigh and slide my feet into the sandals he has lined up next to the bed. “I was going to be his surrogate, but Amira isn’t coming home from Nigeria for a while, so she wanted us to just do artificial insemination so we wouldn’t have to wait so long.”
“Artificial insemination . . .”
“Yes.”
“Not natural insemination, like the traditional way, where two people get naked and jump each other?”
“Artificial, as in turkey baster, only in a doctor’s office. He’s paying for me to go to college, and I’m having a baby for them.”
“Them. As in Amira and Liam?” he says, biting his knuckle and trying to hold back a laugh.
“Yes, them.”
“And you’ve met Amira?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re still going to do it?”
“He’s leaving her.”
“Finally. But wait, why the baby then? I’m so confused.”
My phone buzzes with a text. It’s probably Liam, telling me he’s almost here.
“That’s him. Can we talk about this later?” I ask, pressing my palms together.
“Um no, just make it quick. You can’t leave me hanging like this. It isn’t nice at all.”
“Ok, so Amira’s dad is going take her out of his will if she and Liam get divorced. She’s going to tell him that they’re doing everything possible to make it work, including having a baby. The baby doesn’t work, of course, but it makes it look like they tried. Her dad puts her back into his will, she gets her money, and Liam and I get each other and the baby. Abridged version, best case scenario, there ya go.”
He shakes his head and gasps like he’s been smacked, and I actually did, sort of. I shouldn’t have sprung it on him like that, but so far, telling people hasn’t been easy. I’m thinking the Band-Aid method might be best from here on out. Liam knocks at the door, and I smile and kiss Kit on the cheek.
“Saved by the bell,” I sing and leave him huffing to open the door. Toby slides off the bed to follow yelling, “Ye-um, Ye-um.”
When I swing open the door, I’ve never been so relieved and exhausted simultaneously. It’s been less than a day and I already miss him, and after Toby’s debacle, I need another nap.
“Wow,” he says, whistling long and slow. “Queen Bee’s ready to barbeque.”
He leans forward instinctively, as if to kiss me, but he catches himself and steps back.
“Thanks. I had help.”
Kit and Liam enter the living room from opposite sides, and Toby is reaching his arms up to Liam. Without hesitation, Liam lifts him into his arms and tousles his hair.
“Hey there, little man, how’s kicks?” he asks. Toby cocks his head to the side and repeats kicks several times. Liam smiles, and then Toby takes his face in his hands and moves it so Liam is seeing the mess he made in the kitchen.
“Mess,” Toby says, smiling with pride. Liam’s jaw drops.
“You did all that?”
Toby nods his head up and down, and Liam’s eyes swing to mine.
“I fell asleep . . . again,” I say. I feel like I’m confessing to some horrible sin when I just took an innocent nap. Something could have happened to him, though, and I see the worry written all over Liam’s face.
“You were sleeping when I called at two, weren’t you?”
“Yes, I curled up on the couch to wait for Kit, and I guess I dozed off again.” I drop my eyes to my feet, feeling like the worst mother ever. I’m about two seconds away from tearing up and ruining Kit’s masterpiece when Liam reaches out to rub my bare arm. Now I’m all tingly and warm inside with budding thoughts of other places I’d like to have him put his hands, and that makes me feel like an even worse mother.
“Hey, it’s all right. I’m not judging you. I’m just worried, you know? Maybe this is all too much for you alone. I’ll bring some things and sleep on your couch for a whi
le until you get past this phase. I do want you to see the doctor this week again, though, and make sure this is just normal pregnancy fatigue.”
When I look up to protest, Kit sashays past us all with a bobble head and a sassy snap wave behind Liam’s back. He’s insinuating that Liam has spoken, and that’s that. Chachi. Ahh, now I get it. I roll my eyes, and Kit says a quick goodbye.
Liam hands Toby to me and walks into the kitchen and starts rummaging around in the cupboards.
“What are you doing?”
“Cleaning up this mess,” he says, popping up with a container of Clorox wipes.
“I can get it later. We’re going to be late,” I say.
“It’s a barbeque. We don’t have to be on time. It’s no biggie.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, it’s nothing,” he says, pulling about twenty wipes out of the top of the container. He slaps them down on the table and begins scooping up crackers and smearing peanut butter.
“You don’t have to stay here, Liam. I’ll be fine. This won’t happen again. I’m going to stay busy—no more naps.”
Toby squirms in my arms, so I let him down and he runs into his bedroom.
“There’s nothing wrong with naps, Lourdes. You need the extra rest. When you were pregnant with Toby, you didn’t have another kid to take care of. It’s different this time. I’m staying—end of discussion.”
I’m not sure I like the way he just spoke to me. Part of me likes his authoritative tone—it’s hot—and the other part resents being told what to do. I watch the muscles of his shoulders flex through his black t-shirt as he cleans my kitchen. How is it possible that I have found a man who loves my son, cleans, takes charge, protects and compliments me, and has serious feelings for me?
Liam’s phone dings, notifying him of a text.
“Can you grab that? My hands are a mess.” he says. I slip his phone from his back pocket and glance at it briefly before I turn it so he can read it. It’s from Amira. There’s the fly in the ointment. That’s more like my luck. No matter what Liam and I are building, he’s still married to her, and nothing will change until that is over.
He sighs and motions for me to put it back in his pocket. He looks up at me from where he’s squatting down to clean the chair. One corner of his mouth raises in an apologetic smile.