Knocked Up on Valentine's Day

by Amy Brent

  “The door thing. Really? I have hands. I can open the damn door myself. You’re practically inviting the riffraff in.”

  Allie turned from what she was doing at the stove. She was cooking something that smelled miraculous. She popped out her hip and crossed her arms. Her breasts bulged beneath her shirt, and it took everything I had not to stare. “Don’t you reprimand me,” she said sourly.

  Then she spotted the wine and instantly forgave me. She handed me her corkscrew, and I set to opening it for us.

  “So, what’s the choice of movie tonight?”

  “Dunno,” Allie said, stirring the pot on the stove. “You pick.”

  I peered over her shoulder at the creamy yellow concoction in the pot. “What are you making?”

  “Curry,” she said cheerfully. “It was my grandmother’s recipe.”

  “Grandma JoJo,” I said wistfully, tapping my chin. “I miss her. I don’t miss the way she used to kiss my cheeks, though. I don’t know what was in her lipstick, but I could never get it off.”

  Allie giggled and shook her head. “Couldn’t tell you. She’d do the same to me.”

  As Allie cooked, I sat at her counter, and we chatted about my day. I told her all about the meeting. She interrupted several times out of sheer excitement, but I didn’t mind. In fact, I quite liked it.

  She filled two plates with rice and curry, and then we made our way to the living room, where we sat with our meals in front of the TV while the fireplace cast an orange glow about the apartment. We started some action comedy flick, but never watched it. This was normal. Usually, our movie nights consisted of us talking through the entire film.

  Soon we were both tired-eyed and sleepy. Allie was curled up beside me with her head on my lap. She had covered herself with the plaid blanket she kept on the back of the sofa, and some fifteen minutes ago her breathing had deepened. I knew she had fallen asleep, but I waited to wake her until the movie credits started playing.

  I shook her shoulder gently.

  “Allie,” I called softly. “Earth to Allie. Time for bed?”

  She sat up slowly and rubbed her eyes. “Sorry, Steven, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. I think I’m suffering from a food coma.”

  “Hey, not to worry. It’s late. Do you mind if I spend the night?”

  “Not at all,” she said, getting to her feet. The blanket fell from her waist, and I noticed the way her shirt had inched up her stomach, revealing a flat belly and hips that were made for holding on to.

  “Come on,” she said. “I’ll get you your toothbrush.”

  I followed her into her master bedroom. She excused herself to use the washroom, and I sat on the edge of her bed, twiddling my thumbs.

  Then I spotted a book tucked under her nightstand. It had a yellow spine with no writing on it, and for some reason, it was calling out for me to touch it.

  I reached down and plucked it from the bottom shelf. I turned it over in my hands to read the single word “Diary” written in gold curling font on the front of the book.

  “Bloody hell,” I muttered, turning it over in my hands again. I was holding Allie Wright’s diary.

  “Did you say something?” Allie called from the bathroom.

  “No,” I called back, opening the front cover. I began to read under my breath. “Property of Allie Wright. Please do not read any further!”

  I heard the bathroom door open. I slapped the book closed and tucked it back on its shelf on her nightstand. Then I clasped my hands in my lap and looked up at her. She handed me a new toothbrush still in its packaging and a travel-sized toothpaste.

  I stood up and rubbed the back of my head. “Thanks, Allie. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” she said, pulling her black hair over one shoulder and smiling at me.

  Chapter 4

  Allie

  James Lipton was leaning on my desk, peering down at me with a smirk playing on his lips. I was more than aware of the fact that he had positioned himself to have the perfect view down the front of my blouse.

  “Is there something you need, James?” I asked without looking up from my computer screen. I pretended to be busy typing an email.

  “No, no, don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, Allie. I’m just taking a well-deserved break from all the work I was doing this morning. And I must say, there’s no better place to take a breather than right here.”

  I glanced up at him. “Right. Well, if there is anything, let me know.”

  “I will, Allie cakes, I will.”

  I resisted the overwhelming urge to gag. James had always been inappropriate with me at work, but I had convinced myself that his unprofessional behavior was outweighed by my more than decent salary. I still daydreamed every day of leaving and working somewhere else. I wondered what it would be like to work for a company that didn’t encourage harassment. I wondered what other bosses were like. Did they make their assistants do all the tedious things James did? Like confirming dentist appointments or negotiating whose turn it was to have the kids on the weekends? He treated me like a conflict resolutionist wherever his ex-wife was concerned. She didn’t seem to mind. I figured she preferred talking to me over him.

  But it was awkward.

  At noon, I slipped out of the office and made my way down the street to a small sandwich shop where I was meeting my sister, Melissa, for lunch. She was already there and had saved us a table on the heated patio. She spotted me and waved enthusiastically.

  I joined her at the table and tucked my purse under my chair. “How are you?” I asked, clasping my hands together on top of the table.

  “Great,” she said, crossing her legs and tossing her brown hair over her shoulder. “How about you? James still being a piece of shit at work?”

  “You know it. He spent seven minutes standing above me looking down my shirt this morning.”

  “Ew. What a perv.”

  “I know,” I shrugged. “But, hey, it could be worse, right?”

  “I guess so, but you should still say something to someone. Don’t you guys have an HR representative you can reach out to? He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this stuff. You realize he’s probably doing it to other women in the office, right? You guys could form an anti-James party.”

  I chuckled and sipped on the lemon water she had ordered me. “An anti-James party does sound like a good time, but I don’t think I want to get tied up in that kind of drama.”

  “Suit yourself,” Melissa said. “You’re the one who has to deal with him every day. What else is new?”

  “Oh, not much. Steven and I went for dinner the other night. He’s doing well. He pitched that app idea of his that I told you about. It sounds like it went really well. I think this is going to work out for him.”

  “Good God,” Melissa muttered. “He can’t get rich.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It’s not fair that a man can look like him and have money. Like, seriously. He’s toxic to women. I don’t know how you can stand being friends with him.”

  I wanted to tell her I couldn’t stand it, but she already knew. She had known how I felt about Steven practically since the first day I met him during freshman year. She had tried to encourage me to tell him several times over the years, but I knew the feelings weren’t mutual. Not only that, but I didn’t want to ruin a friendship that had taken me so long to cultivate. I needed Steven. I wasn’t going to risk him because of a schoolgirl crush.

  “How’s Mom?” I asked in a desperate attempt to change the subject.

  “She’s good. She’s on this new minimalism kick, though. Every time she comes over she goes through my kitchen and tells me what I need to throw out. Be warned, she will do the same to you if you invite her over.”

  “I’ll make sure to keep her at bay until the phase is over. Any ideas on what the next trend will be?”

  Melissa shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, I suppose. But, I wouldn’t be surprised if she started leaning towards Feng Shu
i or handmade jewelry.”

  “Both seem fitting.”

  “Right?”

  The two of us laughed throughout the rest of our visit. We talked about Melissa’s new job at a fashion boutique eight blocks away. We talked more about Steven. We talked about everything, as sisters do.

  I begrudgingly returned to work one hour later. When I got to my desk, my cell phone was blinking with a notification. I picked it up and peered at the screen.

  I had a text message from Steven. He wanted to get together again that night. I messaged him back and told him he was more than welcome.

  Steven let himself into my apartment around eight. I had left the door closed for fear of being the target of his wrath again. I was sitting on the sofa when he came in, but the smell of Chinese food wafted down the hall shortly after he hollered hello.

  I hopped up from the couch and hurried to the kitchen where he was unpacking boxes of rice, chowmein, chicken, and chopsuey.

  “This smells so good,” I said, breathing in a deep breath of sweet-smelling steam.

  “Figured I couldn’t go wrong with Chinese food. A little bit of everything, really,” he said as he opened my cupboards and grabbed us plates and cups. “Shall we sit in our usual spot? Throw on a movie or something?”

  “Uh, sure,” I said, a little taken aback by how quickly he was moving. He had already set out the plates and begun tearing off the lids of the boxes of food. “You alright? You seem like you’re kind of in a rush.”

  “What? Of course, I’m alright. Just hungry is all. Aren’t you hungry?”

  “I’m always hungry,” I said, watching the corner of his mouth turn up with a smile. I brushed away how odd he was acting when that usual burn of desire bloomed to life beneath my belly.

  He grabbed spoons from the drawer and began filling both of our plates. This was something he had never done before. Usually, we filled our own plates. He handed me mine, which was piled high with food, and I stared at it skeptically. “When I said I was hungry, I wasn’t implying that I could eat the same size portions as you.”

  “Ah, you’ll be fine,” he said. “You don’t have to eat it all.”

  “Okay.”

  We sat down in the living room, and I searched for a movie for us to watch while Steven dug into his meal. He was the kind of man who would sometimes go a whole day without eating. He was easily distracted and a bit of a workaholic, so sometimes his needs would take a back seat.

  By the time I sat back on the couch with my towering plate balanced on a pillow on my lap. Steven was nearly done eating. Within another five minutes, his plate was empty, and he was leaning back on the couch and rubbing his stomach. He put his heels up on my coffee table and crossed his ankles. Then he placed his elbow on the armrest of the couch and leaned into it.

  I was watching him rather than watching the movie. Despite having watched him just gorge himself on a massive amount of food, I still found him ridiculously hot. Melissa’s words from lunch fluttered in and out of my head. She was right. A man like Steven would become infinitely more dangerous if his wallet got fatter.

  He leaned farther into the corner of the couch and turned his head slightly to the side.

  “What are you doing?” I asked curiously.

  He sat suddenly upright, looked over at me with wide eyes, and shook his head. “Nothing. Why?”

  “Never mind,” I said, returning my attention to my plate of food.

  Steven remained straight in his seat now, and the two of us watched the movie together. It was one neither of us had seen before, and when a love scene consumed the screen, I felt my cheeks heat up and knew I was turning bright red.

  I hoped he wouldn’t look over at me. I hoped he wouldn’t think I was thinking anything when I was really thinking about him. The naked bodies on the screen moved in perfect sync with one another. His hands held her waist and she gripped his muscle-bound forearms, pressing pale imprints into his flesh.

  I wanted to leave marks like that on Steven. More than that, I wanted him to make those kinds of marks on me.

  I stole another glance at him. He was watching the film. The reflection of the screen danced in his eyes. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing bare forearms decorated in veins and muscle. What would it feel like to be held by those arms? To be caressed by those hands.

  I wanted to know what it would taste like to kiss him.

  I bit my lip and looked away.

  I was teasing myself. I knew I couldn’t have what I wanted. I knew it was foolish to think such thoughts when they were nothing but senseless dreams. Steven didn’t fall for women. Steven fucked women and left them. Ever since his girlfriend in college, Kyla, he had been a no strings attached kind of guy. Since her, he had never even dated. She had done a number on him, and I had been the one to pick up all the shattered pieces of his soul and help him put them back where they belonged. That’s why we were so close, now. It was also probably why he could never see me as anything else besides his friend.

  I hated Kyla then for what she had done to him, and I still hated her.

  They had been together for two years. He had loved her with such a fierceness that at first, it frightened him. She had loved him back for only the first half of their relationship. Then she had loved another fifteen guys or so on campus, and Steven had been none the wiser. Some were guys he hung around with. Others were strangers. In the end, it hadn’t mattered who they were. He was devastated all the same.

  And since then he hadn’t trusted another woman.

  I didn’t blame him. The hurt he had felt was enough to break my heart. I never wanted to see him like that again. I wanted to see him happy, like he was now, sitting on my sofa with me full of contentment. If I couldn’t have him the way I wanted to have him, that was alright. At least he was happy.

  I tried to convince myself that was what mattered.

  Chapter 5

  Steven

  Allie had always been clever, and I knew I was doing a poor job of trying to act normal. She had questioned me several times throughout the evening, and she had caught me leaning to one side on the couch. I had been stealing glances through her open bedroom door to look for her diary. It was still sitting where I had left it on the bottom shelf of her nightstand. The yellow spine flashed at me like a neon sign: Read Me.

  I tried to focus on the movie. Allie had curled up in her corner on the sofa and seemed immersed in the film for now. Her legs were tucked underneath her and her bare feet were nestled half way under the sofa cushion. She was makeup free, as per usual during our movie nights, and her hair was hanging in somewhat chaotic dark curls down her back and over her shoulders. She looked beautiful, as always, and the temptation of reading the words she had written in her diary was too great for me.

  I had often wondered if she kept a diary. Back in college, there had been a moment—a very brief, flickering moment—where I considered kissing her. I knew the timing was wrong. It was terribly wrong. My girlfriend, Kyla, had dumped me only a couple weeks before, and Allie had been the one showing up at my dorm every night in an effort to keep me from doing nothing but lay on my bed staring at the ceiling agonizing over the breakup.

  One time, around two in the morning, Allie knocked on my door. I had opened it to find her dressed in a matching gray sweatsuit holding a plastic container filled with brownies. She had slipped into my room, and the two of us sat on my bed together talking about anything and everything that didn’t involve Kyla.

  I had wanted to kiss her then. She had looked so good, and her company chased away the lingering hollowness I had felt after Kyla left me. But I had resisted. It wasn’t right to make a move on Allie. She wasn’t the kind of girl who would want to be with someone like me. She especially wouldn’t have thought too highly of me for going after her so soon after a breakup. I knew she would misunderstand. She would have thought I was going for a rebound.

  Feelings for Allie had been there ever since, but they didn’t matter because I knew they
were one-sided. Not only that, but I also knew she deserved better than the likes of me.

  But the draw of her diary was too much to bear. All of Allie’s most personal thoughts were within reach. I had to read it.

  Allie surprised me by unfolding her legs and standing. She stretched, arching her back like a cat. Her hair tumbled down her back, and her shirt lifted up, exposing bare belly. I tried not to look. It was impossible.

  “I’m going to tidy up the kitchen quickly,” she said. “I’ll be back in a few.”

  “I’m going to use the bathroom, then I’ll be in to give you a hand,” I said, standing up.

  “Alright,” she said, bending over to collect our dishes from the coffee table. I admired her ass and the little open space between her thighs. I had, more than once, wondered what it would be like to put my hand there, to feel her warmth and the inside of her thighs.

  She made for the kitchen, and I went to her bedroom. I feigned going into the bathroom, just in case she walked back into the living room. She didn’t, so I darted to the edge of the bed, snatched up the diary, and hurried into the bathroom with it. I closed and locked the door.

  I was already opening it as I shuffled over to the toilet. I closed the lid quietly and sat down, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, peering down at Allie’s neat, slanted printing on the pages of the book.