Mackenzie clasps her hand to her mouth. “Oops.”
The inquisition begins. “Are you seeing someone?”
I laugh. “Nope. He’s a friend, Mom. Just a good friend, and Mackenzie likes to pretend something more is going to happen, but nothing is.”
“Are you sure?”
“Incredibly sure. He’s William’s client.”
“It’s a lovely dress though.”
Five minutes later, my mom has purchased the garment and thrust it into my hands.
Mackenzie holds out her wrists when we grab a table at our favorite pub that afternoon for the Saturday trivia contest. “Cuff me. Throw away the key. Lock me up.”
“It’s no big deal,” I say when she apologizes for the twenty-ninth time.
“Are you going to fire me as your friend?”
I tap my chin. “Would I have to give you a severance package?”
Mackenzie frowns. “No, because I don’t deserve one. I’m so sorry for saying that in front of your mom. It’s like the time Campbell was telling me about Fight Club, since he’d started reading it, and he couldn’t quite figure out what was up with the narrator, and I said, ‘Oh, you mean because he’s—”
I place my palm over her mouth. “I know that, but there are other people around who might not. This is a no-spoiler zone.”
I lower my hand, and she mimes zipping her lips. “Besides, I don’t care if my mom knows Miles and I are friends. Nothing is happening.”
No matter how much I want it to. No matter how much I like him.
“Darn,” Mackenzie says, snapping her fingers.
“Darn what?”
“I was hoping you were going to tell me you had another hot make-out kiss,” she says, since I told her what happened at the reunion.
I laugh, shaking my head, doing my best to act as if I don’t want that very thing. “It was simply part of the reason I was there that night.”
“Sounds like it is part of the reason why he’s spending so much time with you.”
“Maybe he just likes hanging out with me,” I say, because the other possibilities are too alluring. They tempt my hope. They tempt my heart.
“Well, duh. But I bet he’s also secretly hoping to spend time horizontally with you.”
The hostess taps on her mic then announces the Saturday afternoon contest is about to begin, saving me, at least for a moment. Because I do want to spend time with him horizontally.
Vertically.
Perpendicularly.
“We agreed not to go there,” I say, sidestepping her comment, and I stand by that decision. There are too many reasons to avoid the horizontal lane—my brother, my baby. “Plus, my mom is now one more reason I can’t let anything happen with him.”
Mackenzie arches a curious brow. “Why’s that?”
“I couldn’t live with myself if I gave my mother a reason to say, ‘I told you so.’”
20
Miles
“Thank you so much for coming to the Helen Williams School today. I hope you had a great time. Do you want a sweatshirt?”
The question from the head of the school is directed to Ben, but Roxy’s eyes light up too.
“I would love a sweatshirt,” Ben says.
My gaze drifts to Roxy, and I jerk my head toward her, letting the school director know silently that the redhead by my side wants a souvenir too.
“Would you like a sweatshirt, Roxy?” the Sandra Bullock look-alike named Judy Smith asks.
Roxy beams. “Honestly, I’ve never turned down a good sweatshirt.”
Judy smiles. “At the end of the day, nothing beats pulling on yoga pants and a sweatshirt.”
“Truth,” Roxy says as the woman swivels around and grabs some school sweatshirts from a shelf in the main office. She hands a kid-size one to Ben and a larger one to Roxy.
“Would you like one too, Miles?”
I wave her off. “I'm passing, but that’s only on account of wanting to stave off the possibility that the three of us turn up somewhere in matching sweatshirts. You have no idea how much mockery I would endure from my two older brothers.”
Judy holds up her hand. “I have two older sisters and know exactly what you mean."
Ben lifts his chin proudly. “I’m the oldest. I don’t have any younger brothers or sisters, but I’m still the oldest brother.”
“Do you want to have any siblings?" the school director asks.
Ben shrugs. “I’m good either way. It really doesn't matter because I'll always be the oldest. And that means I can wear my sweatshirt whenever I want.” Except it’s May and it’s warm outside, so he ties the arms around his waist and then extends a hand. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Smith. I appreciate the tour."
A sunburst of fatherly pride suffuses me. I’ve worked hard to make sure Ben is always polite, and I love that it’s ingrained in him now.
“The pleasure was all mine, and you can call me Judy.”
“Thank you, Judy,” Ben replies.
Judy escorts us out, showing us the playground. There are no whispers this time, no behind-my-back voices. And it’s not because I’m with a woman. It's because I have a feeling the headmaster isn’t a gossipy twit.
As we walk along the tree-lined street on the Upper East Side, I ask Ben what he thought of the school.
“I liked it. They had good snacks. Did you hear they have snack time every single morning for kindergarteners? I really like snacks, Daddy.”
“Snack time is super important,” Roxy says. “I actually think snack is the most important meal of the day."
I laugh. “Is snack a meal?”
She nods vehemently. “It should be. After all, what's better than snacks? Puppies, and possibly sunshine. But that would be it. Don’t you think snacks are awesome, Ben?”
“I think snacks are the best thing, and I want to go to that school.”
I glance at Roxy. Her opinion on this topic matters to me, and I’m not entirely sure what to make of that except she matters to me and I respect the hell out of her. Perhaps that’s why I want to know what she thinks of Ben’s school choices. “What did you think of the school, Roxy?”
“I thought it was great. Lots of opportunities for creative expression, but also a focus on the basic building blocks. Plus, she didn’t suck up to you. She treated you like anyone else.”
A rush of warmth hits my chest. I’m glad she feels the same, and I’m not quite ready to process why it makes me feel good to be on the same page with her. “I agree.” I turn to my son. “So it’s a yes, Ben?”
He nods. “It’s a yes, Daddy.”
I raise my arms in victory. “Done.”
Ben cheers, and I breathe a sigh of relief, grateful to have found a place for him. As he wanders ahead of us, I say to Roxy, “The other thing I like is that she never once asked who you were. She didn’t make any assumptions or try to call you Mrs. Hart or ask if you were his mom or my girlfriend.”
Roxy smiles. “She went with the flow, and it takes a lot of self-control not to ask busybody questions.”
Roxy’s purse trills, and she dips her hand inside, grabs her phone, and scans the screen. “Oh,” she says, a little surprised. “My doctor’s office.”
She answers, and my curiosity gets the better of me. I do everything possible to listen to every word. Because I’m a nosy fucker.
“Sure. End of next week is fine. I’ll be there,” she says.
She ends the call and looks to me, her expression somber. “That was the doctor’s office with my test results. They said I’m having a cat.”
I play along, feigning seriousness. “Is it a girl cat or a boy cat?”
She sighs. “Unfortunately, they couldn’t tell. But they said they can look next week at my twenty-week ultrasound.”
“Are you going to find out if it’s a tomcat or a . . . what’s a female cat called? Wait, don’t tell me. You can’t decide because you were so excited about finding out the species of the baby.”
She hums. “True. I
was pretty much bouncing in my seat till I learned whether I was having a cat, dog, or aardvark. I was hoping for a puppy since I have two cats, but you take what you can get.”
“Plus, I hear aardvarks are tough to raise, but also difficult to tell the gender of. Hopefully, you’ll have an ultrasound technician like Judy, who’s chill about everything.”
She laughs. “Can you imagine if Judy were my ultrasound tech? And you came with me? She’d be like, ‘Nice to meet you . . . um . . . Miles.’ And she’d have to spend the whole appointment with her wand on my belly, never asking if you were the dad or the boyfriend or the cat’s sperm donor.”
Just like that, an idea sparks, and it’s one I don’t want to let go of. It’s not about cats or sperm donors. It’s about something else entirely, and I don’t noodle on it or turn it over a million times. I just go for it. “Let’s test it at your appointment next week.”
She furrows her brow. “I’m pretty sure Judy doesn’t moonlight as an ultrasound tech.”
I laugh. “I know. But let’s test your theory. Like a social experiment. I can go with you, and we’ll see what happens if we don't say who I am and let them guess."
She stops in her tracks, and for several seconds I worry that I’ve overstepped my role. That I’ve taken this whole “plus-one” thing too far. I try to backtrack because I hate the thought of Roxy feeling uncomfortable. “You’re probably going with your mom, though, or Mackenzie or something.”
She shakes her head. “I was going alone. Like I’ve gone to every appointment. I’d love to have you there,” she says softly then smiles. “You know, as a social experiment.”
As we walk, the social experiment aspect of it is far less compelling to me than being there for her.
That’s the real reason I invited myself.
And that’s the reason I’m going to have to deal with sooner or later.
21
Miles
Diana had three ultrasounds. During the first one, at eight weeks, she cried tears of happiness. For the second one at twenty weeks, she was a nervous wreck, and she kept asking if they’d found anything wrong with the baby, anything at all. In retrospect, I have to wonder if she was looking for some excuse to end the pregnancy. The final ultrasound came later on, when she thought she was having contractions at twenty-eight weeks.
All was well. Every single time.
At the end of the next week, with Ben in a morning art class, I wait for Roxy outside a brownstone off Fifth Avenue and Eightieth Street. I’m admittedly a snob for liking that she goes to a swank doctor’s office.
Only the best for my . . . friend.
She’s my friend, I remind myself.
Only a friend.
I’m early, so I pace back and forth.
Just to pass the time.
Not because I’m nervous.
Except, fine, I’m nervous.
Or maybe I’m excited.
I don’t know what the hell this jitterbug feeling in my chest is.
All I know is when I spot her walking toward me, the sun haloing her face, her curves becoming curvier, my hands ache to touch her. To slide along her bare arms, to sneak under her summery blue blouse. To explore her soft skin and lush body.
She gives a radiant grin. But there’s a touch of worry in there too when she greets me. “Hey.” Her voice seems fragile.
“It’s going to be great,” I tell her, because my job is to be Captain Enthusiasm. I lean in and brush a kiss across her cheek. She trembles the slightest bit, and that reaction turns me on far too much for a doctor’s appointment.
I pull back and tuck a strand of her hair over her ear. “You ready?”
She nods. “I’m ready to meet the cat.”
In the waiting room, she fidgets. She flicks open her phone as if she’s going to read, then she stuffs it back into her purse. I rub her shoulder, trying to let her know that everything will be okay.
She looks at me and gives a faint smile. “Thanks, Miles. I guess I’m nervous.”
“It’s okay to be nervous.”
She’s like that for the next fifteen minutes, until her name is called. When she stands, her hand darts out, grabbing mine like a vise. I thread my fingers through hers, squeezing.
An assistant leads us to an exam room and tells us the ultrasound tech will be here in a few minutes and then the doctor will stop by. Roxy thanks her, and when the door closes, I eye the hospital gown on the exam table.
“That gown is sexy. Can’t wait to see you in it.”
She furrows her brow, starts to say something, then seems to shift gears, her tone turning inviting and flirty. “It is pretty racy.” She picks it up and holds it in front of her. “You think I’d look good in it, Miles?”
I shrug playfully. “Won’t know till I see it on.” I cross my arms and smile.
She stares at me pointedly.
“Do you want me to go?”
“You’ve never seen me naked,” she says dryly.
“We could rectify that in about two seconds.”
She sighs playfully. “Turn around. You’re not seeing my boobs for the first time in an exam room.”
I do as she asks crossing my arms, smiling like a madman. “I take it that means I will be seeing your boobs at some point.”
The answer, such as it is, arrives wordlessly when a pink bra lands on my shoulder. “Oops. Missed your chance.”
I snap my fingers. “Dammit.” I grab the bra and turn around.
She’s in her cropped pants with the hospital gown on top, perched on the exam table, kicking her bare feet back and forth. She grins.
“Barefoot and pregnant,” I tease then set her bra on top of her folded blue top.
She wiggles her eyebrows, asking in a purr, “But how hot is my gown?”
I stalk over to her, place my palms on either side of her waist, and bring my face close to hers, giving her a deliberately salacious grin. “So fucking hot.”
The door creaks open.
“Oops. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
I jerk back, and Roxy laughs, covering her face with her hand. “Sorry, we were just . . .”
The short, jowly man chuckles. “I’ve seen it all. Glad to hear you think she’s hot,” the man says to me.
And the social experiment is compromised, since we’re acting like lovers.
“I’m Joey, and I’ll be checking things out under the hood today,” he says with an easy grin.
“Hi, Joey,” Roxy says.
He smiles, then says jovially, “You don’t actually have to wear the gown next time. You can just pull your shirt up.”
“I know.” Roxy smiles impishly. “I was just having fun.”
I crack up at her admission. I love it, too, that she led me on simply to make a joke.
“Fun in hospital gowns. That’s the way to do it. Also, it looks stylish on you.” Joey rubs his palms together. “Now, tell me, Roxy. Are you eager, nervous, or all of the above?”
“All of the above.”
He pats her hand gently. “Let’s get this show on the road and see how your little baby banana is doing.” He glances at me. “The baby’s the size of a banana now.”
“That’s a great fruit to be,” I answer.
“Now, do you want to know the sex of the baby if I’m able to tell?” His eyes drift from Roxy to me and back to Roxy.
This is her show, so I keep my expression stoic, letting her answer, even though I’m curious. I’ve no clue why, but I’ve got that Christmas morning feeling—is it a bike or a new stereo? Both are epic gifts.
Roxy nods excitedly. “I do want to know.”
I give a small, quiet fist pump, and she laughs. “Glad you want to know too,” she says to me.
Oops. Guess I’m not the subtlest plus-one today.
The technician spreads some goop on Roxy’s belly, positions the wand over her bump, and begins the hunt. I hear her inhale deeply, and she blinks nervously. That’s my cue t
o move closer and take her free hand. Our fingers interlace, and she holds on tightly as Joey travels the wand across her belly.
“It’s going to be okay,” she says quietly, repeating my words as if she’s drilling them into her head.
“Of course it is, sweetheart. Everything is going to be fine.”
Joey clears his throat. “We’ve got some legs right here.” He nods to the screen above the bed, and Roxy snaps her gaze away from me as the image of her baby appears.
“Oh my God,” she whispers, and it sounds like a prayer.
She purses her lips, her eyes locked to the screen, her hand death-gripping mine.
“And we’ve got a nice big old head right here,” Joey says, his affable tone seeming to relax Roxy a touch.
“And a belly, and some fantastically wiggly toes.” He waves at the screen. “This little piggy went to the market.”
Roxy laughs, and Joey continues his travels, showing off the baby’s nose, eyes, and face, as twin tears roll down Roxy’s cheeks.
“The baby looks so perfect,” she whispers, her voice teetering.
“Yeah,” I say softly, squeezing her hand gently, a knot tightening in my throat for God knows what reason. “The baby looks pretty damn perfect.”
“I’m giving this baby a thumbs-up,” Joey says. “You have one very healthy banana in here.”
Roxy blurts out the most relieved sounding thank you in the world.
“Now,” he says, “want to go a-hunting for pink or blue?”
She laughs and nods. “Yes, please.”
He rolls the wand over her bump again, slowing, and then finds the X that marks the spot. A few more slides. Another shift to the right, then left. He stops.
“Here we are,” he says, pointing to the screen.
Roxy peers closer. “What are we—” She cuts herself off, course correcting. “What am I having?”
I don’t have time to linger on the we that became an I because Joey smiles gregariously and announces, “You’re having one very healthy little girl.”
Roxy squeaks, her eyes lighting up like sparklers. “A girl,” she says in wonder.
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