Some Like It Perfect (A Temporary Engagement)

by Bryce, Megan

  Steve stood, grabbing him in a one-armed bear-hug, still able to lift him off his feet. “Alright, man!”

  Karen froze, the sad expression on her face turning to horror.

  Paul said over Steve’s shoulder, “She did it on purpose.”

  Karen sat down slowly and Steve lowered Paul back down to the ground.

  “She told me after I called off the wedding.”

  Steve said, “Called off the wedding?” He looked between his wife and her brother, then glared at Karen. “Babe. I told you to leave them alone.”

  “Was I supposed to just do what you said like a good little wife?”

  “No. You were supposed to realize it was none of your business and stay out of it.”

  Steve stomped out of the room and Karen pinched her lips together.

  Paul fell into a chair and put his head in his hands. “She did it on purpose, Karen. Got pregnant on purpose. I knew we were going to have kids. But you know, after we got married. She was pregnant before I even proposed. Just when was she going to tell me?”

  Steve stomped back in the room, tipping Little Princess into Karen’s arms and pulling Paul out of his chair. Steve dragged him to the door, shoving his coat at him and saying, “We’re going for a beer.”

  Karen said, “But–”

  “You’ve had your say. And now we will go and handle this development like men.”

  “With beer?”

  “Yep.”

  Karen cuddled Little Princess and nodded, miserable.

  When they got outside, Steve tipped his head at his truck and Paul climbed into the cab. He could use a beer or two.

  The engine roared to life and Steve said, “Sometimes my wife doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut.”

  “She made sense.”

  “And what did she say that made so much sense?”

  Paul said, “Birds. Songs. Justine and I don’t have that.”

  Steve snorted. “This is what happens when you ask a woman for advice.”

  Paul gripped the door handle as Steve gunned the truck. That was Steve. Full speed ahead. It cleared a man’s head, at least.

  Paul said, “You’re saying that didn’t happen with you?”

  “I got hit upside the head with birds and songs. Doesn’t mean it happens for everybody. Doesn’t even mean it should. You had something with Justine, enough to make you want to propose in the first place.”

  “It was just going too fast. I should have waited until I was sure.”

  “Paul, I know a couple things about you. One, you have terrible taste in cars, and two, you are never sure. You were still debating whether you wanted to be a lawyer when you passed the bar.”

  Paul ignored the familiar insult to his beloved BMW. “I’m sure I want children, just not right now. And maybe not with Justine?”

  “Too late for that.”

  “Yeah, too late for that. She decided without me.”

  Steve cocked his head. “You were getting married, right? I don’t think you can really be all that surprised that a kid is on the way.”

  “Yeah, but. . . Isn’t this a decision we should have talked about?”

  Steve snorted again. “No. She would have decided and you would have gone along with it.”

  “I would have liked the opportunity to go along with it.”

  “You had the opportunity. You blew it.”

  They pulled into the parking lot of a working man’s bar, no BMW’s here, and Paul followed Steve inside, all the while thinking he had indeed blown it.

  Steve tapped the bar. “A beer for my friend. He’s going to be a father!”

  A cheer went up in the crowded room and Paul closed his eyes. A man on the next stool over chuckled, cuffing him on the back. “I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, and I don’t know how many times I’ve seen that face.” He lifted his glass. “To a new father!”

  Another cheer went round and Paul grabbed his beer, not even complaining that it wasn’t a local microbrew. He drained it and nodded at the bartender for another.

  Steve pushed Paul down on the stool. “He’ll keep ‘em coming. He’s done this before.”

  The man who’d cuffed Paul peered around him and said, “I remember him doing it for you.”

  Steve nodded. “It hits every man. The soul-crushing responsibility.”

  Paul grabbed the next beer. “I’m going to be a father.”

  Steve nodded. “The head of the household. Man of the house.” He took a long drink. “Let me tell you something, Paulie. A man’s home is not his castle. Oh, she’ll let you think so for a little while, but then a few months after the baby is born you’ll realize what’s going on. She’s in charge. She’s always been in charge. Every decision you thought you’d made, she’d got there first. Every decision, she led you to it. She wants to get married? You’ll get married. She wants babies? You’ll have babies.”

  Paul said, “She wanted to get married, we were getting married. She wanted a baby, we’re having a baby.”

  Steve said, “Women. Bless ‘em. They try so hard to make us think we’re in charge.” He pushed a third glass into Paul’s hand. “And let me tell you, when that baby is born, you will thank your lucky stars that you are not in charge. She’ll tell you what needs doing and you’ll do it. You won’t have to keep track of the shots and the clothes and the diapers and what time is feeding time and what time is nap time. She’ll spend the night awake, worrying that something is wrong, and you’ll sleep the sleep of the damned. Because when you wake up in the morning, she’ll be awake already, ready to tear you apart because you slept. Because you just won’t worry like she does, because you just won’t hear like she does.”

  Steve took a long drink. “She’s in charge. Embrace it.”

  A couple men nodded, raising their glasses in agreement.

  Paul stared into his beer, horrified. Then drained another glass. “And that’s what I have to look forward to?”

  Steve shrugged. “It’s life, man.” He grabbed a handful of pretzels. “I don’t know Justine all that well but she seems organized. She’ll be a natural mother.”

  Paul thought about it, then said groggily, “She’ll make a chart.”

  “See? A chart. You’re not going to have to read the books, you’re not going to have to decide. All you’ve got to do is follow what’s on the chart. Any man can be a father. He just has to follow the chart.”

  Paul put his head down. “Just follow the chart.”

  “This is where you’d been heading anyway. Marriage, children.”

  Paul nodded, his ear rubbing against the wood. “I just wasn’t sure it was going to be with her.”

  “Now you are.”

  Paul blinked and sat up. He said slowly, “Now I am.” He looked at Steve. “Now I’m sure.”

  “It’s a done deal, man.”

  Paul smiled. “It’s a done deal.” He stood. “A done deal! I don’t have to decide! I’m going to be a father!”

  Another cheer, another round of raised glasses, another long drink.

  Paul turned around quickly. “I’ve got to see Justine.”

  Steve pushed him back down on the stool. “You can see her tomorrow.”

  “I called off the wedding!”

  “And that is going to take some brilliant groveling to undo. It’s not going to happen when you are drunk off your ass.”

  “I called off the wedding, Steve! I have to call her right now.”

  Steve grabbed Paul’s phone as he pulled it out of his pocket. “And what are you going to say to her, Paulie?”

  “That we’re going to get married. Because she’s going to start looking for someone else to be the father of her child and that someone else is me!”

  “I might need to translate for you, man.”

  Steve brought up the address book on Paul’s phone, hitting Justine’s number. When she answered, he said, “Justine? It’s Steve. Paul wants to tell you something but I’m going to translate because, well,
we’ve been celebrating. About the baby. And he’s been trying to drown himself in beer because he was so stupid for calling off the wedding.”

  Paul nodded his head approvingly. This was good. This was good groveling he was doing.

  Steve said, “So, to recap, he’s happy about the baby. Ecstatic about the baby. And he’s stupid and he would like to marry you. Anything else, man?”

  Paul thought, but he could only come up with one thing so he toasted his glass to the phone and said loudly, “I’m going to be a father!”

  The bar cheered and Steve grinned. He said into the phone, “I guess I don’t have to translate after all. He just wanted to let you know how happy he is because he was worried you were going to go out and marry someone else tonight.”

  Steve listened for a short minute, then hung up the phone. Paul put his head back down on the bar, not feeling all that better. “What’d she say?”

  “She’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “She’s mad.”

  Steve wobbled his head and helped him stand. “Women get mad. Usually we deserve it. Usually they forgive us.”

  Steve got Paul back to the house, half-dragging him inside and helping him onto the couch.

  Paul smiled at his sister. “I’m going to be a father.”

  Karen raised her eyebrows and Steve said, “He just had to drink about it for a little while. He’s going to sleep it off here tonight. Go see Justine tomorrow and make everything right.”

  Karen let out a breath of air, glaring down at her brother. Steve said, “Babe. He’s going to be a father. A husband. It’s Justine’s job to tell him what to do now.”

  She closed her eyes, trying not to laugh at her husband. “You mean I only get to tell you what to do now?”

  He nodded, wrapping his arms around her waist.

  She said softly, “It was like a lightning bolt with you. I saw you and I wanted you. You swept me off my feet.”

  “Babe, that’s how it had to happen with us. Our paths crossed for one hour. We would have never seen each other again. I wouldn’t have even known your name to find you.”

  “I wanted him to feel that magic. He doesn’t with her.”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s not real. It’s no less magical when the path is slow and winding. It’s just easier to doubt. It’s just easier to get distracted.”

  “You think they’ll get there eventually?”

  Steve nodded. “I think they’re happy together. I think they’ll be happy together. I think they deserve a shot at it without you trying to talk him out of it.”

  “I wasn’t. It’s just. . .”

  “I’m going to tell Justine to always get your approval before she drops a bomb on Paulie.”

  “That is not very flattering. To any of us.”

  “Whether it’s flattering or not, it’s the truth.”

  Karen listened to his heart thump and thought, actually, that she and Justine could do some good work together.

  She looked down at Paul, his eyes at half-mast, a small smile still on his face. “You did a good job tonight. Made him happy about the baby.”

  “He just had to get over the shock. He would have got there himself eventually. But if I’m going to get credit for it. . .”

  Karen looked up at him and he said, “I don’t hear Little Princess.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  He lifted her, her feet dangling off the ground. “I did good tonight, right?”

  She smiled. “You did good tonight.” She cocked her head, listening, and said, “We’d better be quick.”

  “Mom ears?”

  She nodded and he two-timed it to the bedroom.

  Paul woke with the worst headache he’d ever had. And even despite that, he knew exactly what he had to do.

  He crawled off the couch, heading straight for the bathroom, then followed the smell of coffee to the kitchen.

  Karen sat at the table, giving Little Princess a bottle. She said, “There’s Advil in the drawer.”

  He nodded his thanks, tapping out four and pouring himself a strong cup.

  Karen said, “Did she wake you up?”

  Paul shook his head, smiling at his niece, her little wisps around her head like a halo. “I didn’t hear her.”

  Karen closed her eyes in pain. “Don’t even. I don’t know why men can’t hear a screaming baby besides the fact that you just don’t want to.”

  Paul thought Steve was probably right. Men didn’t hear because they weren’t in charge.

  “Karen–”

  “I’m sorry, Paulie. That I interfered.”

  He smiled. “No, you’re not. You’re sorry that you were wrong.”

  She chuckled. “Maybe. I am sorry that I’ve hurt things between you and Justine.”

  “I hurt things between me and Justine. And I’ll make it better.”

  He was still relieved that he knew exactly what he had to do. It had been decided.

  He said, “Now I have to give her the birds and the songs. I’m going to need your help.”

  Paul knocked softly on Justine’s door, the biggest bouquet of flowers he could hold in his hand.

  When he heard the lock turn, he went down on both knees, and when he saw her closed face he let out a long breath.

  “I am the stupidest man in Boston. Please let me make it up to you.”

  He remembered Steve telling her last night that Paul was stupid, and he thought he might as well keep going on that refrain.

  She shook her head. “You weren’t wrong, Paul. We were moving too fast. We aren’t sure.”

  “We were moving fast. We had a good reason, Justine. We have an even better reason now.”

  She closed her eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry I did this to us.”

  He crawled on his knees to her, wrapping his arms around her waist, putting his ear to her belly. He murmured, “It’s been decided.” He looked up at her and whispered, “Thank you for doing this to us.”

  Her bottom lip wobbled and when her eyes opened, they were filled with tears. “Really?”

  “My sister is reserving a B&B for us, your mother is out picking a dress. We’re driving to New Hampshire and getting married today.”

  Her eyes widened. “Uh. . . I don’t want to get married today.”

  “I’m sweeping you off your feet.”

  She let out a watery laugh. “Paul, I don’t really want to be swept off my feet. I want to be sure. That you’re the one and not just because I’ve run out of time.”

  “Justine, don’t you see? You weren’t going to meet the one until you ran out of time. Which means, I’m it.”

  “That is. . .circular.”

  “But it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  She searched his face. “It’s a pretty thought.”

  “It could be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever said.”

  She sniffed. “I still don’t hear any birds.”

  He got off his knees, kissing her and closing the door behind him. “We will, Justine. I know we will.”

  Delia helped Jack and Summer box everything up, watching her apartment not-so-slowly empty itself as movers carried boxes down. Summer’s stuff was being moved and would meet her there, and Delia had just shaken her head. The only thing she had schlepped across the country had been her paintings and brushes.

  Delia said, “Didn’t we just move this stuff in?” She spun in a slow circle, noting what was left and seeing that it was absolutely nothing. “I’m going to have to get a new roommate.”

  Jack shouted from Summer’s room, “Why?”

  “It’s a two-bedroom. I don’t need two bedrooms. I can’t afford two bedrooms.”

  “You’ve got the deposit for Mother’s ceiling.”

  “Is that still on? I thought I was persona non grata around there.”

  “It’s still on. And you could make this bedroom into a studio, finish those two paintings you’ve been working on.”

  He came out carrying a box and she flapped her hand at him
. “I finished those.”

  “When?”

  “What do you think I do every morning when you go to work?”

  Jack dropped the box by the door for the movers. “I thought you wandered around aimlessly until you could show your face at a ridiculously late hour.”

  Delia tried to look pious. “And instead I am hard at work.”

  Jack made a detour to kiss her, stopping to put some real effort into it. He murmured, “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  “You should stay one morning and watch.” She whispered, “I paint naked.”

  He laughed. “And I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  She didn’t paint naked. She pulled on one of his t-shirts, covering it with an apron so she wouldn’t get any paint on it, and painted what was in her heart. This time it was the stars, she was pretty sure. She’d be pissed if it turned out to be paper again.

  Summer walked past them, saying, “I know you guys can’t help yourself but can’t you wait until I’m gone? Or at least until the movers are gone.”

  Delia pushed Jack away and went to inspect the second bedroom. She kept her works in progress under the bed and maybe a studio would be nice. She could leave everything up, not put everything away every day.

  She just wasn’t sure she could afford it. Despite Jack’s assurance that she was still painting the dining room ceiling, Delia wasn’t counting on it. And even if she was, that money wouldn’t last long if she was paying for two bedrooms. She needed to start selling some paintings.

  And speaking of paintings. ..

  Delia found her bag, pulling out a rolled-up canvas and waving it at Summer. “For you.”

  Jack said, “Where’s mine?”

  “It’s at home.” When Jack smiled at her, she said, “What?”

  Summer took her painting, saying, “Maybe you should just sublet this place. You’re hardly here anyway.”

  Jack murmured, “There’s an idea,” and Delia’s belly flopped.

  Summer carefully enrolled the canvas, and she and Jack stared at it.

  Delia said, “I thought it was called Woman-Child. And then, maybe, Metamorphosis. Or, Potential. I can’t decide. So I just call it Summer.”

  Summer whispered, “Is this how you see me?”