“Jeez, Duke,” I teased as I reached for my bottle of Corona and took a swig, “You move fast. We’ve only been living together for three hours and you’re already trying to get into my pants? At least let me finish my beer first!”
“Don’t listen to him, Joshy,” a voice grunted from behind a stack of cardboard boxes that had strode into the room. “He says that shit to all the girls!”
Troy Hart heaved the stack of boxes onto the granite countertop, then he tugged up the hem of his Firehouse 56 t-shirt and used it to wipe away the sweat that had accumulated on his brow, in the process revealing his washboard abs. This time Duke and I both rolled out eyes.
If a mythical Greek warrior and an Abercrombie & Fitch model had a lovechild, the result would be Troy Hart. The guy had muscles that would make John Cena blush, and he had the sort of pretty boy face that made Brad Pitt look like he belonged on the cast of Trailer Park Boys. He was also the only human being in existence to successfully rock the ‘man bun’: his sun-bleached blonde hair was yanked back into a tiny nub on the back of his head, and instead of looking fucking ridiculous, it somehow made him look like even more of a badass.
I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to hate the guy, or have a crush on him. Maybe a little bit of both?
Today, he had graciously agreed to help Duke and I move into our new place. The process had started early in the morning, when we had loaded all of our earthly possessions into the back of a U-Haul truck. Truth be told, I probably could have squeezed everything I owned into the bed of my pick-up truck and made a single trip. Duke, on the other hand…well, let’s just say he came with some ‘excess baggage.’
And by ‘excess baggage,’ I mean the sort of random shit that only rich people collect. Like…a statue of a woman’s bare bust, hand-carved out of carrara marble and affixed for display on a 14k gold stand. Or a cinema-grade film projector and sound system. Or an original Scarface movie poster, complete with an autograph and personalized dedication from Al Pacino himself.
Because what bachelor pad would be complete without a Scarface movie poster, right?
“Where should I put this stuff?” Troy asked. He popped open the cardboard flaps of the box that was resting on top of the stack that he had just carried in, then he peered down at its contents: “Looks like an assortment of lubricants, handcuffs, nipple clamps, and…” he frowned and cocked his head, “Are these anal beads?”
“Fuck off, Troy,” Duke scowled. He quickly swiped the box away from Troy, then refolded the cardboard flaps shut.
“I always knew you were an ass man,” I teased, nudging Duke’s shoulder playfully.
“They’re not mine,” Duke huffed.
“Sure,” Troy smirked, unconvinced. “You rich people are always into that kinky shit.”
“Have you ever ripped a string of anal beads out of a girl’s asshole?” Duke challenged him with a dirty grin. “It’s like yanking the pull string on a chainsaw.”
Then he arched his back on the granite countertop and simulated the sound of a chainsaw engine roaring to life.
“Whatever works for you, buddy,” I said with an amused smirk.
“Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Duke said, straightening up from the countertop and reaching for his beer.
“No thanks,” Troy smirked. “I’m a traditionalist. I don’t need toys to please a woman. I’ve already got everything I need right here.” He bucked his hips forward and cocked an eyebrow suggestively.
“That’s really cute, Troy,” Duke sneered. “But some women want more than just a big dick.”
“I’ve never had any complaints,” Troy wiggled his eyebrows. Then he glanced at the watch on his wrist: “Speaking of which…I’ve gotta get out of here. This ‘big dick’ of mine has a hot date tonight.”
Troy grabbed his motorcycle helmet off of the kitchen counter and headed towards the front of the apartment.
“You lovebirds have a good night,” he called over his shoulder. “And Josh…make sure you watch your ass around Duke.”
“Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out!” Duke called back, but the door had already slammed shut behind Troy.
“So…is that the real reason why you insisted on having the bedroom with the bigger closet?” I teased, nodding back at Duke’s box of ‘toys.’ “You planning on converting it into some sort of secret sex dungeon?”
“No way,” Duke rolled his eyes as he dropped the cardboard box in a pile at the edge of the kitchen. “I need that closet space for my suit collection.”
Of course you do, I thought with a smirk. Although working at Firehouse 56 didn’t exactly give Duke Williams the opportunity to flaunt it, the guy had an impressive wardrobe: everything from bespoke wool suits to designer denim.
At the moment, he was wearing a pair of $1500 cashmere Tom Ford sweatpants…and I only knew that because he had used those damn sweatpants as an excuse for not helping Troy and I load his 55-gallon sapphire glass aquarium tank into the back of the U-Haul truck.
“I wasn’t kidding about what I said, you know,” Duke said, grabbing a fresh bottle of Corona from the stainless steel refrigerator. “I think us sharing this place is gonna be epic. It’s like being in college all over again.”
“Except…I never went to college,” I reminded him. And even if I had, I added to myself, I’m sure it would have been like night-and-day compared to whatever uppercrest Ivy League fraternity that Duke popped out of…
“Ok,” my new roommate shrugged. “Then consider this your initiation: day one, freshman year.”
He tapped the neck of his Corona against mine and wrapped his arm around my shoulders again.
“You and I are about to embark on this wild adventure together,” Duke said ambitiously. “There’s going to be booze, women, parties…crazy nights where we forget our own names…”
“This doesn’t sound all that different to how life was before--” I started to say, but Duke cut me off.
“‘Single’ isn’t just a tax status anymore, Joshy,” he continued, assuming a regal tone of voice -- like he was a general delivering a pep-talk before leading his troops into battle. “This is a lifestyle. This is bachelorhood.”
He clapped his hand tightly around my shoulder.
“It’s not just about having a good time,” he said meaningfully. “When you live with another man, you learn his secrets; you discover who he really is. We’re not just roommates; we’re brothers.”
Speaking of secrets…
I sighed and, for the second time that night, I shrugged his arm off of my shoulder.
While Duke was waxing poetic on the trials and tribulations of bachelorhood, all I could think about was the very different adventure that I was about to find myself embarking on: the adventure known as ‘parenthood.’
In less than six months, I was going to be a father…and I still hadn’t shared the news with my new roommate. Or anyone else, for that matter. Hell, I hadn’t even told my own brother yet. I guess I was still trying to make sense of it all, myself…
But the more I listened to Duke ramble about the exploits and misadventures that he had planned for our new ‘bachelor’ pad, the more I realized that I owed him the truth. I had to tell him that my vision of the future had less to do with boozy parties and panty-dropping, and more to do with baby-proofing and diaper-duty.
And as it turned out, that revelation was going to be made sooner rather than later: I was still trying to think of a way to break the news to Duke, when I heard him break into a sudden howl of laughter from across the kitchen.
My eyes shot up, and I caught him rifling through one of the cardboard boxes that I had packed up earlier.
“What the hell is this?!” Duke asked with an amused snort as he lifted a book out of the box and waved it in front of me: What to Expect When You’re Expecting.
I had ordered the baby bible off of Amazon immediately after meeting Vanessa for dinner the other night. I knew that I was facing an uphill bat
tle, and I knew that I needed to prove to her that I was serious about being involved with the baby. One way to prove that was by educating myself.
Since then, I had been reading a few chapters every night before bed. I had skipped over the prenatal advice -- too late for that, I figured -- and I had navigated straight into the thick of it: the trimesters. I wasn’t sure whether I should feel horrified by the savagery of pregnancy, or in awe of what a woman’s body was capable of. One thing was for damn sure: I had a newfound respect and admiration for mothers. And for Vanessa, too...
But that wasn’t exactly a sentiment that I planned on sharing with Duke as he waved the book over his head.
“You kinky bastard!” he chortled. “You have a pregnancy fetish, don’t you?”
I slammed my beer on the counter and made a swipe for the book, ripping it out of Duke’s hand.
“It’s not like that!” I glared.
“Relax!” Duke said, seeming all too pleased that the conversation had finally shifted away from his box of anal beads and titty teasers, and onto my alleged ‘fetish.’
“I’m not judging you, Joshy,” he continued with a shit-eating grin. “In fact, I’ve known lots of guys who had a thing for pregnant chicks. I mean, granted I’ve never actually known someone that got their rocks off by reading a book about it, but there’s a first time for everything I guess--”
“Jesus, Duke,” I grunted as I rolled my eyes. “Not everything is a fetish. I’m not reading that book to ‘get my rocks off.’”
“Uh-huh, sure,” Duke smirked. “So why are you reading it? Trying to make up for the fact that you flunked out of sex-ed in high school?”
“I definitely didn’t flunk out of sex-ed.”
“What is it, then?” His grin stretched even wider; if there was one thing that Duke Williams loved, it was making an ass out of anyone but himself. “Are your loins ablaze with the sudden, primal urge to procreate or something?”
I cleared my throat and huffed out a deep breath, then I blurted out:
“Actually, I’m going to be a father.”
“That’s funny,” Duke said, but neither one of us was laughing.
“Did you mean to say uncle?” Duke asked. His tone was suddenly serious, and his eyes were narrowed. “Is Brady having a baby with Cassidy, and you’re going to be an uncle? Is that what you meant?”
“That’s not what I meant,” I shook my head. “Brady’s not the one having a baby. I am.”
As soon as I said that, it hit me: for the first time in my life, I had beat my big brother at something. Brady might have been running laps around me when it came to having a career, owning a house, or even getting hitched…but when it came to fatherhood, I had somehow slid into the lead.
I was venturing into uncharted territory; there were no footsteps to follow or shadow to hide in. For the first time, I was leading the way instead of following behind my big brother.
“Timeout,” Duke said, making a ‘T’ shape with his hands. “When did this happen?! And with who?”
“It happened…a while ago,” I said sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck. I had no intention of hashing out the events of that night for Duke’s amusement.
“Wait a second...” Duke’s eyes suddenly widened and that snide grin returned to his face. “Was it that random chick you bonked at Brady’s wedding?”
“She wasn’t some ‘random chick,’” I glared, feeling suddenly defensive. “Her name is Vanessa.” That was confirmation enough for Duke:
“Holy shit!” his face lit up with glee. “So…I take it things didn’t exactly work out between you two?”
“It’s more of a work in progress at the moment,” I admitted. “How’d you guess?”
“Well, you’re here, for a start,” Duke pointed out, nodding around at our partially unpacked bachelor pad.
“Touche,” I sighed. “Listen, Duke…I didn’t know that any of this was going to happen when I signed the lease for this place, but I do know that I plan on being a part of this kid’s life. If you want to find a new roommate once the baby is born, I understand."
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Duke rolled his eyes. “I thought I made myself clear: when you share your home with a man, you enter into a covenant. You’re like my brother now, and what do brothers do?”
“Well...” I thought about my actual brother, and I realized that I had no idea how Brady would react to the news. I also had no idea how I was supposed to tell him that I was expecting a child with the maid of honor from his wedding...
“Brothers stick together,” Duke answered for me, “Through thick and thin; through babes and babies. I’ve got your back, Joshy.” Then, to prove his point, he clapped his open palm on my shoulder blade and grinned.
“Thanks, Duke,” I said sincerely. “That really means a lot.”
Knowing that I had someone in my corner did mean a lot. I hadn’t expected such a warm reaction, especially not from Duke.
Who knows, I thought to myself. Maybe Duke Williams has a heart, after all…
Before I could get too far with that thought, Duke snapped me back to reality:
“Besides,” he grinned, “I already told you that I’m fucking broke. I can’t afford this place without you, so you’re stuck with me.”
CHAPTER TWELVE | VANESSA
Seventeen Weeks
“What’s next on the list?” Josh asked eagerly as he wheeled our shopping cart down an aisle stocked with powdered baby formula and bottles of Pedialyte.
“Let’s see…” I said, scanning my eyes over the Pinterest article that was displayed on my cell phone screen: ‘101 Baby Items that Every First-Time Parent NEEDS!’
I had forwarded the list to Josh the night before, thinking that it would serve as a sort of scare tactic or a wake-up call about the realities of raising a baby; the not-so-cute, not-so-cuddly side that wasn’t depicted in sappy diaper commercials or glossy baby magazines.
As much as I wanted to give Josh the benefit of the doubt and believe that he was in this for the long haul, I couldn’t help but wonder if he fully understood the responsibility that he was taking on -- that we were both taking on.
I wanted to make sure he knew what we were signing up for, and I figured that this list of 101 curated baby supplies would give him a taste of just what the future had in store. If a $300 breast pump wasn’t a wake up call about the pitfalls of parenthood, then I wasn’t sure what was...
When I texted him a link to the article, I had expected a sarcastic response; maybe an eye-roll emoji, or a ‘haha.’ Part of me even expected him to ignore the text altogether. I definitely hadn’t expected the response that he sent back, minutes later:
‘Perfect. When can I take you shopping Pinky?’
And that’s how we ended up spending an entire afternoon wandering around The Baby Shop and filling a shopping cart to the brim with overpriced baby supplies -- everything from blankets and bottles, to burp cloths and binkies.
I kept waiting for Josh’s enthusiasm to wane; for the first sign of boredom or panic to set in. But the eye-rolls and heavy sighs never came. Instead, he kept surprising me at every turn.
Like when we were browsing through the selection of humidifiers, and Josh suggested that we pick a unit that doubled as an oil diffuser (“I read that certain essential oils can be beneficial for establishing sleep patterns and boosting immunity,” he had informed me). Or, when he had chucked a pair of tiny white bamboo no-scratch mittens emblazoned with little yellow lightning bolts into our shopping cart (“babies have sharp little talons,” he had said, making a pinching gesture with his own fingers).
He had even picked up a stuffed plush dinosaur toy and tossed it into the cart (“just because”).
The more we shopped, the more obvious it became that Josh had been doing his research. And the more obvious it became that Josh had done his research, the more my resolve started to soften. The shopping trip might have started out as a test, but with each playful remark or passing joke, it
was turning into something…else. Instead of strangers forced together by an awkward circumstance, we were starting to feel like any other first-time parents eagerly anticipating the arrival of their child...
“A car seat,” I said finally, reading off of the Pinterest list. “That’s the next item on the list: a car seat.”
“You got it, boss!” Josh swerved the cart around a corner and led us towards the back of the store. After spending most of our afternoon in The Baby Shop, Josh and I had both committed the store’s sprawling floor plan to memory. We rounded another aisle, and then we found ourselves standing amidst a jungle of bulky plastic baby thrones.
“Which one do you like?” Josh asked, bringing the cart to a stop and leaning his forearms on the front handlebar.
“Umm…” I glanced at the assortment of car seats. Each one looked slightly different: some were upright chairs, others were so reclined that they looked like clunky plastic bassinettes; some models were over-stuffed and puffy, while others were made of dense memory foam that was flat and contoured. And they all started blending together as my eyes glazed over…
I felt completely and utterly clueless: car seats were one topic that I somehow knew nothing about.
Since the day that I learned I was pregnant, I hadn’t stopped researching: I had fingered through the entire stack of baby books on my nightstand. I had read parenting articles and skimmed through baby forums on the internet. I had committed to memory the list of foods that were outlawed during pregnancy. I had read labor and delivery stories, and I had watched YouTube videos of women giving birth in inflatable swimming pools set up in their living rooms. I had familiarized myself with a new vocabulary or gruesome terms -- mucus plug, leukorrhea, meconium, episiotomy -- that simultaneously made my skin crawl, and made me wonder why the hell anyone would willingly subject themselves to pregnancy.
But somehow, through all of my research, I had never read up on car seats. I had no clue what I was looking for.
I gravitated towards a car seat that was made out of bubblegum pink faux-suede and trimmed with bright purple stitching.
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