Unknown

by Kelly, Hazel

  “Who got you a waffle maker?”

  “My mom,” he said. “Which is my fault for making too big a deal about the panini maker she got me the year before.”

  I laughed. “Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll get a pressure cooker next year.”

  "That wouldn’t be so bad. At least that makes more than one thing. Coffee?”

  My whole body perked up at the suggestion.

  “Brian got me a Nespresso machine because he’s ashamed of my unrefined palate.”

  “Do you have any purple pods?”

  His head whipped towards me. “I do, actually.”

  “They’re my favorite.”

  He turned to root through the basket beside the machine, leaving me to wonder why this didn’t feel more awkward? Did he not realize he’d sent me to the moon and back last night? Was he a professional womanizer? Or was he simply relaxed because nothing would ever come of this charade? “I can do that,” I said. “Since you’re on waffle duty.”

  He set two purple pods down beside two mugs. “Cool.”

  “If you don’t mind me saying, you didn’t strike me as the kind of guy that steals hotel soaps and drinks gourmet coffee.”

  “The latter, I’m not,” he said, holding his hand near the outside of the waffle iron. “Like I said, Brian got sick of being offered Nescafé when he came over. That said, I am pleased I have something nicer to offer you.”

  “Me too.”

  “Don’t tell him I said that, though. I made a big stink about what a ridiculous present it was for me, and I hate having to eat my words.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me,” I said, situating one of the mugs under the machine before tapping the start button and leaning against the counter.

  “As for the hotel bottles,” he continued. “It’s a compulsion. I don’t even want them. I know that in my heart when I stuff them in my suitcase. I just can’t help it.”

  “You did sort of pay for them.”

  He cringed. “Gee, that doesn’t make me sound cheap at all.”

  “I don’t think you’re cheap.”

  “It’s just a habit.”

  “What happens when the basket gets full?” I asked.

  “I donate them and start collecting again.”

  I squinted at him.

  “Don’t judge me,” he said. “It’s not too late for me to spit in the batter.”

  “I’m not judging you.”

  “In that case, maybe it’s a good time to confess that I owe you a pair of underwear.”

  My brows jumped.

  “Or rather, Otis does, but his taste in underwear is significantly less discerning than mine.”

  I felt the color drain from my face. “What did he do to my underwear?”

  Finn pointed towards the bottom cabinet that concealed the trashcan.

  I pulled it open, finding my black panties half shredded and spotted with holes. “Oh dear.”

  “I’m really sorry,” he said. “I should’ve anticipated that would happen.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure I have a backup pair at home somewhere.”

  He glanced between the instructions for the waffle iron and the red light on the front of it. “Next time you come over, just don’t wear any. Problem solved.”

  My stomach did a backflip. “Next time? That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think? I haven’t even tried your waffles yet.”

  A slow grin spread across his face. “Oh yeah. The waffles. Because that’s what you’ll be back for.”

  I blushed and turned my attention to the coffee machine, thinking I could’ve happily had Finn for breakfast.

  T W E N T Y E I G H T

  - Finn -

  I felt like I was on a runaway train, riding full steam ahead to a place I never meant to go. But I couldn’t help it. What was I supposed to do? Not make her breakfast? Kick her out? Pretend last night hadn’t been a complete mindfuck?

  It was hard to tell when I’d lost my way. Unfortunately, I feared it was well before I lowered my mouth between her legs, which was disastrous. Because if my interest in her was purely sexual, I’d be one cold shower away from regaining my composure. But I already knew no amount of soap was going to wash away my feelings for Maeve. She was already too far under my skin.

  To make matters worse, I was merely a rebound for her. A fling. A last hurrah before she got serious and buckled up for the big job of baby birthing and childrearing.

  The whole thing made me nauseous. It was bad enough that she was going to go on this big adventure without me, but the fact that her companion was going to be some other man’s baby made me feel itchy all over. Which was beyond stupid. Because I didn’t want to be The Guy. I couldn’t be The Guy. All I could do was be grateful we’d met and enjoy her company until she was ready to move on.

  “Your coffee’s ready,” she said, sliding a mug across the counter before loading another pod.

  “I can wait for the next one. You go ahead.”

  “You sure?”

  "Yeah.”

  She nodded towards the machine behind me.

  When I turned around, I saw the light had gone from red to green. “Finally.” I lifted the lid and poured the batter in slowly, doing my best to make sure it was evenly spread. Then I latched the lid down and locked it like I was preparing the waffle for takeoff.

  “It looks like you have a message,” she said, pointing at the light on my answering machine.

  “Don't get your hopes up,” I said, crossing over to it. “It’s never the winning lotto numbers.” I smashed the button, and my mom’s voice filled the air. “Hi hun, it’s me. Your brother said he can’t get ahold of you, so I wanted to make sure everything’s okay? Call me when you get this.”

  I groaned.

  “You want to talk about it?” Maeve asked.

  I stared at the black box and ran a hand through my hair. “My brother’s been trying to reach me since the beginning of the year.”

  The weight of her gaze fell on my cheek. “You don’t get along with your brother?”

  “I know how that sounds,” I said, turning to face her. “But I’m not the monster here.”

  “Aren’t you curious what he wants? What if he’s in trouble?”

  “Not my problem,” I said, glancing down when Otis started pulling at my pant leg. “I thought it was for a long time, but I’m officially retired from his shit.” I grabbed the kibble down from one of the high cabinets and poured a measure in Otis’s food bowl.

  “I see.”

  “He tested my limits,” I said, feeling compelled to explain myself further. “And now that I’ve found them, I don’t want him in my life.”

  “Sounds like me and my dad.”

  I appreciated her understanding but was reticent to sour the mood. “Thanks for not making me feel worse about it than I already do.”

  “Sure,” she said. “I know where my loyalty lies.”

  “And you haven’t even tried my waffles yet,” I said, waggling my brows as I crossed back over to check the built-in timer.

  “Were you guys ever close?”

  “As close as brothers can be.” Should I tell her we were twins? That always seemed like a more important detail to other people than it did to me.

  “So what happened?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “You mean you don’t want to tell me,” she said.

  I sighed and looked over my shoulder. Maeve was standing with her head cocked, my shirt falling over her perky breasts, and as much as I wanted to avoid this conversation, I’d rather she heard the story from me than from Googling me.

  “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine,” she said, gripping the countertop behind her. “But don’t tell me what I do and don’t want to know.”

  “Point taken.” I opened the machine when the buzzer sounded, deciding we should start with half a waffle each while the next one cook
ed.

  “Well?”

  I set the golden waffle on a plate, cut it in half, and marveled at the impressive uniformity of color I’d achieved. “Breakfast is served.” I lifted my chin towards the table, where I’d already laid out the syrup, butter, and whipped cream.

  “That looks great.”

  “Could be beginner’s luck,” I said, setting the plates down and going back to load the remaining batter into the iron. “There’s a lot riding on this next attempt.”

  She took a seat at the table and pushed her hair behind her shoulders before scooting in.

  I poured the batter between the groves, latched the lid, and joined her at the shadow-covered end of the breakfast table.

  “So,” she said, directing her attention to the butter dish. “You were saying?”

  “I’ll give you the short version.”

  “Sure.”

  I took a deep breath, determined to choose my words judiciously. “Basically, I dropped out of school to help him pursue his dream, played an instrumental part in helping him achieve it, and then put up with years of bullshit when he failed to handle our success with grace.”

  “Was that a pun?” she asked. “Instrumental?”

  My lips teased a smile. “I suppose it was.”

  “What was his dream?”

  “To make it as a musician,” I said. “Except his idea of making it involved a lot more drama than I’d initially signed up for.”

  “So you guys were in a band?”

  I nodded.

  “What does he do now?”

  “He’s performed solo ever since I dropped out, and he has his alcoholism to keep him company.”

  Her expression drooped. “And you haven't talked since?”

  “Only the way you talk to a barista you barely know.”

  Sadness softened her features.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  I grabbed the whipped cream and pointed the nozzle at her. “What were you going to say?”

  Her eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  I shot some whipped cream at her, and she squealed. “Tell me.”

  Her hands formed a pathetic wall between us. “Put that down!”

  I sprayed a puff between her cracked fingers.

  “Stop!” she cried, scooting her chair back. “I surrender!”

  I smiled and set the can back down beside the syrup.

  Otis appeared a moment later to lick up the spray that wasn’t on Maeve’s shirt and arms.

  “I can’t believe you did that,” she said, rinsing the whipped cream off her hands in the sink and wiping her top with a paper towel. “You’re crazy.”

  “So,” I said, satisfied the mood had been sufficiently lifted. “When do I get to meet the donors?”

  T W E N T Y N I N E

  - Maeve -

  Even with all the colored sticky notes I’d used to keep the donor profiles organized, I was still feeling overwhelmed. So overwhelmed, in fact, I suspected the feeling was why I let myself get swept into a relationship with Kurt.

  It wasn’t lust. It wasn’t love. It was a distraction, and I regretted the time I’d wasted with him. But dwelling was pointless. I’d learned my lesson and now, with renewed focus, I was finally going make a decision.

  Unfortunately, that was the part I was finding so difficult.

  I rested my elbows on my knees and stared at the profiles covering my coffee table while, a few feet in front of me, a muted Jimmy Fallon interviewed some child actor. I didn’t know who it was, nor did I care. I only turned the TV on because I thought it might make the task at hand feel less lonely.

  Perhaps I shouldn’t have started over, but it felt necessary. It had been months since I’d even looked at the profiles and, much like picking up a book you haven’t touched for weeks, I felt the only way to proceed was to begin again. But it was for the best. I was being a lot more ruthless this time around.

  The Maybe pile was growing fast, though. I hated that maybe was the highest rating I’d given. I wanted a hell yes donor to jump out at me, so there’d be no question in my mind that I’d found The Guy. The one whose sperm was easily worth a thousand bucks a vial. The one whose genes would mix perfectly with mine to create an angelic, healthy child who would love me forever (apart from its teenage years because it would be normal and well-adjusted).

  But “Perfect for Maeve” wasn’t a ticked box on any of the profiles.

  And there were all sorts of criteria I didn’t know how to judge. Like, did it really matter what someone’s religion was? Kids were generally whatever religion their parents were. It wasn’t like being trans and realizing your outside doesn’t match your inside. No little kid ever says, “I don’t know about this Jewish thing, Mom. In my heart, I’m actually a Christian.” Then again, I bet little Jewish kids said that all the time when Santa season rolled around.

  Education was important to me, since that actually measured something. It was an elusive something, but at least it gave a slight indication into someone’s background and level of ambition. Beat filtering people by eye color, anyway…though I was a sucker for Finn’s blue eyes.

  I knew I shouldn’t be comparing the candidates to him, but I had caught myself doing it once or twice. Plus, I could hear his voice in my head every time I read something that seemed too good to be true.

  There was one organization, for example, that had a “celebrity lookalike” section on their form where donors could list if they looked like anyone famous. And while I doubted anyone had outright lied, everyone I knew had been told at some point that they resembled a celebrity who was way better looking than they were. So while the heart surgeon that looked like Hugh Jackman sounded like a catch, I knew I couldn’t trust that criteria as soon as I saw the mess of faces that popped up when I Googled “Hugh Jackman Lookalikes.”

  To make matters worse, my intuition was useless. After all, Kurt looked perfect on paper, and I’d been sorely mistaken about him.

  Needless to say, the whole situation was beyond frustrating. I wasn’t scared of spending the money, I wasn’t scared of being pregnant, and I wasn’t scared of being a single mom. But I was scared of making the wrong choice and spending the rest of my life wondering if I should’ve picked the bilingual instead of the biologist. It was textbook analysis paralysis.

  Logically, I knew I’d love the kid before it was even born, knew my body would produce chemicals that would convince me I’d made the right decision. But no matter how much I tried to channel my inner Finn, I couldn’t convince myself this wasn’t a big deal.

  I took a deep breath and reached for my ginger tea as my phone rang under the mess of papers on the table. I patted around until I found it, slipped it out from under the profile of an Italian actuary, and answered when I saw it was James.

  “Hi,” I said, glancing at the clock under the TV. “What are you doing up?”

  “Just got back from Mom’s. The sump pump failed, and it was easier to go over myself than teach her how to use the internet.”

  I smiled. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Everything okay with you?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Maddy told me about Kurt.”

  “Kurt who?” I asked, determined not to worry him.

  “And about this new guy you’re seeing.”

  “I’m not seeing anyone. He’s just a friend.”

  He scoffed.

  I straightened up. “Is that so unbelievable?”

  “You don’t have time for friends.”

  “Not true,” I said, remembering that I was supposed to call Dana back about getting together for lunch. “I have time for friends.” Did Otis count? It was early days, but we’d really hit it off.

  “In that case, will you bring your new friend over for Groundhog Day?”

  “What?”

  “Maddy and Quinn already said yes.”

 
; “That’s not exactly a Hallmark tradition.”

  “All the more reason I doubt you have other plans,” he said. “Plus, it’s going to be great. We’re planning on serving three courses, and they’re all going to be the same.”

  “Not interested.”

  “Oh, come on. I was only joking about the courses thing, and I want to meet Kurt’s replacement.”

  “Kurt hasn’t been replaced. He’s been forgotten.”

  “Come on your own then. I haven’t seen you all year.”

  I rolled my eyes, knowing he’d make that joke until I saw him. “I’ll think about it.”

  “So you’re not having a Year of Yes, then?

  “I’m having a year of…” I blinked at the TV, convinced I was seeing things. It was Finn but not Finn. Or rather, Finn with less hair and douchier clothes. “I have to go.”

  “But—”

  I hung up, dug the remote out from between the cushions, and unmuted the show, my ears straining towards the speakers as I scooted to the edge of the couch. “No way,” I whispered, bringing a hand to my mouth. He’s a twin.

  T H I R T Y

  - Finn -

  I sat in the only booth at the small Dunkin Donuts I frequented, sipping my coffee and staring out the window at the passing cars until the bell over the door jingled.

  A heavy-set guy in a Cubs sweatshirt came in, followed by two children whose high energy levels made it seem like they’d already had a feed of donuts. Not that I was in a position to judge. Far as I was concerned, trying to raise a well-adjusted human was the toughest job a guy could take on.

  Even raising Otis was a challenge, and I could no more take credit for his finer qualities than I could take the blame for his bad habits. Like the underwear eating thing, for example. I couldn’t stop it. He’d torn up another pair of my boxers a few days ago, and I was still finding scraps of them around the house. But it didn’t matter if he never learned. Because he was a dog. An underwear fetish wasn’t going to ruin his chance at a happy life.

  But a kid? Why would someone want that responsibility? I didn’t get it. So much could go so wrong. Not that I didn’t like kids. If anything, I preferred them to adults. But just because I enjoyed volunteering at the Y didn’t mean I wanted to take those little punks home with me.