It was a start.
“Is Carmen here yet?” I asked Isaac when I arrived at the restaurant.
“Not yet,” he said. “She called a few minutes ago and said she got hung up talking to her agent about something, so she’s running ten or fifteen minutes late.”
“Maybe that means good news, then.” I flipped open the menu but didn’t really look at it. “Usually does if she’s talking to her agent for any length of time.”
Isaac shrugged. “She sounded like she was in a good mood, so…”
“Well, that’s promising.” I leaned in to kiss him. “Missed you the last couple of nights, by the way.”
He put his arm around my waist. “We’ll make up for it tonight.” He winked, and goose bumps prickled down my back.
“Damn right we will,” I said.
Isaac drained his glass and set it down. “So, I’m curious. Is it true what they say about pregnant women and hormones?”
“Which part?”
“The mood swings.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t run into this in your line of work, Mr. Expert?”
He laughed. “Okay, I have, but…” His smile faded a little, and he shrugged. “Usually my clients are addressing other issues, so humor me. I’m clueless.”
I nodded. “Yep. It’s true.”
“So how do I tell if she’s upset because of hormones or because she really is upset about something?”
“You know Carmen pretty well,” I said. “Just stop and ask yourself if it’s something that would normally set her off. If it is, well, it is. If not, it’s the hormones talking.” I grimaced. “And whatever you do, don’t tell her which conclusion you’ve come to.”
“Speaking from experience?”
I nodded. “Julia threw a book at my head when she was about six months pregnant.” Laughing, I idly traced designs in the condensation on my glass with my finger. “And then, being the smartass, stressed-out kid I was, I told her to rein in the hormones.”
He laughed. “Dear God, did you have a death wish?”
“Apparently so.”
“So what did she do?”
“Threw a bigger book at me.”
“To be fair,” Isaac said, “you did ask for it.”
“I won’t argue with that.” I shrugged. Then I grinned. “Oh, and that other thing they say about the hormones? Where her sex drive goes through the roof?”
“Tell me it’s true.”
“Doesn’t happen with every woman, but oh my God, if it does?” I whistled.
“So she wasn’t kidding the other night?” Isaac looked up from pouring us each a second glass. “When she said it was the hormones kicking in?”
“Well, it’s hard to say.” I shrugged. “I mean, she was in bed with two hot men, and who wouldn’t get horny in that situation?”
“Right, of course, how could I overlook that part?” He laughed. “Okay, stupid question from a clueless guy who never thought he’d need to know anything about pregnancy.”
“Go ahead.”
“Is there a point when it’s not safe to have sex with her anymore?”
“Well, it’s not generally recommended in the delivery room.”
Isaac snorted. “Smartass.”
I chuckled and waved a hand. “As long as she’s still comfortable and still wants it, and her doctor hasn’t said there’s a reason to avoid it, there’s no set cutoff.”
“Really?”
“Dude, didn’t I ever tell you how Julia went into labor?”
He stared at me. “I thought you were kidding about that.”
“Ooh, no. Dead serious.” My eyes lost focus and I shook my head. Bringing my glass up to my lips but not sipping it yet, I said, “She wanted it right up until the end. She probably would have killed to have two guys at her disposal at that point.”
Isaac laughed. “Lucky Carmen, then.”
I took a drink, then grinned at him. “She has the two of us. How much luckier could one woman get?”
“I’m not sure if lucky is the word I’d use.”
We exchanged looks and both chuckled.
About ten minutes later, Carmen slid in the other side of the booth. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Isaac said you were talking to your agent?”
She nodded. “Wish I could say she scored me some huge book deal, but she was just updating me on a few things. Then I told her I was pregnant, and we ended up going on about babies for half an hour.”
“Oh, there’s a shock.” I clicked my tongue and rolled my eyes. “Two girls prattling on about babies while the boys starve to death at a restaurant.”
“Starve?” She snickered. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious!” I gestured at Isaac. “He’s been eyeballing the napkin dispenser since I got here. Another ten minutes, he’d have dug into it.”
“Or smacked you with it,” he said.
Carmen laughed. “I’m sure you two were fine. I wasn’t that late.”
“No, you’re fine,” Isaac said. “Though, speaking of which, I meant to ask. How are you doing with everything?”
She shrugged. “I’m getting used to the idea. Slowly but surely, anyway. And, oh my God, I’m tired.”
“Been to the doctor yet?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yes, and so far everything’s fine. And according to their stupid ‘you’re already two weeks pregnant when you actually conceive’ calendar, I’m nine weeks along.”
Isaac cocked his head. “Say what?”
“I don’t know why they don’t just start the clock when it actually happens,” I said. “Anything to make it more complicated, I guess.”
“Yeah, well,” she said. “Going from thinking of myself as seven weeks along to nine weeks overnight is a little disconcerting.”
Isaac’s eyes widened, and I thought he might have paled a little.
“God, I can imagine,” he said. “So, how much time is left? Before…?”
“Before I find out why every female I’ve ever known has described childbirth as the worst pain imaginable?” Carmen said dryly.
Isaac cleared his throat. “Yeah. That.”
“Twenty-nine weeks.” She paused. “My due date’s January seventeenth, if that helps.”
“It does,” he said. “My math isn’t so good when it comes to that sort of thing.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll remind you every chance I get,” she said with a laugh. Then her smile fell. “Listen, guys, in all seriousness, there is one thing that’s been bothering me. We’re going to have to tell people something sooner or later. Or, I will, anyway.”
“So will we,” I said. “You’re the one who’s pregnant, but people will catch on once the baby’s here. And we still have to tell Ryan eventually.”
“True,” she said quietly.
“And I don’t see us hiding this,” Isaac said. “It would be a bit of a shock if the baby arrives and we’re suddenly telling people about this.”
“That’s a good point,” I said. “Might behoove us to give people some time to chew on the idea.”
“So what do we tell them?” Carmen asked. “Any story we give is just going to raise questions.”
“There is that,” I said quietly. “I mean, we could say it was planned, but…”
Carmen pursed her lips. “I don’t really like that idea. I don’t know why; it just doesn’t sit well.”
“It’s not like sperm donation and surrogacy are exactly uncommon these days,” I said. “And it’s not exactly a big secret that Isaac and I have considered adoption, so this wouldn’t be too much of a stretch.”
“That’s true, but if we say this was a planned situation,” Isaac said, “it’s going to either look like we’re taking advantage of her, or she was choosing to have a child when her situation was still up in the air.”
Carmen tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“When you left Paul, you said yourself you were in a financial tan
gle,” he said. “Struggling to get back on your feet, as a lot of people do after walking away from a marriage. So, if you chose to have a child with a sperm donor right now when you’re still getting on your feet, it would make you look impulsive and irresponsible. On the other hand, if we said we’d asked you to be a surrogate for us, it would just look like we were taking advantage of your financial situation and offering you money in exchange for a baby.”
Carmen pursed her lips. “Good points.”
“Obviously we know the truth either way,” Isaac said. “I’m just saying, any explanation we come up with is going to look bad somehow or another.”
She sighed. “I suppose the sperm donor or surrogate scenario would also make any one of us look like we’re involved in a detached, strictly business kind of way. I’m certainly not in it like that, and I wouldn’t feel right telling people you guys are.”
“So I guess the question,” I said, “is do we bother coming up with a cover story? Or do we just be honest about it?”
Carmen and Isaac didn’t say anything.
“Here’s the thing,” I said. “One way or another, we’re going to have to come up with some explanation. We’ve got some time before people start asking questions, but we either come up with a cover story or just agree to be honest about it.”
“Well, both my sisters already know the truth,” Carmen said.
Isaac’s eyes widened. “They do?”
“Dare I ask what they think?” I asked.
Carmen snickered. “They’re both a little jealous, to be honest. Not that I got knocked up, but that I got the two of you at the same time.”
Isaac’s cheeks colored. I beamed. Nothing unusual there.
Chuckling, I said, “Aside from them, we might want to keep the details under wraps. Especially from some of our parents.” She and I exchanged grimaces.
“Still,” Carmen said. “We have to come up with something.”
“I agree with Don,” Isaac said. “We don’t have to give everyone the details, but there’s no sense making something up. If people want to judge us…” He trailed off and gestured dismissively.
“Whichever way we go,” I said. “We’re going to find out who our friends are. Whether we make up some story to make it more palatable or we tell people straight, some people will stick by us and some will run the other direction.” I paused. “And the ones who will stay or go will be the ones we least expect.”
I certainly knew of what I spoke. When I came out as bi, friends I’d thought would judge me never faltered, but my relationship with my father had never recovered. Not that I’d expected my dad to be thrilled about it, but this was a man who’d stood by his son when he became a parent just out of high school.
Still, I wasn’t going to get behind some kind of story about surrogates and sperm donors. The truth, socially acceptable or not, was the only emotionally honest explanation for all of us. If people couldn’t deal with that, it was their burden, not ours. I wouldn’t paint a more palatable picture for someone else if it meant discounting the emotional investment of any of us.
“I guess we’ll just see what happens,” Carmen said.
“Only thing we can do,” Isaac said.
“And regardless of what we tell people about how the baby was conceived,” Carmen said, “my sisters definitely have some opinions on all the things I need to raise it properly.”
I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess. You now have a list of about three hundred seventy-two must-haves, and if you don’t have every single one of them, the baby will never get into an Ivy League university, assuming he or she even survives to adulthood?”
Carmen laughed. “Yeah, pretty much.”
I shook my head. “And most of it is probably bullshit.”
“But how do I know what’s useless and what’s necessary?”
I leaned forward and put my hand over hers. “That’s what I’m here for, hon. I’ve done this before, remember?” I smiled. “Without even looking at that list, I would be willing to bet money you can ignore half of it, and of what’s left? You can get at least half of that secondhand in perfectly good condition.”
“Seriously?”
“Listen, you’re pregnant, which means you are now culturally obligated to feel guilty about everything and second-guess yourself at every turn. Throw in some hormones and first-time-mom fear, and you are ripe for the picking for someone trying to sell bullshit baby paraphernalia.” I grinned. “But that’s why you have me. I’ve already played a role in keeping one baby alive long enough to become a teenaged pain in my ass, and I’ve spent the last five years dealing with Isaac’s stepmother. I’m immune to guilt trips.”
“He’s got a point,” Isaac said. “My stepmom can’t make him feel guilty, so I think he may actually be immune to it.”
“That or a sociopath,” Carmen said.
I shrugged. “Either way, the baby-crap manufacturers can’t touch me.”
“Lucky,” Carmen muttered.
“Tell you what.” I folded my arms on the table and inclined my head slightly. “The shopping center across the street has one of those stupidly huge baby stores. Why don’t we go over there after dinner, and I will show you what you don’t need?”
“You don’t mind?”
“Of course not.” I looked at Isaac. “You game?”
He shrugged. “Of course.”
Chapter Eleven
Isaac
After dinner, we walked across the street to the shopping center in question. Following Carmen and Donovan into the immense baby-supply superstore, I understood immediately why she’d been overwhelmed.
The three of us stopped, and I scanned my surroundings.
The place was immense. Wall-to-wall signs and shelves bursting with strategically placed products that could have the wallet of the most stoic parent-to-be breathing into a paper bag. Never in my life had I seen more brightly colored plastic, cartoon animals and photos of smiling babies, all carefully placed to make sure mothers knew their children would never be that happy without that product.
“Ugh, places like this drive me nuts,” Donovan grumbled.
“Really?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He gestured at Carmen. “She’s already been fucked once. No sense screwing her over, you know?”
Carmen laughed. “Don, you are so, so classy.”
”Just calling it like I see it.” He slipped an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. “Now, what do you two say we go play a little baby-store MythBusters?”
She smiled. “Sounds good to me.”
“If you’re going to tell me we don’t need half this shit,” I said, looking around once again, “I’m definitely in.”
Donovan nodded toward the pastel plastic jungle. “Onward, then.”
It didn’t take him long to find something. At the end of an aisle, he stopped.
“Okay, check this out.” He picked up a package containing a couple of thick strips of what must have been plastic or foam or something.
“What the hell are those?” Carmen asked.
“You put them on either side of the baby while he’s sleeping,” he said. “They’re to keep him from rolling over in his crib and suffocating.”
She cocked her head. “And this is a bad thing somehow?”
“Look at them,” he said. “They’re enough to corral a kid up until maybe a couple months old. Which would be great, except babies don’t roll from their back to their stomach until like four or five months, at which point these things”—he gestured with the package— “are just twenty dollar speedbumps.” His expression turned a little more serious. “That, and if the kid did get over it, there’s a good chance he won’t be able to roll back, so…” He hung the pack back on the rack. “Useless at best, dangerous at worst.”
“Oh.” Carmen looked at the package, then back at him. “I guess that makes sense.”
He smiled. “Trust me.”
We walked on.
“Wait.” I stopped and
picked up a bottle of detergent off a shelf at the end of another aisle. “Baby detergent? Really?”
Carmen eyed the bottle in my hand. “I didn’t realize babies needed their own detergent.”
I set it back on the shelf. “I didn’t realize babies were machine washable.”
Something clattered a few feet away, and a horrified gasp came from another direction. All three of us struggled to keep from cracking up.
Donovan snickered but then gestured at the bottle. “Actually, that’s one of the few useful things they have here.”
Carmen blinked. “You mean, you really can machine wash them?”
He rolled his eyes. “Right. Something like that.”
“So, this isn’t bullshit, then?” she asked.
Shaking his head, he said, “No. Babies get rashes if you look at them the wrong way.”
“Oh, great,” she muttered.
“Yeah. So trust me, first time this kid gets a rash from something, you’ll worship this stuff like it ought to be worshipped.”
She snorted. “Donovan, I’ll do a lot of things for this baby, but I am not worshipping laundry detergent.”
“You say that now. Just wait. So what else did your sister say you needed? Better yet, what was one of the most expensive things?”
Carmen pulled out a piece of paper, and as she unfolded it, said, “She found a changing table that must have been four hundred bucks.”
Donovan clicked his tongue. “Jesus, that has to be one of the biggest rackets on the planet.”
“Seriously?” I asked.
He nodded. “You’ve got a kid that needs to be changed, the last thing you’re going to do is cart him off to another part of the house to make sure you take care of it on the special, designated piece of furniture.”
Carmen smirked. “So, what does the baby guru suggest, then?”
“You want a place that’s convenient, flat and absolutely no risk of the kid falling off and getting hurt?” he asked. When she nodded, he pointed straight down and tapped his foot for emphasis. “The floor.”
Who's Your Daddy? Page 11