Do You Take This Baby?

by Wendy Warren

  “Of course not. It’s a stray. It conned me into feeding it. I keep telling it to go find a motherly type, but it insists on nagging me. You want a cat? I’ll throw in the violet.”

  Gemma watered the plant, then opened the sliding door to the patio and let the cat inside. It was small and fluffy and began purring instantly. Like a baby, but with fur. Bending down, she scooped the animal up. “It’s a sweetheart. What are you calling it?”

  Holliday frowned. “Cat.”

  Gemma shook her head at her friend. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

  Holly waved an airy hand. “You choose.” She handed Gemma a champagne flute and, holding hers aloft, said, “Here’s to the good life.” She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at the bundle twisting happily in Gemma’s arms. “Which does not include pets.” After clinking her glass to Gemma’s, she took a long drink. “Mmm.” She gestured to the modern chrome and white fabric sofa in her living area. “Have a seat. Tell Auntie Holly what’s on your mind this fine Sunday afternoon. I don’t suppose the dark circles under your eyes have something to do with your younger sister getting married yesterday.”

  Gemma thought for a moment as she sat down. “No.” That really wasn’t it. She was happy for Elyse and Scott and the life they were building together. The family they’d probably be having soon. “What do you think about single motherhood?”

  “Oh. My. Lord. You’re pregnant.” Holliday’s eyes were enormous. “Who? When? Why didn’t you tell me you were sleeping with somebody?”

  “I’m not sleeping with somebody. My gosh, slow down.” Gemma took a sip of the drink Holliday had given her. “I’ve been thinking, that’s all.”

  “Thinking?”

  “About how I’ve always planned to have children someday, and I’m not getting any younger, and...” She raised her chin. “It’s time to get on with it.”

  “This is about your little sister getting married. You have post-traumatic wedding disorder. Happens all the time. Single women attend weddings and wind up in the bathroom, crying because it’s not them. You’ll get over it.” Holliday eyed her flute. “Maybe we should switch to straight champagne.”

  “I was at Ethan’s this morning.”

  Holliday sat up, instantly attentive. “No way! What happened? I saw you two at the reception and thought if I didn’t know better, I’d say something was brewing, but then I figured—”

  At her abrupt halt, Gemma supplied, “That I’m not his type?”

  “I was going to say that, yeah, but I knew it wasn’t going to sound right. What I mean is you’re not the casual type.” She arched a brow. “Or was that before breakfast?”

  “Don’t get carried away. It’s not what you’re thinking. Ethan asked me to come over to help him with a...” She hesitated. “A baby.”

  “A baby what?”

  “A baby human. His nephew. Cody.” Swearing her friend to secrecy and knowing that beneath the glib drama, Holly could be trusted with the keys to Tiffany’s, Gemma filled her in on the basics of Ethan’s situation, leaving out details about Samantha.

  “Wow,” Holliday breathed when Gemma paused, “this is better than Access Hollywood. So Ethan thinks you’re the baby whisperer.”

  “When I hold Cody, I realize what I’m missing. I want to be a mother, Holly. Soon. Now.”

  Holliday’s perfectly shaped brows drew together. “What about a husband? Haven’t you always wanted one of those first?”

  Gemma rubbed her chin over the cat’s downy fur. “I think I’m over that. I mean, look at you. You’re single. You’re happy.”

  “You’re not me. Honey, I know you love your nieces and nephews, and I’m sure holding a baby first thing in the morning is very enticing...to some people.” She shuddered indelicately. “But is it possible you’re confusing the baby with the uncle? Ethan Ladd is one yummy hunk of man. Even I’m not 100 percent immune, and if he called, needing your help—” She halted abruptly. “Wait, why call you? You don’t have kids. Why did he come to you for help?” Her gaze narrowed suggestively. “You two left the reception for a while last night, didn’t you? Juicy.”

  “It’s not juicy. He’s seen me with my nieces and nephews, and he wanted advice. End of story.”

  “They’re your siblings’ kids. Why didn’t he ask Lucy or David? And your parents are parents. He could have gone to them.”

  Gemma tried to think back. Why had Ethan come to her? “We’ve gotten friendly lately. I think he...trusts me.”

  Holliday’s expression changed from fascinated to concerned. “Oh, honey, be careful. I know I’ve been teasing you about Ethan, but I seriously doubt he’s marriage material. He probably has a woman in every port, and by that, I mean airport.”

  Gemma felt agitation swell at the mention of Ethan’s extracurricular activities. She shook her head. “You’re completely jumping the gun again. I’m not interested in Ethan as marriage material. Or as anything else.”

  Holliday arched a brow. “No?”

  Holly hadn’t lived in Thunder Ridge when Gemma and Ethan were in high school, and Gemma had never told her friend about the disastrous homecoming date or its aftermath. She didn’t see any point in sharing that info now, so instead she said, “You said it yourself. Probable woman in every port. Not marriage material. And not in my league.”

  “I never said he was out of your league. Quite the opposite, if you ask me.”

  “Yeah, yeah. But all I want is a baby. Maybe. Can you give me solid reasons why I should not under any circumstances go forward?”

  “Well, there is the matter of finance. I mean you live in a studio apartment just off campus right now. You’ll need a two-bedroom place—in Portland, with Portland rents. That sound you just heard was your checking account screaming. And what about your lifelong dream of going to Europe? I thought it was going to take all your extra cash and a summer job to get there.”

  “It was. I mean, it is. But if I don’t jump into the deep end of the motherhood pool and just do it, I’m afraid I never will. And I don’t think I can face a future where I don’t get to be a mother.”

  Holliday pondered her words for a moment. “And you can face a future where you don’t get to go to Europe?”

  “Lots of people who have kids eventually get to Europe, too. I’ll take my child with me. It’ll be fun.”

  “Paris with a four-year-old. Yeah. You sure you don’t want the cat instead?” She nodded to the fur ball that was falling asleep on Gemma’s lap. “I’m told they eat less than human children, and they rarely require college tuition.”

  Gemma smiled. “I think you should keep the cat. I’ll take the violet, though.”

  Holliday fell into a reflective silence. Finally, she looked hard and long at Gemma and there was none of the usual cynicism in her expression. “You should do it.”

  Stunned, Gemma said, “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. I mean it. If this is your dream, you have to do it.”

  A tiny curl of excitement replaced some of the fear. “So you’re willing to be an auntie? But what about all of the cons? What if we’re wrong, and I can’t take care of myself and a baby?”

  Committed now, Holliday brushed off her worries with a wave of her hand. “You always achieve everything you set out to do. You’ll be fine. More than fine. Your kid will probably be a Rhodes scholar. In fact, I see only one question mark in your immediate future.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How are you going to get the baby? I mean, there are a number of avenues for the single woman, but what appeals to you? Adoption? Artificial insemination? The old-fashioned way, with a willing partner?”

  “I may need more mimosa.”

  Holliday nodded. “Cats are easier.”

  * * *

  Pulling the collar of her scoop-neck T away from her body, Gemma
blew cool air over her bosom. Although a pleasant breeze wafted through the open window of her upstairs apartment and propelled tiny raindrops against the screen, she was boiling hot. Anxiety did that to her. And right now, she was as anxious as she’d ever been.

  “I want this. I shouldn’t be anxious. I want this,” she muttered like a mantra as she stared at the Portland Reproductive Options website currently displayed on her computer screen.

  Women under the age of thirty-five typically have more success with alternative insemination.

  If she wanted to have a baby, she couldn’t mull this over too long, but the what-ifs were chasing each other through her mind like squirrels.

  What if she couldn’t afford to raise a child on her salary? After William broke their engagement, she’d decided to go after her PhD, and as a professor, her income would triple. But PhDs were expensive, not to mention time-consuming. What if she couldn’t work, care for a baby and earn a PhD?

  And the issues involved in how to become a mother in the first place—what if not knowing the identity of her child’s father was too much for her to handle? What if, one day, her child had questions she couldn’t answer about his or her daddy? Adoption, on the other hand, took longer, and was more expensive and more challenging for single applicants. What if she was gumming her own food by the time she became a mother? She and the baby could share strained peas.

  Gemma thunked her forehead on the desk. Help. Why couldn’t this be easier, like in the old days when you found a baby wrapped in fluffy blankets in a basket on your porch with a note that said, “Please take care of Annabelle”?

  When a knock sounded on her door, she bolted up, immensely grateful for the interruption.

  “Coming!” she shouted, finger-combing the hair she hadn’t yet brushed, and stopping at the round mirror above her vanity to make sure she didn’t have food between her teeth. She’d been munching nonstop while she researched her options.

  A glance at her watch showed her it was almost 10:00 a.m. A series of knocks sounded again. “Be there in a sec!”

  Her back ached, and her neck felt stiff as she tromped to the door. Her above-the-garage apartment sat in a graceful neighborhood in Portland’s southeast quadrant. She had all the privacy she wanted, but also maintained a come-over-whenever policy for her friends and coworkers.

  Plastering a wide smile on her face, she opened the door. The first thing she saw was not a neighbor or a friend, but a baby.

  In a car seat. Wrapped in a fluffy blanket.

  Her heart began to hammer a mile a minute. There’s a baby on my doorstep, there’s a baby on my doorstep! Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you—

  Hold on.

  She bent down. “Cody?”

  Yes, it was Cody, his sweet face scrunched into unhappy lines and crinkles. And there was no note. “Anyway, Uncle Ethan would never just leave you here.”

  A heavy ka-thunk-ka-thunk-ka-thunk on the stairs leading to her apartment made her look up.

  “Hey.” Ethan, as haggard as she’d ever seen him, attempted a smile that fell flat as he trudged up the steps. He lugged a diaper bag stuffed to the gills, a grocery bag and a large rolling cooler that he dragged behind him.

  Quickly, Gemma scooped up the car seat and baby and carried them into her home, making space for Ethan to follow.

  Setting the car seat on her coffee table, she unfastened Cody and took him into her arms. Not a moment too soon, either, as his face was screwing up into pre-squall position. In a moment, the air was going to be filled with shrieks unless she could comfort him ASAP. From the look on his blotchy little face, he’d been crying quite a lot again.

  She hadn’t seen the two of them in three days. After her talk with Holly, she’d known it was time to return to Portland. Satisfied—sort of—that she’d left Ethan with extensive instructions on swaddling, plus a website where he could purchase a baby carrier made especially for daddies, she’d left them with a silent prayer and hightailed it back to her own life.

  Looking at man and baby now, it was clear that the concern she’d been trying to keep at bay was justified. Exhaustion had once more claimed a smidgen of Ethan’s golden-boy good looks (nothing could douse them entirely), and Cody... Poor thing. He looked bereft.

  While Gemma wrapped him more securely in the blanket and snuggled him, Ethan set all his baggage inside her apartment and shut the door. He glanced at his nephew with something approaching fear.

  “I’m sorry,” he said without preamble. “It’s wrong to drop in on you. I should have called.” He ran a hand over his hair. “Actually, I did call, but then I hung up. I was afraid you’d tell me not to come.”

  “How did you know where I live?”

  “I called your mom.” Before she could fully process that, he rambled, “I can’t find a nanny. The agency said they don’t have anyone else who’s ‘qualified at this time.’ What does that mean—we wore them out?” He paced in front of her coffee table. “I tried the baby wrap. I just called Amazon and told them to overnight one to me. Maybe it’s the wrong kind. He hates it when I wear it. I’m not kidding. If the kid could talk he’d be swearing at me.” Stabbing a finger toward the small mountain of baby paraphernalia he’d brought with him, Ethan complained, “I tried a different brand of diapers, ’cause, you know, maybe he didn’t like the ones he was wearing. That’s a personal thing, a guy’s skivvies. And I bought new formula, because maybe he’s tired of the one I’ve been giving him and that’s his problem—”

  “Ethan, slow down,” Gemma soothed, genuinely shocked to see him in his present state. “You want a glass of water? Or Alka-Seltzer? Or scotch?” She’d hoped to tease a tiny smile from him, but received only a blank, defeated stare. “Sit down.” She nodded to her couch. “You look like you’re going to keel over.”

  Nodding absently, he moved around the coffee table and stared down at the pile of travel brochures she’d left on her couch last night. She’d forgotten about the glossy pamphlets set out over the sofa cushions. For two hours, she’d studied them, wondering if the literary tour of Europe she’d planned as part of her PhD studies would be feasible if she had a baby, too. How could she ever afford both?

  “Just move that stuff to the coffee table,” she instructed while she went to the rolling cooler to find a bottle for the squirmy baby. When she turned back, Ethan was staring at the brochures he now held in his hands.

  He riffled through them, then looked up at her with some alarm. “You planning on leaving the country?” Looking at the shiny picture on top, he frowned. “This is Scotland.”

  “Yeah...well... I want to do some research for my doctoral thesis, eventually. But it’s spendy, and I—” It wasn’t the time to mention her plan to have a child. In fact, the very thought of mentioning it to Ethan was kind of...weird.

  Taking the bottle and the baby to her kitchenette, she said, “You know what they say about best-laid plans? Sometimes life comes along and interrupts.”

  “Yeah, I have a little experience with that.” Ethan followed her into the tiny kitchen area, still holding her travel info. “But you want to go on this trip? Is money what’s standing in your way?”

  Placing Cody’s bottle in the microwave, she glanced at the big football player who was currently making her apartment feel smaller than ever. For the first time since uncle and baby had arrived, Ethan looked more clearheaded, more connected. “Money. Time. I planned to make a little money by teaching summer school and tutoring over the summer, but I don’t think it’s going to be enough.” Not if I need to plan for a baby, too.

  The infant in her arms seemed to sense that she was preparing to feed him. He was wide-eyed now and quiet, apparently still a rare state for little Cody.

  Uncle Ethan noticed. “How do you get him to do that?” He raised his hands in exasperation. “He’s never like that with me, or with the nannies.
Never.”

  “I don’t know.” Gemma shrugged. She looked down, sending Cody a smile as she jiggled him a bit. “Maybe he senses how much I enjoy holding him.” She really did. She loved it. Her morning angst melted into the calm assurance that she was meant to be a mama, one way or another. Then she realized how her words might have come across to Ethan. “Not that you don’t enjoy it. I wasn’t saying that.”

  “You didn’t offend me. I don’t enjoy holding him. Who enjoys doing the thing they suck at?”

  “You do not suck at it. You shouldn’t even say that.”

  He set the travel brochures on the edge of her tiled counter. “Got to accept reality before you can change it.”

  The microwave dinged. He opened the door and withdrew the bottle before she could, checking the temperature, then handing it to her. They watched Cody eagerly get to work on his morning snack.

  “Have you had breakfast?” Ethan asked, shifting his attention from his nephew to Gemma.

  “Yes. Today’s and tomorrow’s. I eat when I’m tired. Are you hungry?”

  “Starving. Want a cup of coffee while I grab something to eat?”

  “Sure. There’s a place a few blocks away that has great breakfast skillets. We can walk there. Let me get my purse.”

  As she went to the sole closet in her apartment, which was near the front door, Ethan said, “I like your place. It looks like you.”

  “Cramped and utilitarian?” she joked.

  “No. Petite and unique.”

  Gemma laughed. “By the way, did you bring the baby wrap—” Turning as she spoke, she saw Ethan explore the wall on the other side of the kitchenette. Atop her Lucite desk, the oversize laptop screen displayed the most recent website she’d been perusing.

  Yikes! Photos of babies—some with mothers, some without—dominated the screen.

  “Looks like you’ve been doing some research,” he said, and she could feel the hot flush of embarrassment. References to artificial insemination topped the screen, obviously requiring some explanation. Even a cursory scan of the page would make it clear she’d been researching sperm banks.