by Nikki Ash
We also managed to tackle the big question of how did Blake actually get pregnant, because I was sure we used a condom and I don’t remember it breaking.
Turns out there’s a little warning on the packet that lets you know a condom is in fact not one hundred percent effective. Two out of a hundred people will become pregnant every year even though a condom was used.
If I didn’t believe in instant love and fate before Blake and Alessia, I sure did now.
I finally understood that all consuming passion that my family was always ranting and raving about, and I had no plans to let her go.
“And we’re here,” I inform Blake as I turn into my parents’ driveway.
Looking over at the woman who’s stolen my heart, I notice she’s nervously chewing on the corner of her lip. I reach over and tug it out from between her teeth. “You okay?”
“I’m so nervous,” she breathes out.
Stretching over the center console, I press my lips to her cheek. “It’s going to be fine, and if it’s not, we’ll leave.”
“I’m not going to make you leave your mother’s house. Alessia and I can just Uber home. Or I can get my mother to come out. She’s got a seat in her car too.”
And this was another thing Blake seemed to be obsessed with. Giving me an out. I don’t know if it’s because she’s used to being alone when it comes to Alessia—which I hate—or that she’s worried if things are a hassle I won’t stick around.
It’s our biggest point of contention, and when I narrow my eyes at her, she knows she’s put her foot in it again.
“I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I’m being ridiculous. Your mom is going to love us.”
“And if you feel uncomfortable?”
“We’ll just go home,” she answers.
“See, that wasn’t so hard.” I guide her face toward me and meld my mouth to hers. Kissing always grounds us. Reminds us what we have, what we share, and just how right this is.
We get lost in one another, enjoying the unusual silence from Alessia, when there’s a succession of knocks on my driver side window.
Blake looks past me and then drops her chin to her shoulder, hiding her face. “I’m pretty sure that’s your mom waiting for us,” she says quietly.
Turning, I find my mother with a shit-eating grin on her face, looking at us expectantly.
“You guys can continue making out, but can I please see my granddaughter now?”
Quickly looking back at Blake, I check in before we get out of the car. “If you need anything just tell me.”
She nods and I lean over and give her another quick kiss, hoping it’s all the reassurance she needs.
When I finally climb out of the car, my mother doesn’t even bother with pleasantries. “Hurry up, Rio, I’ve already gotten a dozen new gray hairs waiting for you to introduce me to my granddaughter.”
Opening the back door, I unbuckle Alessia from her seat. She’s wide eyed and smiling, kicking the air, itching to be held.
The rapid pace in which she grows scares the shit out of me, but it’s been an absolute pleasure to watch her find her feet and thrive.
I pick her up and turn to my mother. “Ma, I’d like you to meet our daughter.”
She opens her arms excitedly, and I hand her Alessia. “This is Alessia Rosario Ricci.”
My mother’s face beams with happiness as she takes hold of my daughter, and I know she’s remembering the conversation we had when I told her Blake agreed to change Alessia’s last name to mine.
Raising her head, her gaze flickers between Blake and me, her smile never wavering. “Now all you have to do is change Blake’s last name and the three of you are good to go.”
Without a care in the world for our reactions, my mother walks away with Alessia perched on her hip and heads to the house.
I finally manage to look at Blake who’s just staring at my mother, her eyes wide and cheeks red.
When she opens her mouth and then closes it again, I almost feel bad at how shocked she is.
But that’s the keyword here, almost.
“What? Did something about what she said surprise you?”
“You’re not proposing, are you?” she asks, almost panicked
“Not today.”
“Wait.” She scrunches up her nose. “But you’re proposing one day?”
I hadn’t thought that far ahead. In fact, my only goal for today was to convince Blake that she and Alessia should move in with me. You know, one step at a time. But here we were, and I wasn’t going to shy away from how I felt.
I hadn’t the first moment I laid eyes on her, and I wasn’t about to start now.
Closing the car doors, I walk around the hood of the car to Blake’s side and take her hands in mine.
“If you think we are anything less than a proposal and a life together, then I’m afraid I’ve been doing this all wrong.”
“Rio.” She manages to say my name with both hope and warning in her voice. “You don’t have to. I mean, you don’t need to.”
I silence her with my mouth, wanting to devour all her fears and insecurities and give her nothing but my unconditional love.
“I don’t have to,” I murmur against her lips. “I don’t need to either. But I want to.” I rest my forehead against hers. “In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m in love with you. I think I loved you the moment I laid eyes on you. But I knew I loved you when you introduced me to our daughter. Naming her after me, and giving me a place in her life before I even knew about her. And these last six weeks.” I take a sharp breath, trying to control my emotions. “They’ve been perfect, but I want more.”
“More?” she says with a shaky breath.
“Move in with me? Or we can buy a brand-new house together. I don’t care which it is, but I want you and Alessia to be with me always. I’m already committed to time away from you two because of work and I don’t want to be constantly missing you two unless I have to.”
“Okay,” Blake says, surprising me. “You’re right.”
“I am? I thought for sure I was going to have to work harder than that.”
She laughs while sliding her hands up my arms to rest on my shoulders. “You’re always right.”
“Hey, a man could get used to hearing that.”
“Well, don’t,” she sasses before her face morphs into an expression a little more serious. “I love you, Rio. Alessia and I both love you. So much. You are a man women would kill to have and a father that rivals any expectation I had of you. You’re it for us, and I don’t want us to be unnecessarily away from you either.”
“I love you,” I reply on an exhale, not realizing how much I needed to hear that. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, just marry me.”
“What?” I rear my head back to look at her. “Did you just ask me to marry you?”
“Well,” she starts, her smile sheepish. “And I quote, ‘If you think this is anything less than a marriage proposal and life together, then I’m afraid I’ve been doing it all wrong.’”
Doctor Daddy by Misty Walker
Prologue
Lance
My feet drag along the tightly woven carpet as I walk down the hall to my apartment. I’d like to say something poetic like, no part of me wants to do what I’m about to do except my heart. But it’s not true. My heart is an organ whose only function is to pump blood through my organs so I don’t die.
No, this has absolutely nothing to do with my heart. It’s something else inside me that medical school didn’t teach us. Something that can’t be examined. Something intangible.
Whatever it is, it’s ruining my life. Now I have to walk inside my apartment and ruin someone else’s life. Someone who has loved me, supported me, and been with me for ten years. To say she deserves more is an understatement. But in order to give her more, I have to let her go. I can’t be the person she needs, and there’s nothing that would show up in my autopsy to make her understand.
After som
e time, she’ll realize I’m right and she’ll realize this didn’t come out of the blue. It’s easy to ignore the blaring red flag above my head when every other aspect of our relationship is perfect. From the time we wake up until the time we go to bed, we talk, laugh, and connect. But the second the lights go out and we’re lying next to each other, it’s glaringly obvious we don’t fit. And it’s even more obvious the issue is with me.
I type the code into the door and listen as the bolt disengages. I rest my hand on the knob, and my forehead on the door. It would be so easy to go through with this if I had anything bad to say about Maisy. But I don’t. She’s successful, beautiful, and kind. There isn’t one person in this world who would look at what I’m doing and understand.
Not even me.
Not really.
I take one last breath, turn the knob, and enter. Our apartment is artfully decorated. Modern, yet warm. Maisy calls it transitional. We purchased it for our one-year wedding anniversary. I’m going to miss it, and the twenty-minute walk to New York Presbyterian Hospital where I’ve been a hospitalist for five years.
“Is that you?” Maisy’s sweet and bubbly voice calls from the kitchen.
A delicious aroma fills my nostrils. She’s an amazing cook, and it’s yet another reason I am an absolute idiot for wanting to leave her.
“Yeah.” I toe off my shoes and hang my coat.
“I’m making piccata. Hope you’re hungry.”
I walk down the hallway into the open concept kitchen and living space. My wife is dressed only in one of my button-down shirts. Her blond, short, curly hair is messy and wild. She’s beautiful as she dances around the kitchen without a care in the world. She won’t have a problem replacing me. At least not in theory. Unfortunately, I know she loves me with all her heart and it’s not conceited to say she won’t move on easily.
“We need to talk,” I blurt out before I lose the nerve like I’ve done so many times before.
“’Bout what, buttercup?” She saunters up to me and reaches to her tiptoes, throwing her arms around my neck.
“Maybe we could chat over dinner.” I kiss the tip of her nose affectionately. I don’t want to be married to her, but I do love her.
“O-okay.” Her smile falls and she releases me. “Well, it’s ready now.”
She serves us our dinner while I pour her wine and myself an IPA. Wordlessly, we seat ourselves at the dining room table. I stare into my food, pushing the chicken around on my plate. I don’t have an appetite. If I tried to take a bite, I’m certain my stomach would revolt.
“What is it, Lance?”
I look up to see Maisy staring at me with furrowed brows. I want to reach over the table and smooth the wrinkles out. I want to change my mind and come up with some other reason for my behavior in order to save her the heartache. But it’s not fair to either of us, so I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and steeple my hands.
“I want a divorce.” The words come out as though I’m stating how cold it is outside. I’ve been reciting the words in my head for months, maybe even years, so they hold no meaning to me.
Her shoulders slump and her eyes become glassy. She covers her face and whimpers into her hands. I jump up and rush over, pulling her chair from the table and turning her to face me. She’s a slight woman, so it takes zero effort. I collapse onto my knees in front of her and gently draw her hands down.
“Why?” she asks in a small, shaky voice. “Is it because I can’t have babies? I’ll go back to the fertility doctor, I just needed a break—”
“That’s not it.” I stop her downward spiral. We’ve been trying for children for a year now. Secretly, I was happy when it didn’t happen. “I wish I could explain it. I wish I could tell you I’ve found someone else, that I’m a cheating bastard. I wish I could tell you I’ve developed a drug habit or taken up gambling. I wish I could say anything that would make sense. But it’s nothing like that.”
“Then what is it?” she pleads.
“I’m not in love with you. Not in the way a husband should love his wife.”
She nods sadly and quietly sniffles. “Maybe you’re stressed. We could take a vacation. We could go back to Bali. Pretend we’re on our honeymoon.”
“If you remember, we had a terrible honeymoon,” I remind her.
We waited until we were married to have sex and when I couldn’t step up to the plate, it caused a rift. At the time, I was certain it was due to nerves or performance anxiety. But that’s a lie because we’ve never been very good in the bedroom. The last five years, we’ve only made love a handful of times.
“Are you not attracted to me? Is that it? I know I’ve gained weight. I got comfortable after we married.” She ignores my comment the way she’s ignores my inability to please her.
“Maiz, you’re beautiful. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. I don’t know what’s missing between us, but it’s something. If it were only me I was concerned with, I’d stay married to you forever. But I don’t want to hear you cry in the bathroom when you think I’ve left for work. Or see the disappointment in your eyes every time I’m unable to satisfy you.”
“I know we’ve had issues,” she says in her shy voice that’s reserved for when we attempt to talk about sex. “But I can change. I can read books or we can see a therapist.”
“You’re not hearing me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Maybe I’m asexual or something. Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with your attractiveness. It’s not only you I’m not attracted to, it’s every woman. I’m broken, and I’m so sorry I didn’t realize this before we were married. I’m an asshole who doesn’t deserve you.”
I’ve probably said too much, but Maisy has an uncanny ability to overlook the obvious, so I don’t panic.
“You’re not any of those things.” She shakes her head adamantly.
“Perhaps not.” I don’t press the issue. We had similar childhoods and had very conservative views pressed upon us. For me to open up about my real theory on why my dick doesn’t respond to her would throw her very delicately balanced reality off its hinges.
She dries her eyes with the palms of her hands. “We don’t need to have sex. We can keep everything the same. We’re more than physical urges. You’re my best friend.”
“You’re my best friend too. But you’re entitled to a fulfilling marriage. I can’t give that to you.”
“This is just perfect,” she hisses, her attitude changing from sad to angry in the blink of an eye. She pushes away my hands from where they rest on her legs and raises to her full height. “My parents are going to give me so much crap about this. I can hear my mother’s voice telling me she told me so.”
She grabs our plates and storms into the kitchen. I hear the clank of the china being tossed into the sink, causing me to flinch. I knew her rarely expressed temper would make an appearance and honestly, it’s better than her despondency. At least with anger, she’ll yell and say horrible things about me. I deserve to be punished.
“I’m sorry. I really am. I wish I were a better man.”
She returns to the dining room, bottle of wine in hand. She picks up her wine glass from the table and stomps toward the bedroom. “Fuck you, Lance. You wasted the best years of my life.”
She slams the bedroom door behind her. I stand frozen for a long time, listening to her sobs. She’ll thank me for this someday. She’ll find someone who can’t keep their hands off her. They’ll make her feel beautiful and cherished. I won’t be jealous. I’ll be grateful that I was strong enough to give her a gift she didn’t know she wanted.
I make my way to the kitchen and clean up. I’ve ruined her dinner, she shouldn’t have to clean up as well. Then, I go to my office and convert the sofa into a bed. I quickly shower and climb under the covers. With the lights out, I lie in bed, staring at the sunburst pattern in the plaster of the ceiling.
I’m going to miss this apartment.
I’m going to miss New York.
Maisy doesn�
��t know it yet, but I’ve accepted a new job at a hospital in a small town in Maine. A colleague of mine, Shawn, told me his father was retiring and had begged him to move and take over. But Shawn loves the city and couldn’t imagine leaving. He was surprised when I approached him the next day, asking if he could give me a referral. Turns out, I didn’t need one. Beacon Island Hospital hired me with few questions asked. They were growing desperate.
My salary will be cut in half and the hospital is so small, I’ll be the only full-time hospitalist. But it’ll get me far away from a life I shouldn’t have created. Far away from my mistakes and lapses in judgement.
Hours pass while my mind wanders. I have so much to do and not much time to do it. I’ll leave all of our acquired material possessions to Maisy. She can sell it all, smash it in to a million pieces, or keep everything as is. I don’t care, but I don’t want any of it. I need a fresh start.
Around three a.m., I hear the creak of the door opening. Maisy pads into the room and crawls under the covers. I open my arms to her and she snuggles into my chest.
“You’re right. I know you are. But it hurts,” she whispers.
I knew if she took the time to really think things through, she would see this is for the best. She would uncover all the signs from over the years and then know how much better things could be for her. She’s an intelligent woman, both emotionally and logically. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to spend my life with her.
Unfortunately, love isn’t enough.
I sigh. “I know. I wish I could take away the pain, but the growing pains are necessary.”
She climbs on top of me and rests her forehead to mine. “Will you please make love to me?”
I begin to push her off, so good at rejecting her, it’s an impulse. But then I stop. If there’s one thing I can give her, it’s this. I’ve changed the entire trajectory of her life. Surely, I can give her the one thing she’s always wanted from me. Intimacy.
So instead, I trick my body into responding the way I’ve done more than once. I kiss her and worship her. I make her come once with my tongue and then again on my dick. I orgasm too, but it’s weak and fills me with no satisfaction. For me, sex is like peeing or burping. Something my body tells me I need to do, but I don’t feel any particular way about it. It’s a bodily function, plain and simple.