Page 57 of Baby Maker

Before I knew it, I was in love with Calli. Even though I regret telling her when I was halfway in the bag, I don't regret saying the words. She deserves to know she's adored.

We've been dating for two months now, and although she hasn't said the words back, I know she cares about me. She shows me in a million different ways. By far, this woman is the most fun I've ever had and judging by the smile whenever she sees me, I know the feeling is mutual.

Thankfully, I have Simon and Bridget's blessing to date their friend. Over the last several weeks, the four of us have shared several dinners and even a night out at the bar, watching a local band.

I never tire of Calliope. Even when I've spent the entire day with her, all I want is to hold her that night.

We've been careful since our insanely wonderful romp on Long Island, although I can't tell you the number of times I've been tempted to throw caution to the wind and toss out my box of condoms. There's been a few times that we've come close, too, but at the last minute, I always err on the side of caution.

I'm tired of being cautious. I argue with myself regularly over it.

What's the worst that can happen? She gets pregnant? I wait for the feeling of dread associated with that idea, but it never arrives.

I still cling to my whole no marriage or kids scenario, but my resolve weakens every time that ivory-skinned beauty smiles in my direction.

But Calliope never mentions the future. It's as though she fears planning for anything beyond the here and now. I get it; she planned with Nigel. Look where that got her.

I strive daily to be the man she deserves. The man who's worthy of her love. I want to be her forever.

As far as our doctor and patient relationship, it unofficially ended when our relationship began. She never even asked about the results of Nigel's sperm DNA fragmentation test. The results came back, but I haven't looked at them.

Funny. It's as though I worry I’ll jinx my relationship with Calli by opening that door. A pandora's box, of sorts.

Perhaps some part of her doesn't want to know, either. Or maybe she's growing attached to the idea of a future with me. Letting go of the one she couldn't have with Nigel.

Am I wrong to hope for that? I know she cares, but sometimes, I wish she'd give me the reassurance I'm too chicken shit to ask for.

Tell me she loves me. Tell me she chooses me. Maybe then, the idea of a future won't seem so unattainable.

For either of us.

So this weekend, I'm going all out—a beach house on Cape Cod, away from the hustle and bustle of our daily lives. I plan on spoiling her and showering her with all the affection she spent the last two years denying herself.

She's worth it.

She's worth everything.

Now I just have to pray she feels the same.

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