Page 37 of Pregnant By the Playboy
He leans forward, and I think he’s about to take my hand, but he doesn’t. Stupidly, I’m disappointed. “Do you need anything from me other than dumplings and cheesecake delivery?”
“No, I’m doing okay. Other than the morning sickness—it’s not as terrible as some women have it, I know—and my aversion to mushrooms, it’s not too bad. I can feel my body changing, though. Like, my bras don’t fit right anymore.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. It’s weird talking about bras with Vince, isn’t it?
Our relationship—it’s weird.
Having a baby within a marriage would be much more straightforward. But we’re not in love, and we’re not getting married.
“I told my mom,” I say. “I didn’t mean for Larry’s children to find out too, but they did, because I looked like a deer caught in headlights when I learned we were having sushi for dinner and Larry offered me a glass of wine.”
“Who’s Larry?”
“My mom’s husband.”
Vince doesn’t ask any more questions, for which I’m thankful. At some point, I’ll tell him more about my family, but not yet.
“My mom wants to meet you,” I say. “At some point before the baby arrives, can you come over for dinner?”
“Sure. My parents will probably want to meet you, too, if that’s okay. I haven’t told them yet, don’t worry. At twelve weeks, right?”
“Yes.”
“My brother asked if I wanted to be a dad, and it was tough to keep a straight face.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I understand wanting to wait until the second trimester. It’s not a problem.” He stuffs some cheesecake in his mouth. “This one is just as good, you know.”
“No, the double fromage cheesecake is better.” I pop the last dumpling in my mouth with my chopsticks, then pick up another bite of the double fromage cheesecake with my fork. I hold it to his lips.
“A second bite? Wow, you really are generous.”
“Shut your mouth. I mean, open it. So I can put the cheesecake in.”
He does as I request.
“The problem is that you didn’t taste them one after the other before,” I say. “But now you have, and you agree the so-called AstroTurf one is better, don’t you?”
He ponders this for a moment. “No, I like them equally.”
“You’re just saying that to piss me off.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“You’re a monster.” I shake my head. “A kind, generous monster who went out of his way to get this pregnant lady what she wanted.”
“It’s no trouble. Really, Marissa, I don’t mind.”
This time, he does take my hand in his and looks at me intently.
My face feels like it’s on fire.
“Uh, thanks for everything,” I say, “but I’m tired and you should probably be going. Get back to your three-piece-suit-wearing friends or whatever it is while I go to bed.”
He stands up. “Sure.”
I shouldn’t be annoyed that he’s doing what I told him to do, but I am. Though I’m also relieved.
