Page 44 of Pregnant By the Playboy
“Yes,” I reply, without asking which movie she plans to watch.
It ends up being a thriller with lots of white dudes who all look the same, and when I say this to Marissa, she laughs harder than is warranted and puts her arm around me. She snuggles up even closer during a particularly thrilling chase scene, where one white dude with short hair is being pursued by a pack of white dudes with short hair through a city.
I’m not paying much attention. I’m more focused on Marissa, her body pressed against mine. This isn’t the way I usually spend my Friday nights. A quiet evening snuggling, eating cheesecake, and watching a movie is not what I’m known for.
But you know what? I could use more of this.
As long as it’s with Marissa.
Chapter 14
Marissa
I’ve made it to twelve weeks. Yay!
Apparently the fetus is now the size of a plum, and I found myself looking at plums in an odd way when I was at the grocery store this morning.
Today I’m having my first ultrasound. Vince is supposed to accompany me. He should pick me up from my condo in five minutes, and I’m not worried that he’ll show up.
Sure enough, he arrives right on time, and we make it to the ultrasound clinic fifteen minutes early. I check in and we take a seat in the waiting area. Across from us is a young couple, their hands intertwined. The woman has an engagement ring on her left hand, plus a wedding band, and she’s further along than me. I’m guessing they’re both about twenty-five.
I suddenly feel old.
Is it crazy to be pregnant at thirty-six with a man I hardly know?
But I’ve gotten to know Vince a little better in the past few weeks. We’ve seen each other a bunch of times. We’ve eaten cheesecake together. (Well, okay, I ate most of the cheesecake.) We’ve watched a movie together.
And on Wednesday, I did something terrible.
When I got home from work, I was exhausted but also filled with an unbearable loneliness, which has happened a bunch of times in the past few years.
So, I told Vince I was craving Thai basil chicken.
I was not, in fact, craving anything.
Don’t get me wrong, Thai basil chicken definitely sounded good. It wasn’t a pregnancy craving, though.
However, I pretended it was, and Vince picked some up and drove to my condo, and we ate together at my kitchen table. This time, he wasn’t wearing a suit, just jeans and a sweater.
Today, he’s not dressed up fancy, either. He’s wearing a gray Henley, and he looks pretty hot in it, as I’m sure he knows. I’m not going to tell him and inflate his ego even more.
But though I appreciate his good looks, I can’t say I’m turned on. I’m feeling a touch nauseous, and to be honest, I’m envious of the kids sitting across from us.
They’re married, and they’re having a baby together. How did they manage to get everything in order at such a young age? My generation is getting married and buying houses and having kids at lower rates, aren’t we? We’re alternately blamed for spending too much money and killing industries because we’re not spending enough.
I live by myself, and I own property in an expensive city, and I feel like I’m doing well.
But these kids have something I don’t.
Her ring is small, but who cares? I wouldn’t want a big rock. Her husband whispers something in her ear, then puts his hand on her slightly-curved belly.
I imagine them living in a one-bedroom basement apartment and waking up with smiles on their faces each morning.
And here I am, single with a “geriatric” pregnancy. My body would probably handle pregnancy a little better if I was twenty-five. Maybe I wouldn’t be so tired.
I take a deep breath. This isn’t what I thought I’d have, but it’s okay. It’s not the life my mother imagined for me, either, but she’s supportive.
“How are you doing?” Vince whispers, looking up from the book on pregnancy he’s reading. It’s a different one from last time. I haven’t asked how many he’s read.
