Page 56 of Pregnant By the Playboy
My dad is holding me. I’m in a fussy pink dress, grinning impishly at the camera, and my dad sports a similar grin.
He’s looking at me as though I’m the greatest thing that ever happened to him.
At least, that’s what I always imagined when I looked at this picture.
My mom told me real stories about him, but sometimes she’d invent fantastical stories in which he’d save the day. I’d listen with rapt attention, and I did my best to behave.
But one time when I was thirteen, I wanted to go to the mall with my friends, and my mom wouldn’t let me because I had chores and schoolwork.
“I bet Dad would have let me,” I shot back.
As soon as I said it, I knew I’d gone too far.
My normally-stoic mother burst into tears.
The absence of my father has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, but this pregnancy has made it more difficult than it’s been in years. The major life change...it makes me think of what might have been.
Pearl’s pregnancies were planned, unlike mine, and she put off having children for a while because she couldn’t imagine doing it without her mother, who’d died when Pearl was twenty-three. She couldn’t imagine not having her mother to turn to for help—and to provide unwanted advice. She couldn’t imagine being in the hospital with her new baby and not getting a visit from her mom, who’d coo over the baby and say they were beautiful no matter what.
And then you add shit like this on top of pregnancy hormones and complicated feelings for the father of your baby, who opened up to me in a way I suspect he rarely does.
When I met him, I saw only one thing.
But I’ve begun to trust him. Trust him with more than my pleasure, which I’m actually not trusting him with right now, in part because I’m afraid it would mean something, unlike that first weekend, and I’m not ready for that yet. It’s hard for me to have meaningless sex with a guy when I’m having his baby.
Though I did agree to the date.
Vince kisses me again, and I feel raw and vulnerable and safe all at the same time. I didn’t tell him everything going through my mind, but somehow, I feel like he knew.
* * *
When I wake up from my nap two hours later, Vince is gone. He’s left a small slice of chocolate cake—where did it come from? I thought we ate all the cake?—on a plate with fruit salad, next to a fork on the kitchen table. There’s also a “pregnant and cute” shirt, which makes me chuckle.
I send him a text.
Thank you.
Chapter 17
Vince
I set out to prove to Marissa that I’m more than a playboy. That was my goal. Then she’d hopefully fall in love with me and agree to marry me, and I would have the family life that I suddenly craved.
I would devote myself to being a good father and husband.
But whenever I do something for Marissa, it’s not because of my goal. I don’t think to myself, This will make her like me more!
I do things for her because it’s what I want to do.
I like seeing her drool while I cook sausages. I love the way she moans when she eats cheesecake. I love telling her stories about my family and childhood so she can gently laugh at me.
I enjoy these quiet moments.
It didn’t used to be this way. I used to need everything to be as loud and hedonistic as possible, as I tried to forget about my inner turmoil. Even when that life started to lose its appeal, I didn’t know what else to do with myself.
But then there was Evie. She’d wrap her tiny hand around my finger and give me a glimmer of a smile, and that filled me with joy.
And then there was Marissa and our unborn child.
