Page 80 of Pregnant By the Playboy
But not me.
When I was four, I told my mom I wanted a sister for Christmas, and I still remember the uncomfortable silence, the way her lip trembled. I gave her a hug because clearly I had upset her—not that I understood why—and it seemed like the right thing to do.
Now I know that having a big family doesn’t mean you’ll have good relationships with them, doesn’t mean they’re people you can count on.
But I like Vince’s family so far.
“You okay?” he whispers.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
He’s grabbing Pusheen back from Cedric when a middle-aged woman appears at the door to the room.
“Dinner is ready,” she says.
Okay, this family is a little different from the one I imagined as a kid.
They have a chef.
Chapter 22
Marissa
At dinner, Julian and Charles ask about my job, and I’m pleased to talk about something other than my pregnancy. I don’t say, I’m not planning to live on Vince’s money, but I emphasize that I expect to return to work after a year.
I understand his father’s protectiveness, I do. I can’t help wishing I had a father to feel protective about me. From what I know about my father, he wouldn’t have gone overboard, and that’s good. He wouldn’t have threatened a boy for daring to so much as look at me.
But I can’t be sure.
How can I miss my dad when I don’t remember him? When this is the life I’ve always known?
I didn’t have a bad childhood. I had a great mom. She wasn’t around as much as she wanted to be, but I always knew she loved me.
If Vince and I have a girl, what will he be like when she’s a teenager? Will he freak out if a boy touches her shoulder? Would he worry about boys treating her the way he’s treated girls?
But Vince was nice and respectful to me when I was a two-night stand.
God, I shouldn’t be thinking about this now. I should be enjoying my food, which really is quite delicious. Especially these noodles. Mmm.
For dessert, there’s a chestnut cake, which I haven’t had in ages, but my mom used to get one each year for my birthday. I’d forgotten how much I like it. It’s the kind of chestnut cake where the sweet, pureed chestnuts are in the shape of spaghetti. I think the correct term is Mont Blanc, but I always just called it “chestnut cake.”
I compliment the cake, even though nobody in Vince’s family made it, but I try not to gush. I don’t want to seem uncool and awed by the simplest of things.
But I imagine that my child will enjoy chestnut cake—because my child will have excellent taste, of course—and celebrate birthdays with this family. Maybe I will be there, too?
The idea of me being with Vince long-term is still hard to envision.
After dinner, Courtney says, “Come with me.”
I follow her, as does Vince.
“No, not you,” she says to him. “Don’t worry, we’re just going to talk about you, the way you and me talk about Julian.”
He laughs, but I can tell he’s a little alarmed.
However, he lets me go with a look that says, Come get me if you need anything. We’ve been spending so much time together that we can communicate without words.
I look back at him for a moment, and when I turn to Courtney, she’s chuckling.
