Page 91 of Pregnant By the Playboy
But we’re here. Together. Like that very first weekend.
* * *
We shower, and when I’m dressed in a robe that goes down to my ankles, he opens the door to a room I’ve never been in before.
There’s a bassinet, a crib, a bouncer, a change table, a stroller, and a little dresser.
“Every item has been carefully researched and is extremely safe, don’t worry,” he says.
But I’m not worried, because of course Vince would do his research.
He took me to a great hand-pulled noodle restaurant, offered to fulfill my sexual fantasies, put together a crib...
And bought books called Baby Loves Structural Engineering! and Baby Loves Coding! He hands them to me now, followed by a book called Rocket Science for Babies.
I laugh. “Our child doesn’t need to be a rocket scientist.”
“Of course not. We’ll love them no matter what. But these are cute, aren’t they?”
How do I not love him? How can I not say it?
He’s fallen for me quickly, even though he’s inexperienced in the realm of love, and today, he’s been perfect in so many ways, yet I can’t do it.
Although he’s not pushing me, I still feel the pressure.
He’s said it multiple times, and the baby is coming. The timing of that can’t be changed.
* * *
When I wake up at three in the morning, I can tell Vince isn’t asleep, either. He’s lying on his back—he usually sleeps on his side—with his hands behind his head.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask.
“Oh.” He sounds surprised that I’m awake. “You can’t tell Carrie.”
“Okay.”
“Brian is in love with me, and he hasn’t taken it well that you and I are...you know.”
“Brian is in love with you,” I repeat. “How long have you known?”
“Thirty-four hours?”
“Does it bother you?”
“Of course. I hate that my closest friend is in love with someone who can’t love him back. And I’m not sure if he wants to stay friends. Anyway...” Vince sighs. “Obviously this is harder for him than it is for me.”
He holds me close, and we’re quiet for a while. I have no sense of time. It could be five minutes, it could be an hour.
Soon, I’ll have a baby to feed in the night. When I return to bed, will it be with Vince?
“What are you thinking about?” he murmurs.
“My dad,” I answer automatically, even though it’s not true.
But I have thought about my dad a lot recently.
I used to talk to him in my mind when I was falling asleep, tell him everything that was happening in my life. Imagine what he’d say in response.
