Page 123 of Baby for the Bosshole
“And then what? Take away her cell phone and keep her in a cage? If she doesn’t want to stay, she won’t. She’s too smart and resourceful to remain in a situation she hates.” And I want her to choose to stay with me, not be forced into it because of money or the baby or anything else. I’ve always wanted her to choose me.
Perhaps that’s the reason I’m so bitter right now. She chose somebody else over me, when I’d choose her over anyone. It burns my gut to know she doesn’t feel even half of what I feel for her. If she did, she wouldn’t have left.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Emmett
“You work entirely too much,” Mom says when I join her for lunch on Tuesday at her favorite French bistro. A soothing melody from “Claire de lune” floats in the air, all elegant and ethereal. Just the kind of relaxed scene she likes.
“I do not,” I say, then kiss her cheek before taking my seat. Mom looks great with the light tan she’s recently acquired. Her cream-colored dress accentuates the golden undertones.
“It is a sign you’re overworking when you can’t find the time to have dinner with your mother before she takes off for Japan.”
She’s doing another trip to Japan, mainly because she misses Kyoto. She says it’s too charming a city to not visit regularly. None of the bustle and slickness of Tokyo. Just calm tranquility with a long history and culture.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
The waiter arrives, and I order a martini and the special. Mom decides to have lemon water and the fish of the day.
“Isn’t it a bit early for a martini? It is a workday,” she says.
“I deserve it.” What happened with Amy is still driving me crazy. My emotions are too jagged. Raw. I need something to soothe the pain, and a single martini at lunch isn’t going to kill me.
“At least your girlfriend isn’t here to watch you enjoy a drink. Pregnancy is when you need alcohol the most.”
I don’t want to talk about Amy or pregnancy, but despite myself, I’m curious. “How come?”
“Oh, hormones and stress. Your body’s going through so many changes, and all you’re feeling is anxiety and doubt.”
“I thought women were happy and excited when they’re pregnant.”
Yeah, but Amy is on her own right now. Probably not that happy.
I push the unwelcome thought away. It was her choice, not mine.
“That, too, but things are hard.” Mom sips her lemon water. “Babies represent a huge responsibility. Once they’re born, there’s no going back. You have to love them and nurture them for the rest of your life.”
No refunds. No do-overs. Once the baby’s out in the world, that’s it. Stuck. Except I didn’t feel stuck when Amy told me she was pregnant. Our baby feels like a blessing—like a winning lottery ticket.
I study Mom. She looks serene. But I wonder…
The waiter brings our lunch, interrupting our conversation. After he places our plates in front of us and disappears, I pick up my utensils.
“Did you ever regret being pregnant with me?” I ask.
Mom gives me a what-is-this-about look.
“You can tell me honestly,” I add. “I’m too old to get scarred at this point.”
She cuts her artichoke. “Of course not. Never. But I regret that you didn’t have a better father.”
“Eh. Who cares about that asshole?” I hate that she feels bad about the situation when Dad doesn’t. “I had you. You’ve always been the best mom anyone could ask for.”
“Well, thank you. But I couldn’t give you what a good father could. So I’m glad you and Amy are going to be involved together in raising your baby. I’m certain you’ll both make great parents.”
Guilt. “Actually, she and I had a fight. We aren’t, uh, together anymore.”
“What?” Mom puts down her fork and knife. “Emmett Alexander Lasker!”
