CHAPTER NINE

“So what is going on?” my father asked. “Why are you so distracted? I’ve never seen you have this lack of focus.”

That was almost a compliment coming from the stingy Professor Kadisch. He was actually giving me credit for generally having focus. I had gone to his office to talk to him. To disappoint him, truthfully. “I’m not pursuing the PhD.”

“What? Why the hell not?” He pushed his glasses up. I really thought my nearsightedness and my penchant for science were the only traits I had inherited from him, though I suppose the intelligence factor was nothing to bitch about. Otherwise, though, he was impatient, tactless, and selfish and I sincerely tried to be none of those. He was shorter than me, with a more prominent nose, and sometimes the way he looked at his attractive undergrad students was just a shade too appreciative and made me uncomfortable. I seriously thought he was a man who spent way too much time in his own head, the lab, or on his computer.

There was a lesson there.

“Because it’s time to get a job. I have responsibilities and I need a legitimate income.”

He scoffed at me from behind his desk. His office was neat, stark. There were no family photos or anything like that. Those things didn’t interest him. “What responsibilities? Alcohol and strip clubs?”

Which proved yet again he had no basic understanding of me. “Dad, I drink occasionally and I have never been in a strip club and I have no desire to.”

“So then what? You buying a car? Renting a bigger apartment?”

“It turns out I’m going to be a father in a few months. I need to help support him or her.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Are you shitting me? Well, hell. Can’t she get an abortion?”

I wondered if he had asked my mother that. Most likely, yes. More than once. “She wants to keep it.”

He sighed. “So what does that have to do with you, really? If you’re in school, the court can’t mandate you pay her more than a fair wage out of what you’re earning from your part-time job, and I doubt they can touch your research grant once you acquire it. You’ll just have to tighten your belt a little.”

“That’s not exactly fair to her. I’d be giving her like two hundred bucks a month, if that.”

“So? It’s not fair that you don’t have a choice in what she does with it.”

I had known this conversation was going to be hard, but slowly anger was starting to simmer. I had a whole new appreciation for my mother as I pictured her as a scared nineteen-year-old having virtually this same conversation with my father and him being a callous dickhead then just like he was now. My mom deserved a huge thank-you and maybe some flowers because not only had she forged ahead and raised me on her own, she had done a damn good job. I was proud to be her son and proud that when Kylie had confronted me with the same scenario, my reaction had been different.

“Dad, I was there when she got pregnant. It’s my responsibility. I can’t stiff her the way you stiffed Mom, sorry.”

Now his shoulders went up. “Hey. I did my duty. I paid your mother every month.”

“You gave her a lousy fifty bucks a paycheck until I was five years old! And you never bothered to see me, not once, until I was seventeen.” I had thought I was over all this shit, but suddenly it felt I was choking on my resentment.

“That’s when you got interesting.”

I stood up, throat tight. “You know, my mother discouraged me from coming to college here, even though it was free, and sending me somewhere else would have meant she would have to take loans to pay for it. But I couldn’t figure out why I shouldn’t take advantage of the free education because of your tenure position and the scholarship and why I shouldn’t try to get to know you. She told me that sometimes it was better to just leave things alone and that maybe I wasn’t meant to have a relationship with you because of how busy you are. I have no idea now how she managed to keep her mouth shut and not call you an asshole to my face like she had every right to.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He genuinely looked confused. “Where is all this coming from? My God, it’s like you’re twelve all over again and sending me that nasty letter accusing me of ruining your mother’s life. That was a piece of melodrama that didn’t need to happen.”

I didn’t want to talk about that letter. I had written it, angry and indignant, pouring out my preteen bitterness and anguish on the paper. He hadn’t responded to it and right then and there I had decided he would have no emotional impact on me anymore. I had thought I could maintain that creed and spare my mother the expense of college and grad school by accepting his offer of an education.

Now I wasn’t sure it was worth it. “Dad, you’re a dick. You just are.”

“If you say so.” He didn’t sound particularly worried about it. “Who is the girl, by the way?”

I debated telling him or not and decided it didn’t matter if he knew the truth. He wouldn’t cut Kylie slack if he knew the truth. “Kylie Warner.”

Understanding dawned on him. “Ah. I see. Not very bright. But she is hot, I’ll give you that.”

Fuck. “Seriously, don’t say stuff like that. It’s inappropriate. And it really, really pisses me off.”

Then I left, hands shaking, the urge to hit him more powerful than I would have thought possible. I didn’t have anger issues. I had a pragmatic attitude and a sense of logic about the world. But right then I had an anger issue. I slammed his door shut behind me but that wasn’t nearly satisfying enough.

Down the hall and outside I went, fists balled up, welcoming the howling cold winter wind as it hit me in the face. I couldn’t believe my father was such a prick. How did someone get like that? He had pretty much laid out straight to my face that he’d never wanted me, and he considered me a financial annoyance until he had seen potential in me. All of which I knew. But did he have to say it out loud? Couldn’t we just pretend that he wasn’t a selfish bastard?

No such luck.

Debating where to go since I didn’t feel like heading home and dealing with Devon’s opinions on Kylie, which were unfortunately similar to my father’s, I paused on the street corner. I realized I never actually got my iPad from Kylie. I’d been so distracted, first by kissing her and then by her douche bag ex showing up, that I had forgotten all about it.

Maybe I should go over there and grab it. The walk would do me good. There was no point in driving two blocks and I needed to cool off. Plus I really wanted to see her, settle my nerves. All she had to do was smile and I felt better. Which I really needed. It suddenly felt like everyone I’d surrounded myself with was self-absorbed. Except my mother, that is. Surely I had friends who were compassionate and generous people. But the truth was, most of my friends were acquaintances. Probably in Cincinnati, aside from Devon, my closest friend was Miranda, who happened to be a chem major as well, along with being a lesbian. Unlike Devon, she never stuck her foot in her mouth, though she could be brutally honest. Then my best friend from high school, who was a legit decent guy, was at Carnegie Mellon studying molecular biology. I decided at the very least I was going to call him when I got back to my apartment.

I concentrated on releasing my anger, one breath at a time, feet eating up the sidewalk. I didn’t want to show up at Kylie’s pissed off, so I pictured the way she had looked on the couch, eyes closed, ribs more prominent from her recent weight loss, her breasts bursting out of her bra cups. That was a much better thought. I’d meant what I said—I hadn’t intended to have sex with her. I didn’t imagine me rocking my cock into her was going to feel all that amazing when she was constantly dizzy and nauseous. For her, anyway. I’m sure for me it would feel fantastic if I were a selfish asshole. But I reserved that role for Professor Kadisch. But I had enjoyed making her come, her body relaxed, her soft moans satisfying. She had earned the right to oral sex after what she’d been through with the morning sickness.

It still blew my mind that some guy would be interested in having sex with another chick while he was having sex with Kylie. It was totally illogical. Beyond stupid. She had the most amazing body I’d ever seen, plus she was big-time responsive. I barely touched her and she was all low moans and wet thighs. It was fucking hot. But maybe there was just something between us . . . that intriguing chemistry that most people find so unexplainable, yet is so clearly rooted in science.

Whatever it was, it was making me warm despite the winter weather.

I texted her while I walked to make sure she was still awake and that it was okay if I stopped by. She said it was fine, and since she answered right away, I decided I could trust she was telling the truth. If she didn’t want to see me, she’d make up an excuse, probably one that was transparent. Kylie wasn’t complicated and I liked that. She wasn’t manipulative or devious. She wasn’t even moody, despite what she was going through.

“Hey,” I said when she opened the door. “I can’t believe I forgot the iPad.”

She smiled. “Come on up. We were interrupted, so I’m not that surprised.”

I was. I didn’t forget things. My mind was like a data spreadsheet. It seemed when I was distracted by emotion my brain forgot to hit the SAVE button. “Yeah, that was unfortunate. At least he didn’t come five minutes sooner.” Or she wouldn’t have been coming.

She gave me a look over her shoulder that had my dick swelling again. “I’m not sure we were totally finished.”

I wanted to slide my hands over her ass, but I restrained myself. I was still feeling residual anger and I didn’t want to be rough with her. I had a feeling if I let go, I’d be in the push-her-against-the-wall kind of mood and you just couldn’t do that with a girl who was fresh out of the hospital. “You finished. That’s all that matters.”

Once we got in the living room, she sat down and patted the couch next to her with a smile. “You okay? You look agitated.”

She said “agitated” in a funny, goofball voice. I couldn’t help but attempt a smile.

“I was just in my dad’s office, and it occurred to me what a complete and total dick he is.”

Her eyes widened. “Well, I’ve always thought he was a dick, but I just figured that’s because he was flunking me.”

“No, he’s a dick.” I kicked my boots off and put my feet on the coffee table, sinking back against the couch cushions. I felt more at ease already, just being near her. “You know, my mom got pregnant with me when she was your age by a certain chemistry grad student by the name of Ben Kadisch.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. History is repeating itself.” I gave a little laugh. “If only I believed in predestination. However, I can appreciate irony and this is certainly ironic. But the difference is, my father never saw me. He begrudgingly gave my mother a hundred dollars a month, and the first time I met him was when I was seventeen and he deemed me intelligent enough to bother with.”

“Shit balls,” she said. “That’s harsh.”

“Yeah. He’s a dick.” I shrugged. “I thought I was past all that, but I don’t know, talking to him tonight, with everything going down . . . I just got so fucking angry.”

“You have every right to be angry. None of that was fair to you.”

“Or to my mom.”

“No. It wasn’t. I’m sorry.” Her hand reached out and squeezed my thigh. “But Jonathon, you’re nothing like him.”

She had dug down deep to the root of my fear. I was afraid that I was like him, despite what I said. I was afraid that ultimately I would prove to be selfish and I would wind up alone, a workaholic, eyeballing girls young enough to be my daughter. The very thought made my gut clench and my teeth set on edge. “I hope not.”

“You’re not.”

The conviction with which she spoke made me want to do anything to live up to the belief she had in me. I could tell she trusted me, and I wanted to be worthy of that trust. “I feel guilty not liking him. He did pay for some of my education.”

“So? That was the least he could do. You don’t owe him anything, by the way. He lost that privilege when he turned his back on your mom. So he gave you money. That’s easy. Any man can be a father, not every man can be a dad.”

And that would be my heart crawling up my throat and cutting off my air passage. Damn. She was really something fucking special. I didn’t share my feelings with women. I didn’t share my feelings with anyone. That I had was amazing enough. That I had and she knew exactly what to say to me was more than amazing. It was perfection.

“Thanks, Kylie. I’m going to try to be a dad, I really am.”

“You’ll be awesome sauce,” she said with total confidence.

I laughed. “I never imagined myself as awesome sauce. How does one measure that, precisely?”

“There’s no formula for that, Darwin. Get over it.”

I noticed she only called me Darwin when she was teasing or once when she’d been annoyed. I liked that she called me Jonathon. It was like she wanted to connect with me, the man, not the scientist.

“So how are you doing?” I asked. “I know it must be tough to have your ex popping up like that.” Her ex who was a total tool as far as I could tell. It wasn’t that he was built like a juiced-up athlete. I didn’t care about that. It was the way he looked at Kylie, like he was frustrated that she didn’t just fall in line with what he wanted. He seemed entitled and I didn’t respond well to that.

She sighed. “Can I cuddle with you? I’m sleepy.”

That. There it was. The whole reason I was so drawn to her. She was just so sweet and genuine. “Of course you can. Come here.” I turned on the couch so my back was against the armrest and I drew her between my legs. She rested her head on my chest, her arms wrapped around my waist.

“Ah. That feels good. Sometimes it’s like my head is too heavy for my body.” She nuzzled her nose against my shirt. “I have an itch.”

I snaked my hand up and scratched her nose.

“Thanks.”

Maybe she didn’t want to talk about Nathan. I didn’t really want to talk about him either. I just wanted to relax. “What do you think of the name Charlie?”

“Girl or boy?”

“Either.”

“I kind of like it. Hmm.” Her fingernail played with a button on my shirt. “Are you sad you got dumped by that girl? Is it because of me, and the baby?”

“No, I’m not sad,” I told her honestly. “We only went out a few times and I was only interested in her because, well, it seemed logical for me to date her. But what I think I’m learning is that sometimes logical is so safe it becomes dangerous.”

It forced you into predetermined positions, whether they were right for you or not. “I’m sorry I was a jerk about it when you first told me you were pregnant.”

“It’s okay.” Her hand traveled up to my chin and she ran her soft fingers over my beard. “Your beard is even more scratchy than it was two hours ago.”

“It’s a fact that a man’s beard grows faster when he is anticipating sex.”

She looked up at me suspiciously. “Are you making that up?”

“No. I’m totally serious. It’s true.”

“Did you come here anticipating sex?” The saucy smile she gave me indicated she would not be at all offended by that.

“Not specifically. I mean, I’m always hopeful, though. Basically, I’ve been in a heightened state of sexual arousal since the very first minute I laid eyes on you.”

She laughed. “Yay.”

“No. Not yay. Bad. Very bad. I shouldn’t want to strip you naked when you are fighting the urge to vomit.”

“I don’t mind.”

She was killing me. “So . . . are you saying you want to have sex right now? Or just generally speaking, as the occasion arises, literally and figuratively, you are willing to consider the possibility?”

“Oh, you’re so silly sometimes.”

“I’m silly?” Now that was an adjective never once used to describe me. “How am I silly?”

“You think too much.”

Maybe I did. “I’ll think about that.”

“Haha,” she murmured.

Her body felt warm, her breasts pressing against me. She had slung her ankle over my calf and I slid my hand down over her ass, deciding that I was just going to go for it. She’d tell me to stop if she wasn’t into it.

Except I realized that she had fallen asleep.

Fucking-ay.

So much for sex.

And so much for me going home. I couldn’t disturb her. Not after the last few weeks. So I just shifted down until I was flat on my back and she was splayed out on top of me, her breathing settling down into a tiny, steady snore, her hand spread across my chest. Stretching my arm, I pulled a blanket over her and sighed. There was a light on in the corner, but it wasn’t pointing in our eyes and it wasn’t all that bright.

So this wasn’t comfortable. Not even close. But I figured it was a lot easier than growing a placenta and hosting a fetus, so I could suck it up and deal.

Besides, she smelled good and I liked holding her. It made me feel important. To her.

*   *   *

I woke up with a start when Jonathon murmured to me. “Morning, Kylie.”

“Oh, shit.” I rubbed my mouth and tried to unglue my eyelids. “It’s morning? OMG, I’m sorry. You didn’t have to stay here all night.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Sitting up, I stretched and shifted so he could maneuver himself out from under me. “Did you sleep with your glasses on?” I asked him as he rubbed the bridge of his nose under the frames.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t be the first time. Nor the last, I imagine.” He sat on the couch, legs apart, forearms resting on his thighs for a minute, like he was trying to wake up. “Eight a.m. classes suck.”

“I haven’t had one since freshman year. They’re on my shit list. Like nail polish that chips after a few hours.”

Jonathon laughed softly. “That made your shit list?”

“It’s really annoying,” I told him. “You put all this effort into your mani and then bam, it’s fucked. I hate that.”

“We have first-world problems, don’t we?”

“Totally.” I yawned. “Like where to get coffee.”

“I don’t think pregnant women are supposed to drink caffeine.”

“Oh.” It was too early in the morning to be reminded that I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. “How do you know that?”

“I did a little research. It helped me cope.”

Then I blurted something out that I didn’t mean to, but was a huge fear rattling around in the back of my brain. “What if our baby isn’t smart? What if she’s a dumb blonde, like me? Will you be super disappointed?”

He looked shocked. “Kylie, you’re not dumb. Don’t say things like that.”

“Let’s face it, I’m not smart. I know that. People have been pointing it out to me my whole life. What if my DNA overpowers yours?”

“A quality of a human being isn’t measured solely in his IQ. What I want most of all is a baby that is healthy, who grows up to be happy and kind and productive.”

He looked sincere. He sounded sincere. He probably was sincere. But how would he feel when our kid was struggling with addition in first grade? Probably not thrilled, no matter what he said. But I couldn’t exactly argue with him. So I just nodded and bit my lip.

Jonathon took my hand and squeezed it. “And you call me silly. Now you’re the one being a goof.” He kissed my forehead and stood up. “I’ll talk to you later. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Then he took his iPad and left, still looking a little groggy, his movements slow, his shoulders hunched.

Lifting my phone off the table, I called my mother, feeling pensive. “Hi, Mommy.”

“Hi, sweetie! How are you feeling?”

“Less like total crap. Now just slightly like crap.”

“That’s progress. Have you made your first appointment with the doctor?”

“No.” I had been too busy trying not to throw up. “Is there a list for our insurance I have to pick from?”

“Yes. I’ll e-mail all of that to you. But you know, if you go down to part-time this semester or next semester, you’ll be dropped from our insurance.”

“Fabulous. No pressure or anything.” It was too early in the morning for this much reality. I was suddenly doubting my ability to handle any of this—a baby, bills, an apartment, Jonathon. Ugh.

“Don’t stress about it. It’s just something to be aware of.”

Sure. Don’t stress. I was already super behind for this semester and I was due basically when classes were starting again in August. That ought to be entertaining. “Isn’t there any other way to get insurance? Because my due date is August 23. How am I supposed to give birth and go to class?”

“Not unless you use government assistance.”

Those were my options? Give birth in class at McMicken Hall or go on welfare? Excellent. “I can’t think about this. It’s making me want to puke.”

She changed the subject and talked about my brothers and my sister and something about my dad almost electrocuting himself trying to fix the dryer.

“When you’re feeling better I’ll come down and pick you up and bring you home for a weekend. Or maybe you can get a ride with someone.”

Was she hinting that the someone should be Jonathon? I had no idea. My mother’s hints were always so vague I never knew what she was talking about.

All I knew was over the next week she kept calling me and texting me about absolutely nothing and Jonathon kept texting me both questions and informational links about pregnancy and childbirth. I knew that he was trying to be helpful. He was trying not to repeat his own father’s dickheadedness and I understood and appreciated that. I felt grateful that he was trying so hard. But at the same time I didn’t feel like discussing my cervix with him. Or my increased blood volume, which he seemed to find endlessly fascinating.

I just wanted to be Kylie to him for a change. I just wanted to be someone he looked at and wanted—both sexually and as a friend. Not the Future Mother of His Child. Was that so much to ask for?

Apparently, because I didn’t see him at all. He studiously checked in on me with texts and e-mails, but he didn’t ask to see me.

Blech.

I was back to attending classes for the most part, though I was still behind. Most of my professors were understanding, but Professor Kadisch gestured to me to come to his desk after class. Great. I dragged my feet, self-conscious wearing a fuzzy pink scarf and my hair pulled up in a ponytail, no makeup. The energy to primp had only semi-returned and while I was wearing boyfriend jeans, the first pants I’d worn not made of stretchy fabric in a month, I still felt dumpy and pale.

“Yes?” I asked, giving him a weak smile. Now that I knew their connection, I could see Jonathon in his features, or I guess technically Professor Kadisch in Jonathon’s features. They shared the same forehead and strong cheekbones. I had no idea what he was going to say to me. Somehow I doubted he was going to be angling for a World’s Greatest Grandpa T-shirt.

“So I heard about your situation and I think you should drop this course.”

Yep. No warm fuzzies there. “My situation?” I repeated because I wasn’t sure what exactly I was supposed to say to that.

“Yes, that you’re pregnant. Jonathon told me. Regardless of my personal opinion on the matter, as your professor I think it’s only fair to recommend you drop. You barely passed chem first semester and you’re too far behind already to successfully complete the course.”

Except that I was only at twelve credits this semester anyway because I’d been shut out of an anthropology course I needed. If I dropped chemistry, I would be part-time and I would lose my parent’s insurance. He didn’t need to know that, though. Determined to be polite and not cause trouble for Jonathon, I said, “Thank you. I’ll take that into consideration.” Then because I was nosy, I couldn’t help but ask, “What is your personal opinion on me having this baby?”

He pushed his glasses up on his nose. Funny how when Jonathon did that it was cute, endearing. When Professor Kadisch did it, it seemed angry. “I think it’s selfish,” he said shortly. “You’re ruining Jonathon’s life so you can play house.”

Tears were in my eyes before I could stop them. I had known he wasn’t exactly going to offer his hearty congratulations, but I hadn’t expected him to accuse me of destroying Jonathon’s life so I could play real-life baby dolls. “Jonathon seems okay with it so maybe you should be.”

“Jonathon is humoring you because he feels guilty.”

Wow.

“Well, then he’s already a step ahead of you,” I said. “Because at least he feels responsible for his behavior.”

Then because I was crying and it made me angry that I was crying in front of him, I left, hitting a chair with my hip on my way to the door.

*   *   *

The next day was my birthday. It was a Thursday and I went to class, trudging through the slushy snow remnants, feeling distracted and a little sad. Usually I loved my birthday. I had always been that way, as long as I could remember. I barely slept the night before. I pranced around telling everyone that it was My Day and that they had to treat me like a princess. I either had a party or went out, depending on my age at the time, and I rapturously opened all my presents, taking my time, saving ribbons and bows and pretty wrapping paper to recycle into craft projects.

This year, my mother had sent me a pretty card with a Visa debit card in it, suggesting I use it for maternity clothes. Because there was the gift everyone wants to get for themselves—elastic-waist pants. There would be no going out clubbing. No party. Funny how I had waited my whole life for my twenty-first birthday and here it was, just a gloomy Thursday, a winter day like any other. My phone rang as I passed the University Center, debating whether I could stomach lunch or not. I glanced at the screen and saw it was Robin calling me.

“Hi,” I said, suddenly grateful that she had called. It made me feel like things hadn’t changed as dramatically as they had.

“Happy Birthday!”

“Thanks. Listen, Robin, I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you before you and Phoenix left but I had just found out I was pregnant and I wasn’t feeling good . . . I wasn’t trying to be a jerk.” I ducked into the UC and decided all I wanted was a whipped cream–laden latte. Then I remembered what Jonathon had said about caffeine. Did they make decaf lattes? Did such a thing exist?

“It’s okay, I understand. I’m sure you were completely in shock.”

“That’s definitely true.”

“How are you doing now?”

“I’m okay. It’s going to be fine.” Then because that sounded so not enthusiastic, I asked, “How is New Orleans? Are you like all into voodoo and crawfish now?”

She laughed. “Not exactly. But I like it here. It’s like sixty-five degrees, by the way, and people call me ‘precious’ all the time. Classes are awesome and Phoenix likes the tattoo shop he’s working at. We live uptown, on the parade route, so we’ll be having our first Mardi Gras in just a couple of weeks. I can’t wait.”

Robin sounded great. Eager, excited, happy. “That’s awesome. How is Bourbon Street?”

“Not really the most exciting place for two people who don’t drink. But we like to go to Frenchmen Street, where there is live jazz. It’s less about the Huge-Ass Beers there.”

“That’s cool. No Huge-Ass Beer for me tonight either. It’s not exactly how I imagined my twenty-first birthday.” I sat down on a bench and felt sorry for myself. Not that I had any right to be pouting, really, but it seemed like the only party I was going to get was a pity party, so I might as well excel at it.

“Ah, I’m sorry, Ky-Ky,” she said, genuine regret in her voice. “I know you always wanted a big blowout.”

“It’s okay.” But I sighed anyway. “It wouldn’t be so bad except I look like butt. My skin is dull, my hair is dull. I haven’t shaved my legs or anything else in weeks and my nails looks like rats have been chewing on them while I sleep. I feel hideous.”

“Go get your nails done, then. It’s your birthday, you should be able to get a manicure.”

There was that Visa card in my purse. How irresponsible was that? Screw the maternity jeans, I would just wear yoga pants until I split the seams. I needed pampering. I could hear the song in my head. “It’s your birthday, it’s your birthday.”

“That is a great point. I think I will do that. Thanks, Robin.”

She laughed. “My birthday gift to you—financial justification.”

We talked for another ten minutes and it was an easy conversation. I didn’t even think about RAN at all during that time. It seemed to matter less and less. I was never going to forget, and I likely would always hold a tiny bit of resentment, but maybe in the end, Robin’s drunken fuckup had been the best thing that could have ever happened to me. It got me away from Nathan.

There was a salon on campus and I walked in and snagged a nail appointment. I let the tech massage my hands while I bitched about morning sickness. I felt all suburban housewife and it totally made me feel better. This wasn’t as far off of my vision for my life as I had originally feared.

Jessica and Rory met me afterward in the UC and Jess had a fancy cupcake for me, with a candle in it. She flicked a lighter over it.

“You can’t light that in here,” Rory protested.

“By the time someone notices, it will be out.”

I closed my eyes and made a wish. Then I blew it out before Rory’s fear of campus cops descending on us with billy clubs came true.

“What did you wish for?” Jessica asked. “I know you, you totally made a wish. You’ve been doing that since you were thirteen.”

I had. Actually, I’d been doing it since I was four. But Jessica met me in middle school. When I was thirteen I wished for my pimply complexion to clear up. At sixteen I had wished to pass my driver’s test on the first try. One year I’d been convinced my parents were getting a divorce and I had wished for them to stay together. But never had I made a wish about a boy, because birthday wishes were about me.

Technically, I still didn’t make a wish about a boy, but instead of focusing on me, I focused on the baby. Though alongside a wish for a healthy baby I crammed a wish for something else I wasn’t even sure I could admit to myself.

“I’m not telling you! It won’t come true then. You don’t want to curse my unborn child, do you?”

“Did you wish for a girl?” Rory asked.

“No. For her to be healthy. I already know she’s a girl.”

“How can you know that?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just do.” It wasn’t because I wanted a girl more than a boy. I hadn’t really had any gender preference going into this. It just felt . . . feminine.

“Oh, what, now you’re like all wise because you’re a mother?” Jessica teased.

“Totally. Don’t I look wise?” I made a hair mustache.

Then I unwrapped my cupcake as we all laughed. “What flavor is this?”

“Red velvet. Your favorite.”

“Yay.” I sniffed it cautiously to make sure my stomach wasn’t going to protest. The cocoa in it was very prominent and I could smell the butter in the frosting.

“What are you doing? You look like a drug dog.”

“My sense of smell is super sensitive. I’m just making sure it’s not going to smell bad to me or get my gag reflex going. The weirdest things make me feel sick. Like tacos. I usually love tacos. But I walked past that Mexican restaurant and I almost threw up in the parking lot bushes.”

“That is unfortunate, and why I do not think I’m cut out for motherhood.” Jessica made a face. “That’s just one of them, actually. Riley and I are like total bumblefucks trying to raise Easton. I mean, he’s eleven, he’s half formed anyway, but still. Rory, you and Tyler are way better at it.”

“That’s Tyler, not me,” Rory protested. “I grew up an only child, remember? I don’t know anything about kids. I just hug him and bake him cookies and that seems to suffice.”

I was pretty sure that counted for a lot to an eleven-year-old.

“So Professor Kadisch told me I was selfish to ruin Jonathon’s life like this.”

Both their jaws dropped. Jessica looked outraged. “I hope you told him to go fuck himself! If Jonathon didn’t want his quote life ruined, then he should have doubled up on the birth control. God, he seems way less of an asshole than his father. How did that happen?”

“His mother raised him.”

“Well, buy that woman a beer because she deserves it.”

I bit the bottom of my cupcake and, holy shit, it tasted good. It tasted like pure moist sugary magic. It was the first thing in three weeks that didn’t taste like cardboard. “Oh my God, I think I just came. This is so good.”

“Do you need to be alone with your cupcake?”

“Maybe. I think I need to rowboat out onto the river Seine in Paris and make out with my cupcake. God. This is like heaven in my mouth.”

“So it’s good?” Rory asked in amusement.

I tried to explain. “You don’t understand. For a month every single thing I put in my mouth made me gag and tasted like someone dumped something metallic into it. This is the first thing that tastes like food and it’s awesome. I want to make love to this cupcake.”

“At least you’re being romantic about your cupcake. Moonlight rowboating, Paris, making love. Your cupcake is more than just a piece of ass to you.” Rory grinned at me.

“Speaking of a piece of ass, Jonathon is texting you.” Jessica gestured to my phone sitting on the table.

“Hey!” I said, offended. “He’s not a piece of ass.”

“No?” Jessica looked pleased that she had gotten me to admit that so easily.

“No.” I stuck my tongue out at her before checking to see what he’d written. “Pieces of ass aren’t so concerned with my iron count.”

“He asked about your iron count?”

“Yes. He’s afraid I’m anemic.” Jonathon had just asked me how I was.

I wrote back, “It’s my birthday today.” Because, well, why not? It was my birthday.

Really? Happy Birthday! How old?

21.

Ah, I’m sorry. Do you have any plans?

Just a hot date with a half-eaten cupcake.

Do you want some company?

Hell to the yeah.

If you’re not busy. I’m back living at my place.

I’m never too busy for you.

If I weren’t already pregnant, I would have dropped an egg at the swoon-worthy quality of that statement.

K. Thx.

Rory and Jessica were both looking at me with knowing eyes. “Stop,” I groaned.

“Tyler said he heard you guys messing around,” Rory said.

“Tyler needs to mind his own business.”

“He wasn’t trying to listen, but apparently it was kind of obvious.”

“So? Jonathon was just trying to make me feel better.”

Jessica laughed. “How convenient for him. Let me make you feel better via penetration. And he didn’t even have to use a condom. It’s like he hit the sexual jackpot.”

“For your information, we didn’t have sex. He just got me off,” I said, with as much dignity as anyone can have issuing that statement. “And I don’t think it can be considered the sexual jackpot considering one, how shitty I look right now, and two, he will be paying for this for the next eighteen years.” Hearing that number out loud made me feel green. I shoved the cupcake away from me. That was a long time to be involved with someone. Freak-out time.

“Hey, sorry, I wasn’t being judgmental.” Jessica looked like she felt guilty. “Sometimes you really should just smack me. My mouth gets carried away.”

“It’s okay. I just, I don’t know. It’s just weird to be sort of involved but not really with Jonathon. I never know what I’m supposed to do, or what I’m allowed to say. But you know what? Fuck it. It’s my birthday. I’m going to say whatever I want.”

“What do you want to say?”

What did I want to say? For me, who was never at a loss for words, I had no idea. There were too many thoughts, too many emotions. I was never good at editing my own words so now, when talking about him, it just seemed safer to not say anything at all. So I went for the generic laugh they were expecting. “That I want me some booty.”

We all laughed. Hey, that wasn’t a lie. I did want Jonathon.

But in what way?