Lourdes

A date. This is an actual date. He asked me, and he’s picking me up to spend time with him and his friends eating dinner. That constitutes a real date in my book, even if it includes Toby. It’s sort of funny that today will go down in my journal as the day I officially found out I’m having Liam Wild’s baby and the day we went on our first date. That’s so backward, I’m not even sure you can call it backward. It’s more like we’re traveling back and forth in a wormhole, filling in the blanks of our lives as we hop back and forth in time.

I can’t believe I fell asleep again. It seems like everything I do has an end goal of sitting down and resting, which ends up in a nap. I get up and dress Toby, give him breakfast, and I want a nap. We play and read or visit Rachel, and I want a nap. I fix dinner, but I can’t sit down and watch TV with Toby without falling asleep.

Rachel is suspicious. I’m pretty sure she knows I’m pregnant. She flipped her shit when I finally told her I was accepting Liam’s offer. I did it at Mom and Dad’s house when they had us all over for dinner one Saturday night, thinking she would keep it together and not react so strongly in front of everybody, but whoa, was I wrong.

So now my parents know, Ivy and Blake know, and Mom’s whole damn neighborhood knows. Rachel went on and on about how unethical it is and how immoral Liam is and how he’s taking advantage of me.

I let her vent, because it very well might be unethical or immoral to fall for the man I’m surrogating for. If he didn’t have such a witch for a wife—and if he hadn’t been drugged into marrying her—I would feel guilty and wouldn’t have signed on the dotted line. Extenuating circumstances make a monumental difference in our story. I will never again judge anyone’s relationship without knowing all the facts.

Since I can’t call my sister to gab about my date, I call Kit. I miss him. I think I’ll be the unfashionable damsel in distress again so he will come over and visit.

“I need my personal wardrobe specialist.”

“Oh, you do, do you? Got a hot date with Chachi?” he asks.

“Why do you call him Chachi? He hates it, you know.”

“Lovey, that’s why I do it. A Chachi is a guy who dresses nice and thinks he’s better than everybody else.”

“He doesn’t dress any better than anyone else, and he’s not a snob,” I say, defending Liam.

“I know. That’s why it’s so funny. That boy is so casual and unassuming, I can’t believe he’s a superstar.” Kit’s voice is all dreamy and wistful when he says superstar, like he wishes he were famous too.

“So are you going to help me or what?” I ask.

“Of course. When and where, and for what kind of occasion are we dressing you?”

“Um, now, at my place, and a barbeque.”

“Be there in a few. Ciao, Bella.”

He hangs up before I can say goodbye. I look at Toby sleeping on the couch and yearn to curl up behind him again. Maybe I will, just until Kit gets here. It couldn’t hurt.

“Hey little mama, you’d better wake up and control your germ distributer over there. I’d do it but, well, look at me. I don’t do messy kids,” Kit says, nudging my shoulder.

I smell peanut butter. When I open my eyes, I’m staring at Kit, who is, as always, perfectly pressed and dressed to kill. He smiles sympathetically and looks toward my kitchen. I follow his gaze and see Toby sitting on top of the kitchen table, surrounded by pulverized gluten-free Saltine crackers, with organic peanut butter spread all over his hands and face. And that’s not all. He must have been busy for a while, because the refrigerator door is standing open and a menagerie of fruits and vegetables are covering the floor in front of it.

“Shit.”

“Shit, shit, shit,” Toby chants.

I’ve got to stop cursing in front of him.

“Toby, don’t say shit,” I say, jumping up. I sway, and the room dips and curves.

“Whoa there, Lovey, take it easy. The little squirt is fine. He’s just spreading germs from here to kingdom come, but whatever. It’s your house.” Kit grabs my elbow until the world comes back into focus.

Oh my God, there is peanut butter everywhere. There’s a slimy brown handprint where he stood holding onto the refrigerator door, a streak all along the cupboards under the counters, and the chair he used to crawl onto the table is gummed up all over the surface. How on earth does a two-year-old destroy a kitchen in such a short time?

“Wait, what time is it?” I say, still holding Kit’s arm for support.

“Girl, don’t get all worked up now, but it’s five o’clock. I had something come up that I had to do before I came over, but we still have time to make you barbeque worthy. Don’t worry. I’ll work some magic.”

“Five o’clock? Holy sh—” I stop short before I let the S-word slip again in front of Toby.

“Toby’s been unsupervised for, oh, I don’t even know how long. I fell asleep right after I talked to you, so potentially three hours. Oh, God. I’d better check the other rooms.”

I stop at the table where Toby sits munching on crackers, but when I go to pick him up, I don’t know where to place my hands. There’s glop everywhere. I look at Kit, who is cowering by the couch, far away from the mess.

“Watch him,” I say and hustle into the bathroom to start a bath before he can object.

“Hurry, Lovey. I’m not making any promises. If he falls, he falls.”

Kit talks a big talk, but I know he likes Toby. He likes him better when he’s clean and dressed like a little model, but I’m sure he wouldn’t let him take a nosedive off the table. I start the bath and peek into our bedrooms, crossing my fingers that the damage isn’t too terrible.

Toby’s room is messy, but no more so than when he usually plays with all of his toys at once. My room is a little worse. He found my makeup and drew a nice fat, red line with lipstick down the center of my night table and smeared mascara there as well. Both cleanable problems, no permanent damage. I can live with that. Kit is making little apprehensive noises, and I can tell he thinks Toby may be in danger. As confident as I am that he won’t let him fall, I know Kit is a diva, and he did come to help me, so I hurry back into the kitchen to make sure he stays pretty.

When I come around the corner, I can’t help but burst into laughter. Kit is hovering over Toby, who is laying tummy down with his feet dangling over the edge of the table. He could drop at any second, but he just hangs there kicking his legs, giggling as if he knows he’s torturing poor Kit.

Kit looks up at me wide-eyed and horrified. His hands are outstretched to catch Toby if need be.

“You’d better come catch the little monster before he falls, funny girl.”

“I’m sorry. You should see yourself right now. I wish I had a camera.” I laugh.

“Hush. Is it safe back there?” he says, hitching his thumb toward the bedroom and backing away from Toby. I move in and scoop up my little peanut butter ball.

“Yeah, just stay away from the night table. He was playing in my makeup.”

“Maybe there’s hope for him yet.” Kit winks and sidesteps to the bedroom to avoid any contact with us.

I listen to Kit grumble while I bathe Toby. It’s five thirty before he smells like a little boy instead of a jar of peanut butter, and now I’m a mess and Liam will be here soon. I don’t have time to clean up the kitchen or pick up Toby’s room. I need to shower.

“I’ll be right there. Just need a quick shower,” I call to Kit.

“Who’s responsible for mister peanut butter?” he asks.

“You,” I call out and close the bathroom door.

More grumbling. Great. He’ll never want to help me again.

I shower in record time and head into my bedroom wrapped in a towel, where Kit has my clothes spread out on the bed and a bar stool in the middle of the room. Toby’s on the bed with a library of books scattered around him, and the nightstand is clean.

“Sit.”

I sit.

“You cleaned my nightstand?”

“That’s just makeup, honey. I’m used to cleaning up makeup.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Now let’s make you barbequelicious.”

Kit works his magic, applying my makeup appropriately for a casual evening outside by the grill, and he styles my hair with a flat iron. When he’s done, he pulls me off the stool and holds me at arm’s length.

“There’s something different about you, Lovey. What is it?”

“I’m pregnant,” I say and duck under his arm to get to the bed and dress. It’s almost six. I’m sliding into the pretty jumper that I had forgotten all about in the back of my closet while I wait for Kit to turn around. I’m completely dressed before he does, and I’m not sure if he was waiting for me to be decent or if he was in shock.

I stand in front of my mirror and admire his handiwork. I don’t know why, but I always look so much better when Kit helps me. He sees me in the mirror and turns to face me.

“How the hell did you get yourself into such a calamity? Isn’t one peanut butter monster enough?” he asks, pointing at Toby sitting on the bed.

“It’s complicated.”

“Elaborate,” he says, sitting on the stool and crossing his legs and his arms over his chest.

“I don’t have time right now. He’s going to be here, and the kitchen is—”

Kit waves a dismissive hand toward the bedroom door and shakes his head back and forth.

“Explain.”

I sigh and slide my feet into the sandals he has lined up next to the bed. “I was going to be his surrogate, but Amira isn’t coming home from Nigeria for a while, so she wanted us to just do artificial insemination so we wouldn’t have to wait so long.”

“Artificial insemination . . .”

“Yes.”

“Not natural insemination, like the traditional way, where two people get naked and jump each other?”

“Artificial, as in turkey baster, only in a doctor’s office. He’s paying for me to go to college, and I’m having a baby for them.”

“Them. As in Amira and Liam?” he says, biting his knuckle and trying to hold back a laugh.

“Yes, them.”

“And you’ve met Amira?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re still going to do it?”

“He’s leaving her.”

“Finally. But wait, why the baby then? I’m so confused.”

My phone buzzes with a text. It’s probably Liam, telling me he’s almost here.

“That’s him. Can we talk about this later?” I ask, pressing my palms together.

“Um no, just make it quick. You can’t leave me hanging like this. It isn’t nice at all.”

“Ok, so Amira’s dad is going take her out of his will if she and Liam get divorced. She’s going to tell him that they’re doing everything possible to make it work, including having a baby. The baby doesn’t work, of course, but it makes it look like they tried. Her dad puts her back into his will, she gets her money, and Liam and I get each other and the baby. Abridged version, best case scenario, there ya go.”

He shakes his head and gasps like he’s been smacked, and I actually did, sort of. I shouldn’t have sprung it on him like that, but so far, telling people hasn’t been easy. I’m thinking the Band-Aid method might be best from here on out. Liam knocks at the door, and I smile and kiss Kit on the cheek.

“Saved by the bell,” I sing and leave him huffing to open the door. Toby slides off the bed to follow yelling, “Ye-um, Ye-um.”

When I swing open the door, I’ve never been so relieved and exhausted simultaneously. It’s been less than a day and I already miss him, and after Toby’s debacle, I need another nap.

“Wow,” he says, whistling long and slow. “Queen Bee’s ready to barbeque.”

He leans forward instinctively, as if to kiss me, but he catches himself and steps back.

“Thanks. I had help.”

Kit and Liam enter the living room from opposite sides, and Toby is reaching his arms up to Liam. Without hesitation, Liam lifts him into his arms and tousles his hair.

“Hey there, little man, how’s kicks?” he asks. Toby cocks his head to the side and repeats kicks several times. Liam smiles, and then Toby takes his face in his hands and moves it so Liam is seeing the mess he made in the kitchen.

“Mess,” Toby says, smiling with pride. Liam’s jaw drops.

“You did all that?”

Toby nods his head up and down, and Liam’s eyes swing to mine.

“I fell asleep . . . again,” I say. I feel like I’m confessing to some horrible sin when I just took an innocent nap. Something could have happened to him, though, and I see the worry written all over Liam’s face.

“You were sleeping when I called at two, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I curled up on the couch to wait for Kit, and I guess I dozed off again.” I drop my eyes to my feet, feeling like the worst mother ever. I’m about two seconds away from tearing up and ruining Kit’s masterpiece when Liam reaches out to rub my bare arm. Now I’m all tingly and warm inside with budding thoughts of other places I’d like to have him put his hands, and that makes me feel like an even worse mother.

“Hey, it’s all right. I’m not judging you. I’m just worried, you know? Maybe this is all too much for you alone. I’ll bring some things and sleep on your couch for a while until you get past this phase. I do want you to see the doctor this week again, though, and make sure this is just normal pregnancy fatigue.”

When I look up to protest, Kit sashays past us all with a bobble head and a sassy snap wave behind Liam’s back. He’s insinuating that Liam has spoken, and that’s that. Chachi. Ahh, now I get it. I roll my eyes, and Kit says a quick goodbye.

Liam hands Toby to me and walks into the kitchen and starts rummaging around in the cupboards.

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning up this mess,” he says, popping up with a container of Clorox wipes.

“I can get it later. We’re going to be late,” I say.

“It’s a barbeque. We don’t have to be on time. It’s no biggie.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing,” he says, pulling about twenty wipes out of the top of the container. He slaps them down on the table and begins scooping up crackers and smearing peanut butter.

“You don’t have to stay here, Liam. I’ll be fine. This won’t happen again. I’m going to stay busy—no more naps.”

Toby squirms in my arms, so I let him down and he runs into his bedroom.

“There’s nothing wrong with naps, Lourdes. You need the extra rest. When you were pregnant with Toby, you didn’t have another kid to take care of. It’s different this time. I’m staying—end of discussion.”

I’m not sure I like the way he just spoke to me. Part of me likes his authoritative tone—it’s hot—and the other part resents being told what to do. I watch the muscles of his shoulders flex through his black t-shirt as he cleans my kitchen. How is it possible that I have found a man who loves my son, cleans, takes charge, protects and compliments me, and has serious feelings for me?

Liam’s phone dings, notifying him of a text.

“Can you grab that? My hands are a mess.” he says. I slip his phone from his back pocket and glance at it briefly before I turn it so he can read it. It’s from Amira. There’s the fly in the ointment. That’s more like my luck. No matter what Liam and I are building, he’s still married to her, and nothing will change until that is over.

He sighs and motions for me to put it back in his pocket. He looks up at me from where he’s squatting down to clean the chair. One corner of his mouth raises in an apologetic smile.

“She’s still worried about that damn will. She texts me at least four times a day about it. If she only knew how much I don’t care.”

“Have you told her?” I ask.

“That I don’t care?” he says, puzzled, because of course he has.

“No, I mean does she know I’m pregnant?”

“Yes. We spoke earlier today.”

“Was she happy or excited or anything?” I don’t know why I’m asking. I don’t really want to know.

“She was surprised. She asked when you are due and she was rude. Typical Amira.”

“What was she surprised about?”

“She thought it would take longer, I guess. She should be glad it happened so fast. The sooner her father and his legal team thinks our marriage is stable, the better. She needs to be in that will so she can chill the fuck out.”

Toby chooses this exact moment to run into the room.

“Fuck out, fuck out,” he yells, and I clamp my hand over his mouth, but he keeps saying it.

Liam dumps the dirty wipes into the trash and looks at Toby and then me.

“How do we fix this?”

“Stop cursing?” I say and shrug my shoulders.

“All right then, no more swearing. Boy Scout’s Honor.” He holds up three fingers.

“You were a Boy Scout?”

“Nope, it just sounded good. Let’s get going. You ready to have some fun, Toby?”

“Yeah!” Toby yells.

I smile and set him down, and he runs to the door.

“Thanks for being so good to him.”

“It’s easy. He’s part of you,” he says, tracing my jaw with his finger. When he reaches my chin, he gently grasps it between his thumb and pointer finger. “I want to kiss you.”

I bite my lip. I know he won’t do it, but knowing he wants to is almost as good.

“We should go,” he whispers.

I nod and he takes my hand, leading me to the door, where Toby is messing with the knob, trying to let himself out.

“See why I need to be here? He’s a smart kid. He’ll have that figured out in no time. I’d rather take you both home with me where the neighborhood is less rough, but I’m being told that people have seen us together and are starting to talk.”

“Talk? What kind of talk?” I ask.

“Just that I’ve been spotted with a hot chick who’s not my wife,” he says and winks.

“That’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Not for me, but I don’t want you to have to deal with the press and paparazzi hanging around.”

“But what about your marriage? Aren’t you worried there will be talk of infidelity?”

“There’s always talk of infidelity. As long as they don’t get carried away, it’s okay. If they don’t have a photo of us holding hands or kissing, they have nothing to back up their lies with.”

“What if someone sees us together tonight or at the clinic? What about the club? I was in the DJ booth with you. Oh God, Liam, someone must have gotten a picture of that.” I feel hot. I’m starting to panic. The air feels like it’s being sucked out of the room, and I can’t breathe.

“Hey, calm down. It’s fine. Let’s get you some fresh air outside. Come on,” he says, leading me to the door where he scoops up Toby in one arm and holds mine with the other.

It works. When I’m outside, I hold onto the wrought iron railing and take deep breaths. I’ve never had a panic attack before, but that sure felt like one.

Liam is rubbing circles on the small of my back. I love it, but I step away, just out of his reach.

“You shouldn’t touch me,” I say.

“Lourdes, stop it. If anyone got pictures in the club, they couldn’t be damaging because we didn’t do anything we weren’t supposed to do. I can have a friend in the booth if I want to. It’s my fuc—darn club.” He stops himself from cursing in front of Toby just in time.

“You’re sure this is ok, going to your friends’ for dinner? I don’t want to mess things up.”

“It’s fine. People are going to find out that Amira and I are using a surrogate anyway. It wouldn’t be so unusual for me to take you to a barbeque to meet my friends. Surrogate mothers are considered part of the family in a lot of cases. Nobody needs to know how we feel about each other yet.”

How do we feel about each other? I want to ask but I don’t. I think I’m falling in love with him, but I can’t bear to hear him say he doesn’t feel the same.

“Ok, are we all good now? Can we go?” he asks.

“Yes, I’m fine now—and starving.”

“That’s good, because Steve and Felicia know how to barbeque. You’ll be in a meat coma by ten o’clock. You do eat meat, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

Ten o’clock. My God, there’s no way I’ll make it until ten. I’m tired already.

“Oh, no reason. Your kitchen is just jam packed with organic food, fruits and vegetables.”

“I eat healthy, but we aren’t vegetarians. We had burgers one time, remember?”

“Those were fake hamburgers.”

“No way.”

“Yes way, and I’m happy you eat so healthy. It’s good for our baby.”

I’m in the front seat and he’s buckling Toby in his seat when he says this, and I’m glad he can’t see my face. He said our baby, not his baby or their baby. I drop my head back and stare at the roof of the car and place my hand on my tummy. The chances of this all going as Liam believes it will are slim. We’re going to need a miracle to end up being a cute little family of four, and that scares the shit out of me. I don’t want to get hurt, but I can feel it coming already.

Liam slides in next to me. “You ok?” he asks, resting his hand on my knee. “Hey,” he says, placing a finger on my chin to turn my face to his. “Why the tears, LK?”

My eyes are brimming with unshed tears that I try to blink away, but one escapes and slips down the side of my face.

“Stupid hormones. You called me LK,” I say, smiling. I’m on such a seesaw of emotions lately.

“Those are your initials, right?”

“Yeah, nobody’s called me that since high school. It takes me back.”

“Well, until I can call you something sexier, you’re LK to me.”

I chuckle, and he puts the car into gear and pulls out of my parking lot.

“What’s your middle name?” he asks, and I cringe. I hate telling people my middle name. It’s even weirder than my first.

“Unity.” I roll my eyes, and a mile-wide smile spreads across his face. “What? Don’t make fun. I can’t help it that my mother was going through a phase when she had me.”

“I love it. LUK—sort of like lucky, huh?”

“Yeah, or Luke from Star Wars. Unfortunately, I got that one a lot.”

“Hmm nope, I don’t see that one happening. Lucky is better,” he says.

“No sexy nickname?” I stick out my bottom lip and pout shamelessly.

“Oh, yes. I’ll have one for you someday. Just you wait.”