Everyone around me laughs, and even though it’s lame, I laugh along with them.
Melissa pushes Gemma aside and reaches out her arms. I happily embrace her and she gently whispers in my ear, “He’s cute, Pres…real cute.”
No shit. That is half my problem. If he was drop dead ugly I wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with.
The obligatory introductions begin, and already Gemma has found something in common with the Jerk; they both love horror flicks (something I despise). We move into the living room and Gemma pops in a DVD. It’s something about a lunatic murdering people in some rural town. It’s gory, unpleasant, and by the time the second person is killed within ten minutes of the movie starting, I jump ship and escape to the kitchen where my sanity and will to live remain intact.
“Since you’re in here, how about you peel those potatoes for me?”
Mom hands me the bag of potatoes as I happily chat away about work, life in the city, and Vicky.
“That girl sound like a bad influence,” Mom scowls.
“Honestly mom, I’m not ten. If anything maybe I’m the bad influence. Uh, hello!” I point to my belly.
She simply shakes her head then entertains me with the latest family gossip. Before I know it, the food is ready and I am famished just smelling the enticing aromas.
The dinner table was spread with an array of food; my mom, a.k.a. Martha Stewart, has gone all out, even using her fancy silverware. Everyone else enters the room, talking animatedly about the movie. I take a seat beside my dad and Haden follows by sitting on my other side. We say grace, then dig into the food, all the while talking about random topics including Gemma and Melissa’s house in L.A.
“I love L.A. There’s a nice buzz to it. Plus I love surfing,” Haden says.
“You’ll love our new place,” Melissa adds. “We’re a block from the beach and there’s plenty of cafes and shops along the boardwalk. Maybe Presley can bring you along next time?”
“I’d love that.” He grins, shoving a piece of chicken into his mouth while he watches me.
What the hell just happened? Now he’s taking vacations with me? When did it cross over from enemy to friend? Note to self: do not rely on your family to hate him because clearly, he has them under some magic spell. Stupid charm.
“So Haden, tell us about your family?” My mom moves to the subject that I had so desperately wanted to ask about but never found the courage to. He places his fork down and appears to change his demeanor. His smile whittles to nothing but a bleak stare. The light in his eyes almost darkens.
“My family lives in New Jersey. Mom works at the local library in her spare time and my twin sisters Lucy and Lennie are in college.”
“You have twin sisters?” I blurt out, almost spitting out my peas.
“Yes. Annoying twin sisters, but yes.”
“Oh my god, Pres, you could be carrying twins!” Gemma cries out loud.
I shut her down immediately. “No, there is definitely only one baby inside.”
I take my cell out of my pocket and produce the photo I had taken of the ultrasound. I point out the baby as my cell is passed around the table until it lands into Haden’s palms.
Quietly, he stares at the photo and I realize only then that he hadn’t seen any photo of the baby. That was partly my fault. For a man that yo-yos from giving a shit to not giving a shit, I figured that he didn’t care about stuff like ultrasounds.
I watch his facial expression, the look of curiosity as his eyes narrow in on the photo, and the way his lips purse contently. He turns to face me and, embarrassed, I try to look away, but he has caught me staring.
“Do you know what the sex is?” he asks, just short of a whisper.
“Uh…no. I could have found out but the baby decided to do this somersault thing and covered its bits. I’d say it’s either a boy or girl,” I say, trying to lighten the conversation and ending with a short chuckle.
“Our friends Ella and Jess were told they were having a girl and bought everything pink. Turned out to be a boy,” Gemma tells us. “Let’s just say that kid may give Elton John a run for his money, what with all the pretty colors and sparkly fabrics.”
“Happened to your Aunt Kathy too,” Mom adds.
“It doesn’t matter what the baby is,” I mumble as the conversation continues around me.
“Of course not. As long as the baby is healthy, that’s all that matters.” Mom smiles.
I hate to admit it and I feel like the worst person in the world, but it kind of does matter. I’m terrified of having a girl because I am one and I know how high-maintenance they can be. My dad once told me that having two girls was a surefire way of dying from a stroke early. It was around the time that we were both in high school and felt the need to disregard our curfew.
On top of that, I had joined part of an online group made up of single mothers. A lot of them talked about how raising a girl in their teens is difficult and how boys tend to protect their mothers. Now, I don’t know if that’s all bull, but one mother posted about her 14-year-old daughter running off with her 25-year-old boyfriend one night. I decided then and there that if the universe cared for me at all, just the slightest bit, I would have a happy little boy.
With dinner almost over, the conversation moves to sports, and I leave the table to clear the dishes. At the sink, my mom stands alongside me and places her arm around my shoulders.
“One step at a time, Presley. You have your whole family here to support you,” she reminds me. “And by the look of it, you’ve got Haden’s support, too.”
“I don’t even know him, Mom.”
“Then get to know him, Presley. He’s going to be in your life whether you like it or not.”
“How is that even going to work, Mom?” I whisper beside her. “He is getting married. Does the baby stay at his place on weekends? What about when they have their own kids?”
“Honey, you’ll work it out. You always do. You’re my little planner,” she reassures me. “And besides, have you thought about moving back home so Dad and I can help you?”
I try not to laugh. Living with my parents again would only highlight how pathetic my life has become. I am used to being a strong, independent woman, even in my relationship with Jason. I don’t need a man. Hand me a toolbox and I’m Miss Fix-It. Turn the TV to ESPN and I’ll talk stats with the best of them. No, I don’t need a man…except for sex. Greedy Kitty needs more than a flick of the bean.
“The offer is here, Presley. Pride aside, think about what is best for your child.”
I place my hands in the water and think about what Mom just said as I listen to the conversation at the table about baseball. When Dad starts to talk about the Yankees and Haden expresses his love for the team, I can hear the shift in my Dad’s voice, and soon he’s calling him “son” and inviting him out to the range tomorrow.
They both ramble on, the conversation turning to extreme fishing. Haden whips out his cell and loads a video of it from YouTube. Really? Extreme fishing.
With the final plate put away, my mom calls it a night with my dad at her tail. Haden follows me to the living room to join everyone else. Gemma has decided to put on a Stephen King movie (much to my disapproval) and the only seat available is on the two-seater sofa beside Haden.
I take a seat beside him and brace myself for the worst. Honestly, I could kill Gemma and Haden right now with the nightmares that will plague me because of this damn clown. I swear I am so close to shitting in my pants. The moment the face pops up from the drain, I jump in fear, and at the same time that familiar flutter pokes my belly and I’m almost one hundred percent certain the baby just moved.
“I think the baby just kicked,” I say.
Gemma pauses the movie, rushing to my belly and placing her hands across it. Melissa, is also waiting and places her hands near Gemma’s. I feel like a science project with all hands on me but Haden’s. He looks uncertain, and waits for me to allow him to place his hands on there too. I tell him it’s okay and I guide his hand to the part where I felt the last flutter. Of course, nothing happens, and everyone grows bored (including me), so the movie is turned back on. With the lights turned off and the volume cranked up so loud, my body tenses in anticipation. Then again…that little prod.