Now, no one is more enmeshed than he.
If my test is negative again, do we simply go on? Do we have monthly dates in my bed during the nights when I’m most likely to conceive? Do we go about our separate lives the rest of the time? What if it takes three months, six months, or more?
Ryder’s nearly done with his field guide to dating, and it thrills me to see his show and column inch back up in popularity. I gave him what he needed—a dating companion. But my need for him has no end date yet.
How can I expect him to maintain this sort of commitment to making love to me every month until I’m pregnant? How can I ask his commitment-phobic heart to keep practicing fidelity with my body?
But the more nights we spend together, the more it feels like we have some sort of commitment. I feel it in the pounding of my heart, in the calm inside my chest, in the warm glow that comes when he holds me. I see it in him, too, in the way he looks at me, in the tenderness of his touch, in how he sets his hand on my belly as if he’s hoping too.
I don’t know what to make of any of it, though. I let the thoughts repeat over and over, and in the tangled mess of my mind, I finally find sleep.
In the morning, I’m still blissfully period-free.
She doesn’t show during the day, either, and that old friend hope bubbles up again, like a tease. Surely, she’ll pull the rug out from under me any second. I tell myself that soon the crushing waves of cramps and disappointment will collide in me, mixing up a new cocktail of sadness.
But hope is a potent drug. It overpowers fear. My wish is stronger than my need to tamp down all this fervent want.
The next morning, I walk my dog in the chilly dawn, the remnants of this week’s Halloween still in store windows. After I race back to my apartment, nerves and anticipation jostling inside me like boxers in a ring, I take the stick I never peed on last month, and I pee on it.
I stand in my bathroom, counting the seconds.
Twenty-Four
Ryder
“Cupcakes. You need cupcakes.”
The caller sounds intrigued by my statement, but happy, too. I can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “Cupcakes? Tell me more.”
I lean back in my chair, park my hands behind my head, and give him my best advice. “There’s just something about cupcakes. They make you happy. When you’re tasting cupcakes, you can flirt with your woman, you can get to know her—you can find out what makes her tick and what ticks her off.”
The caller laughs. “Cupcakes are like a universal lubricant, then?”
I tense for a second, worried Cal will freak the fuck out if anything is remotely dirty on the show. Across from me, Jason widens his eyes in concern.
But I’ve learned that dirty isn’t entirely the problem my boss has with my work. It’s the heartless dirty he abhors. He doesn’t mind a sex joke if it’s mingled with a wish for intimacy. “Cupcakes sure do seem to pave the way for good things. I’ve concluded that it’s the frosting, man. Frosting is everything.”
“Awesome. I think I’ll find a cupcake shop for my date tonight.”
Jason shoots me a thumbs-up as we say good-bye to our caller.
It’s just me and the mic now as I close out the show. “But the real frosting is this—it’s listening to the woman. When she wants to talk, you listen. When she opens her heart, you listen. When she tells you her fears, you listen. Make her feel cherished, and that’s how you win a woman, whether with cupcakes, mini golf, geocaching, trapeze, an afternoon hotel hijacking, or a night at the arcade.” For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like a fraud when I talk about intimacy and emotions.
That doesn’t mean I want those things in my life. I’m just glad I can do my job again without hating it. I’ve learned through this time with Nicole—maybe because the boundaries are safe and clear-cut—that getting to know someone doesn’t mean giving them your heart to drop into a Cuisinart. Nicole hasn’t chopped and julienned one of my favorite organs.
I suspect that’s because of the nature of our arrangement. The terms and conditions we set in place created a test lab of sorts. A safe zone for dating. In our test lab, we didn’t launch the rocket of romance into space, but we learned it can withstand the pressure of the atmosphere.
When we sign off, Jason offers a palm for high fiving. “Great show. Did I ever tell you I took Lizzie geocaching?”
“Oh yeah?” The geocaching column went viral, and we’ve heard from tons of men and women about their very own treasure hunt dates.
“Best time ever,” he says as we leave the studio. “Followed your column to a T, even the Whispering Arch.”