The Knocked Up Plan(72)

“Yes.”

The door clinks shut behind him, and I gulp for air. I try to breathe, and it’s suddenly the most difficult thing to do. How could I have missed it? How could I have failed to see what’s so clearly happening to this man?

As I shower, my chest aching the whole time, I rewind to all the obvious signs.

He’s not looking for romance. He’s not interested in love. He never has been, and he’s always been upfront about it.

That kind of love is different, but I try not to think about it. Or to let myself feel it.

But he’s grown quite interested in something else—fatherhood.

It really is magical, he’d said of the heartbeat.

Anyway, got pics of the papaya?

I might have googled pregnancy-to-fruit comparisons.

He nearly cried when he heard the heartbeat. He practically swooned when he felt the baby kick.

There’s no doubt in my mind that his feelings for the baby have completely transformed. He’s all in now when it comes to Papaya.

But as for me, well, I’m still everything I originally was to him—a sexual creature. Sure, he likes sleeping with me, and yes, I’m something else to him now, too—the mother of his child. But the third thing I want to be—his—isn’t in the cards for Ryder Lockhart. He hung up the closed sign on his heart after Maggie ransacked that organ, and he made it clear he doesn’t want to re-open it.

Tears mix with the New York City water.

Who am I to blame him? I went into this ready to raise the baby without a man in my life. I can’t blame him for wanting to help raise the baby he helped make.

He’s in love with the baby, and only the baby.

I sniffle and hold my chin up as water sluices over my body. I tell myself to be tough, to be strong. I have to be, for the baby.

It doesn’t matter that I’m falling in love with him. I can’t let these new and fragile emotions get the better of me.

Besides, you can’t lose something that was never yours to begin with.



“You were right.” I sink down into the booth across from my mom. I’d called an emergency lunch.

“Of course I’m right.” She smiles as she tucks a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “But what am I right about this time?”

I heave a sigh. “It’s become . . . quite complicated.”

She reaches across the Formica table for my hand and clasps it. “Oh, sweetie. What’s going on?”

I breathe out carefully, as if respiration is a bodily function I’m relearning. I lift my chin. Square my shoulders. “I think Ryder wants to be part of the baby’s life.”

My mother nods sympathetically. She takes her time before she speaks. “And how do you feel about that?”

I try to stay strong. What do I have to cry over anyway? The fleeting notion that we might have become an insta-family? How ridiculous was it to even contemplate that? I won’t shed a tear. Instead, I will plaster on a smile. If he wants to be part of his kid’s life, that’s not a bad thing.

In fact, growing up with an involved father could be a very good thing.

How many women who use sperm donors have the chance to offer some sort of involvement to the father? Hardly any. I should count myself as a lucky one.

“I feel like it could be a good thing for the baby. To know his or her . . . father.” My voice catches on that word. “I wish I had known mine.”

My mother’s lips quiver. “He was a good man. Your father loved you so much.”

The fire hydrant cranks on. My eyes leak fat, salty tears. My mother joins me on my side of the table, wraps her arm around me, and squeezes. “I believe in you—whatever you decide. If you choose to have him involved, and if he wants to be involved, it will be for the best.”

I nod as a sob hovers near my lips. “It will,” I say, choking on the words.

“It will be for the best for your child. What a gift for your baby to know such a good man is his or her father.” Her tone is so warm, so loving, so full of motherly wisdom. I know she’s right. I just wish that good man wanted me, too.

But only a fool would think she could have it all.

I bury my face in my mother’s shoulder, and I cry like a baby in the diner. If I get out all the tears now, I can keep calm tonight, and I absolutely must remain calm. If I can’t have all of Ryder, I want to have the part of him in my life that is keen to know his child. It’s such a gift, to be able to know your family. It’s a gift I didn’t think I’d be able to give my child.

Now, it’s possible, and I have to stay strong for Papaya.





Thirty-Five





Ryder

After all my travels, I have the day off.

I spend it with my boy. I take Romeo to Central Park and toss tennis balls to him in the off-leash section until he flops down on his belly, panting in the unseasonably warm March.