A Really Bad Idea Read online

  He clicks the selection for over six foot tall. “You want a tall mate. Next, eye color.”

  “Blue,” I answer assertively.

  He grimaces. “What’s wrong with green?”

  I blink back at the seriousness of his tone and wonder if he’s actually kidding. From his stone-cold look, I know he is not.

  “It’s the odds of genetics. I have brown eyes, so that gives a fifty-fifty shot of blue or brown. Green eyes aren’t as genetically dominant.”

  “But you could meet someone like me with a recessive gene and have a green- or a blue-eyed child. Our moms have blue eyes, so it could definitely happen.”

  I scratch my temple and squint at him. “When you choose embryo donation for yourself, you can pick whatever eye color you want. I choose blue.”

  He grunts and selects green anyway. “Hair color? Brown,” he answers for me, and I let him have it. “You really get to choose hair texture?” He runs a hand through his thick mane of dark hair and selects, “Wavy. Education level? Post-graduate.” He chooses for me again.

  I just sit here and sink into the corner of my deep-set sofa as I let him take over, as he clearly has his own perfect man in mind. When he hits Find, it produces zero search results.

  I laugh. “Looks like your perfect man doesn’t exist.”

  “Not surprising.” He goes into the search and deselects postgraduate and changes the eye color to also include blue. The screen pops up with thirteen options.

  The first is a man named Ace. I assume these are code names as I listen to him read, “Ace is a creative and talented man with a career as a successful audio engineer. In addition to music, he enjoys stand-up comedy—nope.” Christian exits out of Ace’s bio page and selects another potential donor.

  “Ram considers himself an introvert who prefers to take long walks to think by himself,” I read.

  Christian closes the window before I can read another word. He goes back to the sections page to choose another candidate.

  “Brooks plans to spend approximately six more years on his education. After he finishes his undergraduate degree, he intends to enroll in medical school with a focus on orthopedic surgery. He has volunteered at a nonprofit primate retreat, working with the animals.” I lean back and sigh. “He’s probably donating sperm to pay for school. Click on the extended profile,” I say with a pointed finger, directing him to show me more.

  Christian clicks on the link. “German, Irish, and French. Played high school football and has visited over thirty countries.”

  I’m leaning over Christian now, looking at the profile further. “If this were a dating site, this guy would be my next boyfriend. There’s a picture. Click on it!”

  Christian opens the photo album to baby pictures of a blond-haired boy with deep dimples and the sweetest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. My ovaries might have just exploded.

  He closes the laptop and puts it on the coffee table. He twists his body toward me and doesn’t bother sparing me a look of consternation. “That’s not what you want.”

  “It’s not?” I question, blinking a few times before coming to my senses and shaking my head at myself. “You’re right. I know. It’s just … I know this seems like a new concept for you, but I’ve been silent about my desires to be a mother.”

  He places a hand on my knee. His touch is tender and warm. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

  “Forever,” I say honestly. “But it’s been on my mind a lot the last three years. When I turned thirty, I started having this longing. Beth said it was my biological clock ticking. It suddenly felt like a reality—the next chapter in the story of my life. I didn’t talk about it because I didn’t want my mom pressuring me. Then, I got divorced, and I didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for me. I already felt like a failure—”

  “Marrying an asshole who doesn’t know how to treat a woman right isn’t your fault.” His fingers dig lightly into my skin.

  There are so many things I want to say in response to that, but that’s a whole other discussion to be had. “I’m not old, but I’m not young. We’re both medical professionals, so let’s stop playing the game that I have all the time in the world. I have two years to make a serious decision, and I want to be as educated as possible on what my options are.”

  “That’s plenty of time to meet someone—”

  “And, if I don’t, I will have just wasted two more years.”

  He lets go of my knee and runs his fingers through his hair. “Meadow, you’re gorgeous and smart and sexy as fuck. You’re funny and kind, and by God, if you’re not married by thirty-five, I might snatch you up myself because any man would be a fucking asshole not to take you as his own.”

  I grab my untouched whiskey and take a large gulp. As the burn travels into my belly, I try not to act affected by how he just called me funny and kind and smart—oh, and sexy as fuck.

  “Thank you. That is really kind of you, but there’s also the factor of me not wanting to get snatched up just because my ovaries have a sell-by date. That’s the point of this. I still want to fall in love.” I take another swig of whiskey and make a face at the burn that creeps down my throat and settles in my chest. I loudly place the glass on the coffee table. “It’s so frustrating. As a woman, I can do everything on my own. Except get pregnant. I think it’s God’s way of making sure we don’t kill off your species.”

  “Glad we have a purpose.”

  I blow out a large breath. “Brooks is looking kinda good right now.”

  His eyebrows furrow as his teeth graze his lower lip. That chiseled jaw sharpens. His intense eyes darken as they stare into space and then shoot back at me with a sudden burst of internal knowledge, like whatever he was just thinking about brought on the greatest idea in history.

  “Have a baby with me,” he declares.

  I stutter, “What?”

  “Let’s have a baby.” It’s not a question. It’s a proclamation.

  I try to blink away my shock, cataloging his very serious face. For a man who is the smartest person I’ve ever met, his ludicrous idea has me questioning his sanity.

  My head tilts to the side as my eyes narrow. “Me and you?”

  “Yes.”

  I lean back to gain some space from him. And some oxygen. My lungs suddenly feel heavy, and the air in the room is thick.

  “Christian, I want a baby, but I’m not gonna have one with just anyone.”

  He motions toward the laptop. “Yeah, you kinda are.”

  My jaw drops as I try not to be hurt by the greatest insult he’s ever thrown at me.

  He holds up his hands and shakes his head. “I’m saying that wrong. What I mean is, you’re considering using a sperm donor, which is someone you don’t know. Hell, earlier, you joked about just walking into a bar and getting knocked up. I know you weren’t serious—well, I think you weren’t serious—but the fact is, I’d rather be the father of your child than you choosing a stranger you know nothing about.”

  I point toward Brooks’s profile. “I know he likes to paddleboard and enjoys spicy Mexican food.” It’s a joke made for a very uncomfortable conversation. Christian doesn’t seem to think I’m funny. “Okay, fine. Yes, if I’m thirty-five and still single, then I will let you knock me up.”

  “Good,” he says. His shoulders relax as he leans forward, resting an elbow on his knee.

  I want to throw my hands up and scream at him. I wasn’t being serious. “No, Christian, that won’t work.”

  His head swivels toward me, a look of utter confusion on his face.

  “You’ll be thirty-five, too. You’d be a father. You don’t want to have kids until you’re at least forty.”

  “That’s not entirely true.”

  I stare and wait for him to explain. He looks like he’s working something out in his head as he takes a moment to answer.

  “I want kids. I just don’t want to settle down. I always thought the two were mutually exclusive.” He grabs my hands, holding on to th
em as he explains, “Meadow, sitting in Dr. Abbot’s office made me realize all the things I don’t want. I don’t want you to go through the shots and hormones and to have surgery. I don’t want you to pick some random guy to father your child. I don’t want you to spend an astronomical amount of money to have a baby. I don’t want you to have to go through IVF on the off chance your pregnancy might be successful. And, most of all, I don’t want you to have a baby on your own. I know you’re strong, and if anyone can do it, you can. But you shouldn’t have to because you have me.”

  Thicker. The air is even thicker, and I’m having a hard time breathing. “Christian—”

  “I know what I said about starting a family, but part of me hates putting my life on hold. At this rate, I’ll be fifty by the time my kid is old enough to toss a ball with me in the backyard. If we do this, we can have everything we’ve ever wanted. The baby can live here with you, and I’ll be available every free moment I have. If you want a weekend away, I’m here, and if you need anything, I’m here.”

  His face is laced with excitement and fear. I don’t know if he realizes what he’s saying.

  I try to bring him back down to reality. “You’d be a father.”

  “I know. And I’ll help financially.”

  “I don’t want your money.”

  He grabs my chin and pulls it toward him. His hard stare looks into mine with absolute conviction. “Do you honestly think I wouldn’t provide for my flesh and blood? It might not be ideal or the picture-perfect life you have in mind, but haven’t you already learned that life doesn’t go exactly as planned? Meadow, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. If I were to choose anyone to be the mother of my child, it would be you.”

  My heart is beating a million beats per minute. My stomach is doing flips. His words are exciting and unconventional and making me seriously consider his proposal. Can I really have a baby with my best friend?

  “This is a lot. Today has been a lot.” I try to distance myself from him, but he’s still holding on to my face and my hand, and part of me likes it.

  “You’re right.” His breathing comes out harsh yet controlled.

  He lowers his hands from me, and I instantly feel the loss of their searing heat.

  There’s an odd energy in the air. It’s still sizzling, yet the silence we’re giving each other is stifling.

  Christian rubs his thighs a few times before getting up and grabbing his sweatshirt. “I’m gonna head home.”

  I look at his full glass on the table. “You didn’t touch your drink.”

  He glances at it, sober. “I know.” He unhooks the chain from the door and unlocks the dead bolt. He opens the door and then turns around. “Did I scare you?”

  I laugh. My hand flies to my mouth as I nod my head and stand up. “A little. Having a baby together is a crazy idea. Are you now realizing that it’s insane?”

  I’m laughing. He’s not.

  “It’s crazy, but I want it. With you.” He puffs out his chest with an inhale he doesn’t seem to let go. “Just promise me you’ll think about it.”

  He closes the door, and I’m left standing in my living room, wondering what the hell just happened. I take his drink and down it, feeling the simmer shoot through my entire body.

  Facing the window, I look out into my park and at the lights from the section of Bethesda Terrace and the fountain in which I’ve laid my hopes and dreams.

  And I’m wondering why the idea of having Christian’s baby doesn’t scare me in the least. The only thing I’m scared of is him regretting it.

  It’s been a week since Christian made his proclamation in my living room. His insemination proclamation. Since then, I’ve had a follow-up with Dr. Abbot for a physical, sonogram, and to go over my blood work. We’ve discussed the options, but I haven’t made any decisions.

  While I haven’t seen or heard from Christian, as he’s been in the hospital all week with back-to-back surgeries—not that I’m keeping tabs—I wonder if he’s been avoiding me. It’s understandable. I knew that, once he got a good night’s sleep, he’d realize he’d made a colossal mistake, and now, he’s most certainly praying that I didn’t take him seriously.

  “Good news!” Angela chimes from the front desk. Her black scrubs are as dark as her almond-shaped eyes. “I slept over at Denny’s house last night, and he didn’t send my toothbrush packing.”

  “One small step for man, one giant leap for your relationship.” I hand her a small stack of folders.

  “I’m going to up the ante. Should I go with deodorant or shampoo?” She taps a pen to her lips.

  “I’d slow down at the toothbrush for a minute. You don’t want to push your luck.”

  “True.” Her shoulders sag as she falls back into her swivel chair. “Plus, I’d probably have to switch to a hemp body wash, and my skin is just not ready for the oil.”

  Her words catch me off guard. “Hemp?”

  “Yeah, Denny only believes in cannabidiol products.”

  “Interesting,” I say slowly.

  The front door opens, and Christian walks through. His navy-blue suit makes him look leaner, and those greens are covered by sunglasses. A slow smile builds on his face as he walks straight to the back where his office is.

  Okay, that wasn’t so bad.

  The next few hours pass in a whirlwind. I manage to assist Thomas and keep him from running too far off schedule, which he does easily since he likes to talk with his patients. I usually grab a coffee at two o’clock, but today, I sneak into the kitchen at one thirty. While I like to eat my lunch at the break table, I run out and grab a quick bite from the deli on the corner. And, when the last patient leaves, I change into my spin gear, grab my bag, and make my way outside.

  Bethesda Fountain is packed, as it’s a seasonably high-eighty-degree day. Kids on skateboards are doing tricks around the promenade. Lovers are canoodling on benches. Families are looking at the ducks in the lake. Commuters, like me, are just passing through.

  With the sun setting on my back, I look at the angel atop the statue dipping her toe into the water, just enough to connect her to the earth, and follow the water as it falls to where four cherubs play at the center level. They represent temperance, purity, health, and peace. For me, they bring tranquility.

  “They say, if you sit here long enough, you can see the entire world pass by,” I hear Christian’s baritone behind me.

  I turn around to the devil in a blue suit. He’s no longer wearing his sunglasses, so his look of accusation is clear.

  “You’re avoiding me,” he says coolly.

  “I was swamped today.”

  “You left without saying good-bye.”

  I point to my leggings. “I’m on my way to spin class.”

  He lifts a brow. “You seem like you’re in a rush.”

  I try to think of a witty comeback. When nothing comes to mind, I close my eyes and lower my head in surrender.

  He laughs. It’s deep and smooth, like warm honey. He takes a seat on the edge of the fountain and looks up at me with a smirk.

  Conceding, I follow and sit beside him. Digging into my purse, I clutch on to a shiny penny and toss it over my shoulder.

  He holds out his hand. “You have another one of those?”

  I rummage through my purse and find a nickel.

  “Ah, five times more powerful,” he says, taking it from my hand. He holds it up to his forehead, closes his eyes, and looks to be praying. With a kiss to the coin, he tosses it into the water.

  “What did you wish for?” I ask, assuming he won’t answer.

  “That my favorite girl will stop running away from me.”

  I look the other way. There’s a group of children playing with bubbles that a street performer has set up. The bubbles are coming from a machine that is running on a continuous loop, making it rain soap. Christian touches a finger to my shoulder. I turn to see the residue of the bubble he popped.

  I look up into his emerald-green eyes, so honest
and understanding. The guards I didn’t realize I had up fall. “I’m not avoiding you.”

  He doesn’t look convinced.

  I roll my eyes and smile despite myself. “It’s not like you’ve been ringing my phone or beating down my door either.”

  “I was giving you space to think. I assumed you’d at least share a coffee with me today. Maybe even let me treat you to sushi on your break.”

  “I had a busy day,” I defend because, now, I’m feeling shitty after purposefully being everywhere he was not today.

  His knees spread open, as his hands are folded in between, and he looks out into the crowd. “There’s a gala at The Plaza. It’s a fundraiser for St. Xavier Children’s Cancer and Blood Center.”

  An image of Christian in a tux appears in my mind. It’s possibly my most favorite look on him, all chic and sophisticated. It makes him look like James Bond. Mix that with the venue of the nineteenth-century landmark hotel, and it sounds like an amazing night.

  “That’ll be fun. Natasha will look killer,” I say, laying my elbows onto the ledge of the fountain behind me and leaning back.

  “I’m not taking Natasha.”

  My attention is fixed on my sneakers. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

  “I’m asking you. Thought you’d enjoy it since you love Eloise at The Plaza so much. I’ll even reserve the pink, pink, pink hotel room for you.”

  I had an Eloise book in my bag when we first met and was a fan until I was too old to admit. “That’s really sweet of you to think of me.”

  “So, you’ll go?” His brows rise hopefully.

  “Probably not.” I look back down at my feet. “You should ask one of your girls. That’s a night for romance. You should take a girl you want to dance with and drink champagne and eat caviar. At the end of the night, you can take her back to your room and peel the designer gown off her body and make love while you’re still drunk on bubbly. I’ll be a backup, but ask someone else first.”

  I turn my attention back toward him, and he’s peculiarly looking at me.

  “That is quite the night you have outlined in your head. I like the … what did you say?” His dimple rises with the quirk of his mouth. “Peeling off the dress part.”