Chapter Sixteen
Regan
The sound of pounding has me pulling a pillow over my head. Mr. Kastapulous at the hardware store I share a wall with must be doing some remodeling again.
The knocking noise doesn’t stop. It’s soon followed by someone shouting my name.
I push the pillow off my head and look at Joey, who seems annoyed as well. “He’s kidding, right?” Well, at least he had the decency to knock this time.
Rolling out of bed, I pull on a robe as I make my way to my front door and swing it open. “I’d give you points for persistence, but the answer is still no.”
When I shut the door, he jams his foot into it. Then he shoves a bag from my favorite bakery up to the crack. “Come on. I brought treats. And I promise I’ll keep all my clothes on.”
I put my eye to the door crack. “Bribing me with bear claws?”
“It’s not what you think. I have another proposition for you. A different one.”
Curious, I release my pressure on the door and swipe the bag. “This better come with coffee.”
I know it does, I could smell the magical elixir before I even saw the cups, but he holds them up proudly. “Straight from Ava’s.”
“She’s going to start questioning why you’re suddenly getting coffee at her place rather than the Starbucks closer to your apartment.”
“She already did. With a huge smile, I might add. You told her about my first proposition, didn’t you?”
“She’s one of my best friends.” I walk through to the kitchen and drop the bag of pastries on the table next to the brochures. “She doesn’t know everything, though.”
His eyebrow shoots up. “You haven’t told her about these?” He picks one up.
I shake my head. “I’m still trying to wrap my own mind around it. Besides, I don’t want anyone trying to talk me out of it like they tried to talk me out of… you.”
He laughs. “Good friends want you to make good decisions.”
“Are you saying you aren’t a good decision?”
He picks up the bag. “Donut?”
I get two plates from the cabinet and sit, perusing the choices. “Mind telling me why you’re breaking into my apartment again?”
“You’re the one who leaves the store unlocked. On some level that means you want me here.”
I have been leaving it open more than normal. Is he right? Or is it just a coincidence?
“You didn’t answer the question,” I say, then take a bite of an apple fritter.
He gathers up the sperm bank brochures and tears them up. “You don’t need these. I’ll do it.”
I cough and sputter and practically choke on my breakfast. “Wh-what?”
“I’ll be the sperm donor. Well, not the donor really. I’ll be the father. I’ll impregnate you.”
Finally… and quite obviously… it occurs to me. “You’re saying that just so you can stick to your original mission. Oh, my god, you’ll stop at nothing to get what you want.”
“This isn’t about winning. It’s about me having an epiphany. The same one you had.” He looks at my clock. “It’s after nine and you just got out of bed, didn’t you? I’ll bet you stayed up at least half the night looking at sperm donor profiles online.”
I shrug. He’s not wrong, but I don’t admit it.
“Did you find the perfect one?”
I shrug again.
“You didn’t. Want to know why? The perfect one doesn’t exist. Why do you think I’ve bailed so many times? I’m beginning to think perfection is an illusion. But it’s too little too late. I’m fucked around here. But last night, when I couldn’t sleep either, I came to realize that maybe all this time what I’ve really wanted was a kid. So you see, it’s the perfect solution.”
“Let me get this straight. You want me to have your baby? But I want to have my baby.”
“It can be yours and it can be mine.”
“You actually came over here thinking you’d talk me into this and that we’d share this child?”
“Well… yes.”
I get up so fast, the chair falls over. “You’re off the deep end crazy, Lucas. The plan was to find an anonymous donor and be a single mom. Single —as in by myself.” I throw up my hands. “Perfect solution? Perfect would have been you having a kid with Lissa and me with Bentley Fitzgerald.”
“Who the hell is Bentley Fitzgerald?”
“A character in the book I’m reading.” I shake my head. “It’s not important. What I’m saying is that this”—I motion a hand between us— “is most definitely not perfect. In fact, it’s the most imperfect situation I can think of.”
“Maybe that’s why it makes sense.” He follows me across the room. “Maybe both of us have been waiting for something that’s never going to happen. Maybe imperfect is all we get in this life. That doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Or bad. Think about it, Regan. I have money. The kid will want for nothing. I know you’re barely in the black. Childcare is expensive. Diapers. Clothes. Sports. College. They say it takes hundreds of thousands of dollars to raise a child—do you have that kind of money? I can provide. All I’m asking is that I get time with him or her. That the kid will know me. That I can teach him how to throw a ball and warn her away from guys like me. That I can show them the business and that maybe, one day, he or she can even work at the winery.”
“But it’s ludicrous.”
“Regan, do you have any savings?”
“Enough for a rainy day.”
“So, what, a few thousand? That won’t even cover the hospital bill to deliver the baby. You’ll have to take time off at first and that means even less money coming in. Have you thought this through? Do you have a plan? Because I do. And I can help you do this.”
I hate to admit that he’s right. Hell, the cost for the sperm alone will drain my savings. I didn’t even think about childcare. Or college. Or… anything in between. But women like me—regular women with regular jobs and not a lot of extra income—do this all the time. Don’t they?
“You could find worse candidates, you know.” He holds his arms up and turns, showing me the merchandise. “You have to admit, I’ve got what most women going to a sperm bank would kill for: looks, pedigree, intelligence, no family history of terrible diseases.”
Am I going crazy here, or is his proposition starting to sound appealing?
“Come on, Ray.” He smiles. “What do you say? I promise it’ll be amazing.”
And this is where I turn on a dime. “You’re hardly the poster boy for keeping promises. No, this is a terrible idea. I’ll just work hard to save up more money and then in a few years—”
“When you’re thirty-seven? Forty? When it might be too late to even get pregnant?”
God, I hate him a little bit right now. Everything he’s saying is true. But what he’s offering is just… insane.
“You’re worried about my commitment here? Afraid I’m going to bail? What’s to worry about? You said yourself you wanted to be a single mom. If I change my mind, you’re no worse off than you are now. Actually, you’ll be far better off because you could demand child support.” His eyes light up. “In fact, if you want, we can even do this through a lawyer. You know, have contingencies and rules in place in case you think I’m going to fuck this up like I fuck up everything else.”
I narrow my eyes. “You really want a kid?”
He squares his shoulders and looks me right in the eyes. “I really do.”
I go over and take the lid off my coffee, sipping as I think. Then thinking as I sip. “I don’t know. It’s all so confusing in my head right now. I mean, this could be the stupidest mistake of all time.”
“Or it could be the best thing that ever happened to either of us.”
I put down the cup, walk behind him, and push him toward the door. “Right now, you need to go. Any decision I make at this moment would be totally hormonal. I need time to think.”
“I’ll go,” he says. “But promise me you won’t go to any of those sperm banks without really considering what I’m offering. I’m talking Ivy League education, Regan. No anonymous donors can offer that much. Or anything .”
“Stop. I heard what you said, and I know exactly how rich you are, Lucas. Everything isn’t always about money.”
“But—”
I stomp my foot. “Quit it.”
“Reg—”
My hand flies up to his mouth. He talks through it anyway, his words coming out muffled.
“I really wanted a bear claw.”
I roll my eyes, go fetch the bag, shove it into his ribs, and push him out the door.
Then I lean against it, sliding to the floor, feeling like I’ve just been offered Sophie’s Choice.