Unexpecting (Unexpecting #1)

2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

“Conception occurs when there is the least amount of pressure on both individuals. Lovemaking should be easy and enjoyable, with the eventuality of procreating the furthest thing from the mind.”

A Young Woman’s Guide to the Joy of Impending Motherhood

Dr. Francine Pascal Reid (1941)

I know there are many women out there who are happily married and unable to have a baby for whatever reasons. I feel for them, I really do. If I ever find myself in that situation, I can console myself with the thought that I do have my kindergarten students and my sister’s kids to lavish my affection on. Some women don’t even have that. But some days, when I see one of my students run out to meet his parents with a huge smile on his face, and the parent swoops down to grab him in the biggest hug, I get this ache in my chest. And then when I’m with parents talking to them about their children and I see on their faces an expression of pride and awe for a child’s accomplishments, the ache gets even more painful.

The worst is when I’m not even at the school, but just walking down the street and see a mother holding a child’s hand. I want that. I really do. I know I must sound like such a selfish person to be so concerned with having a baby—like some spoiled child desperate for a new toy—especially since there are so many women who aren’t able to conceive or carry a child, but truthfully it’s the only thing I’ve ever really wanted. I feel like I have a hollow spot in my soul, and I know that having a baby will fill that spot. It’s my dream, and in my mind, you should always follow your dreams, right?

I took a cab home from the reception and fell asleep on the way there. At least it was better than falling asleep on the subway because I’ve done that before and it’s not fun. This way the only thing I had to worry about was the cab driver sneaking peeks at me and running the meter up as I snoozed.

“Miss? Miss?” was how the driver woke me. It was a lot politer than how some of my previous boyfriends woke me.

“Yes, thank you, sorry, thank you,” I mumbled and threw a wad of bills over the seat at him as I fell out of the car. Luckily, J.B. was just getting home from work, or I probably would have flopped down on the postage-stamp-sized lawn and finished my nap right then and there.

J.B. Bergen was my roommate. Well, technically, he’s not my roommate because he shared the upstairs apartment with Cooper while I lived on the main floor, but it feels like we all live together in one big happy house.

“Looks like someone had a good time,” J.B. said as I stumbled across the lawn toward him and the front door. I tripped over a terracotta container of yellow tulips and purple pansies (Emma’s doing—she’s Cooper’s girlfriend) and stumbled into a freshly dug flower bed, falling with my hands in the dirt halfway up to my elbows. J.B. came to my rescue and hauled me to my feet. I wiped the dirt off the skirt of my dress.

“It was the shittiest wedding ever,” I told him. Then I smelled my hands. “Even my hands smell like shit.” Then I burst into tears.

“Hey,” J.B. said with concern. “Don’t do that!”

To his dismay, I continued to stand in the front yard in my dirt-covered, ugly green dress, on which I spilled wine several times, and began to wail loud enough to wake the neighbours. I probably would have stood there for a while had J.B. not hustled me inside to my apartment.

“Hey, c’mon now,” was the only thing he said as he unlocked my door and got me inside on the couch. “It’s not that bad. Where are your shoes?”

I looked down at my feet, noticing for the first time that I was only wearing my nylons and they had definitely seen better days. “I don’t know!” I wailed and started crying even harder.

“We’ll find them, we’ll find them.” J.B. backed away nervously. “I’m going to get you something to drink, okay? Something nonalcoholic,” he muttered as he headed into what constitutes my kitchen .

When Coop moved into the house, the main floor was already set up as a separate apartment, but missing most of the amenities, like a fridge and stove. Because it was me moving in and I can’t cook to save my life, Coop asked if it was okay if he didn’t put a full kitchen in, adding that I could use the one upstairs whenever I wanted. I was fine with that, and so I’ve only got a little bar fridge and a microwave in the kitchen area.

I guess I should back up a minute. My name is Casey Samms. I live in a house owned by one of my dearest friends, Cooper Edison. It’s a pretty good setup because of the sweet deal I get on rent and the fact that my apartment is awesome. Plus, Cooper feeds me quite a lot. The house is one of those huge old ones that had been split into a duplex. I have the main floor apartment, which is on the smallish side because I share the floor with the laundry room and huge storage space. Coop and J.B. (and unofficially Coop’s girlfriend, Emma) live on the upper two floors, which are beautiful and spacious. But because we’re all such good friends and my apartment isn’t furnished all that well, plus the whole no-kitchen thing, I spend a good chunk of my time upstairs.

I met Cooper about five years ago when he was the executive chef at a winery in Niagara-on-the-Lake and I had a summer job working in the tasting room. When he moved into Toronto four years ago to work at the restaurant Galileo and moved into his grandparents’ huge three-storied house in the Annex, Cooper offered me the apartment on the main floor. So far it’s worked out great. I’m hoping to be able to buy my own place soon, but there’s been this little problem of a credit card debt I’ve been trying to clear up. It’s almost cleared up thanks to me working two jobs—I teach kindergarten in the mornings and manage a wine boutique in the afternoons and evenings, as well as taking the odd shift waitressing at Cooper’s restaurant when they need an extra pair of hands. Emma works at Galileo as well—she and Cooper have been together almost two years. I’m sure they’ll be telling me she’s moving in any day now.

J.B. returned to the couch with a bottle of water. “Do you want me to go get Emma or Coop?” he asked nervously. “I think they should be home by now.” He hovered anxiously above me.

J.B. and Cooper met years ago when they were both working at some restaurant. J.B. is originally from this little place in Saskatchewan, but there is nothing small-town boyish about him. Maybe there was when he first got into the city, but these days he’s all smooth and cool and pretty popular with the ladies. Not in any sleazy way, mind you—he’s too nice of a guy for that—but he is quite the operator .

“I’m fine,” I told him, getting dizzy from looking up. I leaned back and closed my eyes.

“Right,” J.B. said as he sat down beside me and took off the top of the bottle of water for me. “Drink. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

“Ah, morning,” I crooned. “Has to be better than today was.” I took the bottle from him and obligingly took a mouthful.

“Probably will be. So it wasn’t a good wedding?”

Instead of answering, I gave a sniff. “You smell like a bar. Beer, and,” —I gave another sniff— “and tequila.” This made perfect sense since J.B. is a bartender and manager of a nightclub downtown.

“You don’t smell so fresh yourself,” he replied. I took the edge of my skirt and tried to wipe the dirt off my hands and arms. “You’re ruining that dress, you know.”

“Ugly dress. Would you want to wear it again?”

“Green’s not my colour,” he said, which makes me laugh through my tears. “Are you going to tell me what happened at the wedding, or do you want me to guess?”

“Guess.”

“You didn’t catch the bouquet.”

“Didn’t want to. I’d probably have to marry Mike. Or maybe I should rename him Asshole. But that might be too kind a name for him.”

“That was my next guess.” Even in my unobservant state, I couldn’t help but notice J.B. trying to hide a smile. “Another one bites the dust. What did he do?”

“Have you ever had sex in a church?”

“Can’t say I have. I take it you weren’t the one with him in the church having the sex?”

“It wasn’t even sex—it was more than sex. The sex that Clinton said wasn’t real sex, but is so sex, especially when I catch him doing it to her and…”

“I get it. You don’t have to draw me a picture,” J.B. grimaced. “Nice guy.”

“I thought he was.” I shook my head morosely. Tears started trickling down my cheeks.

“Hey, none of that,” J.B. said gently, wiping away my tears, but they were falling faster than he could wipe. “He’s definitely not worth it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry, except watching dumb girl movies.”

I gave a halfhearted laugh, but it didn’t stop me from crying. J.B. gave me a hug. He gives good hugs. He’s got a nice chest and good shoulders, and if I nuzzle into his neck, his cologne masks the bar smells. It’s nice to have a friend like J.B. If I could have just stayed there for a while more, then I was sure everything would be just fine.

But then we started kissing.

I want to say I don’t remember who kissed who first, but I really think it might have been me who initiated it. I know J.B. was only trying to make me feel better. And he did—much better in ways I wasn’t expecting. But even though I was glad I wasn’t crying any longer, there was a part of me that knew I should tell him to leave. Maybe I should also mention this was not the first time this had happened. After the last time, I said that was it, especially since Cooper was so upset about it—walking in on two friends going at it would do that to you; it was post-coital, but on the way to pre-coital, second round—and the last thing I want is to cause problems between J.B. and Cooper since they’re both so important to me and…

Fuck it. I’ll deal with the aftermath later.