Unexpecting (Unexpecting #1)

3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

“The decision to have a baby should not be taken lightly.”

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

Dr. Francine Pascal Reid (1941)

I woke up Sunday as the early morning sun was peeking through the curtains I forgot to close and realized my life was slipping away. Okay, maybe that’s a little too dramatic, but that’s what it felt like. Discovering Mike was no better than the other assholes I’ve met was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. After almost twenty years of dating, this back had gotten quite good at carrying things, but now it had had enough. I really thought there might be a future with Mike, but once again, I was as wrong as a kid eating yellow snow. I can’t say my heart was broken, but the ego did take a bruising, especially when last night was going to be the first time I had sex with Mike, not him going down on a skinny little twenty-one-year-old in the coatroom of the church.

Once I start wallowing in self-pity, there’s no turning back, so with a firm shake of my head, I decided that was enough. Mike was so not worth it. In fact, no man had proven to be worth me lamenting the fact that it never seems to work out between us, and then moaning to everyone about how I have the worst luck in men. I needed to end the losing streak once and for all.

I am romantically challenged, plain and simple. Either that or I’m only capable of attracting losers. But since there have been a couple of good ones—only a couple, mind you—I’m still optimistic enough to hope I’ve still got a chance.

I glanced over to where J.B. was still asleep beside me. He was on his stomach, his face turned away from me and both arms stretched up like he was about to dive into a pool. Just so you know, J.B. is one of the good ones. Not that I’m involved with him—other than being friends, living in the same house, and on occasion, having sex with him, but that’s it. Definitely not involved. So he’s certainly not the reason I had the brain wave about giving up men.

And that’s what I decided. I needed to give up the dating aspect of my life. It was clearly not doing me any good, and I hadn’t proven to be very good at it, despite having years of practice. I meet a man, get interested in him, and think possibly, just maybe he might be the one, but then wham, out come the asshole tendencies. And it’s not like I’m meeting Joe Stud at a bar or club. Over the years I’ve refined my meeting-men techniques to concentrate on the places one would assume the average, decent men would congregate. I’ve had success at various sporting events, restaurants, and a Bon Jovi concert, not to mention a fitness centre, a rock-climbing class, and plain old walking in the park. Plus, I think just about everyone I know has tried to set me up with a man, including one of my ex-boyfriends, who thought I’d be perfect for one of his friends. I’m also finding that the older I get, the quicker I go through men. In my twenties, I would keep them around for a while, thinking I could change them, help them, or just become the woman they so desperately needed. These days, with me hitting the mid-thirty mark, it doesn’t take much for me to give a guy the heave-ho. Even if he just forgets his wallet without a suitable excuse, I’ll say see you later. I may be a slow learner, but I’ve definitely learned my lesson. No more getting stranded in Montreal and having to pay a three-thousand-dollar hotel bill. I know now how the words “I’m not ready to be exclusive” can often translate into “the other girl I’m sleeping with just gave me a dose of chlamydia, which I’ve just passed on to you.” And I will never forget, nor will my roommates, how a man being sweetly possessive one day can quickly turn into a serious nut job and result in me having to get a restraining order against him.

And so I decided that’s it. Keeping with the drama, it was like a bolt of lightning out of the blue. That was it. I had had it. No more men. No more dating. No more of the first flush of infatuation, which inevitably leads to another disappointment. Now I sound like a bitter old shrew, so I’ll move past that. I am removing myself from the dating pool before I end up floating face-down.

While my vow to remove all potential suitors from my present and future was a terrific idea—other than facing a future of celibacy and a lifetime of loneliness—it really didn’t help with the whole I-want-to-have-a-baby aspect of my life. And yes, we all know the man is a pretty important part of the baby-making process. So I’d just have to figure out how to get pregnant without having a man in my life.

You might think it was ironic that I was seriously contemplating how to have a baby after engaging in sexual intercourse. You just have to know J.B. The last thing J.B. would want is a woman wanting to have a baby with him. And I don’t—I want a baby, but not a baby with J.B., even as much as I like him. He’s just not into things like commitment or planning a future past the third date, let alone the life-altering aspect of a baby in his life. Since I’ve known him, the longest relationship he’s had with a woman was six weeks, and then only because she was one of those pseudo-celebrity types and the publicity from the lurking paparazzi helped the nightclub that he manages.

So how do I get pregnant without having sex with a man?

Again, it’s like a sudden shock hit me. I took biology in high school. I only need one part of a man to get pregnant—really, only a tiny little essence of a man. And getting that little bit shouldn’t be too difficult. It’s like a flashing red neon sign—get thee to a sperm bank.

All I had to do was find the nearest sperm bank and make an appointment. It’s a big city—there should be a number of clinics in the vicinity of the subway line. That’s what I was going to do. I’d use the sperm of an anonymous donor to get pregnant. It may not be my first choice, but right now, I didn’t see any other options. I’d get myself inseminated and have a baby. And it’s not like I’d have to wait to get married or even meet the right guy. I could go and do this tomorrow! Well, maybe not tomorrow, but next week. I could be a mother. Soon!

I lay awake thinking about this for a couple of hours. I knew this was a decision that was going to not only affect my life but the life of others, including my not-yet-conceived baby. Would I have wanted to be raised without a father? Hell, yes. Do I think I could do a good job as a single parent? It may seem arrogant, but I really think I’ll do okay as both mother and father. And it’s not like the baby won’t have his share of male role models—my brother-in-law Luke is terrific, and Cooper and J.B. would be around. The more I thought about it, the better it sounded .

The possibility of conceiving sooner rather than later got me all excited. I really don’t know how I managed to fall back asleep. But I must have fallen back asleep because the numbers on my clock said it was after ten when Cooper called to me from upstairs.

“Casey? You down there? I’m making breakfast, so c’mon up if you want to eat!”

I heard a grunt from somewhere beneath the blankets beside me in response to Coop’s call.

“What the—what time is it?” J.B. grumbled, rolling over onto his side and taking most of my covers with him.

Maybe it’s a fantasy of some women to be called for breakfast by one man while another one sleeps beside you, but not me. It’s actually gotten to the point where I prefer not to have my guests sleep over—not that there’s been the potential for that for a while. I’m not into the whole snoring aspect and having to share my bed space and cover-hogging and things like that. I’m surprised I let J.B. stay.

Actually, I’m surprised that I slept with him at all. Admittedly, I wasn’t in the best frame of mind—okay, I was drunk and cheated on and sorely in need of comfort—but still. Maybe I used to be in the habit of collecting casual hookups like notches on my belt, but that was years ago. I like to think I’ve grown out of that. And J.B. has never been just a casual fling. But I guess when you take the disastrous time I had at the wedding, J.B.’s sympathetic shoulders to cry on, plus the fact I do find him extremely attractive, sex is what you get. And it had been a while, so who could blame me?

“Time for you to get out,” I told him, giving the blanket a hearty yank and uncovering a pair of bright red striped boxer shorts. Luckily J.B. was wearing them. “Cooper called me for breakfast.”

“Go eat and leave me alone.” J.B. pulled the blankets—we had a regular tug-of-war going on—and attempted to burrow back under the covers.

A weight like a small boulder landed on the bed, and my cat, Sebastian, gave his throaty meow—the one that announces he’s hungry and wants to be fed now. But this morning finding something infinitely more interesting than just me in bed, Sebastian began to climb over J.B.’s inert body toward his head.

“Get off me, animal,” J.B. growled .

“He thinks you should leave, too,” I said. “There’s no way I’m leaving you down here alone for Cooper to find you. You know he got all weirded out the last time.” I sat up in bed and yawned.

“That was two years ago.” With a deep sigh of displeasure, J.B. gave my cat, who was now partially resting his twenty-five pounds on J.B.’s shoulder, a shove and sat up. “Cooper needs to get over it. Besides, is he in the habit of coming down here?”

“He might have some laundry to do. You never know, and I don’t feel like listening to him go on and on about it, so just go,” I told him. Quickly, I grabbed enough of the sheet to pull it up around my bare breasts. “Don’t you want breakfast too?”

J.B.’s hair was mussed as he glanced over at me. “You feeling better now?” he asked gruffly. “About the wedding and everything?”

“Yeah,” I admitted shamefacedly. “I didn’t mean to go all girly and cry on your shoulder like that. Sorry.”

He gave a shrug and stood up. My breath caught as he stretched his six-foot-three frame. His abs and pecs and the… whole package was pretty amazing. “Anytime.” Then he turned and gave me such an obviously lascivious wink that I had to laugh. “And I mean anytime.”

I’m not in the habit of sleeping with my roommates. Definitely not Cooper since we’ve always had a great brother-sister relationship going on. But J.B. has always been different. We actually dated way back when Cooper first introduced us—if you can call three dates dating—but then Cooper offered me the apartment in the house, and we thought it would be too strange to be involved and living in the same house but not really living together, so we decided to keep it just friends.

I’ve always enjoyed being friends with men. They’re easy, no pettiness, and let’s face it, sometimes guys are just fun to hang with. But Cooper and J.B. are definitely two of my best friends, and so while I’ve always had a twinge of “what if?” with J.B., I’m really glad to have him as such a good friend. One night, about six months after I moved in, we got together, and things happened. And again the next night, which Cooper discovered by walking in on me in J.B.’s bed. He wasn’t happy, but because we both love him, we agreed not to continue anything. The interest was pretty strong on my part and I think for him, too, but tempting as it was, I knew what J.B. was like. He doesn’t do relationships or commitments or long-term anything, and I had no preconceptions that I was going to be the one to change him. It might be fun for a while, but I knew it wouldn’t last, so why go through the heartache and screw up a really good living arrangement ?

I threw my pillow at J.B., which is difficult to do while trying to keep covered. “We agreed it shouldn’t happen again,” I reminded him. “For Cooper’s sake.”

J.B. shrugged again and began hunting for his pants. “You decided that. Not me. Coop’s a big boy. He can find someone else to walk in on if he really puts his mind to it.” He pulled on his pants and found his shirt lying crumpled under the bed. As he was putting it on, he came over to my side of the bed. Before I could think to move away, he leaned down, cupping my cheek in his hand, and gave me a kiss.

I told myself the light-headedness I felt was just because I was still foggy from lack of sleep. J.B. is talented at a great many things, and kissing might be top of the list. I didn’t say keeping it friends-only was easy.

“Still want me to go?” he whispered as he pulled away. His lips were a breath away from mine.

“Yes… no…” I murmured with my eyes still closed. “Maybe...” Then as I remembered my vow from earlier this morning, “Yes,” I said clearly and pulled back. J.B. had a big smile on his face. “Don’t do that again. Moron. Go.”

“Ask me nicely,” he said, still grinning. Was he trying to make this more difficult than it already was? Why on earth did he have to be so good-looking? At least he was pulling on his pants because those boxer shorts were becoming somewhat distracting.

“Go! And that’s as nice as you’ll get from me.”

“I’m going, then,” he said. “Your loss.” But just as he turned away, his eyes lit onto something sitting on the nightstand next to my bed. “What’s that?”

The way he said it made me think there was some sort of rodent sitting there quietly watching us. “What!”

“That!” He was pointing at a book, A Young Woman’s Guide to the Joy of Impending Motherhood. It looked a little worse for wear; the spine was cracked, and there was a drink ring on the cover, but there was nothing about it that should get J.B. that excited.

“It’s just a book. Sometimes I read it before bed. My mother gave it to me a few years ago. I’m not sure why. It’s really old, too, from the forties, and I don’t know if she thought it would be useful—not that she’s ever given me much that’s of use, especially recently, but…”

“Why do you still have it? You’re not…?” J.B.’s eyeballs were practically popping out as he goggled at me.

“No. Not yet, anyway. But I want to have a baby. You know that,” I told him calmly. “I’ve told you that. ”

“But… this wasn’t… we used a condom… you didn’t…”

“What are you trying to say?”

“But you want to have a baby!”

“So? Not like this! Not with you! That was just sex, not me trying to conceive! God, your ego…”

“Well, what am I supposed to think?”

“Think about how I was upset and drunk and you took advantage of me,” I told him sarcastically.

“I did not!” he blustered.

“See how it feels?” I gave him a good teacher glare. “I did not sleep with you to intentionally get pregnant. I would never do that to you. I wouldn’t do that to anyone! If I could and would, then I’d already have a baby. And if you continue this line of nervous babbling, I’m going to get upset, and that won’t be good for either one of us.”

J.B. just looked at me as he took a few deep breaths. In all the years I’d known him, he was always so cool and calm. I’d never seen him this close to freaking out. If it wasn’t almost offensive, I might have laughed. But it also showed me I was making the right decision. I couldn’t get involved with anyone else. I was going to do this on my own.

“Casey!” Cooper called down the stairs again. “You want to eat or what?”

“I’m going,” J.B. said hurriedly. He held my gaze for a long moment before he let out a small sigh. “I know. Of course, you wouldn’t. I’m sorry I thought… what I thought.” And then he was gone, still buttoning up his shirt as he headed for the door and before I could tell him any more about what I’d decided. Who would have thought he’d get so bent out of shape about a book? I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of unease about what he might say about me deciding to have a baby by myself.

It had nothing to do with him, I told myself staunchly. J.B. was a friend, and if he wanted to remain my friend, then he’d support me. And while our romantic interludes—that sounds so much better than calling them simple hookups—were definitely enjoyable, it wouldn’t happen again because I was giving up men.

No more men—no more dating. J.B. was the last of them, and while it’s always nice to go out with a bang, I didn’t regret him being the last man I’d be with for a while. At least until after I managed to become a mother. And because I’d decided to use the artificial way to go about it, there wouldn’t be a chance of sex getting in the way of anything. Sex always gets in the way of things—especially with J.B.