Unexpecting (Unexpecting #1)

10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

“Friendships will undoubtedly change at the onset of a pregnancy. Mothers-to-be will be preoccupied with the changes in their body and the impact a child will have on their future. They will have less inclination to deal with the petty problems of their friends.”

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

Dr. Francine Pascal Reid (1941)

I did realize it was horribly pathetic to hold a candle for someone this long, but especially pathetic when you hadn’t had any contact with him for years. The big question was, why was I still hung up on David Mason? Because ever since he walked into the store Thursday night, he was all I could think about.

In my defense, I don’t consider that I’ve been holding the candle for him for the entire twelve years. I had a bad time of it when I came back from Europe, but I got over that in a couple of months. And except for the odd Google or Facebook search for him in the last year or so, I haven’t given much thought to David.

Until I was canvassing my list of past loves, of course, searching for someone who might be a good fit for the daddy-and-dump role I needed to be filled. I hit on David—a quick hit, not a dwell—because we had a decent, stable relationship. But when Morgan brought him up out of the blue, with no idea he had also been on my mind, of course, I started thinking about him a little more, especially now that I’m given to analyzing every man I see for a possible sperm donor. And then David just showed up at the store, like some weird vision. Just seeing David made all my old, forgotten feelings fall into a perfect line before me, and I realized that, yes, it can be said that I’ve been hung up on him since we broke up. Pathetically so.

I fell in love with David when I was nineteen years old. At least I’m pretty sure I was in love with him, but the ease with which I surrendered the four-year relationship to go gallivanting off to Europe with Brit left many wondering. In my defense, though, Brit and I had this trip planned since we were sixteen. And it was an amazing trip. We were twenty-two—it was the summer after we graduated with our bachelor’s degrees, me from the University of Toronto and Brit from Queens. Both of us were headed back to school in September—me for my bachelor’s of education and Brit for her master’s of business (I later completed my master’s, just so you know)—but both of us felt we needed one last summer of fun before entering the real world.

Brit and I started off with one of those Contiki tours, the ones where you see seven countries in twenty days, drink copious amounts of alcohol, and get little or no sleep. And, oh yes, have sex with as many people as you can. Well, in Brit’s case anyway. I’m sure not all the tours are like that, but I just happened to see it from Brit’s point of attack. I think her final total for the tour was four, and I think she threw in a couple more when we were in Italy before we headed home. This, of course, from the girl who had only ever had sex with one person before we landed on foreign shores and who was on the cusp of becoming her now-gorgeous self. Brit traded away her relative lack of experience (not that there’s anything wrong with experience or relative lack of it) with a vengeance on that trip. Not to sound condescending, but two of the four guys she slept with on the tour had just gotten out of the Navy and were trying to get as much action as they could.

I, on the other hand, stuck with quality rather than quantity and spent half the trip sharing the bed of our tour manager, a hunky Australian named Butch. There are much more interesting stories to tell about my travels with Brit other than our sexual escapades, but this isn’t the time to get into it. I’ll finish with how we ended up in Greece three months after setting off from London, seeing a lot more of Europe than we had planned.

But back to David, since that’s what got me started down memory lane. When I got back from Europe, with every intention of throwing myself at David’s mercy and begging him for another chance, I found he was gone. Moved-to-Vancouver gone. I don’t know what it is about the western shores of this country, but they do attract a lot of single Torontonians. Anyway, David was gone and I was on my way to Kingston to finish my education, so it wasn’t like I could go chasing after him. I thought about it for a while but decided against it. So that ended the history of David and Casey.

Was the trip to Europe worth sacrificing David? I have to say—absolutely. I did miss him, but I didn’t have to be miserable about it and I did enjoy my freedom. Did I regret breaking up with him? Again—absolutely.

That was twelve years ago. Since then, I’ve heard the odd tidbit about him from mutual friends, and when Facebook came out, I took the opportunity to check for him a couple of times. And I’ve Googled him a few times, but it’s not like I was stalking him or anything. And that’s about it. I don’t think I’ve been doing the whole holding-of-the-candle thing. It was just such a shock to see him after so long. And it was nice that he wasn’t bitter or anything about me ending things. And it was exciting that he wanted to catch up with me as much as I wanted to catch up with him.

More than anything, David had transformed from my first serious, non-high school boyfriend into an almost mystical symbol of the best boyfriend ever. I know things weren’t perfect between us (early twenties, still in university—when is a relationship at that time in your life perfect?), but I do remember it as pretty good. I’m sure I’ve romanticized it, but really, who can blame me with my disastrous stream of boyfriends? Thinking about David made me realize it might just be possible for me to find love.

All this went through my head on Friday, so I was a bit of a basket case by the time I got home—anticipation and nerves were creating havoc in my stomach. After work, I met up with some friends I’ve known from university, and I had the hardest time not announcing to all that I had a date with David for the next day. Or was it a date? I was meeting him at his house, which could mean David considers his home to be a nonthreatening, neutral place; he wants me to meet his wife or girlfriend or whoever he’s sort of involved with—or he wants me to meet his dog. I have to say, I’m hoping for the dog, unless he wants me at his home to be closer to his bedroom so there won’t be a logistics problem if he decides to seduce me then and there. That, of course, is my favourite option, and I know it’s the least plausible.

You’ve probably noticed that I’ve conveniently forgotten that I’m giving up on dating and men. I’ve decided to justify my excitement by vowing to give up on new men. David, being part of my past, obviously doesn’t fit into that category, and therefore it’s all right for me to go on a date with him, if a date is what he has planned. Besides, the guy just walked back into my life—or at least my wine store—after twelve years; it’s not fair to take that away from me!

I had just gotten home and settled into the couch upstairs to watch Letterman when Cooper and Emma came home.

″Hey,” I called out. Emma followed Coop into the living room. “You’re home early.”

″It was pretty slow tonight. Nice weekend, everyone heads to the cottage.” Coop sank into the chair opposite me. Before he could say anything else, the sound of my cell phone sitting on the table started ringing and interrupted. Sebastian had been curled up on a magazine on the table and jumped off like a shot. Cooper handed me the phone with a glance at the call display.

″One of your hen friends,” he said.

″No one appreciates being referred to as poultry, thankyouverymuch.” It was Morgan, and I could barely understand her through hysterical crying.

″Morgan, what is it? Did something happen? Are you okay?”

″It’s Anil,” Morgan finally managed to choke out.

″Oh my God, is he okay?” I sat up straight on the couch with my hand on my chest. “Was he in an accident?”

″He should have been. I wish he were dead! He broke up with me!″ Morgan wailed so loudly I was sure Cooper, sitting across the room from me, could hear her. “He told me he didn’t see a future with me! Now, I’ll never get married! I was with Anil for six years, and now all I have is six wasted years. That bastard, that fucking bastard! You know, he knows, everyone knows I’m expecting a ring from him! I put so much time and effort into this relationship, and then the asshole goes and says he doesn’t see a future with me. What kind of bullshit is that? I can see a future—you can see a future. Everyone can see a motherfucking future! How does that fucking bastard not come to that same conclusion? Six years—I’m thirty-five years old, for Chrissakes! The asshole is supposed to marry me! He needs to marry me!”

“Everything okay?” asked a concerned Emma from across the room. I was sure she could hear every word. I rolled my eyes at her and nodded. Then I gave them both a wave and walked down the stairs to my apartment without turning on the light. This was going to take a while .

″What am I supposed to tell people? It’s so humiliating!” Morgan screeched so loudly into my ear, I stumbled down the last stair, which is about an inch higher than the others and always trips me when I go down in the dark. I practically fell into the door of my apartment.

″Oh shit,” I mumbled.

″I know!″ Morgan wailed. “It’s such a shitty thing to do!”

″What exactly did he say?” I asked patiently, having regained my footing. I switched on the kitchen light so I didn’t impale myself on something. My question started her off, and Morgan proceeded to go into gory detail about what Anil told her, what room this all took place in, what they had for dinner earlier, and even that he was wearing the Ralph Lauren sweater she gave him last year for their anniversary. I only had to say a few “uh huhs,” murmur “wow” once or twice, and wish I had thought to bring my glass of wine downstairs with me.

Note to self: stop drinking whenever I get pregnant. I wonder if I drink too much. Probably. It’s hard to be interested in wine and not drink it. I distracted myself with that thought for a few minutes.

″Maybe he’ll change his mind?” I thought to suggest when Morgan took a breath.

″Huh! You think I’ll be taking that bastard back after this? I told him, you walk out that door, you asshole, you won’t ever be walking back in. And the son of a bitch left! He actually left!” I never realized Morgan was capable of so much profanity. “The prick never loved me. And after all the sex I gave him. He just couldn’t get enough of me, and I never said no, not tonight. I was always into it. But no, the asshole’s lost that for good. No more of this body curled around him to keep him happy at night!” I could almost see her snap the C, like in some Beyonce video.

Just as I was about to say something congratulatory for Morgan being so strong, her voice took a drastic switch. “What am I supposed to do now?” she all but whispered. “Look at how old I am. Thirty-five is old, no matter how much they say forty is the new thirty. I’m going to be forty in less than five years, and I won’t even have a husband! I’ll never be able to get married! I’ll never have children.” She broke down into noisy sobs.

I might have mentioned how firmly ensconced Morgan is to Brit’s “Let’s Get Married School of Worship.” I wonder if I’m an anomaly—a woman in her mid-thirties not getting an ulcer because she’s not married. Maybe if I wasn’t so concerned with the baby thing, I might be. Then again, I might not .

“I don’t know what to say,” I admitted when the sobs abated. And I really didn’t. Normally I’m the one doing the breaking up, and I’m usually not too upset about it. There’s no need for words of comfort from the girls at the end of my relationships. Usually, it’s high-fives and a drink to celebrate.

″You have to help me find someone new,” Morgan instructed, really doing a Sybil with all of her mood swings. I guess grief does that. She’d gone through the whole denial, anger, and acceptance of life without Anil pretty darn quick. “You have to help me find someone so much better than Anil. I have to make the prick see what he’s missing.”

″Um, okay?”

″I have to find someone before Brit’s wedding. There’s no way I’m going by myself to that.”

I probably will be, I felt like telling her.

″I’ll call tomorrow, and we can begin to strategize. You know where to meet all the men. I don’t care if I find an asshole either, as long as he looks good. I’m going for purely superficial here. He’s just going to be a rebound guy, so it doesn’t matter. And if he gives good head, more the better. Anil always…”

I heard another sobfest coming, and I braced for it. With the choice of crying or intimate details of their sex life, I think I’ll take the crying. I love Morgan to bits, but there is a limit to friendship. I still remember the time I had an adjoining hotel room to Morgan’s when we were in Florida on vacation and received firsthand knowledge—through a very thin wall—of exactly what she likes in bed. What she likes, how much she likes, and where she likes it.

″Anyway,” Morgan said after a ragged breath, “I have the worst headache. Damn Anil-the-fucking-bastard for making me cry. I’m going to go put some Preparation H on my eyes and take enough Vicodin to pass out. Talk to you tomorrow.” Click.

I went back upstairs to retrieve my glass of wine, and I was not surprised to see Cooper cuddled on the couch with Emma, with Sebastian snuggled in between them, both of them petting him. I think my cat loves everyone more than me. He never lets me cuddle him. I’m just there to provide nourishment and a clean litter box.

I’m also not surprised that one of them—Coop, probably—has drunk my wine while I was listening to Morgan rant in all of her potty-mouthed glory .

″Do you know why someone would put hemorrhoid cream on their eyes?” I asked Coop and Emma.

″For puffiness,” Emma promptly replied.

″Does everyone know that but me?”

″I don’t want to know that,” Cooper said emphatically, rolling his tired-looking eyes. “Was that a Brit or Morgan crisis?”

″Morgan. Anil broke up with her, and she’s a little pissed. They were together six years, and she really expected them to get married soon.”

″And now she’s got to start over with someone new,” Emma said sympathetically. “I’d be pissed too.”

I never looked at it that way, mainly because I’m usually the one starting over with every guy I meet and I’m used to it by now.

″You going to bed right away?” Coop asked me.

I didn’t bother to conceal the yawn that cracked my face. “I would have been fast asleep if Morgan hadn’t called. What’s up?” Cooper shot a guilty glance at Emma, and I could tell what was coming. “If Emma moves in, are you kicking me out?” I asked before he could say anything. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”

Emma’s laugh seemed relieved. “It’s a big house,” she told me. Emma has gone pink, an endearing trait of hers, which makes her look even more adorable. If I was ever thinking of being into girls, I’m sure Emma would be my type. Of course, I’d never tell her that and should probably not even be thinking it, but whatever.

Coop still looked guilty. “I guess J.B. got to you first. Sorry. Anyway, yes, Emma is going to be moving in, and no, I’m not kicking you out. That’s your place downstairs, and really, the way our three schedules are, I don’t think one more person living here will make much difference to you.”

″Well, congratulations. I think it’s great. I take it you’re not kicking J.B. out either?”

″No,” Emma smiled at me. “Do you want him too?”

″Well, sometimes…” I wheedled.

Emma shook her head. “I really think the two of you should get your stuff together. I think you’d be perfect,” she said.

Cooper gave a choking cough.

″I don’t think so,” I said seriously. “Where is he tonight?”

Normally, Cooper and J.B. (and usually Emma lately) would come home together since the restaurant and J.B.‘s nightclub are only a short walk away. Emma used to work at J.B.’s club, but J.B. got her a job as a waitress at Coop’s and the rest is history. She also does quite a bit of acting—in local theatres and once as part of the chorus in Mama Mia. She’s pretty good, but not quite up to making-it-in-the-big-time standard, but I think she came to terms with that a while ago.

″Still hard at work?” I added, already guessing the answer. Not that it bothers me or anything. J.B. can sleep with whomever he wants. It doesn’t matter that last Saturday night he was in my bed, and now, less than a week later, he may be… not that it’s any of my business.

″Well, no.” Cooper looked embarrassed. “I think he offered to give someone a ride home.”

That stung a little, even though there was no reason for it to. I looked pointedly at Emma. “Not that it’s any of my business. But that’s why it would never work with me and him. He likes the ladies too much.”

″So did Cooper,” she noted.

″Yes, but Coop was fairly easy to domesticate. Getting J.B. to settle down would be like trying to teach a cat to pee in the toilet.”

″Thanks,” Coop said wryly. He gave a great yawn and made a move as if to get off the couch. “You coming up?” he asked Emma.

″In a minute. I want to ask Casey what’s going on with the baby thing. Did you give it some more thought?”

This was strange. I narrowed my eyes quizzically at Emma. “Yes, but why…” Why are you so interested? was what I didn’t say since that would be rude.

Emma gave me a sad smile and looked sideways at Cooper. “I can’t have babies,” she told me in a soft voice.

″Oh, Emma. I didn’t know. And I kept going on about it…” Suddenly I felt horribly guilty being so selfish and so obsessed with it, when all the while… “How?”

″I found out about five years ago. A case of HPV left untreated…” She looked resigned. “Apparently I should be a poster girl for getting regular Pap tests.”

″Oh, Em, I’m so sorry.” I leaned over Cooper and gave her a hug. “I’ll never talk about having a baby again.”

“It’s okay,” she assured me. “I’ve had a while to get used to it. And you know who was great to talk to? J.B.”

″The one who lives here?” I asked stupidly.

″The very same,” Emma said with a smile. “When he was married, I guess his wife lost a few babies.” She glanced at Cooper for confirmation.

″She had two miscarriages. ”

″That’s why he’s so against having kids,” I breathed.

″Probably,” Emma agreed. “It would be so horrible to go through anything like that and I feel so bad he had to, but he was great with me. And Cooper. I’ve come to terms with it, and there are other ways to have a baby, you know.”

″If I didn’t want my own so much, I’d be a surrogate for you!” I offered, still feeling bad for her.

“Someday we might take you up on that,” Coop said. This must be hard on him as well. Amazingly enough, Cooper has a fifteen-year-old son, whom he never gets to see. There was a lot of bad blood between him and the mother and her family when Dominic was born. I think they live in Montreal now. I’m sure he wanted to rectify things by having a baby with Emma someday.

″Another reason I think you should have a baby,” Emma explained. “If you could get yours out of the way, then you could have one for us.” She said it with a laugh, but there was a note of seriousness to her suggestion.

″You’d really want me to do that?” I was flabbergasted. And very, very touched.

″There’s nobody else we’d even think about asking,” Coop told me in a gruff tone.

″Really? Awww…” I leaned toward them and engulfed Cooper and part of Emma in another hug.

″Well, don’t get too excited,” Coop hastened. “It’s not for a while yet. I think I’d like to be married first. Not that I’m asking yet, so don’t get any idea,” he said quickly to Emma.

″But seriously, Casey, I don’t think you should wait,” Emma told me earnestly. “Five years ago I could have had a baby, but now… things change, and I think you should just go for it. What’s that expression—seize the day?”

“Carpe Diem,” Coop told her. “Haven’t you ever seen Dead Poets’ Society?” At Emma’s head shake, Coop smacked his forehead. “I keep forgetting you’re just a baby.”

″I’m twenty-six. That’s not a baby. It’s only thirteen years difference. It just seems like more because you keep bringing up movies that you know I’ve never seen and making me watch them on that old VCR.”

Thirteen years. I was still with David thirteen years ago. I tuned out Coop and Emma’s mock-fight and thought back to thirteen years ago. I was in my last year at U of T; David had already casually mentioned getting an apartment together when I finished school. I hadn’t begun to start planning the trip with Brit.

If I could go back thirteen years ago and do it over again, I wonder what my life would be like.