15. The Most Awkward Double-Date Ever
15
The Most Awkward Double-Date Ever
While I’m proud of all the new lives I’ve helped usher into the world, my legacy extends beyond the delivery room. I’ve mentored young people who are now doctors. I’ve supported advancements in women’s health. My legacy combines the lives I’ve touched and the path I’ve helped pave for a healthier tomorrow.
Dr. Namrita Cheema, OB-GYN
LUCIE
“ I s there anything more humiliating than wearing a paper poncho while sitting on a roll of paper? I feel like pork loin at a butcher,” I said.
“I know you’re nervous,” Savannah said, folding my shirt and laying it on top of the other clothes she’d placed on the chair in the exam room, “but early exams are no big deal.”
“Wait. It gets worse than this?” My voice rose into such a high register that it hurt my throat. I swallowed.
She gave me a flat look. “Honey, everyone at this hospital is going to look at your hoo-hah before this is over. Not to mention—hmm. Plenty of time for that later.”
“Not to mention what, Savannah?”
“Have you read The Book yet?”
“Not…not yet. I’m still writing mine, remember?”
She squinted at me. “Or are you putting it off, thinking if you don’t read it, it might not happen?”
“That’s not it.” Quite. “I’ll read The Book and do all the other preparations later, once my manuscript is in a good place. Promise.” Was I promising her or myself? Or the fetus lodged in my uterus?
A knock sounded on the door.
“Come in,” I said, relieved.
A brown-skinned woman no taller than me bustled in. She flashed me a radiant smile. “Hello, Lucie. I’m Dr. Cheema.” When she shook my hand, hers was dry and warm, which made mine feel extra clammy.
Unbothered, she extended her hand to Savannah. “Is this your partner?”
“We’re friends. I’m Savannah,” she said. “I’ll be coming with Lucie to her appointments.”
“Ah. And Dad is…?” Dr. Cheema raised her lush eyebrows, making me wish I hadn’t overplucked mine back in the ’90s.
“Just a…a hookup. And a friend. My neighbor, actually. With benefits. Though that’s over now. In fact, I’m actively avoiding him.” I cringed. Where had all that come from? I certainly hadn’t meant to mention the avoiding-him part. But the night he’d brought me dinner and offered to do more haunted my thoughts. His caretaking was dangerous. I couldn’t let myself rely on him. I’d gotten myself into this mess, and I’d see it through.
“Is he the kind of friend who might come to your appointments?” Dr. Cheema asked.
“No.” Sure, he’d seen me naked, but naked and wearing an oversized envelope was something else entirely. And with all the weird pregnancy hormones, I’d gotten hot and bothered over a flipping shoulder massage . It would be too humiliating if I got aroused while I was sitting on a sheet of goddamn paper. “Did you miss the part where I said I’m avoiding him?”
“Okay,” she said, making a note on her tablet with a stylus. “Are you planning to invite him into the delivery room?”
Delivery room? I hadn’t thought that far ahead. My immediate thought was no way, but that didn’t seem fair to him, considering we planned to co-parent this baby. Would he want to see his child’s birth? “I don’t know.”
She made another note. “You’ve got plenty of time to work out your birth plan.”
I turned wide eyes on Savannah. “Birth plan?” I mouthed.
“Read The Book,” she mouthed back.
Subtly, I gave her the middle finger. She hid her laugh with a cough.
Dr. Cheema looked up. “Do you have questions for me?”
Shit. This felt like a job interview. “Just one. I had a couple sips of wine after I, um…conceived, but before I knew I was pregnant. Do you think the baby’s okay?”
The doctor smiled. “I’m sure the baby is fine. But I recommend you don’t drink alcohol for the rest of your pregnancy.”
“Right.” I nodded. It tasted funny now anyway. Though I missed going to the bar. I loved living alone, but living over a bar was like having a family who didn’t care if you had a little too much and danced on a table, or if you wanted to drink your goddamn drink in a corner and not say anything.
Dr. Cheema checked her tablet. “Is this your first pregnancy?”
“Second. I had an abortion in college.”
“No complications?”
Other than my father’s disappointment that I’d almost derailed my career? “No.”
“Got it. Are you aware of any genetic conditions in Dad’s family?”
I cringed. “No?” I knew nothing at all about Danny’s family, except that it was Italian and large.
“Not a problem. Let me know what you find out. Due to gaps in your medical history and your age, would you like to have the screening tests for genetic disorders?”
I must have looked panicked because Savannah mouthed, “The Book.”
“I guess?” I shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant while I was sweating through my paper dress. “More information is always better.”
Dr. Cheema nodded and made a tick on her tablet. “We’ll watch you closely through the pregnancy in case of complications.”
“Complications?” Suddenly, keeping the baby didn’t seem like such a smart decision.
She set her tablet in her lap and looked into my eyes. “The occurrence of miscarriage, including late miscarriage, increases with age. We’ll do the genetic tests for chromosomal abnormalities, and we’ll do blood tests to check for gestational diabetes and preeclampsia. You’re also at a slightly higher risk for cesarean section, postpartum hemorrhage, and prolonged labor. You should call the office if you experience any spotting.”
There wasn’t enough air to breathe. Was the ventilation working in the tiny exam room?
Savannah squeezed my hand. “You’re going to be fine, honey. You’re healthy, and Dr. Cheema and her staff are going to take care of you. Women give birth in their forties all the time.”
“I’m thirty-nine,” I snapped.
“You’ll be forty in August, and that’s three months before the baby is born.”
“Fuck off.” I regretted that instantly. “I mean, you’re right.”
“Your friend is right,” Dr. Cheema said. “Starting motherhood in your forties is becoming more and more common. We know so much more now than we did twenty years ago. We’ll be well prepared for any complications.”
“Okay.” I breathed out. My hand steadied under Savannah’s. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Dr. Cheema chirped. “Lie back on the table, and we’ll do an ultrasound.”
I reclined on the table while Dr. Cheema wheeled over a machine with a weird-looking keyboard and a screen.
“Next time, a technician will do your ultrasound. But I usually like to do the first one. Hearing the baby’s heartbeat for the first time never gets old. Feet in the stirrups.” She picked up a wand and sheathed it in a condom.
“What?”
As she spread gel over it, she said, “An internal ultrasound gives us a much better picture of the fetus when it’s this small.”
I glared at Savannah. “You didn’t think to warn me about the vaginal probe?”
She winced. “Surprise?”
A few weeks after my OB-GYN appointment, on a Thursday in late May, I pulled open the door to welcome Carly and Andrew to my apartment.
I tugged Carly into a hug. “It’s good to see you. And you too, Loverboy.” I hugged him next, savoring his blush. “Are you treating our girl like the goddess she is?”
“Every chance I can,” he said, resting a hand on her lower back. Carly leaned a little closer to him, fitting into his side like the magnetic cable on my laptop.
Ugh.
As I shut the door behind them, I raised my eyebrows. “Is he?”
“Yes.” Now she blushed. “Especially now that award season is over and I’m home most of the time. He treats me like a queen.”
“Good.” It was what she deserved after the treatment she got from her shitstain of an ex-husband.
“I brought you these.” She held up a shopping bag.
I peered inside. “What is it?” It looked like clothes. At least Carly’s taste was better than my mother’s. She only sent me dresses in the pastel colors she loved but I hated.
“Maternity clothes.”
I dropped the bag, and it hit the floor with a bang.
“You won’t need them for a while, but Andrew’s sister-in-law Alicia was getting rid of them, and they’re quality pieces. Work clothes, casual clothes, even an evening gown. Though you might have to have it taken up since she’s taller than you.” She scanned my face. “Just put them away in your closet for now. In a few months, you’ll be glad you have something that fits.”
That sounded like a problem for Future Lucie, one I was happy to ignore tonight. I picked up the bag and dumped it into the killer crib. “What’s the deal with baby goods? All I have to do is say I’m knocked up, and things show up at my place. Does anyone actually buy new stuff for babies, or have they all been wearing the same ten onesies manufactured in 1982?”
“That stuff is expensive, and kids grow quickly,” Carly said. “Accept as many gifts as you can. Growing up, we had a whole program going where the girl down the street would give me her cast-offs, then I’d give them to my younger cousin. Though…” She winked at Andrew. “I don’t think everyone shared that experience. I can’t imagine Audrey Jones accepting hand-me-downs. Did you ever wear hand-me-downs, sugar?”
“Not really.” He brightened. “I had a pair of jeans I wore until they got holes in the knees.”
Carly and I exchanged a glance. “That’s not the same thing, honey. Anyway, Lucie, if you find you need something else, I know all the good resale shops.”
Baby things were already piled to the top of the crib. Anything more, and it’d tower over my desk.
I changed the subject. “Where do you want to go for dinner? There’s a good Italian place, a dive where they serve fantastic pizza, and a Thai place, though it hasn’t been as great since the original owners sold it and moved to San Diego.”
“I heard there’s a pop-up supper club near here tonight,” Andrew said.
“A what?” Andrew and I might both be millennials, but sometimes he seemed like a different generation entirely.
“A chef sets up a temporary restaurant. Tonight, it’s in some place called Barb’s Bar. On the map, it looked close to here.”
I laughed. “It’s downstairs. And I’d bet my last dollar the chef is Leo Carbone. He’s, um, Danny’s brother.” I examined the toe of my high-heeled boot. “His food is excellent. We can go if you want.”
“You’ll be okay?” Carly asked.
“Yeah.” Danny didn’t work Thursday nights. Besides, I’d been missing the bar lately. It’d be good to chat with Barb. “Let’s go.”
Andrew and Carly looked at me funny when I tiptoed past the second-floor landing. It was a habit I’d started since I’d told Danny about the pregnancy. We might be forced into co-parenting, but that didn’t mean we had to spend time together before the baby was born. Besides, we both needed time and space to think about our situation. At least I did.
Safely past the landing, Carly told me the story of a starlet she’d styled whose dress had gotten lost in shipment, so Carly had to find a replacement gown at the last minute. Andrew, who must have heard the story before, beamed proudly the whole time she told it.
They were so cute, it was disgusting.
As I pulled open the door to the bar, I said, “Watch out, it’s a dive.”
But it wasn’t.
When we walked in, the place had been transformed. I recognized a few of the Thursday-night regulars looking as confused as I was. They were backed up against the bar, staring at the tables, which had been lined up into two communal rows like at family reunions. White cloths were draped over the stained wooden tables, and fake candles flickered across white china plates alongside silverware that was much nicer than Barb’s flimsy, dented service. The long tables were almost full. A delicious aroma of roasted meat and spices filled the air.
Leo carried out a pair of plates from the kitchen and murmured something as he set them in front of a pair of diners. When he straightened, he spotted me. “Lucie!” He spread his arms wide. “You came!”
“I…did?”
“I’m so glad Danny got over himself and invited you. Come on, I’ve got a private table for friends and family.” He winked. “Introduce me to your friends.”
I introduced Carly and Andrew to Leo as he guided us to a four-top against the wall. “I’ll grab Danny,” he said when we were seated.
“You don’t have to—” I began, but he’d already hurried off.
Andrew sniffed the air. “It smells incredible in here.”
“Remember that place in Milan?” Carly said. “It smells like that.”
“That was a fantastic trip,” Andrew said.
While they reminisced about it, I started to sweat. Danny hadn’t mentioned the supper club. In fact, we hadn’t talked for weeks. Not since he’d brought food up to my place. Some of it was because I’d been busy, but a lot of it was because I didn’t want him to think I needed him to take care of me. Every time he’d offered to bring me food or help me organize the baby stuff, which I was ashamed to admit was still piled in that damned crib I couldn’t use, I’d turned him down. We were in this situation because of me. I’d forgotten the Plan B, and it’d been my choice to keep the baby. He didn’t owe me a thing. I could do this on my own.
I hoped he wouldn’t think I’d come here looking for him.
I was pleating my napkin in my lap when someone loomed over our table, his woodsy scent cutting through the oregano and fennel that filled the restaurant that night.
“Hey,” he said.
His hair was down tonight, curling a bit at his shoulders. He wore a black dress shirt and black trousers, similar to what Leo had on, but Danny’s broad shoulders and narrow waist made it look sexier somehow. Not as sexy as his bartender T-shirts, which outlined every muscle on his chest and shoulders. My mouth went dry, remembering what Danny looked like underneath his clothes.
Stop!
I closed my eyes to pull myself together, then I looked up at him. “Hi. These are my friends Carly and Andrew. Andrew suggested that we come down for dinner. I didn’t think you’d be here since it’s Thursday.”
His cheeks turned pink. “I’m working as a favor to Leo. I came over to grab your drink order.”
“Oh.” My face went hot, and my palms started to sweat.
Andrew stood and held out his hand. “Hi. You must be Danny. We’ve heard…nothing about you. Why don’t you join us?” He pointed at the empty chair next to me.
“I…but…” He turned dark, helpless eyes on me.
“I insist,” Carly said, her eyes glittering.
“I’ll, uh, I’ll get your drinks first. Wine?” He waited for Carly and Andrew to nod. “Lucie, if you’ll come with me, I can mix you up a mocktail.”
“I…okay.” He was right. We needed to talk before he joined us in what was about to become the most awkward double-date ever.
He pulled out my chair, and I followed him to the bar. He went behind it and selected a bottle of wine from a carton on the floor. As he reached for the glasses on the overhead rack, I tried not to ogle the way the thin fabric of his shirt stretched over his ribs, tracing his obliques, or the way his biceps strained the sleeves as he pulled out the cork.
“I really am sorry,” I repeated. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“It’s okay,” he said gruffly. “It’s good to see you. You look good.”
“Thanks.” I smoothed a hand down my belly. My work pants had started to get tight, so I’d worn a black knee-length skirt with a stretchy waist. That way, I could eat as much as I wanted. My morning sickness was never severe, and it had ended entirely last week. Now I couldn’t seem to get enough to eat.
He pulled something out of the refrigerator under the counter and poured it over ice in a highball glass. He spritzed it with club soda and garnished it with a cherry. “Try this,” he said.
“Cheers,” I said as I picked it up. I sipped it. It was citrusy and bright. Sweet, but not too sweet. “This is delicious,” I said before I took a longer swig.
“Glad you like it. I created a mocktail menu, and that’s the most popular.” His cheeks were red at the tops again as he poured a glass of club soda.
“What do you call it?” I asked.
“The Tell-Tale Tart.” The blush cascaded down his neck.
“That’s…a great name, actually.” I squinted at him. I’d known he was great with drinks, but I hadn’t known it extended to words too.
“Are you sure it’s okay if I join you and your friends?” he asked. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“You heard them. Neither of us has a choice in this. She wants to get to know you, I think. She’s nice, kind of pushy. And Andrew’s a good kid.”
“Kid?” He wrinkled his nose. “How old is he?”
“Thirty-three.”
He fisted two wineglasses, tucked a bottle of wine under his arm, and lifted his club soda. “Oh.”
He stared straight ahead as he walked back to our table, where Carly and Andrew sat with their heads together. When I sat across from her, Carly scooted away from her boyfriend, her cheeks red.
“No canoodling,” I said. “Save it for when you get home.”
“PDA is allowed on date night,” Carly said.
“Remind me to stop joining you on your date nights,” I grumbled.
Danny poured wine for Carly and Andrew, then sat down.
Andrew raised his glass. “To new friends.”
We echoed him. Was Danny really a friend like I’d told Dr. Cheema? He was a neighbor, and we’d be co-parents soon. It’d probably be easier if he and I were friends. But integrating him into my friend group sounded complicated. Especially when Carly and Andrew shared the kind of intimacy that made me uncomfortable. The kind that required allowing yourself to be vulnerable and imperfect.
“How’s your book coming, Lucie?” Andrew asked.
“I had a couple of good phone interviews this week. The premise is coming together.” But my writing wasn’t. I hadn’t been able to tie the interviews together in a way that spoke to me yet. Thinking about how little time I had made my heart race. “I think I can finish the first draft within three months, then revise it before…you know.”
It felt like everyone’s gaze dropped to my midsection, and I put a hand over it.
Danny cleared his throat. “I’m constantly amazed that Lucie works a full-time job while writing a book. I could never be that smart or organized.”
I side-eyed him. He’d never struck me as unintelligent or disorganized. In fact, he seemed to run the bar most nights while Barb chatted up the regulars. But I said nothing.
Carly asked, “You work here at the bar, Danny?”
Before he could answer, Leo strode up to the table. “An amuse-bouche of seared scallops with prosciutto and sage.”
He set the plate of four ham-wrapped jumbo scallops in the center of the table.
“Yeah,” Danny said, “I’ve worked here since I was eighteen. I started as a dishwasher. Over the years, Barb’s been good to me.”
Leo lingered at the table. After a few seconds, he said, “Aren’t you going to tell them the rest?”
Danny stared hard at the morsel of food closest to him.
Why was he silent? He hadn’t stopped talking about his plans to buy the bar since Barb had announced it last December.
Leo shook his head. “He’s buying the place.”
“We’re buying the place,” Danny said sharply. “Though…”
“Though what?” I asked.
He kept his eyes on the food. “Now that I have, um, other responsibilities, I’m wondering if my plan still makes sense.”
“Wait. You’re not talking about me, are you?” I leaned over to snag his gaze.
“You and the, um, baby.”
“That’s my brother,” Leo said, a touch of pride in his voice. “Always looking out for family. He was like another parent.”
“I don’t need your money,” I said. “I’m fine. I’ve got plenty of help.” Quickly, I glanced at Carly, who nodded. “It’s your dream to own this bar.”
“Dreams change,” he said. He grabbed the closest scallop and popped it into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed. “Outstanding, Leo.”
The rest of us did the same. The scallops were buttery in texture, the taste a perfect mix of salty, herbal, and slightly sweet. “God, Leo, that’s amazing,” I said.
He glowed at the praise and pulled up a chair. “You like it?”
“Who wouldn’t?” I said.
The rest of the meal was just as excellent. As I pushed back my empty panna cotta dish, I said, “When you guys buy the bar, you should serve this.”
Leo beamed, but Danny nodded toward the clump of regulars at the bar. A few of them had left, and the ones who remained looked like they’d landed on an alien planet. “I don’t think it’ll fly with our clientele.”
Right. I probably couldn’t afford to eat like this every night either. And the types of establishments that served amuse-bouche generally didn’t welcome babies. “A supper club would be fun every once in a while though.”
“Yeah.” Both Carbone brothers seemed to deflate.
“Do you have social media or a website?” Andrew asked. “I’d like to come to your next pop-up. And tell my friends about it.”
“Not yet,” Leo said. “I wasn’t sure if it’d fly.”
“It’ll fly all right,” Andrew said. “Let me know if you need help. I learned how to do promotional posts from my little sister, who’s in marketing and public relations. I bet she’d give you a free consult.” He pulled one of his Math Nerd cards from his pocket, scrawled his number on the back, and handed it to Leo. “Call me.”
“Thanks. Your dinner’s on the house.”
We protested, and by the time we’d talked Leo into giving us a bill, which Andrew paid, I was yawning.
“I’ve got to call it a night,” I said.
Carly shot me a concerned look. “I’ve never known you to be the first one to turn in. Are you okay?”
“I know it’s no bigger than a lemon, but growing a baby is hard on the body. And I’m not sleeping great either.” I covered another yawn.
“We’ll walk you up.” Carly rose from her chair.
“I can do it,” Danny said. He stood and pulled out my chair.
“That’s right,” Carly said with a knowing smile. “You’re her neighbor.”
“Fuck you,” I murmured as I kissed her cheek.
“Maybe that’s what you need,” she whispered, “to help you sleep?”
Damn it, she had a point. I’d slept so well with Danny. And since he’d already knocked me up, it wasn’t like we could get into any more trouble. What was a little sex and a snuggle between co-parents?
Danny and I climbed the stairs in silence. It wasn’t until we reached my door that he spoke. “Thanks for coming tonight. It meant a lot to Leo.”
“I—I didn’t mean to, like, stalk you or anything. I thought you were off on Thursdays.”
“Of course I’m going to help Leo out.” He narrowed his eyes. “Have you been avoiding me?”
“I’m trying to give you space. And myself. This is a weird situation, right?”
“Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But we don’t have to make it weirder by avoiding each other.”
I winced. “I’m sorry. I’m glad we came. The food was delicious. I hope it was successful for you guys.”
“We had good numbers. I’m hopeful.” He leaned against the door, eyelids drooping.
“Tired?” I fit my key into the lock. “Want to come in for a nightcap?” Did that make me sound sultry like Lauren Bacall in a black-and-white movie, or ancient like my grandma?
He stared at me for a long moment, so long that I regretted saying the word nightcap. I regretted a lot of things.
“Lucie, what are we? Are we two people in an uncomfortable situation who avoid each other because we don’t know how to navigate it, or are we neighbors and friends who could be more?”
“Could we be neighbors and friends who occasionally hook up while navigating an uncomfortable situation? Because an orgasm will help me sleep, and I navigate better when I’m well rested. I write better too.”
“You’re having a hard time writing your book?”
“Yeah. There’s not enough there there yet, you know?”
“There there?” His dark eyebrows scrunched.
“I’m not done with my interviews. I need one or two big ones and a few regular people. People who’ve made a difference in their communities but who aren’t famous outside them. I want to show people that everyone can have a legacy.”
God, the way he listened to me, leaning in, eyes wide, taking in my words, my body language, everything. It was such a turn-on. I stepped closer. “So, want to come in?”
He pushed off the wall. “I don’t want to hook up. Not with you.” He stomped away, muttering something, but my pulse roared in my ears. Something sharp—shame, probably—lodged in my chest.
“Fuck you,” I muttered, “if you don’t think I’m good enough for a hookup.” I shoved my door open.
Heavy footsteps sounded behind me, and I turned. My breath caught at the smolder in his eyes. Had he changed his mind? Was he going to fuck me against the door again? I shivered.
“I don’t want a hookup, Lucie. I want a real relationship. One where we don’t play games or avoid each other. One where we act like grown-ups, like people who are going to be parents. Like people who genuinely like each other. Because I genuinely like you.”
My mouth dropped open, but no words came out. His eyes blazed, and his jaw, I knew, would be hard as granite if I dared to touch it.
“Stop avoiding me, okay?”
I blinked. “I…okay.”
“Good.” He nodded once, then stalked toward the stairs. This time, I heard his heavy footsteps go all the way down to the first floor to Barb’s.
I closed my door. He genuinely liked me? Who the fuck said things like that?
Danny Carbone, that’s who.