Chapter Seven Grant
Chapter Seven
Grant
She was going to break up with me.
More specifically, break off whatever it was between us.
This casual thing. It had been a long time coming.
Now that I was moving away, Layla was ready for an upgrade.
Switch to another lease. Find another man to satisfy her needs for the next ten years.
Every time she texted me, I had an impending feeling the world was over and that I would get my fucking life back at the same time.
That’s why I was always so dry and impersonal.
I never knew if she wanted to tell me we were over, or that she wanted me all over her.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t taken my Layla situationship into account when I was offered the Mayo Clinic position.
I’d gone back and forth about whether it was worth it.
Which was crazy, because CAR T-cell therapy had been my passion ever since I became an oncologist, and this job would mean working with researchers who offered a cutting-edge experimental program to terminal patients.
Oh, and because Layla wanted a husband like I wanted a second bladder.
I stopped at the edge of the cafeteria and wiped my sweaty hands over my khakis, glancing at myself in the mirror.
Why did I wear a black sweater over a dress shirt?
I looked pretentious. Haughty. Stale. I’d also put too much product in my hair to try to tame it into submission. I tousled it with a frown.
There. Better.
Actually, now I looked like a nerdy rabbi on a Netflix show who spoke with a slight lisp.
At least my body was on point. I’d been rowing and running almost every single day.
I craned my neck to find Layla in the sea of occupied plastic round tables.
I spotted her immediately. Her hair matched her green polo shirt, the preschool’s uniform.
She wore it in two messy buns and was reading one of her spicy books, with a naked guy on the cover.
Her huge blue eyes and ridiculously soft lips made her face impossible to look away from.
I was such a goner for this woman it wasn’t even funny.
Running a hand over my hair one last time, I walked into the cafeteria.
She spotted me before I got to our table, tucked a receipt between the pages of her book, and put it aside.
She stood up and gave me a hug. I noticed that she’d already purchased our food, which was set in trays.
A veggie wrap and Gatorade for me; couscous, chicken, and sparkling water for her.
I cocked my head sideways as I took my seat, forcing myself to be nonchalant. “What, no Diet Coke? I thought you said it’s the only addiction you allow yourself.”
Layla’s cheek flushed, and she cleared her throat. “I’m trying to make better choices.”
If one of them is getting rid of your no-strings-attached booty call, I vote no.
“We all need a few vices,” I mumbled. “Otherwise we’ll go mad.”
She stared at me, straight faced. My heart did that thing again where it tried to rip itself out of my chest and flap between us like a fish out of water. I picked up half my wrap and took a big bite of it.
“I’m waiting for you to finish this bite before I tell you, because this is a Band-Aid situation, and I’m pretty sure the best strategy is just ripping it off all at once,” she said.
I had a feeling the it part was the thing beating inside my chest.
I swallowed the entire bite without chewing it, then grabbed a napkin and dabbed hummus traces from my fingers. “Please don’t tell me this wrap is poisoned.”
No giggle. No smile. No acknowledgment of my weak joke.
“Grant, I’m pregnant.”
The chatter and clatter around us stopped. So did my pulse.
I was sucked into a vortex, and a thousand different emotions slammed into me all at once like a car crash.
Confusion. Surprise. Anxiety. Concern. Fear. Anger.
. . . Elation.
Then again, I knew how Layla felt about babies. Children. Relationships. Love.
“It’s yours,” she added, biting down on her lower lip. “I’ve only slept with you in the past . . . well, six-ish years.”
Satisfaction flooded me, even in this moment of total chaos. I hadn’t been with anyone else either. Not for a very long time. We never talked about being exclusive, and I always assumed she was seeing other people.
“Pregnant,” I repeated, my mouth sandpaper dry.
“I’m sorry. I mean—kind of? I’m sorry we’re in this situation, not that I’m pregnant,” she clarified, twisting her fingers together nervously.
It felt like a helium balloon was lifting my heart up my chest.
Did that mean she was keeping it? Daring to hope would be stupid. Then again, I’d never been too smart when it came to this woman.
“I drank quite a bit that night, so it must’ve messed up my birth control. I’m sorry to put you in this position. It was completely irresponsible of me to drink, and even more so to ask you not to put on a condom. I promise you it wasn’t premeditated in any way.”
“I’d never think that. I would never have sex with the kind of woman I thought was capable of tricking me into fatherhood. You know I’ll support you no matter how you choose to proceed,” I said. And meant it. Even if her decision would kill me.
“Thank you. I’ve already made up my mind.”
“Okay.”
“I decided I’m keeping it.”
She was keeping it.
She was having our baby.
My baby.
Something between an intense sense of relief and hysteria flooded me. I spent my life chopping cancerous parts of people’s livers and breasts without batting an eye, and yet here I was, sweating like a necrophiliac in a zombie movie.
“I don’t expect you to contribute or be a part of our lives, so please don’t feel any kind of pressure. But I’d be happy if you—”
“Marry me,” I blurted out.
She stopped, giving me an alarmed look. “Um, what?”
Great question. I have no idea where that came from.
Only, I did. For a second there, I could almost envision it. Me. Layla. A ruby-cheeked baby. A cozy nursery in a house somewhere picturesque. We were all wearing white, which was a little creepy, but otherwise the scene was wholesome.
The technicalities could be worked out. That was all just fine print. But she wasn’t on the same page as me. For her, it had always been casual.
“Sorry, bad joke.” I set my wrap down, chuckling. “First of all, how are you feeling?”
“So not pregnant.” Layla laughed, tears clinging to her lashes. “I mean, a little bloated. And a lot constipated . . . okay, I feel like I should not give all this TMI to my hookup.”
“There’s no such thing as TMI between you and the father of your child.
” I couldn’t believe these words had left my mouth.
“I want to know everything. And I want to be a part of the child’s life.
In any capacity you’ll have me. Financially too.
I’ll make sure you’ll both never want for anything. We’re in this together.”
She nodded, her chin quivering. “Thank you for handling this so . . . well. Especially since I was the dumbass who thought it was a great idea to ditch the condom.”
“Hey, I was there when it happened. A very willing participant in the conception,” I reminded her. “If you remember, I’d proposed ditching the condom at least a dozen times before. You were the one who was adamant about keeping it.”
I felt guilty, because I liked the idea that she was pregnant, even if it wasn’t planned. Something that’d tie our destinies together, no matter what curveballs life threw at us.
Suddenly, the clock stopped ticking. I no longer had an expiration date. Layla and I were an unbreakable unit.
Layla wasn’t ready for a relationship, and I had a feeling that piece of work Connor was the reason behind that. But this meant we’d be around each other for many years to come. If she ever would be ready, in a future near or far, guess who’d be waiting in the wings?
Not Connor.
Speaking of the devil . . .
“Side note, but you never told me what happened with Kellianne.” I picked out a piece of tomato and tossed it into my mouth.
“Oh, she quit the day after the wedding. Via email.” Layla took a pull of her sparkling water, then gave the can an accusive wince. “Sparkling water tastes like a burp. Do people not realize that?”
I laughed. “Focus. She resigned?”
“Yeah. But not before sending me a four-thousand-word email telling me I was a horrible person in need of acute therapy. She also said I was jealous, a sore loser, and past my prime.”
“Did you answer?”
She gave me a Do you even know me? look.
“I apologized for the scene I caused, stood my ground that her husband was a terrible human, promised her I despised him so much that I wouldn’t let him sniff my used underwear if the future of humanity depended on it, and wished them a very happy and functional life together, because they’d need it. ”
“These two sound like they are perfect for each other.” I arched an eyebrow. “I’m glad they followed through with the wedding.”
She laughed. Then started to cry. It was a quiet kind of cry. Just tears running down her cheeks. “Oh my God, what is wrong with me?” She wiped at her face quickly. “I don’t understand why I’m so upset when we’re both handling this so well.”
“Your body’s going through a lot right now,” I reminded her, itching to touch her, to comfort her. “And this is going to change our lives forever. It’s natural to feel overwhelmed. It means that you understand how monumental this is.”
“So monumental.” She stabbed her plastic fork into the food without eating it.
I made a mental note to DoorDash pastries to her house.
She couldn’t resist pastries, and I wanted her to eat something she liked.
“I’m already a changed woman, and the little peanut is not even the size of a fingernail.
No orange juice, no sushi, no cold meats—you know I love my meats. ”
We both laughed.
“Have you booked your first ultrasound appointment yet?” I didn’t want to be overbearing, but I wanted to be there. I wanted to be there for all the little moments. The big ones too.
“I did, actually. The ob-gyn’s office is literally next door. I think she delivers babies here in Boll—”
“Hey! Did you get my email?” A hip leaned against our table. I looked up to find Jessica beaming down at me, holding coconut water and an energy bar. “About the property tour in Rochester? It’s two weeks away.”
Jessica’s field was pediatric oncology, and though she hadn’t formally accepted a position at the Mayo Clinic, she’d taken on a role as a quality control physician for the Cancer Committee there, which meant she was going to divide her time between Minnesota and New York.
Which reminded me, I still had to move to another state. An idea that suddenly felt two lifetimes away from my current self.
“Oh, hi! Sorry, I didn’t see you.” Jessica waved at Layla, oblivious to the situation she’d just walked in on. “I’m Jessica.” She thrust her hand in my baby momma’s direction.
“Layla. Nice to meet you.” They exchanged handshakes and smiles. I could tell Jessica was wondering who this green-haired girl was and how she fit into my impeccable, studious life.
“Are you Grant’s . . . ?” Jessica left the question hanging. I watched Layla intently. Layla, who always insisted we stay casual. Layla, who didn’t care whenever Chase tried to play matchmaker and introduce me to other women.
“No. He can’t afford me,” Layla said, cracking a joke. “Maybe as a rental.”
“I was going to say friend.” Jessica’s smile turned tight. “A few weeks ago, he said he had a female friend in distress that he had to help out while we were grabbing some food and drinks.”
“Oh, yeah. I was that mess.” Layla raised her hand guiltily. “Sorry for pulling him out of your date.”
“Nonsense! The whole reason I like Grant in the first place is because he takes such good care of his friends.”
“He’s a great friend,” Layla said softly, offering me a smile. “That, I wholeheartedly agree with.”
Shame. I wanted you to relate to the “liking me” part.
“Well?” Jessica turned to me again. “Have you booked your flight yet? Thought we could do it like last time, get the same hotel, taxis, et cetera. Be on our own little field trip.”
I hadn’t booked my flight yet.
I couldn’t even think past the ultrasound Layla had scheduled.
And I wasn’t sure why Jessica was insinuating we were seeing each other, when that couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Not yet.”
“Do you want me to ask Chelsea, my new assistant, to book us—”
“Actually, Jess, I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I shot her a smile. “We’re in the middle of something here.”
“Oh. Of course.” She nodded with a sweet expression. “Sorry, I can get pretty carried away. Speak later.”
I searched Layla’s face for signs of jealousy or discomfort, and found neither.
The rest of the lunch was spent talking about our baby and our plans for it.
Fine. Maybe she wasn’t ready to give me a chance, but I knew our child was a brilliant idea.
I was going to prove to Layla that she was doing the right thing by keeping it.
If it was the last thing I did.