Chapter 22
Davey
“What cars do you want to look at?” I asked Eva while waiting to meet the genetic counselor.
I tried to take her mind off the stress of our genetic report.
“I just want something safe and simple,” Eva said. “Lower budget.”
I rolled my eyes. “Eva, I am not assuming you want a Bugatti, but I’m not buying you a Ford Fiesta, either. What about a Mercedes?”
She snickered. “Me… what? Driving your hand-me-down G-Wagon.”
“Nah. I’d not give you a secondhand car. The truck—”
“It’s gone. Dad drove me this morning. He’s worried without the airbags. That said, there’s no way I’m riding in that tiny car of yours for the same reason.”
“Oh.” The thought of safety never occurred to me, but made sense.
“What about we meet in the middle?” Eva asked. “Like a Volvo. It’s a nice, solid car. It’s upmarket, but it’s not a Ford Fiesta.”
“Are you sure? Parts cost a fortune.”
Eva rolled her eyes. “They make electric hybrids and the safest cars on the market. It’s either that or Rivian.”
“You want an electric?” I gasped, shocked.
“Yeah. Or a plug-in hybrid. Why not?”
“Hello, hello!” A cheerful man with a wide grin entered, and our attention turned to the more important of the two tasks—the genetic screening.
“So, the first thing I wanted to ask is before I hand you these results, would you like the sex-blind results or the ones with the babies’ sexes? I always want to confirm.”
“Oh, as we said,” I answered, “we want to see the sex of the babies.”
“Technically, your wife is the patient.”
“I’m not his wife,” Eva clarified. “But we’re on the same page. Please show us the sex of the babies.”
“Great,” the counsellor said. “The second thing, I didn’t find anything elevated in these results that would be cause for concern, but I do want to be here to answer any questions you have.”
“That’s good,” Eva said as he handed her a piece of paper.
“It’s wonderful, but not surprising. You’re young and healthy.”
She read through the results, mouth dropping. We were having not one, but two boys.
“Two boys. Two boys!” She gasped, then teared.
I didn’t care either way, but she clearly did. I couldn’t tell if this was bad, good, or overwhelming. Treading carefully, I squeezed her good hand, minding that the right remained in a sling. The poor woman looked pitiful.
“But, as I said, based on this and the scan, the babies are developing well. We don’t see elevated risks. Now, do you have a meeting with your specialist upstairs? If so, I will take you up.”
Eva nodded, crying. We were transferred to a maternal fetal medicine specialist—an MFM—because of the pregnancy complications with Mo-Di twins. Upstairs, a man in his fifties who looked like he hit the gym six hours a day greeted us enthusiastically. Eva was still a sobbing mess.
“Is there a concern you want to start with?” The doctor asked. “You seem… upset.”
“I’m… overwhelmed. We’re having two boys. I wanted girls!” She sobbed. “But I’m okay. I will… feel better about it. I’m just sad and excited and… hormonal.”
I rubbed her back, having compassion for the woman I’d done dirty with two boys.
“Of course. It’s a big day.” The doctor’s tone felt dismissive and condescending.
“So far, you’re healthy. Your blood pressure is good.
Your OB said you are measuring well, and the babies are of similar size and date.
That’s what we want to see. We will regularly check your placenta and fluid levels.
That is key. Now, regarding weight gain… ”
He flipped through the chart on his computer. “You shouldn’t gain more than 20 pounds… given your weight. A normal woman, I’d say fifty. But you came in here overweight.”
“She’s already lost fifteen pounds,” I protested. “She’s struggled with food. It’s getting better, but… why would you say that?”
“Your wife is overweight. Plain and simple. It is a risk—”
“Excuse me, but does that seem kind or helpful?” I asked, sounding like my baby sister stopping an argument.
Eva patted my arm. “Stop. It’s not worth it.”
I felt the vein in my neck brush against the collar of my oxford shirt. “Sir, this woman is in great shape. Eva takes care of herself when her body allows. I don’t think it is helpful to suggest she fucking starve herself while growing multiple babies. Do you?”
“We would like to keep tabs on her weight. Overweight people—”
“She is a person. A beautiful, smart, talented woman. And while you may claim you’re doing your job, you’re just being a judgy asshole.”
“That is your opinion. Science—”
“Stop,” Eva held up her hand. “I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just move on.”
I seethed, glaring at the doctor.
He continued, “We have a birth class for multiples starting in two months. I’d like you to consider it. Most parents find it helpful. We have special discussions about baby care and breastfeeding.”
Eva nodded, a shell of her former self.
He handed me an information packet, sent us to scheduling, and we said nothing until the elevator. Eva collapsed into a puddle of tears.
“Eva, I’m sorry he said those things.”
“They all do,” Eva said. “And I’m a ‘small-fat’ you know. People don’t even really consider me ‘fat’ until it’s convenient. I’m used to all this rhetoric—his touting bad, biased science. But fighting him does no good, Davey. Trust me. It’s every doctor.”
“Well, when he does it around me, I will say something,” I said. “You are a living human being. You’re the mother of my children. He doesn’t get to talk to you like that. Okay?”
She squeezed my hand. “Okay. I’m sorry for crying about the boys. I don’t want you to think I won’t love them. I will.”
I turned to her, with all the love in the world. “Of course you will. You’ll love them because they’re ours. And they will be loved—by everyone, I suspect.”
“We need to do so much,” Eva murmured.
“Like buy a car? Yeah. We do.” I chuckled. “It’s fine. We’ll do it tonight. One big thing off the list. The other stuff will happen. It will come together.”
Eva sighed as we left the elevator. “It’s good news, though. This is a relief.”
“It is. Oh, I almost forgot. Mum is having a party for her birthday this weekend. She wants to invite you.”
“Me?” Eva laughed. “Really?”
“Yeah. She wants you to come. She’s trying. I am as surprised as you. You don’t have to, but… it would be good.”
“For you or me?”
For me most of all.
“Look, I’ll go if you come with me to Ellie’s wedding. I’m getting nothing but pressure from her to bring a date. I don’t want to, but… it could be fun.”
“I would love to!” I jumped at the chance.
“What?” Eva said, surprised.
“Well, hot bridesmaids are sort of my thing,” I joked.
“Davey! Remember the talk we had about flirting. I’m the fucking Maid of Honor!”
“Oh, well, then hot Maids of Honor,” I said.
She stopped dead and glared. “Are you fucking hitting on me, David?”
“Is it working?”
Eva set her jaw and shook her head. I fought the urge to pull her close and kiss the angry look off her lips. She was so adorably infuriating. The more pregnant she looked, the cuter she became. I now knew the difference between anger and Standard-Issue Grumpy Eva.
“Maybe. Depends on what you’re going to do with your mouth after.” Eva walked towards me.
“Oh, if you’d let me do that last time, I would have gotten you off more,” I said.
“I wasn’t comfortable with it. But if you’re still hitting on me after talking about lactation consultants, I can trust you’re not going to get all weird.”
“The test was lactation consultants, Eva?”
“It’s whatever occurs to me. You said you would work. Thankfully, I give out awards generously for effort.” Eva tossed her hair over her shoulder. “You’ve been a good boy. So, maybe there is hope for you after all.”
“Just to clarify, is this a date?”
“I think we can call these dates, but to be certain, I wouldn’t say we were dating.”
I’d settle for that.
Eva
“You really want an electric car?” Davey asked as we waited for a salesman at the Volvo dealership.
We’d kicked off work early to come south—at Davey’s suggestion. Dad was on his way—driving in rush hour.
“Yes,” I said. “Aren’t you all about sustainability these days?”
“I am about ROI,” Davey answered. “That is different than driving a toaster.”
I rolled my eyes. “I want one.”
“Do you even have a charger?”
“I will get one. We have one at the garage near work. You give privileges to those who drive electrics,” I said. “And if I am going to drive in some days, I’d take advantage of it.”
“Do we?”
“You really should talk to HR,” I sighed.
“That is what Daphne is for.”
“Daphne is not your everything woman.”
“As president and leader of the HQ, she is. When I was President, I dealt with that. When I became CEO, I stopped.”
A man approached, either recognizing Davey or knowing what a rich man looked like.
“Can I help you two?” He asked
“We’re looking for an EX30,” I said.
“Oh, come right this way,” he beckoned, going into the car’s features.
Davey poked his head in. “Eva, this thing is tiny.”
“It’s cute. It’s efficient,” I said.
“It’s not big enough.”
“Your car is the size of a pin,” I said.
“And it’s not a minivan replacement, Eva.”
“There ya are!” Dad walked to hug me.
“I’m here,” I agreed.
Davey came around the car for the world’s most awkward introduction. I silently hoped our salesman wouldn’t run away screaming and suspected that Davey had “cash offer” written all over. If he wasn’t born yesterday, he knew this was a slam dunk.
“Dad, this is David. David, this is my dad, Robert.”
“Hello, Mr. Pavlak,” Davey said. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Dad looked Davey over, sizing him up. I waited with bated breath to see how this played out.
Dad extended his hand. “Well, it is good to meet you, although you’ll have to give me a minute. I’m… still very confused.”
“It is odd, yes,” Davey blushed, shaking his hand. “But we agree on one thing—that Eva needs a proper car. Can you please talk her out of electric?”
“Eva, please,” Dad groaned.
“In London, we owned an electric car. I want another,” I confirmed.
“At the very least, can you tell her this car is too damn small, Bert?”
Dad burst into laughter. “Sweetheart, where will you put two car seats?”
The sales guy said, “Are they forward-facing? Rear-facing? This can be a great car for people with one rear-facing in the middle and a sibling forward-facing next to it.”
“Two rear-facing,” Davey said. “Twins.”
“Oh, you’re…” The salesman pointed at me and did a double-take. “Well, congratulations.”
I choked a tiny, “Thanks.”
“Okay, well, I’d recommend the EX90 with six seats—the captain’s chairs are great with two car seats.”
We followed him around the corner to a much larger vehicle.
“See, this is nice,” Davey declared.
“Davey, it’s like twice the size. It’s giving soccer mom.”
“Well, they might play soccer,” Davey said. “I did.”
“Not the point.”
“Eva, just take it for a spin.”
“It can’t hurt to drive it.” Dad shrugged. “It looks very safe.”
I gave in. We took it for a spin, and I grudgingly admitted it was more fun to drive than a beat-up old truck. Within a couple hours of my negotiations, Davey handed off his credit card and walked through the sale’s final steps. He’d pay for it. I’d insure it and pay the obscene taxes.
“He’s just going to drop 90k on a credit card,” Dad whispered.
“It’s bizarre. Don’t try rationalizing it. After five days with them, I still don’t understand how it works, Dad. It’s something you or I will never understand.”
“Well, at least he’s doing the right thing.”
“Dad, it’s not his responsibility alone. I am the mom. I can contribute, too.”
As we stood before the new car, keys in hand, I said, “This was nice of you. Thanks. And it’s late, so I should let you go.”
“In my family,” Davey said. “A new car necessitates dinner out. So, I think we should find a place, go grab dinner, and celebrate the new car. What do you think, sir?”
“I think that’s great,” Dad said. “What do we think sounds good?”
“I don’t even know,” I said.
“Cheesecake Palace,” Dad said. “Her favorite place since childhood. There’s something for everyone. That’s where we’ll go.”
And that is how I ended up taking my billionaire boss to Cheesecake Palace for the evening.